A Time for Friends

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘For you’re a jolly good fellow!’ Sophie clinked hers with Jonathan, and took a long glug.

  ‘Go easy, you, miss! One glass, remember!’ Hilary cautioned.

  ‘OK! Can I have glass of wine at dinner?’ she asked brightly.

  ‘Two chances: slim and none,’ her mother assured her.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Millie announced. ‘What are we doing for dinner? Can we have something to eat soon?’

  ‘How’s your appetite?’ Hilary eyed Jonathan over the rim of her glass.

  ‘I could manage a bite or two. I only had a BLT at lunchtime.’ He took a drink of his Prosecco and felt himself begin to relax for the first time since Leon had dropped his bombshell.

  ‘OK, where do you want to go? Any preferences? Fancy or casual?’ Hilary asked.

  ‘If we want to eat straight away, timing’s not great. It’s between lunch and dinner.’ Jonathan glanced at his watch and drained his glass. ‘So I’d suggest casual.’

  ‘Anywhere as long as there’s food,’ Millie urged, gobbling some nuts.

  ‘I remember Colette telling me that she took Jazzy to Sticky Fingers, you know, Bill Wyman’s restaurant, and it’s just up the road. We could give that a bash,’ Hilary suggested. ‘Or there’s that lovely Italian place just off the High Street that you and I went to when we stayed here.’

  ‘You pick, girls,’ Jonathan said graciously.

  ‘Sticky Fingers!’ they exclaimed simultaneously and Hilary threw her eyes up to heaven. ‘Tomorrow then it’s posh! I want a proper dressy-up night out!’

  ‘OK’, they agreed, beginning to retouch their make-up, eager to get going.

  ‘Come next door to my room, Jonathan. I just want to change my top and I’ll ask housekeeping for a vase for the tulips,’ Hilary suggested lightly. There were some conversations she wouldn’t have with him in front of the girls. ‘He didn’t take money from you or anything like that, did he?’ she asked bluntly the minute they were out on the corridor.

  ‘No, nothing like that. We had a great trip over, and a fantastic meal in Bibendum – I spared no expense,’ he added drolly. ‘In my head we were going back to the hotel. In his head we were going clubbing, and worse, going clubbing to score other people. He’s obviously come over to London before. He knew all the clubs, where they were. Knew who was DJ-ing. He’s no novice! I’d say he comes once or twice a year, parties, scores, shags a few people and then comes home to be “normal”. He doesn’t want to come out, he’s perfectly happy the way he is. Just my luck to be taken in and fall for him. I was the perfect patsy for him.’

  ‘Well he’s the loser, big time. You’re better off without him if that’s the case,’ Hilary declared, opening the door of her room. She laid the tulips on the table and rang housekeeping for the vase, while Jonathan meandered over to the window to have a look out.

  ‘We’re on the same side, I’m on the floor above you,’ he said, watching a personal trainer do press-ups with a client on the grass below.

  ‘I asked to be close to you when I was booking.’ She pulled her T-shirt over her head.

  ‘I honestly can’t believe it, Hilary. I was so sure it was different this time.’ Jonathan came and sat on her bed forlornly, while Hilary took a pale aqua top out of her case that was cooler than the one she had travelled in.

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Jonathan. Platitudes won’t help. It just stinks!’

  ‘Look, the fact that you and the girls came over helps more than you’ll ever know. I feel such a part of your family, Hil. And I know Millie is supposed to be revising for her Leaving Cert so I really appreciate her travelling.’

  ‘Well believe me it was no hardship for her to stop revising for a few days. She jumped at the opportunity to come with us,’ Hilary assured him. ‘And don’t forget we think of you as family, always,’ she said, pulling on the aqua top and running her fingers through her hair. ‘And talking of our family, guess what Sue did?’

  ‘Nothing good, I’d say, knowing The Secretary,’ he said caustically. ‘Don’t tell me she invited Margaret to stay and she’s looking after her while you’re away?’

  ‘Are you for real?’ Hilary scoffed and proceeded to tell him of her sister-in-law’s latest stunt, knowing it would take his mind off himself for a while.

  A young housemaid knocked to deliver the vase and Hilary watched Jonathan artistically arranging the flowers and hoped against hope that he wouldn’t let Leon’s rejection of him lead him into a downward spiral. Life was so strange and cruel sometimes. He’d had his hard times; surely it was time for her beloved pal to get some sort of a break.

  ‘Hello?’ Colette saw a London number come up on her caller ID but didn’t recognize it.

  ‘Guess where I am?’ Hilary’s voice came clear as a bell down the line.

  ‘Well London, obviously. I recognize the prefix number. What are you doing there?’

  ‘Umm, I’m over with the girls for a little jaunt, and I’m in one of our favourite haunts.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were going?’ Colette demanded. ‘I could have taken a few days and flown over.’

  ‘It was kind of spur of the moment, and that’s what you get for not keeping in touch more often,’ Hilary said acerbically.

  ‘Oh OK.’ Colette backed down. ‘Where are you?’ she asked wistfully. How she would love to be in London in spring with Hilary.

  ‘The Royal Garden. I’m looking out over the Palace and the park, it’s a fabulous day here.’

  ‘Stop! I can’t bear it,’ Colette sighed. ‘Are the trees gorgeous? And are the bluebells out? Is the sun shining on the Pond?’

  ‘Yeah, I shouldn’t have phoned and made you homesick. I was just remembering some of the giddy times we had here when you came over first,’ Hilary said apologetically.

  Colette giggled. ‘Remember the time we went to visit the National Gallery, and the security guard held out his hand to check your bag and you thought he wanted to shake hands?’

  ‘And then when he opened it, I’d shoved my socks into it because my feet were killing me after all the walking and because it was so warm, and they were pongy to say the least!’ Hilary chortled.

  ‘And remember the time we went into the sex shop in Soho, my first time ever in such an establishment, and we fell around the place laughing at some of the stuff and the male customers were not impressed, and then you treated me to lunch in that posh restaurant in Mayfair – I can’t remember the name – and we saw Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson? The first time I ever saw someone famous.’

  ‘I still have the dent in my ribs where you nudged me,’ Colette laughed. ‘I’d forgotten what good times we had. It all seems so long ago now, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I know, and look at us with our daughters practically grown up. I’m beginning to feel a bit ancient and decrepit.’ Hilary stretched luxuriously on the bed. ‘Anyway I’d better go, we’re heading to Sticky Fingers. I just wanted to give you a call and tell you I was thinking of you.’

  ‘Sticky Fingers! Jazzy’s favourite place to eat in London. Tell the girls to enjoy it. Listen, thanks for ringing, sweetie. How about I call you next week when you’re home and we’ll have a natter and a catch-up,’ Colette suggested.

  ‘Perfect! Take care.’

  ‘You too,’ Colette said, feeling surprisingly lonely when the phone went dead. It would have been such fun to be in London with the girls. Hilary was right, she should keep in touch more. If it wasn’t for her friend ringing every so often their friendship would be practically non-existent, she conceded. It wasn’t that she meant to not keep in touch, it was just that out of sight was out of mind, and her life was so busy time just seemed to pass. And then when she did speak to Hilary, she’d get lonely and want to be at home or in London and she’d feel down after the call, like she did now.

  She’d pull her socks up regarding their friendship, she promised herself, as the phone rang again and the chair of one of her charity boards came on the line to tell Colette that
the CEO had been caught fiddling the funds and it was going to be on the news that very day, and the backlash was going to be awesome, and she was thinking of resigning. ‘ . . . and if I were you I’d do the same. No one wants to be tainted with that sort of failure.’

  Thoughts of Hilary and London flew out of Colette’s head while she wrestled with this new dilemma and wondered should she, instead of resigning, go after the plum position of chair – if Dana Sinclair was sincere about jumping ship – and bring the charity back from the brink?

  Hilary smiled, glad she had acted on her spur of the moment impulse to ring Colette. She touched up her make-up and spritzed some 212 on her wrists. It seemed like another lifetime ago when she and Colette had gadded around London with not a care in the world. She had omitted to tell Colette the real reason she was in London. Jonathan’s break-up was his business. There was little love lost between them: there was no need for her to know. She wouldn’t mention to Jonathan either that she had made the call. He’d only say something bitchy about the other woman, as he usually did, so there was no point.

  It had been nice to hear her friend’s voice after so long. There was never any awkwardness when they spoke, no matter how long they hadn’t heard from each other, but Colette was the world’s worst for keeping in touch and sometimes Hilary wondered if she didn’t make the effort would their friendship evaporate into the ether as friendships often did.

  ‘Mum, are you ready?’ Millie knocked on the door and Hilary went to let her daughters in, determined to enjoy this unexpected break with them, evaporating friendships or no.

  ‘This place is deadly.’ Sophie gazed around at the rock and roll memorabilia that hung on the walls of the glitzy American-themed café.

  ‘I have to say, Mick Jagger never did it for me,’ Jonathan admitted as the music of The Rolling Stones blasted through the restaurant.

  ‘Me neither, those loose lips and the skinny, knitting-needle legs . . . no thanks! Same with Paul McCartney. Give me a hard muscular thigh any time,’ Hilary announced, sipping her pre-dinner Brandy Alexander.

  ‘Leon might have liked him years ago. He likes his men young, and slender, he informed me!’ Jonathan necked a bottle of beer.

  ‘You’re young and slenderish!’ Sophie said loyally.

  ‘Not young enough, too lanky, not small and perfectly formed, unfortunately. But thank you, dear heart, for your kindness,’ he said affectionately.

  ‘And did he drop you like a hot potato, just like that, as soon as you got here?’ Millie asked, stirring the ice in her Coke.

  ‘Well he had a good feed in – as your mother would call it – a posh restaurant, with expensive cocktails beforehand, the best of wine during the meal, and a brandy to finish off, and then he ditched me, right in the middle of a nightclub.’ Jonathan couldn’t hide his bitterness.

  ‘I think he’s a bit sad, if you ask me,’ Sophie declared.

  ‘Why so?’ He looked at her, surprised.

  ‘Well he’s in his thirties, and he does the kind of thing teenagers do. You know, dropping people after using them, often in nightclubs. He doesn’t sound very mature to me.’

  ‘Oh! I suppose you have a point.’

  ‘And he hasn’t even come out properly. He’s a coward as well, running away to London for a gay weekend and going home and pretending he’s straight,’ Millie said derisively. ‘You know who you are and you aren’t ashamed of it. Sophie’s right, he’s sad.’

  ‘So am I sad, even though everything you said is right.’ Jonathan sighed a gusty sigh.

  ‘Is this the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?’ Sophie asked sympathetically, reaching across the table to give his hand a squeeze.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it is,’ he said slowly.

  ‘That’s good, and at least you have us to mind you.’

  ‘Indeed I do, how lucky am I?’ He smiled at her and squeezed her hand back just as the waitress arrived with platters of ribs, buffalo wings, pulled pork, corn-bread muffins, jalapeño peppers stuffed with cream cheese, and fries.

  ‘Yum! Yum!’ Sophie approved, diving on the wings.

  ‘I needed this badly. I just wish it wasn’t such a sad occasion for you, Jonathan.’ Millie selected a sticky rib.

  ‘I’ll get over it,’ he assured her and right there and right then he felt he would and that was enough for now.

  Margaret sat at her table as the sun spilled its rays into her small kitchen and stared at the array of tablets in their blue containers. How many days had she sat here every morning going through the same routine before breakfast? Her phone rang and she saw Hilary’s number displayed. ‘Hello, dear? How is London going? Are you and the girls having a good time?’

  ‘We’re having a wonderful time, Gran.’ Her daughter-in-law’s clear tones came down the line as though she was next door and not in another country. ‘We’re meeting Jonathan for breakfast in the dining room and then we’re heading off to take a trip on the Eye. I’m taking lots of photos. You’ll love the ones of Kensington Palace from my room. I’ve a terrific view of it and the park. How are you feeling today?’

  ‘Great, pet, great,’ Margaret lied. ‘Delighted to hear from you.’

  ‘Are you taking your tablets?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Well we’ll see you tomorrow evening and don’t forget to keep Sunday free to have dinner with us,’ Hilary reminded her.

  ‘I look forward to it, dear. Enjoy the rest of your day and love to everyone.’ Hilary was such a good person, ringing to see if she was OK. Sue wouldn’t bother her skinny backside. Her daughter was so resentful at having to bring her to the medical appointments. And she’d tried to blacken Hilary by saying that Hilary had being moaning about being too busy to be taking time off. There had been no need for Sue to tell Margaret that, even if it was true. Now she felt a real and proper nuisance and she knew the way her body was failing it was only going to get worse. Sue would have her in a nursing home if it were left to her.

  Margaret gave a deep sigh and poured herself another cup of tea from the china pot she favoured. It was heavy and her hand trembled with the effort. Imagine, she thought in disgust, not even being able to hold a teapot without shaking. What was to become of her?

  She could get some home help, she supposed. And in that she could be lucky or unlucky, listening to her friends and the experiences they had. One friend had a home help who even baked bread for her and was extremely kind; another had been robbed blind and lost several hundred euros and some sentimental jewellery.

  Margaret buttered her toast and spread it with marmalade and bit into it. Was it that her taste buds had faded, too? Food never seemed as flavorsome any more, and truth be told, she had gone off quite a few foods that she’d liked, and her appetite was getting smaller and smaller.

  Old age, all down to old age, she fretted, hardly able to see the writing on the Old Time Irish marmalade jar without her glasses. Her sister-in-law had ended up in a nursing home, nearly blind and shaking with Parkinson’s. Margaret had visited her a few times, her heart sinking at the sight of the once glamorous and proud woman slumped in a wheelchair, hands shaking as she stared unseeingly out at the rose garden beyond.

  That might very well be her in a couple of years. Margaret felt the familiar flutter of apprehension envelop her when she contemplated the future.

  The warfarin, red, yellow and brown today, lay waiting to be swallowed along with Liposol, and a water tablet. She shook the tablets into her hand and gazed at them. She was being kept alive by tablets, of that there was no doubt. But the more tablets she was prescribed the more they interacted, causing complications. The last antibiotic had given her a most excruciating pain in the tendon in her ankle and calf and the GP had taken her off it immediately and told her to say she was allergic to it if she was ever offered it again. Another friend, Esther, had gone into anaphylactic shock after taking penicillin that she had taken all her life. Esther had spent a night on a trolley in the Mater and had to be resus
citated. She had never got over the episode, which had weakened her considerably, and she had confided to Margaret that she wished she had gone to the lovely peaceful energy that was inviting her to become one with it.

  Margaret studied her tablets. Decisions had to be made. Either she could make them or they would be made for her. And having people make decisions for her was the vexing position she just did not want to be in.

  ‘You’ve raised two great girls,’ Jonathan complimented Hilary as they strolled towards Tate Modern along the South Bank, having had an exhilarating half-hour on the London Eye. The sun was warm on their faces, dazzling on the grey-green waters of the Thames, and a soft breeze rustled gently through the trees.

  ‘Thanks.’ She tucked her arm in his.

  ‘They’re so non-judgemental! They’re completely accepting of me.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t they be?’ She looked at him quizzically.

  ‘Well you know . . . being gay.’

  ‘But, Jonathan, they’ve known you since they were kids, they love you, and besides their generation don’t put any pass on whether you’re gay, straight, bi or whatever. Thank God they have the wisdom to see that it’s no big deal,’ Hilary said matter-of-factly. ‘And I’m surprised that you even felt the need to say that.’

  ‘It’s probably after being with Leon,’ he sighed. ‘He really is tormented about his sexuality and I guess it’s washed off on me.’

  ‘Well that’s his problem, not yours. And to be honest with you, I don’t think it would have worked with you two if he was keeping his relationship with you a secret. It would have caused huge problems for you.’

  ‘I was hoping he would have felt brave enough to come out eventually, if we were together.’

  ‘Umm . . .’ Hilary was skeptical.

  ‘Maybe you’re right but it doesn’t make it any easier. I feel ugly and unlovable and unattractive and that’s Leon’s legacy to me,’ Jonathan said dourly.