Chapter 5
‘Ollie, I swear I never thought milk could taste so good,’ Mia licked her lips.
‘You sure all that organic stuff is safe?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Is it pasteurized?’
‘I’ll get mad cow’s disease, is that what you’re worried about?’
‘Too late for that,’ he quipped.
‘Hey!,’ she laughed, tucking her feet beneath her and leaning back into the soft couch. Glorious rays of morning sun washed over her like a warm blanket, the heat alone engulfing her in a feeling of happiness she would never tire of. The conservatory was her favourite part of the house so far, as it was here she could just sit back, relax, and appreciate the ripe and magnificent colours of their hard spring work in the large walled in garden surrounding them.
She never tired of the colours edging around the perimeter with their deepest purples, brightest reds and sunshine yellows. Even the climbing roses, gripping the outhouses and assortment of attached sheds, surprised her, blossoming in such wondrous numbers. But it was the large oak, swaying gently in the morning sun, that she loved the most.
Oliver marvelled at what she had created outside, but then anything Mia touched became alive, including him. He watched, with awe, the sunlight shimmering along length of her Carmine- colour hair, marvelling at the volume and husky dark-red tones. But it was her ivory skin, delicate and pure, that stirred him deeply. Just as it did the first moment he set eyes on her.
It was almost four years to the day since he had first seen her stepping down onto platform 2 at Cork’s Kent Railway station. He had been sitting in the café, tapping figures into his lap-top when boredom had caused him to pause.
Lifting his head from behind the screen, he watched, without any particular interest, as alighting travellers, stiff and sore from their long journey, each looking relieved to be back on solid ground.
That's when he saw her. Struggling to get her rucksack onto her shoulders, she suddenly stopped and looked toward the city centre, catching his attention.
Though she seemed to be looking ahead with a sense of purpose, he also sensed reticence. He couldn’t explain how he knew this, he just did, Wondering if, perhaps, she had been searching for someone that afternoon, someone who should have been there to meet her.
Oliver Stanton had decided there and then to do what he had never done in his entire life, he was going to approach her and try to strike up a conversation. Just as he was about to move, his Nokia Cityman, rang. Removing it from his jacket pocket, he pressed the answer button. ‘Mick…?’
‘How d’you know it’s me?’
Oliver laughed. ‘Because it’s always you, Mick. What d’you want?’
‘You.’
‘For…?’he asked keeping his eyes on the red-head outside. ‘Where are you?’
‘Having lunch?’
‘Where?’
‘The Station.’
‘You’re still in Cork?’
‘Missed the train.’
‘But…wha--’
‘Stop panicking, I told Finbar, I’ll be on the 17.45.’
‘Is he okay about that?’
‘Yeah, there's no problem.'
‘Don’t know why didn’t you fly up?’
‘I wanted to read over the contracts. I don’t want to get stung by the bastard a second time.’
‘Ah, be nice, Ol’.’
‘Aren’t I always?’
‘No.’
‘Anyway what d’you want?’
‘Got any plans for Friday night?’
‘Yes.’
‘That means no, doesn't it? Thought you might like to know, I’ve got a few keen ones lined up.’
‘No way, Mick, no more wannabe wives.’
‘But you’re guaranteed some fun at the end of the night,’ Mick sounded rejected.
‘I’ll choose my own fun from now on. The last few were a nightmare. Took me three months to finish it with Dearbhla, and we’d only been out a few times.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a bit of Dearbhla.’
‘You date her then.’
‘She’s not my type.’
‘Anything in a skirt is your type. Seriously, Mick, I’m not interested.’
‘You’re only saying that, because you’ve someone in mind.’
‘Work away by yourself, or phone Frank, he needs some company.’
‘Frank’s an eejit.’
‘You’ll be right at home then.’
‘Can’t change your mind, eh?’
‘No.’
‘Jaysus, I'll have to meet this one, then. Could she be the one…?’
‘Don’t know what you're talking about?’
‘Ah…denial! Well, we'll just have to assume Oliver Stanton's finally been hooked?’
‘Goodbye Mick,’ Oliver laughed disconnecting the call. Glancing at his watch, he had at least another hour to kill until his train came in. It was going to be a long few days ahead but that didn’t bother him as much as meeting Tony Hogan at the other end. Pleased as Oliver was that Stanton Engineering was enjoying huge growth in the, ever increasing, property boom in the Mid East, nothing could have prepared him for the bullshit that came with it. Seemingly, everyone was becoming a developer these days and breeding faster than cockroaches.
Rubbing shoulders with corrupt city officials, politicians and town planners was the part he detested most. It also irked, that these same developers couldn’t build a house if it came with a number plan. The rubbish they persistently badgered him to re-design and re- configure always meant cramming in as many units as possible, putting profit before people. In the end, he was designing apartments and semi’s with barely enough room for a cat, let alone, families. He hated what they were making him become. None of those developers had to live in those matchboxes. They were basic, with a minimum of space. The units he had to re-design were lucky if they had a shower. ‘Throw `em up. Give `em a lick of pebble dash and call 'em exclusive…..they`ll sell,’ was Tony Hogan’s mantra. The reputable firm built up by Oliver Stanton senior, his late father, was now fast becoming a byword for planning and construction irregularities.
Behind every contract signed, every business meeting attended, integrity and talent were being swept away beneath a torrent of brown-enveloped backhanders, and he was being dragged right into that quagmire. Machiavellian Mick, knew it, but didn’t seem to lose a moments sleep over it. As far as he was concerned his approach to the whole thing was simple. They were not breaking any building regulation laws so it was the developers and planners, at the end of the day, who were accountable. After all they were merely the hired hands. But hired hands or not, it didn’t rest easy with Oliver. For the first time in a long time he was seriously considering jacking it all in and selling his share of the company to Mick. Getting out before the mud could stick. But what then? Before he found the answer the red- head moved and broke his train of thought.
Even now, four years later, Oliver couldn’t explain why he did, what he did, that September afternoon. He certainly didn’t have to go chasing after women. They were constantly available to him, whenever and wherever he wished. Successful and rich, as well as blessed with both brains and looks, Oliver Stanton had his pick of beautiful women.
But for all his success he had to admit, he was bored, bored with these incredibly bright and stunning women who came into his world daily. Without fail, each and every one of them, given time were desperate for commitment of sorts. Becoming even more desperate in their attempts when they found out how wealthy he was. He acknowledged that perhaps he was meeting the wrong type of women. But to date, not one single woman he'd ever met, had presented him with a challenge to his heart or his mind. So the fact that the girl outside with the red hair could hold his attention for more than a minute was refreshingly new.
His curiosity had been stirred. As she walked away, he grabbed his laptop and coat and threw a five pound note onto the table, racing through the doors of the café and out into the commuting crowd. Searching over their heads for that rich-coloured hair, he was relieved on finally catching sight of her. There she sat, on a small ledge outside the main entrance, leaning against the station wall. As he slowed down his pace, he wondered only then what on earth he would say to her. He had never done this before. Discomfited, he stalled somewhat, trying hard to come up with something tangible to say.
Running his fingers through his hair, giving him an extra few seconds to compose himself, he stopped beside her, pretending to look for something inside his jacket pocket. If she looked up at him, she hadn't been obvious. Her sun-glassed eyes hid any sign of acknowledgement. He continued his search and smiled down at her.
‘Sorry to disturb you, but I have the strangest feeling I know you from somewhere?’ he inwardly cringed, it had to be the lamest chat- up line he'd ever used.
She looked up, barely raising her eyes. ‘I don’t think so,’ she answered, before looking away again.
‘No…are you sure?’
‘If you did, you’d remember,’ she finished, standing up, pulling the straps of her rucksack around her shoulders. He knew a brush off when he saw it. As she turned to walk away Oliver reached out touching her gently on the shoulder. She shot around tearing off her glasses.
‘What do you want?’
‘Sorry, just thought I knew you that’s all?’ he held his hands out in front of her signalling defeat.
‘Look Mr…?’
‘Oliver…Oliver Stanton?’ he smiled hopefully holding out his hand.
‘Look, Mr Stanton--’ she ignored his hand. ‘Oliver,’ he said, cutting her off.
‘Whatever!’ she snapped. ‘I don’t know you, and you certainly don’t know me.’
Oliver nodded conceding defeat. ‘I apologise. Really…I didn’t mean it to come out quite like that…but…’
‘Well?’ she snapped again.
‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’
‘No?’ she scowled.
‘No, never. I've never…’
‘Tried it on?’
‘Er….no….I mean, yes… I mean, sorry. Sorry,’ he shrugged, dropping his hands, defeated.
She sighed heavily.
‘I’ll leave you alone, miss.’ Just as he turned to walk away he saw a full smile broaden her face and he paused.
‘Miss...?’she mocked.
‘Oh,’ he frowned, searching for a gold band on her left hand.
‘I haven’t been called 'miss' in a long time,’ her voice trailed off. ‘Look…I went about this all wrong. Would you mind if I started over?’ he asked.
There was silence for the longest moment. That he had not expected. She stood there, just watching him. He stood too, waiting for her to say something. It was a surreal moment for him, waiting for her to decide if she would stay or go. The wait felt like an eternity.
‘You could try…I suppose,’ her head tilted to one side.
‘Would, miss, be kind enough to join me for a cup of coffee?’ he asked, doffing a pretend hat playfully.
‘Now this is something I’ve not done in-- ’
‘A long time?’ he finished.
She nodded.
Oliver stood back extending his arm.
Mia looked out across the city-centre and paused for a split second. As if answering her own silent question she nodded. ‘Just coffee then.’
‘Would it offend, miss, if I offered to buy it?’
‘Okay, don’t kill it,’ she rolled her eyes, and strolled ahead, assured in the knowledge that he would follow. And he did.
‘What are you thinking of?’ Mia asked, interrupting his thoughts and returning his absent smile to normality.
‘Nothing.’
‘Yeah, you are…what?’
‘Let’s just say you teach men…humility.’
‘Why do you say that?’ she patted the sofa beside her.
He crossed the kitchen tiles in his bare feet and slumped down beside her chuckling kissing her softly on her mouth.
‘Well, I can’t help it if the wonderful Oliver Stanton had to be pulled into line,’ she teased.
‘Like, Ballsy there, eh?’ Oliver nodded toward their Golden Retriever.
‘Ah, Oli, don’t call him that. He’s has a hernia. Besides…you’re just jealous,’ she laughed.
‘D'ya blame me? Look at him, he’s hung like a horse.’
‘The things you look at. Poor, Fingers,’ she cooed at the dog. ‘Daftest name for a dog, I’ve ever heard. I call him Bob when I bring him for a walk. I can’t call him Fingers in front of Eamon, or Declan. `Hey lads…..d’you want Fingers here to heard yer cattle?’
‘Well it’s better than Ballsy,’ she protested. ‘Any man would love to be called Ballsy.’
‘Fine, I’ll call you Ballsy, from now on then.’
‘Do you like, Fingers?’ he grinned.
‘Ah…there he is again…the eight year-old who lives in your head,’ she laughed.
‘Aah, come on! I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?’ he teased lifting up her t-shirt and tickling her.
‘Oli!’ she giggled.
He halted her struggling by kissing her lightly on the lips. ‘You make this hernia-envious man very happy.’
‘I love you, Ollie,’ she said rather suddenly, her smile fading. ‘That’s a very serious face,’ he teased.
‘You do know that, don’t you?’
‘You know, I do,’ he kissed her again softly. ‘Say it.’
‘Only if you call me…’
‘I know-I know…Ballsy,’ she laughed.
***
Bending down to pick up her mail, Simone glanced over each envelope with apathy.
‘Bills, bills, junk, Visa... Hey, what’s this...?’ She said, holding up the square green coloured envelope. Walking through to the kitchen she switched on the kettle and opened the envelope with her thumb- nail, pulling out a card with bright orange writing. ‘Love me just the way I am,’ it read. ‘Mia,’ Simone smiled. Opening the card her guess was correct. ‘Be happy for me. Love M,’ she had written.
Placing the card on the table she walked to the counter and made herself a cup of coffee. As she sipped from her cup, she reached for the card again but this time held it beneath her nose. The scent, though predominantly paper, did not mask the sweet earthy smell of Mia’s home. But her thoughts were not of her friend. Instead she found herself thinking of Oliver. She could see him so clearly, the crooked line of his lips, his thick, dark hair curling out over his ears, the blueness of his eyes.
The feel of his arms wrapping around her, kissing her softly on the side of her face. She could see him naked in her mind's eye, his stomach hard and tanned. The thin line of dark hair running from his abdomen down into his shorts aroused her deeply. She could feel his thighs, muscular and strong, gripping around her legs and--
Simone's arms jerked as the shrill ring of the phone startled her.
She snatched the receiver from its cradle. ‘Yes?’ she snapped. ‘You sound out of breath, didn’t disturb anything, did I?’
‘Jesus, Jack, can’t you leave me in peace for at least a few hours?’
‘Just thought I’d ring and see if you want to head out to Kiliney for lunch? Look, if it’s a problem just say.’
‘Sorry, Jack, just had a shitty week, that’s all. I’d love to, but not Kiliney...somewhere else maybe.’
‘Okay, where?’
‘Surprise me.’
‘Fair enough, pick you up around...One?’
‘Fine.’
‘Bye then.’
‘Bye,’ Simone disconnected the call. She knew she should stop being such a bitch to Jack, and hated herself when she was. But what irritated her more, was the way that he let her. Why she couldn’t enjoy him the way she used to, she had no idea. After all, he was the best thing that had happened to her since she landed back in Dublin. And land she had...badly. Sitting aboard flight EI 914, on the tarmac at Dublin Airport, having consumed way too much in-flight vodka and white’s, her first hour on home soil rendered her belligerent, fearful, and drunk.
Her reluctance to leave her seat meant she was the last passenger to leave the plane. And despite the exasperated looks from the group of stewardesses standing patiently by the exit, she had had no intention of getting off.
‘If you would like to leave now madam, the journey has finished,’ the stewardess’ sarcasm blindingly obvious even to the very drunk Simone.
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she snapped. ‘Would you like some help?’
‘No, just piss off and leave me be,’ she slurred.
The stewardess lifted her eyebrows with boredom, she had heard worse. ‘Get Security,’ the stewardess called to the front of the plane.
Simone sniffed her derision at the other women, eyeing her up and down slowly. ‘What you looking at? Your arse is as wide as the aisle!' she laughed.
‘Get Security, right now,’ the stewardess called again, her anger growing.
Looking back out onto the grey concourse, Simone felt a strong sense of regret about her decision to return home. Leaving behind a wonderful support network of friends; where each and every one knew and understood her, had not been easy, and with Dublin city looming off in the distance, she was now questioning that decision. The growing realisation that she was after making a huge mistake was gradually beginning to dawn on her. She couldn’t even leave her seat on the airplane, how was that for a start. She just wanted to close her eyes and slip quietly back to Heathrow on a return flight, having not even touched Irish soil.
Plans were great when you were in the throes of making them, especially when it included the mad rush of goodbye parties, farewell barbeques, and a healthy amount of farewell sex. All in all, it had seemed the right decision to make at the time. London had done its damage and had been a bit of a bitch to her in the end, one where she had been so easily sucked in to the darkness. Drugs and booze, and of course Jimmy Jay, her boyfriend - slash – pimp added to the fray, so when she and Mia had finally escaped Jay and his vicious temper, and their permanently drugged-up haze, she knew it was time to get out. With the help of some decent friends who homed and fed both Mia and herself, they were at last able to set themselves free from that life. And now Mia had moved on, alone and without her, she knew it was time for her to do the same, but having only left those friends and that life, less than a couple of hours ago, she was now, suddenly, quite afraid. Here she was, for the first time since she was sixteen, alone and fearful about what lay ahead. Was she returning to heal the past? Eva had done it.
Shouldn’t she? ‘But I’m not Eva,’ she slurred loudly to herself. ‘Madam please…we have to--’
‘Fuck off,’ she muttered to the weary stewardess.
‘Captain Morris, this lady is refusing to leave,’ the stewardess cried.
‘Captain Morris, why’s my arse so big?’ Simone mimicked her like a precocious child. This time the stewardess pinched her lips together, and stifled the urge to lash out.
‘Ooooooh, touched a nerve, did I…? Fat hole,’ Simone called out. ‘I thought stewardesses had to be pretty to get this job...wide load’ Simone's voice rang down the aisle, laughing loudly as she sat back upright. It was then she noticed a pair of legs - men‘s legs standing before her. Her eyes travelled upward, stopping at his crotch. ‘Hmm, very nice,’ she cackled loudly laughing at her own joke. Expecting to be frog-marched from her seat, she was stumped to see, that rather than being angry, he was smiling down at her.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked. ‘My name…?’
He nodded.
Simone thought for a split second.
‘Felicity Fellatio… Felicity to my friends,’ she grinned brazenly. ‘Well now, Miss Fellatio…how about if I make you a deal.’
‘Deal…what kind of deal?’
‘How about you leave the plane with me, and I’ll carry your bags for you?’
Sighing heavily, what choice did she have. She couldn’t stay aboard the flight, no matter how much she wanted to, either way she had to move. She would have to face it eventually, so now was as good a time as any. Nodding she tried to stand.
‘Here, give me your bag,’ he held his hand out.
Simone handed over her miniscule silver handbag and stood up, edging out into the aisle pushing him away with her backside. ‘Hang on a sec,’ she belched gently and giggled. Reaching up into the overhead bag compartment she pulled out a huge carpet-bag.
‘I’ll get that,’ he said, reaching over her head and pulling the bag out. He grunted, ‘That’s some weight, what on earth have you got in here?’ he smiled.
‘Drugs.’
‘Well you had better stay with me then, so you clear customs,’ he threw back.
‘Smart arse,’ she laughed. Balanced precariously on high heels she tottered up the aisle, stumbling now and again, toward the front and finally disembarked to a small round of applause.
‘Thank you, Captain Morris,’ a voice gushed.
‘C’mon, Captain, there’s sex to be had,’ Simone ordered smiling, as her feet bounced along the gangway.
Captain Morris sided up beside her gripping her elbow.
‘Go easy on the young ‘un’s, they frighten easily,’ he whispered.
Simone laughed aloud feeling two sets of eyes burning through her back. By the time Simone reached the luggage area she was breathless. The good captain was still beside her, this time gripping the bars of a luggage trolley. ‘Thanks,’ she managed.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘And I do mean thanks, there's nothing else going on, honey. What I said earlier was just for show.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself sweetheart,’ he answered, with a grin.
‘Sweetheart…what era are you from? That might work on the trolley-dollies back there, but not me, sugar,’ she said, flicking a thumb toward the parked aeroplane.
‘Trolley-dollies…? I could ask you the same question,’ he raised a brow.
‘What’s your name?’ she smiled. ‘Is that a come-on?’
‘You think asking a name is a come-on?’ Simone shook her head. ‘According to you, it is,’ he smiled evenly.
Again Simone was stumped. His quick answers were too much for her drink-fuddled brain to compete with.
‘Look, thanks again for getting me off the plane in one piece. For a while there I thought I was about to be ripped apart.’
‘No problem,’ he didn't budge an inch.
‘I’m okay now. You can go now…fly another plane…or do whatever it is you do.’
‘I’m going for something to eat, then I’m off home.’
‘Oh…’
‘Fancy a bit of lunch, miss...?’
‘Fellatio,’ she laughed. ‘Okay,’ he shook his head.
Reaching the baggage carousel, hers was the only bag still circling, the other passengers had long since gone.
‘That’s mine!’ she cried. Teetering on diamante-heeled shoes, she ran across and picked up an enormous suitcase.
Grabbing the handles from her, the captain hauled it to a nearby trolley. ‘What on earth have you got in here? No don’t tell me....a couple of hundred kilos of Columbian sherbet.’ Simone laughed. ‘And some toiletries.’
‘Now, who's being the smart-arse? C’mon, I'll help you smuggle your stash through Customs,’ he pushed the trolley out to the airport foyer. ‘Well, you made it. Go off and ply your wicked trade and live a long and happy life,’ he smiled stepping away from her finally.
Simone felt the rush of cold air hit her face as the automatic airport doors slid open. She hesitated looking out through the exit at the rain.
‘You okay?’ he paused.
‘Yeah,’ she nodded despondently.
He didn’t speak, but noticed her eyes moisten. Bending down, he picked up and read the label swinging from her case. ‘Simone?’
‘Yes?’ she answered automatically.
‘Let me buy you some lunch, Simone, not here though, in town.’ She hesitated and exhaled with deep resignation.
‘Why not? ‘she shrugged. ‘By the way, if you’re some kind of weird sex pervert…you’ve just scored.’
‘Somehow I don’t think you’ve ever been ‘scored’ in your life,’ he answered quietly.
Even now, three years on, Simone remembered Jack’s words. Strangely enough they had given her strength, back then. Her first few months in Dublin were memorable and fun, all thanks to Jack. Only for him, she had been so tempted to follow Mia down south, continuing the co-dependence that their relationship had become, but she somehow knew, Mia wouldn’t have let her. They had reached a point where their paths had diverged, their goals were different now. Yet in a roundabout way their lives mirrored one another. They each had men who loved them. They had both found financial stability, something they could have never have imagined during their Jimmy Jay times.
They were finally healthy, happy, and settled into their new lives, each finding focus and direction at long last. They had walked away from a nightmare that could have so easily engulfed them, ending in addiction, jail, or worse, death. They had become their own success stories. So why then, did she feel so empty lately? They had both settled their ghosts, hadn’t they? Both moving onward and upward. And, though Mia had taken a direction Simone did not wish for, such as marriage and now motherhood, Simone should have been happy with Jack, her new life and what the future could bring. All Mia was convinced of, and often said, was that all Simone needed was the right man. What Simone couldn’t bear to admit, was that there was a right man. But he was with Mia and not with her. Simone had yet to introduce Mia to Jack. It was as if, admitting she'd met someone might in some way scupper any remote chance she had of being with Oliver. She held onto the bizarre little fantasy that Oliver would, one day, leave Mia and be with her. So outlandish were her thoughts, she could barely admit them to herself. After all, it would never happen. Her loyalty to Mia was paramount, but she was honest enough to admit, to herself, that she had fallen deeply in love with Oliver Stanton. That acknowledgement alone had made her feel shame, wickedness even, and while she would never deliberately hurt Mia in any way, she just couldn’t help her feelings. Jack fulfilled her every possible need as a lover, companion, and friend, yet there was still something missing, there was no chemistry. She was pragmatic enough to concede that Oliver would never be hers, and tried to convince herself that what she had with Jack would suffice. The only fly in the ointment now was Jack’s increasing insistence on taking their relationship further, and by that he meant marriage. She could never eradicate the feelings she had for Oliver, and had secretly vowed to never marry. Was that fair? No. But as deceitful as she felt for loving another man, she refused to add to the deceit by marrying another and promising him something she could never deliver. Her initial feelings for Oliver were different, right from the first moment it was pure and simple lust. Nothing more, nothing less. He stirred her like no other man could and she hid it well behind a veil of adversarial jibes aimed at him. Ironically, Oliver had concluded that she hadn’t particularly liked him, but how wrong he was. She did more than like him, she wanted to touch him, kiss him, have him.
Their casual snipes at each other, inflaming her desire even more. He had become a challenge and perhaps that was the core to her attraction. Oliver’s apparent immunity to her wiles had baffled her. So, at best, she could hope for companionship with Jack, if he stayed. At worst, she would have to love vicariously through Mia. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but one she would. However, the only problem was, her increasingly bad behaviour toward Jack was spiralling out of control. And yet she couldn’t help herself, Jack was becoming an easy target and so far he hadn’t expressed any disquiet, in fact Jack was still the same old loving dependable Jack. She wished she loved him; truly loved him, in the way she loved Oliver, but that could never happen. She knew it and feared before long, Jack would know it too. She looked at her watch realising he would arrive shortly. ‘Maybe, just for once, I should make an effort for him, enjoy the lunch if nothing else’ she sighed, heading towards the shower.