Two For Joy (7 page)

Once he'd stood her up and when – furious – she'd phoned him up and eaten the face off him, he'd hung up and hadn't called her for ten days. She'd been so miserable. She'd cried herself to sleep every night. Every time the phone had rung at home or at work, her stomach had clenched into knots and she'd prayed that it would be him. The disappointment when it wasn't had been shattering each time. She'd almost called him a dozen times. In fact once she had, and when his flatmate answered, she'd lost her nerve and hung up. She'd been petrified that she'd never see him again and that she'd be left on the shelf. A shit boyfriend was better than no boyfriend, she'd reasoned. When he'd finally called her she'd eagerly agreed to meet him and had fallen into his arms when she'd seen him.

Heather blushed scarlet at the memory of her wimpiness. She had behaved like such a doormat – even now she cringed, thinking of it. It hadn't made any difference anyway, it turned out that the two-faced little ferret had been two-timing her all along and he'd ditched her unceremoniously one wet Friday night when she'd refused yet again to have sex with him, and called her a frigid cow.

Now, it was a huge relief to her that she hadn't slept with Colin. At least she hadn't let him walk all over her in that regard. She might be a wimp and a doormat but she wasn't a notch on Colin Breen's bedpost and that was a small crumb of comfort in what had been a total and absolutely disastrous relationship which had wiped out every scrap of confidence she had.

Heather studied her reflection in the big bevelled mirror over the hallstand. Chestnut hair with glints of auburn fell around her face in a smooth silky curtain. Heather wore her hair short, whereas Ruth wore hers wild and wavy, tumbling down her back. Heather wasn't really the wild and wavy sort, she thought ruefully. The reflection of solemn hazel eyes fringed with thick dark lashes stared back at her. Her eyes were OK, she supposed. Her nose was too wide, lips normal enough, and now, because she hadn't been dieting, her cheekbones were gone and her face wasn't the slightest bit thin and interesting. At least she had a tan, she comforted herself. Tans always made you look better. She decided to dab a bit more blusher on her cheeks to try to give the
impression
of cheekbones. She was wearing a plum bustier over black trousers, and a silky black jacket. The bustier gave her a good cinched-in waist and a flattering hint of cleavage but she wouldn't dare take the jacket off no matter how warm it got, her ass was far too big to be put on public display. Heather sighed deeply. Lorna no doubt was dressed to the nines, and not the slightest bit worried about her ass. Her cousin had a perfect figure.

She heard another car coming down the street and peered out of the window anxiously, her palms curling. A green car whizzed past. That was it! She'd had enough. If Neil wasn't here in five minutes' time she was going to go to the wedding on her own and to hell with him. She was just sick, sick, sick of being treated like a doormat. Tears glittered in her eyes. Was it her, or were all men selfish shits? Angry, hurt, disappointed, she blinked rapidly to dispel the tears. A thought struck her: it was Neil that had been invited to the wedding, she was going as his guest. She couldn't go on her own whether she wanted to or not.

Well, she just would go, Heather decided resentfully. Who'd notice? She was damned if she was going to take off all her make-up and finery after going to such trouble. She picked up her evening bag, a glittery purse affair, pulled out her lipstick and re-did her lips with ‘Sensual Plum'. She'd have to stop biting her lips, they were in shreds, she noted forlornly. She tried to fit her phone in the bag, but it wouldn't fasten and bulged in an unsightly manner. Heather hated small bags with a vengeance. She liked bags that she could carry her bits and pieces in, they made her feel secure. She wished she had her twin's confidence, or even Lorna's. She wished she was more like them in every way. They could carry off small, smart evening bags, they could reveal their asses to the world without a care. They had men falling at their feet, men who were on time, even early for dates
and
they didn't take crap. She, at this precise moment, felt an utter and absolute failure.

She heard a familiar diesel engine thrumming outside and once again she flew to the window, feeling a huge wave of relief wash over her when she saw a familiar black car. Thank God he'd arrived; she sent the fervent acknowledgement heavenwards in grateful thanks. He hadn't stood her up after all. Maybe she wouldn't have it out with Neil about his punctuality tonight, but the next time he was late for a date she was going to give it to him hot and heavy, Heather assured herself earnestly, as she gave her bustier one last tweak before opening the door with a smile on her face.

6

Lorna gasped with dismay as she felt a sharp stab of pain. ‘Oooh,' she groaned against Derek Kennedy's neck. Unfortunately Derek mistook her groan for a moan of passion and thrust into her even more frantically before collapsing on top of her, panting like a dog. Lorna's jaw dropped. That was it! That's what all the fuss was about. That's what all the begging and pleading in the back seat of Derek's car had been for, as date after date he'd urged her to let him have sex with her. She'd felt nothing, not even a tingle. She just felt sore, messy, uncomfortable and cheated.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. She'd read
She
and
Marie Claire
and all the other glossy mags (even
Cosmo
although that was seriously dated) avidly. She'd studied numerous hints to satisfy HIM 'n' HER and had looked forward to using them in a night of blissful pleasure and passion, but nothing that she'd read about had happened with herself and Derek. There'd been no touching and tasting and sucking and licking, no slow, sexy stripping, no massaging with oil, just Derek jumping on her, pulling off her panties. Then, two minutes later, it was all over. They hadn't even snogged!

‘Get off me,' Lorna slurred as Derek nuzzled her ear. He raised his head and looked at her, hurt.

‘Didn't you enjoy it?' he asked, his brown eyes gazing blearily into hers.

‘No, I didn't, you idiot.' She glowered at him.

‘Well, I did,' Derek muttered and passed out.

Lorna wriggled out from under him and felt like thumping him as he snored noisily. She staggered into the bathroom and slipped out of her dress. She needed a shower, badly. She reeked of alcohol and other unmentionables. It had been a fatal mistake to confide that she could use one of the hotel rooms if she wanted to. Staff did it all the time when the hotel wasn't fully occupied. Derek had jumped at the idea, and half excited, half fearful, she'd led him up a back staircase, slipped into room 302, and then he'd pulled his He-man stunt and lunged for her. She'd been too smashed to protest, and besides, she'd thought it was only a prelude to lovemaking. She hadn't for one second thought that the whole thing would be over in two minutes flat, or less …

Lorna felt like crying as she stood under the shower, trying to keep her hair from getting wet. She felt a little more sober now. Funny how you could sober up so quickly, she thought just a trifle woozily. At least she could now claim she'd ‘Done It', she thought dejectedly as she averted her eyes from the blood between her legs and hosed herself down with the shower, frantic to get rid of all traces of her unsavoury episode with Derek. Her disappointment was so strong, she could almost taste it.

The next time she had sex,
if
she ever had sex again and that was a very big
if,
she thought resentfully, she would make sure that she was stone cold sober and she would dictate the pace. She'd have her touching and tasting and sucking and licking and her sensual massage, by God she would. And she would have an orgasm come hell or high water. All those magazines couldn't be wrong! She would moan and groan with pleasure the way she'd heard her mother moaning and groaning all those years ago, Lorna vowed, and fell to her knees sobbing under the hot, steaming jets of water as that old, old memory that she had kept buried for so long invaded her head until she thought she was going to be sick.

‘I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about it,' she muttered wildly. ‘No! No! Mam, why did you do it? Why did you let me hear you and see you? It's dirty, dirty, dirty.' Lorna wept uncontrollably, great wrenching sobs heaving from the depths of her.

Out in the rumpled double bed, Derek snored on. Oblivious.

*   *   *

Heather sipped her glass of tepid white wine and tried not to yawn. People were slow dancing to kd lang, but Neil was deep in conversation with some bloke about cars, and had been for the last half hour. Of Lorna and Derek there was no sign.

‘Hi, Heather, would you like to dance?' Tony Mallin, one of Oliver's builders, sat down at the table beside her and eyed her hopefully. Neil never even noticed.

‘Why not?' Heather said recklessly. She hoped Neil would get good and jealous when he saw her dancing a slow set. The evening had started off extremely promisingly: he'd been very attentive for about an hour but then he'd gone to the bar for more drinks and stayed chatting to some bloke for half an hour, leaving her like a lemon on her own, and now he was talking to another guy and she might as well be on the moon.

She followed Tony on to the floor and they started to dance. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?' he asked as his hands slid down to her hips.

‘It's OK,' she responded, disconcerted. He was being far too touchy-feely for her taste.

‘If I had a lovely girl like you as my date, I wouldn't sit gabbing with a bloke,' he murmured, nuzzling her ear. ‘That top you're wearing is dead sexy.' He drew away for a moment and gazed admiringly at her cleavage, before pressing himself close against her. She could feel his erection. Heather had just about had enough.

‘Do you
mind,
Tony Mallin. What do you think I am?' she demanded furiously, twisting out of his grasp. ‘Go grope someone else,' she snapped, marching off the dance floor leaving Tony with his mouth open in surprise.

Neil had never even noticed that she was gone. He was still engrossed in his conversation. Heather felt volcanic-size resentment engulf her, as she nibbled on a cold cocktail sausage, part of the finger food served to the evening guests. Her boyfriend guffawed at something the other man said. Heather grabbed her bag. ‘I'm going to the Ladies,' she hissed.

‘Fine, fine.' Neil didn't even bother to look in her direction. Heather stalked out of the room to the strains of ‘I Can't Get No Satisfaction'. ‘Tell me about it,' she muttered. The Ladies, mercifully, was empty as she went into a stall, pulled down the loo seat and sat on it, biting her lip furiously. Neil was behaving really badly. He was being so disrespectful, ignoring her while he touted for business. Heather knew and understood that it was important for him to network. He had a client base to build up. But surely, she reasoned, good manners alone dictated that he look after his date for the evening – that was, she thought with sinking heart, if he felt anything for her at all. Maybe it was best to nip it in the bud now, she thought unhappily. There was no point in going through weeks of misery the way she had with Colin.

A tear trickled down her cheeks. She'd had such hopes of Neil. She'd thought that he was different. When they were alone, he told her all about his dream to open a big garage on North Road and then, when that was up and running, another one in nearby Navan. Eventually his dream was to open one in Dublin. She had helped him with his costings, had typed up his business plan for him and had been delighted to be part of it. It was exciting, exhilarating, and she felt that she'd contributed to and shared the dream. Until tonight. Tonight she felt totally excluded, unimportant, a nuisance even. And then being mauled by Tony Mallin on the dance floor. He could have raped her for all the notice her so-called boyfriend had taken.

Heather wiped the tears from her face and stood up. Neil could build up his client base, she was going home. Better to be manless than witless and wimpy. At least she could live with herself knowing that she hadn't behaved like a doormat this time. She heard someone come into the Ladies and silently cursed. One more minute and she could have slipped out and made her getaway. She ran her fingers through her hair, straightened her jacket and opened the door.

Lorna was standing with her back to her at the sinks. She was applying lipstick to her mouth but her hand was shaking. ‘Where've you been all evening?' Heather asked dully, thinking that her cousin was probably pissed. She looked a bit rough. Her make-up was streaked and her flimsy slip-style dress was very creased.

‘Don't ask,' Lorna snapped.

‘OK, 'night,' Heather retorted.

‘What do you mean 'night? Are you and loverboy leaving?' Lorna inquired truculently.

‘No, if you must know. I don't have a loverboy any more. Neil Brennan can go to hell as far as I'm concerned. 'Bye.'

‘No, hold on, Heather, what's wrong? What's happened? I saw Neil out there and he seems to be having a ball.' Lorna turned to face her. She looked ghastly. Pale, red-eyed.

‘Are you OK, Lorna? You haven't been taking E's or anything?' Heather blurted.

‘No I haven't, Heather. I … I … Oh Heather, it was horrible!' Lorna's face crumpled and she burst into tears.

‘What is it? What's wrong?' Heather looked at her in dismay.

‘Let's get out of here. I don't want anyone to come barging in. We'll go down the back stairs, there's a laundry room that will be empty. I need to talk to you, Heather,' Lorna said urgently, grabbing her cousin by the arm and propelling her out the door. They hurried down the corridor and pushed open the big heavy fire-doors to the back stairs. Two minutes later, Lorna led the way into a large tiled room full of big industrial washers and driers and steam presses and ironing boards. It smelt faintly of damp and washing powder.