A Time for Friends

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘You’re always tired these days,’ he said irritably, taking a slug of wine and switching on the TV. He grunted ‘Goodnight’ when she gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  As she lay in bed listening to the girls giggling upstairs, Hilary felt weary to her bones. It had been a long day and Jazzy’s episode hadn’t helped. There was a time when she would have enjoyed having some nookie on the sofa, but tonight she wasn’t in the mood for sex and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was annoyed with Niall, or because she was whacked from work and having to entertain Colette and Des to boot. It was probably a combination of all of them, she sighed. She might have put on an airy façade for Colette about work but the truth was, even after employing extra staff, she and Jonathan were snowed under with work and she was finding it hard-going. She had tried to ease off after she’d gone to London with the girls but despite her best intentions and her new assistant, the firm had never been busier and neither had she. She was a successful career woman, certainly, thanks to the Celtic Tiger, but her marriage was wilting under the pressure. Niall just didn’t seem to get it that she was the one keeping all the balls in the air, the girls, the household stuff, the responsibility for elderly parents, Hilary thought resentfully, yawning her head off. She was asleep before he came to bed.

  Niall poured himself another glass of wine. He was nicely woozy. Unlike Hilary, he’d been able to have a few drinks at dinner and this little nightcap was tipping him over the edge. Just where he wanted to be right now, he thought gloomily. There was a time when Hilary would have welcomed his advances with a passion that matched his own. But these days she was too tired, or had too much on the go, and their sex life was suffering. It wasn’t just the sex, it was the intimacy, the cuddles and snuggling, that he was missing.

  This was the kind of thing that drove men to having affairs. Colette had been giving him the eye tonight, flirting with him. If he’d made a pass at her he was damn sure he wouldn’t have been rejected and pushed away like he’d just been by Hilary, Niall thought drunkenly, feeling very sorry for himself while he channel-surfed and polished off the remainder of the wine.

  ‘What did you have to mention the weed episode in front of them for?’ Colette glowered at her husband as they undressed for bed in her parents’ guest room.

  ‘I was pissed off with Jazzy. I was enjoying that meal. Best steak I’ve had in ages and she goes off and pulls one of her stunts! We’ve given her everything, the best education, homes you or I never dreamed of having, a lifestyle fit for a princess, and she goes and gets tanked and makes a show of us. Thank God it was in some hick little disco and not in front of any of the City crowd back home. She’s so grounded!’ Des was not in the mood for recriminations from his wife.

  ‘There was still no need to mention that weed episode,’ Colette snapped, sliding a silk nightdress over her head and shoulders. ‘I was mortified.’

  ‘Who cares about what they think – we won’t see them again for years,’ Des said dismissively.

  ‘We invited them to come and stay with us,’ she reminded him irritably.

  ‘You invited them,’ he corrected her. ‘Make sure they don’t come when we’re entertaining. You should have told them to come after Labor Day. Tell them we’re booked up until then,’ he carped, climbing into bed and pulling the duvet over his shoulder as he turned his back on her.

  ‘They can’t come in September. Sophie will be back at school,’ Colette pointed out as she cold-creamed her face.

  ‘Tough, not our problem. Don’t read for long, I’m beat.’

  Colette didn’t answer. She had just heard her parents’ taxi pull up. She hoped fervently that Jazzy would stay sleeping. She was snoring her head off in her drunken stupor, but at least she’d stopped being sick. Colette got into bed and switched off her bedside light. She was beyond stressed. Jazzy’s behaviour was unacceptable, but no matter how much she was grounded or chastised, it was making no difference. She wasn’t alone in worrying about her child. Several mothers in her set had behavioural problems with their children. Not that they alluded to it directly. Colette heard these snippets on the grapevine. No doubt the other mothers heard nuggets about Colette on the very same grapevine. There was no one back in New York that she could confide her worries to. There was no one here either, apart from Hilary, she thought glumly as Des began a crescendo of snores that could be heard in Howth.

  She couldn’t bring herself to say it to Jacqueline. She didn’t want a lecture on her parenting skills or lack of them. Hilary had been kind earlier when they’d gone to pick Jazzy up. But then it was easy for her to be kind. Her kids were Little Misses Goody Two Shoes compared to Jazzy, and always had been. It had been utterly humiliating when they were children and Jazzy would throw a strop, and screech and stamp her foot in front of Millie and Sophie. She was still doing it, albeit in a different manner. Still looking for attention and getting it, still showing Colette up in front of the Hammonds.

  Was she mad to have invited them to the States? They really had nothing in common any more; that had been more than evident this evening. Niall had not been in awe when she’d told him about hiring the jet. He’d made a derisory joke at their expense. He was still handsome, the touch of grey at his temples doing nothing to take away from his rugged good looks. And still as laid-back and cool as ever, and not at all impressed by their success. Yes, Niall was still a dish, but Hilary had let herself go somewhat. She was carrying extra weight and the lines around her eyes and lips had deepened. Her nails needed a good manicure, and there were grey hairs in her luxuriant chestnut locks, which needed styling. Colette could give her twenty years in looks, she thought smugly. If the Hammonds came at holiday-time, she’d be able to swan around in her bikini on the beach. Hilary would surely have to wear a one-piece. Niall would still look good bare-chested, she imagined. And in spite of himself he’d have to be impressed with their Upper East Side apartment and the house on the island. She would very much enjoy being the hostess with the mostest, should they come to visit. There had been an uncharacteristic edge between her host and hostess tonight. Niall and Hilary had sniped at each other about Jonathan, much to her surprise. And Niall had given her the eye once or twice. Colette was sure of it. Interesting! she thought, remembering the glint in his eye when he’d smiled at her.

  Colette wrinkled her pert little nose when Des let off a rasper in his sleep. Nothing dishy about her husband right now, she thought grumpily, turning on her side, wishing she could go and sleep in her own luxuriously appointed guest room, which she often did when she was at home in Manhattan. Why was it that she always looked forward to coming back to Ireland, but when she actually got here, it was never as good as anticipated and often, indeed, she couldn’t wait to be gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ‘You should give Jazzy a call and see if she’s OK,’ Hilary suggested over breakfast the following morning.

  ‘What? Why should I ring her? She should ring me and apologize,’ Sophie exclaimed indignantly. Leanne prudently said nothing and demolished another mouthful of crispy bacon topped with fried potato and dipped in egg yolk.

  ‘I know that. You know that. But still I’m sure she’s embarrassed and after all she is in a strange country and doesn’t know many people here. It would be a kindness,’ Hilary said lightly.

  ‘Yeah well I don’t feel kind,’ Sophie retorted, spearing a piece of sausage.

  ‘It’s up to you, of course.’ Hilary smiled, offering her daughter a slice of buttered toast.

  ‘Uuhhh,’ muttered Sophie, wishing her mother wouldn’t do the emotional blackmail stuff on her.

  ‘I suppose I’d better ring the little skanger,’ Sophie moaned to Leanne later that morning as they warmed up for a basketball match against a rival school’s team. She dribbled the ball along the court at a run, segued into a lay up and felt a ripple of satisfaction as the orange ball sliced through the net cleanly, giving a satisfying thud as it bounced on the wooden floor.

  ‘We’ll
do it when we’re finished here.’ Leanne shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal and it will get your mother off your back. You only need to say hello and goodbye.’

  ‘OK,’ Sophie agreed, catching a rebound from the board from a shot missed by another girl. She aimed and scored again. If she could do the same when they were playing the match she’d be more than happy.

  ‘That’s unfortunate, darling, that you are off colour. You were fine when you were going out last evening.’ Jacqueline gazed at her granddaughter, noting her pallor and the way she winced every so often as if the light hurt her eyes. ‘What would you like for lunch, seeing as you had no breakfast? We’ve had ours but there are cold cuts and salad, or prawns and crab—’

  ‘Umm . . . just coffee and toast, Gran, please,’ Jasmine interjected hastily, afraid if she heard any more about food her stomach would erupt again. She felt truly horrendous, but at least the hellacious headache she’d woken up with had eased. Her parents had gone apeshit this morning before they had gone out and demanded her credit card back and told her that she was, like, so grounded. It was a real bummer.

  ‘Well the dead arose and appeared to many. You’re up at last,’ Frank exclaimed jovially, strolling into the breakfast room with his Irish Times under his arm. ‘As soon as you’ve had something to eat I’m going to take you into the Law Library with me. If you decide to study law, and I really hope you do, you’ll find no better place of learning than the King’s Inns Law Library. It will rival the best of anything you have in the US, I can tell you,’ he declared proudly. Jasmine’s heart sank. Her grandfather really wanted her to be a lawyer and was always going on about the King’s Inns. The last place she wanted to go to today was a stuffy old library.

  ‘Em . . . the thing is—’ Her cell phone rang and she slid it out of her jeans pocket and flipped it open. ‘Excuse me a sec, Granddad,’ she said politely, and opened the French door and sauntered into the sun-drenched garden. She had thought it might be her mum but the number that flashed up on her screen was an Irish number and she saw Sophie’s name. She cringed. She had made such a jackass of herself last night, much of which she couldn’t remember. The last person she wanted to talk to was Sophie.

  ‘Hello,’ she said cautiously, expecting a barrage of abuse.

  ‘Hi, Jazzy, how are you feeling?’ Sophie asked politely.

  ‘Umm, not so good,’ she confessed.

  ‘OK . . . Well I just rang to see if you were OK,’ Sophie said awkwardly and Jasmine guessed her mother had pressurized her to make the call.

  ‘Look, sorry if I . . . er . . . messed up your night.’

  ‘No probs, enjoy the rest of your holiday.’

  ‘Listen . . . em . . . could I hang out with you for an hour or two? Could I take you for a pizza or McDonald’s or latte or something to make up for last night?’ Jasmine saw a potential escape from the trip to the dreaded Law Library.

  ‘It’s fine, honestly, no worries,’ Sophie said hastily.

  ‘Pleeease, Soph! My granddad wants to bring me to the Law Library and I have the hangover from hell and I can’t tell him that,’ Jasmine blurted.

  ‘Oh! Well, Leanne and I have sort of made plans,’ Sophie said crossly.

  ‘Please, Sophie, cut me a break here,’ Jasmine pleaded. ‘I swear to God, it’s just for an hour then you can split and I can do my own thing.’

  ‘Hold on, I need to check it out with Leanne.’ Jasmine could hear a muffled whispered conversation, and Leanne saying, ‘Do we have to?’

  Jasmine felt like telling them to get lost, but if she could say she was meeting them, even for a short while, it would get her out of spending the afternoon with her granddad and his beloved legal tomes.

  ‘OK, then. Meet us in an hour at the DART station in Clontarf and we’ll go to Barcode for pizza. Text me when you’re on the train in Sutton and we’ll get on the same one in Killester,’ Sophie said crisply. ‘See ya!’

  Jasmine slipped her phone into her pocket and walked back into the breakfast room. Her grandmother had just placed a basket of toast on the table, and a mug of steaming coffee. Coffee, just what she needed. ‘Thanks, Gran,’ she said gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma.

  ‘Eh . . . Granddad,’ she said to her grandfather who was immersed in his crossword. ‘That was Sophie on the phone and we had sort of made a loose arrangement to meet up and she was just ringing to confirm,’ she fibbed.

  ‘Oh!’ He looked disappointed. ‘Ah well, another time, perhaps,’ he sighed, lowering his head to his paper.

  ‘That’s nice that you’re meeting Sophie. Did you have a good time last night?’ Jacqueline asked, sitting down beside her at the table.

  ‘Yep, it was cool,’ Jasmine lied. ‘Gran, can you give me a lift to the DART station in a while? I don’t think Mom and Dad will be back in time.’ She nibbled on the toast and found it surprisingly tasty.

  ‘Of course, dear.’ Jacqueline smiled fondly and Jasmine leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You are so kind to me, Gran. When I get back we could go for a walk on the beach with Nomos.’

  ‘Lovely, Nomos will enjoy that.’ Her grandmother’s eyes lit up. Nomos, hearing his name mentioned, uncurled himself from the sunspot on the floorboards by the windows and padded over to them. Privately Jasmine thought Nomos was a silly sort of name for a dog, and a big golden Labrador at that, but her grandfather had called him after the god of law in Greek mythology. Jasmine had heard her dad say once to her mom, ‘Frank is so pretentious, he thinks he impresses people calling his dog that ridiculous name.’

  ‘You are just as bad as he is sometimes,’ her mom had retorted, annoyed that Des should criticize her father.

  ‘Hi, Nomos, walkies later,’ she said, surreptitiously feeding him a piece of toast, loving how he lapped her fingers with his tongue, his tail wagging like crazy. She would adore to have a dog but her parents wouldn’t allow it. ‘A city apartment is no place for a dog,’ her father said firmly and no amount of begging or pleading could change that. Being with Nomos was what she loved most about coming to visit her grandparents. Nomus loved her like no one else did. There was no need to demand love or attention from him. It was willingly given and returned in equal measure.

  ‘I’d better go and put on my make-up and put my hair up.’ She swallowed the last of her toast, gulped her coffee and smiled at her grandmother.

  ‘Breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, dear,’ Jacqueline said firmly.

  ‘Yes, Gran,’ she said meekly, doing as she was bid.

  Three quarters of an hour later she sent a text to Sophie. On the subway. C u in a while. A woman with a toddler squirming in her arms, sitting opposite, smiled at her. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it? This one’s a handful – she wants to be walking,’ she said, jigging the little girl on her knee.

  It astonished Jasmine how complete strangers in Ireland would strike up conversations, mostly about the weather, it seemed. She had never known people to be so obsessed with weather and weather-related matters. At home, people didn’t make eye contact and kept to themselves on public transport.

  Some Spanish students chattered away gaily in the seats on the other side of her aisle. Vociferous and expressive and full of self-assurance, they seemed so vibrant and cool, she thought enviously. She would love to be that self-possessed. Although she gave the appearance of confidence she wasn’t really a confident girl. Deep down she was unsure of her place in life and the world. Unsure of her looks, her academic capability, her ability to attract boys. She had been really nervous going out with Leanne and Sophie last night and that was why she had drunk the vodka so quickly. Leanne and Sophie seemed so sure of themselves. And they were such good friends. She envied them. She had friends of course, but none that she could truly be herself with. Her set was riven with jealousy, competitiveness and spiteful backbiting. Just the way their mothers behaved, she supposed, Jasmine thought glumly as the suburbs flashed by interspersed with verdant green hedgerows and a view of the sea sparkling in the sun before it disappeare
d. The little girl was on the floor now, between the woman and Jasmine. The train gave a slight lurch and the toddler grabbed Jasmine’s knees and flashed her a gummy smile. She just had two front baby teeth and her eyes were the bluest Jasmine had ever seen. Her heart melted and she smiled broadly as she reached out to steady the child. ‘Say ta ta,’ said the woman.

  ‘Ta ta,’ the little girl said obediently, beaming at Jasmine.

  ‘She’s lovely,’ Jasmine astonished herself by saying, enjoying the feel of the pudgy little hands placed so trustingly on her knees.

  ‘It’s time for us to get off now. Say day, day,’ the woman said, standing up and taking the little girl’s hand.

  ‘Day, day,’ said the infant, blowing a kiss as her mother led her to the door.

  ‘Day day,’ Jasmine echoed, feeling a bit silly. This was so not her. If any of her friends back home saw her they would think she had lost it big time, speaking baby talk to strangers on a train. She watched the mother and daughter walk along the platform and wondered would she ever have children of her own. Most of her friends, like her, had been raised by nannies and au pairs, and then sent to boarding school. Sophie was so lucky to live at home and have a sister for company and her own space upstairs to entertain her friends. Hilary was not a strict mother that Jasmine had noticed. The only thing was the Hammonds were not at all wealthy, not like her parents were anyway. She would be getting a car when she was sixteen – her next birthday. She would be travelling to Europe; she would be skiing in Aspen. She had a better life, she assured herself as she heard the announcement that Killester was the next station.

  She saw Sophie and Leanne on the platform as the train drew to a halt. She wondered should she wave to attract their attention, but they had stepped into a carriage further along so she sat back in her seat and glanced in her bag just to make sure she had her wallet with the crisp fifty-euro note her grandmother had given her. She had another forty euros; surely pizza wouldn’t cost that much for three in this Barcode restaurant. She felt bereft without her credit card. As if her security had been taken away.