‘I like Oliver, there’s something nice about him,’ Heather agreed as she settled back into her seat more comfortably. She was pleasantly relaxed, her initial moment of awkwardness long vanished. It was just like old times in a way, she reflected. Neil and herself had always been able to talk and she enjoyed listening to him talking about his plans for the business.
‘So now I’m mostly involved in the selling end and I have two mechanics working for me in the garage, but I need a receptionist, someone who can do the paperwork and send in those damn VAT returns. They’re the bane of my life,’ he confided as they inched along in bumper-to-bumper rush-hour Friday-night traffic.
Heather laughed. ‘Are you getting nasty letters telling you that court proceedings will be initiated and the sheriff will be at your door in ten days? The clients in Mangan’s used to go spare when they got those.’
‘Yeah, but the infuriating thing is that I’d sent in the return and the cheque and because of some delay in their office, it wasn’t processed in time. They send out those stinkers of letters and never have the manners to apologize,’ Neil exclaimed indignantly. He turned to look at her. ‘Of course you worked in Mangan’s, didn’t you? So you’d know all about VAT and stuff. You’re not looking for a job, are you?’ he joked.
Heather felt the hair rise up on the back of her neck. Her friend Margaret, who believed in ‘growth opportunity’, had told her that there was no such thing as ‘coincidence’. That when something that seemed coincidental occurred it was really the Universe, or God, whichever you preferred, presenting you with an opportunity to change or grow or take a new step in life. Was this apparent coincidence, this lift from Neil and his job offer, one of those gifts from the Universe that Margaret was always going on about?
Neil studied her hard. They were stopped at red lights and only the sound of the engine purring and the wipers swishing broke the silence. ‘You’re not looking for a job, are you?’ he asked uncertainly.
‘I don’t know,’ Heather hesitated. ‘I don’t like the job I’m in, I was thinking of looking for another one. But I don’t know if I was really planning on going back home.’
‘I suppose not.’ Neil backtracked. ‘Why would you leave the bright city lights for boring old Kilronan?’
‘I don’t think Kilronan is boring. I miss it,’ Heather remarked.
‘Do you?’ he looked at her in genuine surprise. ‘I thought you’d love city life.’
‘No, I don’t really like Dublin to be honest. I think I’m a country girl at heart.’
‘Well, why don’t you come back?’ he challenged. ‘I meant it when I said I needed someone to look after the office and answer the phone. The business is getting too big for me to run on my own. I want to be professional. I’m not a small back-street garage merchant any more. I’m in with the big boys now and I need back-up. Come on, Heather,’ he urged. ‘Think about it. I’d pay you good money, you’d be back in Kilronan. It could be great. We get on well, don’t we? Well, apart from our little hiccup the night of Oliver’s wedding,’ he amended.
Heather gave a wry smile. ‘Hmm,’ she said dryly.
‘Aw, Heather, I am sorry about that. Honest. It was bad manners. I miss you, you know. We got on very well.’
‘We got on very well because I let you walk all over me,’ she retorted.
‘Ah, don’t be like that. Look, will you think about the job? I think we could make a great team. I’ll pay you a good wage. More than what you’re on.’
‘Aren’t you afraid I’d give you an inflated salary figure?’ she teased.
Neil laughed. ‘Naw, you’re too straight, Heather. That toffee-nosed cousin of yours might all right.’
‘Don’t talk to me about her.’ Heather’s mouth tightened.
‘Why? What did she do on you? I thought you were sharing a flat with her.’
‘Not any more as it happens.’ She gave him an edited version of the saga.
‘Sounds like you’re better off without her,’ he observed as he overtook a lorry.
‘I know, but I’ve got to go and find a place to live. I can’t hog Ruth’s bedroom for much longer.’
‘You don’t have to. Come back to Kilronan and sort me out. You won’t have to go looking for a new flatmate or a new place to live.’ He paused. ‘Of course you probably wouldn’t want to live at home, is that it?’
‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ Heather admitted.
‘Look, I’ve a couple of rooms built over the office. I was thinking of letting them as offices, but I could always get Oliver to do them up as a flat and get rent that way for it. So what would you say to that? A place of your own, no commuting, and me for a boss?’ Neil grinned at her.
‘I don’t know.’ Heather was a tad stunned. This was almost surreal. Less than an hour ago she’d been standing at the bus stop minding her own business waiting for the bus to Kilronan, knowing she needed to find accommodation and a new job, and now she was sitting in Neil Brennan’s BMW with the prospect of a job and a flat presented to her on a plate. There had to be some trick, some flaw. Could this be a dream? She gave herself a little pinch, noting that there was plenty of flab to pinch from. Nope, this was for real.
‘Look, think about it over the weekend,’ Neil advised. A thought struck him. ‘Are you seeing someone in Dublin? I never thought of that. Is that what’s keeping you there?’
‘No, I’m manless as well as practically homeless,’ Heather said wryly. ‘How about you? Are women falling all over you? You’re fairly eligible now with your big showrooms.’
‘To be honest I’ve been so caught up in the business I haven’t really been out and about much. Maybe we could go for a drink tomorrow night if you like, seeing as we’re both footloose and fancy free?’
‘Well, I usually meet the girls on Saturday night when I come home,’ she demurred.
‘Oh!’ he looked crestfallen. ‘I work on Saturdays so I can’t meet you in the daytime. Pity.’
‘Well look, I’ll arrange to meet the girls for lunch and I could meet you tomorrow night if you want, then,’ she suggested. She wasn’t going to be a doormat this time and she wanted him to know that she wasn’t sitting in waiting for him to provide her with a social life either.
‘Great. I’ll pick you up around seven thirty. It will be like old times,’ Neil said cheerfully.
‘It better not be like old times. You were always late. Seven thirty on the dot,’ she warned.
‘OK, Heather. Seven thirty on the dot,’ he agreed.
Although the traffic was heavy the journey flew by. They chatted easily together and when he drove away from her house, having refused the offer of coffee, Heather was as happy as she’d been in a long time.
‘Hi Ma, I’m home.’ She practically danced into the sitting-room where her mother was watching Fair City, one of Heather’s favourite soaps.
‘Hello, love.’ Her mother stood up and gave her daughter a hug. ‘You look great. Much better than the last time you were home. I’ll get your dinner for you. You can have it in front of the TV.’ She took her coat and motioned her to the sofa. ‘Sit down, relax.’
‘Wait until the ads are on, Ma. Fair City’s really good lately, that Nicola is a walking wagon.’
‘She reminds me of Lorna,’ her mother sniffed. Heather remained diplomatically silent. Lorna was certainly not flavour of the month with her mother at the moment. And if Anne got her hands on her there’d be wigs on the green. Anne was ripping with her for doing the dirty on Heather and had been all prepared to ring her niece at work and give her an earful, only Heather had warned her in no uncertain terms to do no such thing.
‘I don’t need Mammy fighting my battles for me. I’m a big girl now, Ma,’ she’d informed her mother firmly.
‘It’s not right what she did and I want to tell her so,’ argued her mother. ‘She’s got away with too much for far too long.’
‘No Ma, it’s for me to deal with. Don’t get involved,’ warned Heather, knowing th
at if her mother lost her cool, there’d be a right royal row and the whole family would be dragged into it.
‘Look at that Nicola one, the way she looks down her nose at Farrah, that’s exactly the way that little consequence Lorna goes on. I’m glad you’re not living with her any more. I always felt she was using you. She has airs and graces way beyond her standing,’ her mother declared as the ad break came on and she went out to the kitchen to heat up her daughter’s dinner.
Heather snuggled up on the big comfortable sofa as the aromatic scent of chicken and mushroom pie wafted in from the kitchen. The fire was crackling up the chimney, the wind was keening around the house. The rain lashed against the windows. This room was so cosy, and homely, she thought gratefully, remembering lonely nights when she’d been on her own in that gloomy, draughty sitting-room in Dublin.
There really was no place like home. Her mother arrived in with a tray loaded with a plate of steaming pie, roasted vegetables, a dish of golden crème brulée and a glass of chilled Chardonnay.
‘Eat up,’ she ordered. ‘I hope you’re not going out tonight. I have the blanket on for you upstairs. You look as if you could do with a good night’s sleep. Look at the bags under your eyes! There’s plenty of hot water for a bath. Run up while the news is on and get into your nightie. And come down and watch the Late Late with me and we’ll finish off the wine. Your father won’t be in till late, he’s gone to a golf thing.’
‘Why didn’t you go?’ Heather forked a piece of feather-light pastry into her mouth.
‘Oh no, it wasn’t a do, it was a committee meeting,’ her mother explained as she sat down in her armchair and took a sip of wine. ‘Is the pie all right?’
‘Oh Ma, it’s gorgeous,’ Heather said fervently, relishing the creamy sauce filled with succulent chicken and mushrooms.
‘I know you, you probably live on frozen rubbish and never eat a vegetable,’ her mother chided. ‘And Ruth seems to live in restaurants. She’s always eating out.’
‘Well, it is handy to eat in town at lunchtime,’ Heather pointed out.
‘And costs a fortune,’ her mother said tartly.
‘Not really.’ Heather took a bite of roasted baby onion. ‘The other day we went to a place in Temple Bar called Bendini & Shaw’s and I had a spinach wrap with chicken and red onion and it was very tasty and not dripping in calories either and it wasn’t too expensive. I had a lovely café mocha after it and that did me for my main meal of the day.’
‘If I gave you spinach you’d turn your nose up at it but go to a restaurant with a fancy name and it’s tasty!’ snorted her mother. ‘Right then, it’s spinach for you from now on but you’ll have to do with common or garden coffee, we don’t do fancy stuff here.’
It had been a peach of an evening, Heather thought drowsily several hours later as she curled up in her warm bed and pulled the patchwork quilt under her ears. She was totally relaxed, having soaked in a hot, lavender-scented bath. After which she’d sat chatting to her mother as they finished off the wine between them, watching Pat Kenny conduct a spirited and entertaining debate on the Late Late. She hadn’t said anything to Anne about Neil’s proposal. She knew her mother would jump at the idea of having her back home. She might be a bit miffed about her going to live in a flat. The thoughts drifted in and out as her eyelids drooped.
Anyway, she wasn’t quite sure yet if she was going to come back to Kilronan. She’d go for a long walk around the lake tomorrow and have a good think about it. It was great to have options, was her last conscious thought before she fell asleep listening to the wind sighing in the trees and knowing that she could sleep in as long as she liked in the morning.
* * *
Neil Brennan opened his bulging briefcase and spread his files on the kitchen table. He rubbed his eyes wearily. There was so much paperwork involved in selling cars. He was barely keeping on top of it and he knew come hell or high water he was going to have to get someone in to take care of it. If Heather would come on board all his troubles would be over. She’d be good at the job, he was sure of it, and besides, she was genuinely interested in what he was doing.
He poured himself a glass of Carlsberg and took a long draught. He wouldn’t mind a couple of drinks tonight but he had to catch up. Anyway he’d be seeing Heather tomorrow night, he could indulge then, he comforted himself as he took out the dreaded VAT form. He scanned it resentfully. He hated the damn things. Office work was not his strong point, selling cars was. Heather had been impressed with the BMW, he thought proudly. He was damned impressed himself. He still couldn’t believe it and he loved driving around in it, impressing the locals. Wait until that stuck-up cousin of Heather’s saw it. It might knock the superior look off her mush. Seeing Heather at the bus stop had been a bit of a shock. It had been an impulsive decision to pull in and ask her did she want a lift. She’d always been very cool with him when she’d seen him around after she’d given him his walking papers.
It had been very enjoyable talking to her on the journey home. Heather was real easy to talk to. That was one of the things he’d liked about her. In fact he’d liked a lot of things about her. If he got a chance to go with her again he’d make sure to be more considerate and not take her for granted this time.
But even if she didn’t go out with him, if she took the job he’d be on the pig’s back. It would leave him free to get out there and really hustle for business. He was doing well. He’d achieved his goal of a big chrome and glass showroom that every motorist who drove through Kilronan on the way to Dublin couldn’t miss. State-of-the-art showrooms were a must now in the cut and thrust of the motor industry. He’d heard of a few dealerships being withdrawn because the garages and showrooms weren’t up to scratch. His premises were an investment in his future, as he’d told some of the old fellas in Kilronan who’d accused him of having notions about his station in life.
He wanted to have a team of salesmen in place in the next five years. He wanted it all and Heather could help him get it. He wanted to have the biggest car dealership within a hundred-mile radius. He wanted to be a top-notch businessman that people in Kilronan looked up to. And he wanted to be rich. He never wanted to have to scrimp and save again. The BMW had cost an arm and a leg and he’d had to take out a whacking big loan for it, but image was everything and he knew that. He couldn’t have a big car showrooms and drive around in a crock. It was a business decision to buy that car.
Heather obviously hadn’t bought a car yet, or she’d hardly have been waiting at the bus stop for the bus to Kilronan. He could offer to give her one of the second-hand cars out on the forecourt at cost price. That might be an added incentive for her to take the job. He’d really woo her tomorrow night. He’d take her to dinner in the Lake View and he’d ring Oliver Flynn first thing in the morning to talk about fitting out the rooms over the office as a flat. If she agreed to take it, he’d tell her she could decorate it in whatever colour schemes she wanted. Women liked that kind of thing. With Heather on board, Neil had the strongest feeling that things could only get better.
Hoping that it would be the last time he’d have to do it, he flattened out the dreaded VAT return and began to fill it in.
16
Noreen curled drowsily against Oliver and his arms tightened around her. They had just made love and she knew by his breathing that he’d be asleep in seconds. She would have liked it if he’d stayed awake a bit longer to talk to her. He was so busy these days she hardly ever saw him, and those few minutes in bed when he was relaxed and they talked were precious.
Tonight might be the night they’d conceive their much-longed-for baby. It was slap bang in the middle of her cycle, and they’d done it twice. Surely this time they’d be lucky. She felt a pang of guilt as Oliver started to snore rhythmically. The poor fella. She was wearing him out, she thought ruefully. He would have gone asleep after the first time but she wouldn’t let him. Just as well he was fit and healthy. With Pete, she’d been lucky to have sex twice a week, let alone
twice a night. That was the drink of course. Drink had ruined their relationship … ruined everything. A sharp, stabbing pain of sadness enveloped her. Wouldn’t it ever go … wouldn’t it ever leave her? Would she have to carry the grief of it for the rest of her life?
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about him! She snuggled in closer to her husband, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, wishing she could wake him up and tell him of the heart scald that tormented her.
She shouldn’t keep harking back to the past. Her life was very good now. She was married to a decent, kind man … That you had to propose to … the thought came unbidden.
‘For crying out loud, Noreen, will you stop this crap,’ she muttered, irritated with her negativity. She made herself think about work. She was starting in Douglas Kennedy’s surgery tomorrow and she felt uncharacteristically nervous. It was so long since she’d worn the uniform that was now washed and ironed and hanging in her wardrobe ready for wear again. She’d tried it on earlier in the week. It had been strange to see herself in the attire that for years had almost defined her in her sisters’ eyes, and in which she had sometimes defined herself if she was honest about it. Sister Noreen Lynch she’d been. Calm, proficient, conscientious. They were traits in herself that she liked. They helped balance the unsure, self-doubting, needy, vulnerable part of her that threatened to overwhelm her sometimes. After her disastrous relationship with Pete McMullen she’d sworn that she’d never let a man see that side of her again, but despite her best intentions sometimes she’d slip into neediness, trying to get Oliver to admit that he loved her, or showing her despair when her period arrived.
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