Two For Joy by Patricia Scanlan Page A

it’s not, and I want Christmas cards, birthday cards and anniversary cards and presents to go with them,’ Noreen had insisted. ‘It’s the little things like that that are important in marriage. Don’t go taking me for granted. I want you to be the way you were and as attentive to me as when you were wooing me.’
    Oliver threw his eyes up to heaven. ‘That was then, this is now, Noreen. I was getting to know you then. You women have the strangest ideas.’
    â€˜We have and don’t you forget them,’ warned Noreen.
    To give him his due, he hadn’t forgotten, she thought happily, fingering the pearls gently. And what was more, his presents to her were always ones that he clearly put thought into. His choice of jewellery and perfume always impressed her, for a man who liked to give the impression that he was no good at romance.
    â€˜Do you like what I got you?’ she asked anxiously. He was pulling the wrapping paper apart, eager to get at his gift, just like a little boy, she thought in amusement. She’d bought him a Bulova watch that gave the date and was water-resistant. It was a good solid watch.
    â€˜That’s a beauty, Noreen. Thank you,’ he said as he studied it from all angles. ‘But I’ll keep it for good wear, this old thing will do me at work.’
    â€˜It’s a sturdy watch, Oliver, I bought it so that you could wear it to work,’ Noreen assured him. ‘Come on, take off that old thing and put it on,’ she instructed.
    â€˜OK, then.’ He smiled, undoing the battered leather strap of his old watch, and slid the silver-links on to his wrist. He had good strong wrists. The watch emphasized his tan. She wished he’d get into bed and kiss and cuddle her and be romantic, but knowing her husband, that would take a miracle. She knew she came a poor second to his work.
    â€˜That looks much better. Now you’ll be home early, won’t you?’ Noreen took a sip of her tea.
    â€˜Why?’ Her husband looked at her in surprise.
    â€˜Well, surely you’re going to take me out to dinner somewhere. It’s our first wedding anniversary, Oliver.’ Noreen couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice.
    â€˜For God’s sake, Noreen. I’ve to meet a fellow about a load of building blocks he’s selling because his business has gone bust. I have to meet him. Aren’t the presents and cards enough?’
    â€˜Jeepers, Oliver, have you any romance in you at all?’ Noreen demanded irritably.
    â€˜None, Noreen. You married the wrong man if you’re looking for romance. I’ll see you when I see you and thanks for the watch. Don’t wait for me to eat dinner, I’ll stick mine in the microwave.’ He strode out of the bedroom and she heard him running downstairs, anxious to be up and at the day. It was only seven thirty.
    Noreen sighed, pushing the tray away from her. The toast had gone cold and besides, she felt queasy. Her period had come in the night and she was crucified with cramps. She reached over to her bedside table and shook two Ponston out of a container into her palm. She swallowed them with the lukewarm tea. Anything to get rid of those excruciating cramps. She lay back against her pillows and gazed out of the big French window that led to a tiled balcony.
    The sun was beginning to rise over the low, rolling hills that surrounded the lake. A light opaque mist hovered over the lake’s grey, glassy surface, faintly pink from the dawn’s pale glow. The view from their bedroom was breathtaking, Noreen acknowledged. Every season had its own template, each uniquely beautiful. She was an extremely lucky woman. Living in the lap of luxury, she was the envy of most of the women in Kilronan for her walk-in-wardrobes alone. Noreen smiled. It was a stylish, peaceful bedroom with a king-sized double bed and gleaming brass bedstead. Although pastels were her own favourite