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  “Hello.”

  “Hi, honey. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.” I smiled as I heard Frankie’s voice. “You were very preoccupied today and I’ve been worried about you.”

  “I’m grand, pet. Just cooking some steaks for tea.”

  There was silence and I was presuming that Frankie must have been reeling from shock.

  “Are you feeling okay, Rubes? You do realise that it’s been that long since the cooker’s been used that it’s liable to blow up from sheer excitement?”

  “Ha, ha,” I drawled. “I decided that Luke deserved a treat.” (I used the word lightly as there might be a risk of food poisoning.) “God knows what he sees in me as it is but I know that I’ve been very confused and out of sorts lately so I just wanted to let him know I still have time for him. We’re going to have a meal, afterwards maybe go for a walk and then I plan to drag him up the stairs and rip –”

  “I get the idea,” Frankie laughed. “If I see him walking like John Wayne without his horse, I’ll know that you’ve given him lots and lots of your time. By the way, don’t forget about your appointment in the morning. Don’t be exerting yourself so much that your blood pressure will be jumping off the dial.”

  “With what I’ve planned it’s more likely to be Luke’s blood pressure that’ll be dancing,” I said grinning, looking at myself in the mirror and deciding that I needed to take a shower, put on some make-up and generally look more appealing.

  “I’m out in sympathy with you tomorrow, Rubes. I have a doctor’s appointment in Swiftstown at ten o’clock. Pity your appointment’s in Belfast and not here and then we could have gone together. I really don’t want to go and am contemplating cancelling it.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, immediately feeling concerned. Frankie and I shared similar sentiments when it came to the white-coated profession, in that we both hated all of its members.

  “Oh nothing, I just have to go for a stupid smear test.”

  I snapped my legs shut and grimaced. When God made the world he really did have it in for the girls. I didn’t see men having to go to the doctor, lie down with their legs in the air and try to be all casual whilst somebody shoves a metal device into their nether regions and talks crap about the weather.

  “Lovely,” I said, shuddering.

  “I’m still in two minds about whether or not to go. God, but I hate those things.”

  “We all do but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Just go and get it over with. They’ll just keep pestering you until you do. Bloody relentless they are. I bet that blonde bimbo of a receptionist down in the medical centre gets a real thrill out of calling us for those.”

  Frankie laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course I am. Be grateful at least you don’t have to go for a medical where the end result will be that the doctor will be no further forward at the end than he was at the start. When they start droning on about family history, I’ll just have to stop them in their tracks or perhaps I should refer them to my mother who seems to know everything but tells nothing.”

  “You should tell her what you know, Ruby,” Frankie said in a serious voice. “If she knew that you’d overheard her then she’d have to come clean.”

  “And have her yelling at me about ear-wigging on a private conversation? No, thank you. I’d rather take my chances and find out myself. That’s the only good thing about going to Belfast tomorrow. Sherlock Ross is going to do some investigating and find some clues.”

  “Let me know how you get on and good luck. Try not to be too difficult with the doctor. Remember he probably only went to medical school in the first place to please his mammy and not to deal with the likes of you.”

  “I’ll try and remember that. Now go away. I’m very busy, y’know.”

  I hung up the phone and returned to the kitchen to put on dinner before trying my best to make myself marginally attractive. I intended to show my man exactly how much I loved him and there would be no half measures tonight.

  Chapter 21

  I woke up the following morning with a spring in my step and a (probably tuneless) song in my heart. I’d had a wonderful evening with Luke who had indeed been very impressed with my efforts (even though I had undercooked the potatoes, burnt the mushrooms and given the term ‘caramelised onions’ a new meaning . . . ahem!). My steaks had been a bit on the chewy side but Luke had eaten every last morsel, then taken my face in his hands afterwards, kissed me tenderly and proclaimed himself the luckiest man in the world. (Obviously he had drunk two glasses of wine at that stage and was viewing life through a grape-fuelled happy haze.)

  We had then relaxed in contentment and talked into the early hours, all former plans of a bodice-ripping bedroom session forgotten in favour of enjoying some time together (where I wasn’t acting like a deranged lunatic and so preoccupied with the different issues whirring around in my head that I forgot about poor Luke).

  He had tentatively brought up the subject of arranging a meeting with Gabriel which had tested my good humour to the max but resulted in me agreeing to it as long as the said Gabriel a) refrained from calling me ‘sweetie’, b) didn’t arrive looking like a canary and c) didn’t expect me to look like one on my wedding day.

  I had been about to phone Frankie to tell her that I had made this arrangement and fulfilled the terms of the oath she made me take, but remembered that she was probably in the doctor’s by now gluing her legs together and brushing up her small talk as it would no doubt come in handy to distract from the task in hand or ‘in fandango’ as the case might be.

  I left the house in good time to drive to Belfast and arrive at my appointment for twelve o’clock. I wanted time to go to the church where I was baptised, to see if by some small miracle anybody remembered either Georgina or any members of my ‘family’ who attended my rushed baptism.

  When I arrived in Belfast some forty minutes later, I saw with dismay that the traffic was at a standstill as the result of yet more roadworks (that were there apparently to ease traffic congestion but didn’t fecking half-create enough of it when they were in progress). I would never be able to get to the Ormeau Road to make the type of thorough enquiries I wanted and be in time for my appointment which was to take place at a private practice on the Lisburn Road. I had no choice but to drive to the clinic, park my car and then plonk myself in the nearest coffee shop with a frothy cappuccino until it was time to visit the doctor.

  The doctor’s office was a very plush affair with a waiting room boasting brown leather sofas and furry scatter-cushions that looked like they had just been plucked from the pages of an interior-design magazine. It didn’t at all resemble the doctor’s surgery in Swiftstown which smelt of bleach and boasted its very own smart-arsed receptionist who thought she had all the answers (except she didn’t, a fact that I was going to make her very aware of one of these days).

  “Is it Miss or Mrs?” the young doctor asked as he filled out a form.

  “Miss at the moment but soon to be Mrs,” I answered chirpily. (I was giddy as opposed to aggressive as I was in a good mood and needed an outlet for all the nervous energy the stress of this visit was causing.)

  “That’s nice,” he answered in a mundane ‘I couldn’t give a feck’ voice.

  “Now we need to weigh you, get your height, take your BMI, do cholesterol and blood-pressure checks and have a general look at your health and family history . . .”

  (Oh joy.)

  “I also need a sample of urine and then I’m going to get you to breathe into this machine to measure your lung capacity. It’s just a matter of seeing how far you can blow the balls up the tube.”

  I gave the young doctor my most sultry look and pouted.

  “My ball-blowing technique is just fine, doctor. I get no complaints in that department.”

  An hour and a half later and I was on my way to the Holy Sacrament Church on the Ormeau Road, all health-related discussions a distant and annoying memory, as I now had more p
ressing issues to confront. When I arrived at the church I was disappointed to see that it was locked and when I went to the adjoining parochial house it also seemed to be devoid of any life.

  “Bollocks!” I said aloud before jumping out of my skin as a voice boomed in my direction from on high. I wondered for a millisecond if lightning was going to strike me for daring to blaspheme on sacred ground but then looked up and clocked that a window cleaner perched on top of a ladder was looking down at me.

  “There’s nobody here, love. Father Joseph’s gone to Cork to visit his mother and the housekeeper’s off for the week.”

  “Thanks anyway,” I said, dejectedly shrugging my shoulders. “Don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a place called St Catherine’s Lodge, have you?”

  “Can’t say I have, love. Is it a convent or what?”

  “It’s a . . . erm . . . a . . . you know, I don’t actually know what it is.”

  I nonchalantly turned around and walked away. I had also asked the doctor, his receptionist and several people in passing in the street if they had ever heard of it but was constantly greeted with blank stares and questions as to whether it was an old people’s home or a school. I only wished I bloody knew.

  “So you’re not in danger of popping your clogs whilst looking after the students then?” Luke asked when he saw me that evening.

  “Fortunately not. No high drama or tragic exits for me are on the cards at the minute. I’m fighting fit and ready to take on the world and do you know something? The doctor paid me a very big compliment today which I just know you’re going to greatly appreciate in your future wife.”

  He encircled me in his arms and kissed the end of my nose. “And what would that be then?”

  “He said my lung capacity was outstanding which in your language and mine means that I have the best ball-blowing abilities for miles around.”

  Luke was halfway up the stairs and pulling my arm out of its socket before I even had time to take my coat off and I reckoned that tonight just might be the night where he realised that he was blessed in his choice of partner after all.

  Chapter 22

  It was Monday morning the following week when I plonked myself on Frankie’s desk and waved a packet of pineapple iced doughnuts under her nose. We hadn’t had a chance to catch up since we spoke on the phone the evening before my doctor’s appointment, as she’d had a busy weekend with the children.

  “Get away from me, you tart!” She squeaked. “I told you I’m on a diet and not eating any of that crap!”

  She was looking at me in terror and waving a cereal bar, which looked like it was comprised entirely of sawdust, in my direction as if it might have the same powers as a clove of garlic on a vampire.

  “Why the hell are you on a diet?” I demanded, wrestling the bar from her hand and throwing it over my shoulder. “You are lovely the way you are.”

  “I have a bridesmaid’s dress to fit into.”

  “And?” I asked, taking a ginormous bite of my doughnut and letting the oozing cream remain on my chin where she could see it.

  “You are a tyrant from hell,” she snapped before producing a bottle of water and glugging thirstily.

  “What have I done?” I said, opening my eyes wide.

  “How did you get on with the doctor last week?” she asked, deliberately avoiding looking at me.

  “I got on wonderfully well. I’m going to live, thank God.”

  “You’ll not live very much longer if you continue to ply your belly with that rubbish – and I’ll make sure you don’t, if you don’t stop gorbing in my face!”

  “My body is not a temple and I don’t care. I am, however, very talented in other respects. My culinary skills are much improved and as for my bedroom activities . . . well, it would make you blush.”

  “Did you want something?” Frankie hauled a file from under my bum where I was still sitting on her table.

  “I don’t have to specifically want something to come and talk to you these days, do I? Actually I was wondering if you’d like to come out for lunch today?”

  “Oh sure, and have you take me to the nearest greasy spoon and feed me something with a fat-content reading that would kill a horse. I think not.”

  “I was not about to suggest any such thing. There’s a new coffee house open on the main street and I thought we might try it. Luke got a treat for putting up with me last week so now I’d like to show you my appreciation as well.”

  “Now, Ruby, I know I said I loved you but that doesn’t mean that I want to –”

  “Ha, ha,” I said. “One o’clock. Be ready.”

  When I came back to look for Frankie at one o’clock she wasn’t ready. She was instead talking animatedly on the phone to her sister Ella.

  “That’s brilliant,” she chirruped. “I can’t wait to see you. The children will be so delighted and when you’re home we’ll arrange to go and see Ruby’s wedding planner.”

  “Oh goody,” I said. “Let’s all go to the circus and visit Gabriel the Clown!”

  “Yes, that is her you hear and, yes, she’s still very unimpressed but I’m working on her.” Frankie held the phone away from her and mouthed at me. “Ella thinks you’re the luckiest girl on the planet. She was looking Gabriel up on the internet and he has the most wonderful website.”

  “I’ll bet he has. I bet it gets lots of hits from men of a certain persuasion who strangely enough aren’t planning any weddings.”

  “Yes, she’s still as sarcastic as ever,” Frankie responded whilst I sighed and willed her to hurry up.

  My stomach was rumbling and I was dying to get a break for a few hours before any more students came banging on my door.

  “You’re going to have to stop thinking about Gabriel like that, Ruby,” my one and only bridesmaid advised me once she’d hung up and stopped gossiping. “Look on him as an ally. He will help you create the most wonderful day imaginable. Why don’t you give him a ring and we can organise to meet with him soon.”

  “I will agree to anything as long as you start moving your butt towards that door. I have been dreaming of a big luscious salad burger all day, and so far the only thing coming between me and it is you.”

  “I hope they have a few low-fat options on their menu. I like the idea of salad. I just don’t want the burger or the bun.”

  Frankie decided that now would be a good time to start applying lip-gloss and my patience (which was in limited supply at the best of times) was wearing tenuously thin.

  “Yeah. Whatever. I am starving. Will you stop faffing about and come the feck on!”

  Just as I was finally getting her to leave, her phone rang.

  “Leave it,” I commanded. “It can wait. My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

  “It can’t wait. It’s from an outside line. It could be important.”

  If I’d had a cat it would have had its arse soundly kicked, so great was my frustration at still being in the building at ten past one. The bloody coffee shop would no doubt be heaving and we’d have to wait to get seated and then I’d have a disorganised queue of bizarrely dressed students waiting at my door on my return. (But seriously, what is it about students? Once they define themselves as college-goers they immediately lose all sense and bedeck themselves in the oddest-looking clothes made from tweed and tartan and the likes and then shave half their hair off or else dye it purple. Even the boys looked peculiar.)

  “Okay, I’ll come down when I finish work,” I heard Frankie say. Then she sat down.

  I looked at her and noticed that her face had lost its colour.

  “I understand,” she said. “I’ll see you in about ten minutes then.”

  She hung up the phone and flicked her fingers, which was a sure sign of anxiety or aggravation.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer me but was instead typing something into the search engine on her internet home page and it was with shock and concern that I registered that she was looking
up the symptoms of cervical cancer.

  Chapter 23

  “Frankie, what the hell was that all about?”

  I could feel my mouth getting dry and my palms sweaty with panic.

  “Frankie, please speak to me.”

  “I have to go back for another smear test. The results came back and they seem to have found something abnormal. They wouldn’t even let me wait until I finished work. They’re insisting that I come down now and get another swab taken. That can’t be good. They don’t rush anything in my doctor’s office. I usually have to wait a feckin week before I get an appointment and it’s like a day’s work trying to order a repeat prescription but now all of a sudden they’re in a splutter to get me back in for another smear test. I don’t like this, Ruby. I don’t like this one little bit. Look at poor Jade Goody.”

  “Okay, Frankie, please stop getting carried away. This probably happens all the time but you just don’t hear about it. Why would you? Nobody likes to talk about their fandango being put under the spotlight.”

  I sounded giddy and beside myself even to my own ears as I tried to process this information. It was probably just routine. Abnormal cells didn’t have to indicate a major problem – or did they?

  Frankie shook her head and finally switched off the computer. “I’ll have to go, Ruby. Sorry about lunch. You go on and get a sandwich and I’ll meet you back here later.”

  “I think not,” I answered quickly. “You seriously think I’m going to let you go to the doctor’s on your own? I’ll take you down to the surgery now and I’ll either wait for you or I’ll come in with you and hold your hand whilst you kick your heels in the air and think of Owen.”

  Frankie smiled weakly at me whilst I fished in my bag for my car keys and held the door open.

  “After you, madam, and please stop looking so worried. They’re just being cautious which is a great thing.”