Dear Reader,
I’m so delighted to welcome you to my latest novel. I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
To all of you who have loyally supported me and bought my books over the years, a massive ‘Thank You’. I can’t believe it’s twenty-five years since City Girl was published, and so many of you have been with me on that journey!
To new readers, thank you too for buying A Time for Friends. I hope it gives you great enjoyment.
To all of my lovely Facebook followers at https://www.facebook.com/patriciascanlanauthor, your kind and supportive comments are wonderful and it is so good to be able to engage with my readers and get their views.
Enjoy! Enjoy! Enjoy!
Love and Blessings,
Patricia
Also by Patricia Scanlan
Apartment 3B
Finishing Touches
Foreign Affairs
Promises, Promises
Mirror Mirror
Francesca’s Party
Two for Joy
Double Wedding
Divided Loyalties
Coming Home
Trilogies
City Girl
City Lives
City Woman
Forgive and Forget
Happy Ever After
Love and Marriage
With All My Love
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2015
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © Patricia Scanlan 2015
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Patricia Scanlan to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor
222 Gray’s Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB
www.simonandschuster.co.uk
Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney
Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Hardback ISBN: 978-1-47111-080-1
Trade paperback ISBN: 978-1-47111-081-8
eBook ISBN: 978-1-47111-083-2
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Typeset by M Rules
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
I dedicate this book with much love to the dearest of friends:
My sister Mary, who is also the perfect friend, and who kept the show on the road while I took some time out to finish this book.
Aidan Storey and Murtagh Corrigan – my stalwarts, who gave me their guest room, fed and watered me, and made me laugh when I needed it most.
Pam and Simon Young and Mary Helen Hensley, who are with me every step of the way and beyond.
And to the memory of Anita Notaro: a true, loyal and steadfast friend. Our great loss is heaven’s gain.
Don’t put the key to your happiness in someone else’s pocket!
Anon
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PART TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
The sun is shining through the window on the landing. Rays of diffused light streaming onto the red-gold-patterned carpet that covers the stairs. This will be one of the many things to remember on this life-changing day that will be buried deep in the recesses of the mind in the years that follow.
The sounds will never be forgotten either. The groaning and grunting getting louder at the top of the stairs. The absolute terror of feeling something is wrong. That a loved one is ill.
The bedroom door is open. The sickening tableau is revealed. A gasp of shock escapes as innocence is lost, and life alters its course forever in that instant.
The man and woman turn at the sound. Horror crosses the man’s face as the woman untangles her legs from him. Both of them are naked. The woman’s hair is mussed, cascading like a blonde waterfall over her rounded creamy breasts. The man grabs his trousers to hide his pale-skinned, hairy nudity.
‘Wait!’ he calls frantically. ‘Wait!’
But it’s too late.
A burden is added to the hurt and sadness already borne.
July 1965
‘Do I have to ask her to my party, Mammy? She just is so mean to my friends. She says horrible things and she tells Aileen that she’s fat!’ Hilary Kinsella gives a sigh of exasperation as she studies her mother’s face to try and gauge what Sally’s response will be. Surreptitiously she crosses the fingers of both hands behind her back as she gazes expectantly at her mother who is rubbing the collar of her elderly father’s white shirt with Sunlight soap, before putting it in the washing machine.
‘Colette shouldn’t say things like that, but I think she’s a little bit jealous of you and Aileen being friends. She doesn’t really mean it,’ Sally says kindly. ‘And it would be a bit cruel not to invite her to your birthday party. Wouldn’t it now?’
Hilary’s heart sinks. She has been hoping against hope that just this once she can have fun with her friends and not have to listen to Colette O’Mahony boasting and bragging about her huge birthday party which will be two weeks after Hilary’s own.
‘But, Mammy, she says that we can’t afford to go on holidays to Paris on a plane like she does, an’ she says her mammy and daddy have more money than we do,’ Hilary exclaims indignantly, seeing that she is getting nowhere.
‘Well we can’t afford to go abroad and the O’Mahonys do have more money than we do,’ Sally says equably, twisting another shirt to get rid of the excess water before dropping it into the twin tub. ‘But do you not think you have much more fun in our caravan, going to the beach every day and playing with your cousins on our holidays, than walking around a hot, stuffy city, visiting art galleries and museums with adults, and having no children to play with? Do you not think it must be very lonely not to have any brothers and sisters?’ Sally remark
s, a smile crinkling her eyes.
‘I suppose so,’ sighs Hilary, knowing what is coming next.
‘Poor Colette with no sisters or brothers, and not many friends either. And no mammy to have her dinner ready after school like I do for you, pet. You’re so lucky with the family and friends you have. You always have someone to play with when you come home from school, so wouldn’t it be a kindness to invite Colette to your party? Because I know that you are a very kind little girl. Now go and play with her and I’ll bring some lemonade and banana sandwiches out into the garden for the two of you, and you can have a picnic for tea,’ her mother says briskly.
But I don’t want to be a very kind little girl, Hilary wants to shout at her mother. But she knows she can’t. Sally has high expectations of her children. Kindness to others is mandatory in the Kinsella household. Whether she likes it or not, Hilary has to be kind to Colette O’Mahony and, yet again, endure her unwanted presence at her much anticipated birthday party.
Tears smart Colette O’Mahony’s eyes as she scurries away from the door where she has been listening to Hilary and Mrs Kinsella discussing whether or not she should be invited to Hilary’s crummy birthday party. Colette’s heart feels as though a thousand, no a million nettles have stung it. Mrs Kinsella has said ‘poor Colette’ in a pitying sort of voice. She is not poor. She has her own bedroom and doesn’t have to share with an older sister. She has loads of good dresses and other clothes. Hilary Kinsella only has one good dress for Sundays. And most important of all, Colette has a servant at home to make her dinner when she comes home from school.
Mummy calls her ‘the housekeeper’, but Colette tells all the girls in her class that Mrs Boyle is her ‘servant’.
Mrs Boyle will make jelly and ice cream and many delicious fairy cakes and chocolate Rice Krispie buns and a huge chocolate birthday cake for her birthday. Hilary will only have a cream sponge and Toytown biscuits and lemonade and crisps. This thought comforts Colette. It is only through her supreme sense of superiority that she is able to process the enormous envy she has for all that Hilary has. She hates that her mother works four days a week and Mrs Boyle – who is quite strict for a servant – looks after her three days, and Mrs Kinsella minds her on Thursdays.
How she longs to spend a summer in a caravan and play on the beach all day. How she longs to join the Secret Six Gang that Hilary and her sister and cousins are part of every summer in Bettystown. It sounds even more exciting than the Five Find-Outers stories that Mrs Boyle sometimes reads to her. Well she is going to start her own secret gang and Hilary is not going to be allowed to be part of it, Colette vows.
The nettle stings in her heart are soothed somewhat at this promise to herself as she observes Hilary marching out of the kitchen with a cross look on her face. ‘We have to go and play outside and then we’re having our tea in the garden,’ she announces with a deep sigh.
‘My servant gives me a push on my swing before my picnic in my garden,’ Colette declares, eyeballing her best friend. ‘It’s a pity you don’t have a servant or a swing,’ she adds haughtily before sashaying out into Hilary’s back garden.
‘Get me twenty Player’s, and ten Carrolls for your ma and get yourself a few sweets.’ Gus Higgins hands Jonathan a pound note and pats him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t be long, now,’ says Gus. ‘I’m gaspin’ for a fag!’
‘OK, Mr Higgins,’ Jonathan says, looking forward to the Trigger Bar he’s going to buy as his treat. The fastest way to the shop is through the lane, halfway down his road, but he decides against it. The lane is a gathering place for some of the boys in his class to play marbles or football. It is no place for him. ‘Nancy boy’ and ‘poofter’ they call him, and while he does not know what ‘poofter’ means, he knows it’s a nasty and spiteful taunt. He takes the longer route, and crosses the small village green to Nolan’s Supermarket. ‘Hi, Jon,’ he hears Alice Walsh call, and smiles as his best friend catches up with him.
‘Guess what? My daddy gave me six empty shoeboxes from his shop so we can make a three-storey doll’s house with them. Can you come over tomorrow?’
‘Deadly.’ Jonathan feels a great buzz of excitement. ‘Mam has some material from curtains she is making for Mrs Doyle; we can use it for our windows. And we’ll make some ice-pop-stick chairs and tables. But I have to clean out the fire and set it and do some other jobs for Mam first and then I’ll come over. See ya.’
‘See ya!’ she echoes cheerfully before he opens the door to the shop and hears the bell give its distinctive ping. Mr Nolan is stacking shelves and he takes his time before serving Jonathan. ‘Don’t smoke all those at the one go,’ he says, giving him a wink as he hands over the change. All the big boys buy Woodbines after school. Jonathan tried smoking once and it made him sick and dizzy, so Mr Higgins’s and his mam’s cigarettes are quite safe.
‘Did you buy something for yourself?’ Mr Higgins asks when Jonathan hands his neighbour his change and the brown paper bag with the cigarettes in it.
‘I bought a bar,’ he says when Mr Higgins takes the Carrolls out of the bag and hands them to him.
‘Gude wee laddie. Nie here’s the cigarettes for your mother. It can’t be easy for her being a poor widda woman. I have three daughters of ma own to support but at least I bring home a good wage. Tell her it’s a wee gift.’ His neighbour is not from around Rosslara. He and his family moved into the house next door to Jonathan’s two years ago when Mrs Foley died and sometimes Jonathan finds it hard to understand him if he talks fast. He says ‘nie’ instead of ‘now’ and ‘wee’ instead of ‘small’. The first time Jonathan heard him say ‘wee’ he was shocked because he thought he was talking about wee wees. Until his mammy explained it to him, saying that people from different parts of the country had different accents.
Jonathan’s mammy has to work very hard doing sewing and alterations, as well as working every morning in the doctor’s surgery answering the phone and making appointments for patients. Jonathan’s daddy died when he was three and his mammy has to pay a lot of bills and take care of him and his two older sisters.
Mr Higgins says his mammy is a grand wee woman. He’s kind to her and buys her cigarettes, because she can’t afford them herself. Jonathan thinks this is a great thing to do and so he never minds running errands for his neighbour.
‘Tell your wee mammy, ma missus will be wanting her to make a communion dress for ma wee girlie. She’s away into town to get new shoes for them all and I’m having a grand bit of peace.’ Mr Higgins gives a little laugh and pulls the sitting-room curtains closed.
‘I’ll tell her, Mr Higgins,’ Jonathan says politely, wondering why his neighbour is opening the button at the top of his dirty blue faded jeans. Perhaps he’s going to lie on the sofa and have a nap, he thinks.
‘Before ye go, I want you to do me another wee favour. It’s just between you and me now. Our little secret. And there’ll be another packet of ciggies for your ma and a treat for yourself next week if ye do as I ask,’ Mr Higgins says. His breathing is raspy and his face is very red and Jonathan is suddenly apprehensive. Something isn’t right. Something has changed but he’s not sure what. And then it’s as though everything is happening in slow motion, even the very particles of dust that dance along a stray sunbeam that has slipped through a gap in the closed curtains, and even the pounding of his heart thudding against his ribcage, as Mr Higgins advances towards him.
PART ONE
1990
Upwardly Mobile
CHAPTER ONE
‘See you tonight,’ Niall Hammond said, planting a kiss on his drowsy wife’s cheek.
‘What time is it?’ Hilary groaned, pulling the duvet over her shoulders and burying her head in the pillow.
‘6.35,’ he murmured and then he was gone, his footsteps fading on the stairs. She heard the sound of the alarm being turned off, heard the front door open, then close, and the sound of the car reversing out of the drive.
Hilary yawned and stretched and her eyes close
d. I’ll just snooze for ten minutes, she promised herself, before drifting back to sleep.
‘Mam, wake up, we’re going to be late for school.’ Hilary opened her eyes to see Sophie, her youngest daughter, standing beside the bed poking her in the ribs.
‘Oh crikey, what time is it?’ She struggled into a sitting position.
‘8.12,’ her daughter intoned solemnly, reading the digital clock.
‘Holy Divinity, why didn’t you call me earlier? Where’s Millie? Is she up?’ she asked, flinging back the duvet and scrambling out of bed.
‘She’s not up yet.’
‘Oh for God’s sake! Millie, Millie, get up.’ Hilary raced into her eldest daughter’s bedroom and hauled the duvet off her sleeping form.
‘Awww, Mam!’ Millie yelled indignantly, curling up like a little hedgehog, spiky hair sticking up from her head.
‘Get up, we’re late. Go and wash your face.’ Hilary was like a whirling dervish, pulling open the blinds, before racing into the shower, jamming a shower cap onto her head so her hair wouldn’t get wet. Ten minutes later, wrapped in a towel, she was slathering butter onto wholegrain bread slices onto which she laid cuts of breast from the remains of the chicken she’d cooked for the previous day’s dinner. An apple and a clementine in each lunch box and the school lunches were done. Hilary eyed the full wash-load in the machine and wished she’d got up twenty minutes earlier so she could have hung it out on the line seeing as Niall hadn’t bothered.
She felt a flash of irritation at her husband. It wouldn’t dawn on him to hang out the clothes unless she had them in the wash basket on the kitchen table where he could see them. Sometimes she felt she was living with three children, she thought in exasperation. Typical that it was a fine day with a good breeze blowing and her clothes were stuck in the machine and would have to stay there until she got home.
Millie was shovelling Shreddies into her mouth while Sophie calmly sprinkled raisins into her porridge. Sophie was dressed in her school uniform, blonde hair neatly plaited, and yet again Hilary marvelled at the dissimilarity of her children. Millie, hair unbrushed, tie askew, lost in a world of her own, oblivious to Hilary’s hassled demeanour. At least they’d had showers, and hair washed after swimming yesterday, she thought, taking a brush from the drawer to put manners on her oldest daughter’s tresses.
A Time for Friends Page 1
