A Time for Friends

by Patricia Scanlan

  You did it your way, Margaret. That’s all that matters, and I respect your wishes, she silently saluted her mother-in-law, and it seemed that the beams of light shone even brighter as the music faded and the priest stood up and bowed over the coffin and called them all to prayer.

  Sue read the letter a second time.

  My Dear Daughter

  If you are reading this, then I have gone to my maker and my will is being read. You will know that I have left everything to be equally divided between you and your brother, with a bequest for Hilary and the girls.

  Dear Sue, I want you to have my wedding and engagement ring, and the gold bracelet and chain that your father bought for me. I know you loved your father dearly so it is fitting that you should have these.

  I know you always felt I favoured your brother and perhaps I did, because I was always content in the knowledge that you were your daddy’s pride and joy. The reason Niall was so precious to me was because before I had him I had endured three miscarriages, quite late in my pregnancy each time, and I was broken-hearted and would sink into despair. I would so much have loved a sister for you, close in age. When Niall was born I couldn’t believe I had carried him full term. I knew you were jealous of him as a child. I should have been more careful with you and I wasn’t. For this I ask your forgiveness and your understanding.

  I suppose because I lost three much wanted children I could never understand your desire not to have any. If my lack of understanding has hurt you in any way, my dear daughter, I ask your forgiveness.

  Do whatever makes you happy in life and enjoy it to the full (but try and give up the cigarettes). I’m glad that Cormac makes you happy.

  Know that, despite the fact that we sometimes had sharp words (we are more alike than you might think), I love you, and am grateful for all you did for me.

  Love

  Mam XXX

  ‘Ah Mam! If only we’d had this conversation before you died, how different it might have been,’ Sue murmured, holding the letter to her heart. She’d never known about her mother’s miscarriages, or the grief they had caused Margaret. No wonder Niall had been the apple of her eye when he’d been born. No wonder Margaret felt that children were a blessing, having lost her own much longed for babies.

  She slid her mother’s wedding ring onto the fourth finger of her right hand and saw how snugly it fitted. She rubbed it gently with her thumb. ‘Always with me now, Mam, always with me,’ she said, folding the letter carefully and putting it back in the envelope with the other items of jewellery Margaret had left her. She would go to the grave with forget-me-nots, her mother’s favourite flower, when all the fuss was over, Sue decided. And there she would try and reconcile the past and make her peace with her mother.

  ‘She went the way she wanted, Niall. She didn’t end up in a nursing home or hospital; she went gently in her own home. Take comfort from that,’ Hilary said consolingly as she and her husband sat drinking mugs of tea in the quiet of their kitchen that evening.

  ‘I know. And I’m grateful, and Hilary . . .’ He reached across the table and took her hand. ‘I can’t thank you enough for your goodness to Mam. I’m really sorry I took advantage of you and your good nature and didn’t pull my weight – either with her or in the house.’ He choked up, tears glistening in his eyes.

  ‘Well there were times when it was difficult and I was fraught, I won’t deny it, Niall, but I loved Margaret like my own mother. We were lucky, she and I, that we got on very well. In-law relationships can be hell sometimes,’ Hilary said quietly.

  ‘I know that. And I know that I expected far too much of you regarding Mam . . . and everything else.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Look, I’m sorry that I was an idiot and I know I often made you feel that my job was more important than yours.’ He shook his head. ‘Mam used to give out to me about it. But I didn’t want to hear,’ he admitted, shamefaced. ‘I’m sorry, Hilary. Can we start over and stop rowing, and be like we used to be?’

  ‘Oh Niall, I’d love that,’ Hilary said vehemently. ‘I hate all this sniping that goes on between us. I hate resenting you and feeling that you aren’t supporting me—’

  ‘I’m sorry, Hil. I never meant you to feel like that.’

  ‘Well you did, Niall. And I turned into a nag and I hated that, and you wouldn’t speak to Sue about Margaret, and I was really stressed sometimes.’ She didn’t hold back.

  ‘I just missed the way things used to be before you set up the company with Jonathan. I missed having you around. Selfish, I guess,’ he said sheepishly.

  ‘Yeah, I won’t argue with that. But now you’ve admitted it, and you’re turning over a new leaf, we’ll put it behind us and you can wait on me hand and foot,’ Hilary joked, reminding herself that Niall had buried his mother only hours ago and that it wasn’t really the time to have a go at him.

  ‘I’ll bring you tea in bed in the morning,’ he smiled at her. ‘And I just want you to know that I think you’ve done a fantastic job of the company. You should be really proud.’

  ‘Thanks, I am, actually, and I’ve enjoyed it very much.’ She smiled back at him. ‘But the truth is, I know many women working outside the home are pulled from every angle, and depleted most of the time. I know I got roped in to doing more projects, but look, we’ve bought the apartment on the seafront for the girls—’

  ‘And spent a fortune on it. Imagine, it cost five times as much as this house did when we bought it,’ he interjected, grimacing.

  ‘I know but at least they have a place because they’ll never be able to afford to get on the property ladder with the prices here.’ Hilary sighed. ‘So now that we have it rented to pay the mortgage, I really am going to cut back at work.’

  ‘You don’t have to. I’ll muck in a lot more,’ Niall said earnestly. ‘Honestly.’

  ‘I want to. Life’s too short to be killing myself trying to juggle all the balls in the air. I want to enjoy my life, my family . . . my marriage.’ She squeezed his hand, so relieved that they were finally discussing their problems.

  ‘I love you,’ Niall said. ‘Very much,’ he added, entwining his fingers with hers.

  ‘I love you, too,’ she echoed.

  At the kitchen table, in the soft opaque light of the setting sun, they smiled at each other over their mugs of tea, comforted by their rapprochement.

  PART THREE

  2008

  BUST

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  September 2008

  He should have sold those bloody shares when the Koreans had shown interest in buying the bank. The shares went up 5 per cent. He would have taken a massive hit certainly, but not the decimation he was facing now. Des felt himself break out in a cold sweat, as Colette lay asleep beside him blissfully unaware of what was coming down the tracks. The Dow nearly 300 down, S&P down 500 – the figures rolled around in his head, his thoughts like a washing machine on spin. Geithner and Bush were letting Lehman Brothers slide down the tubes. Clinton’s massive surplus was only a memory. The current deficit – in the trillions – meant the good times were well and truly over and all that he had worked so hard for was turning to dust.

  He should have known it was time to get out when Lehman Brothers closed its sub-prime lender the previous year. Should have known it, he silently upbraided himself. But still, it seemed unthinkable that a bank that size would be allowed to fail. Commentators were talking about the Great Depression. Joe Kennedy had quit the stock market and kept his wealth when a shoeshine boy had given him stock tips. Des should have known the jig was up when their own housekeeper talked about her Fidelity blue-chip fund, and her Citicorp, IBM and US Steel portfolio. Only the ones who had learned the lessons from history would make it, not nouveau riche players like him.

  He should have flogged the Florida properties, and his stock, instead of waiting for a last rally. For all his financial knowledge he was no better than a race punter, he thought, disgusted with himself. And wouldn’t old man O’Mahony crow when he found out. F
rank would rub his nose in it. Time had not endeared his father-in-law to him, and vice versa, and now he’d have to listen to his bullshit about ‘wise investment’.

  Des twisted and turned in the bed, desperate for sleep. He needed his wits about him more now than ever. Decisions had to be made that would salvage something and keep the show on the road.

  ‘Turn off that Joe Duffy fella – he’s going to cause a panic about the banks. There’ll be a run on them the way he’s going on,’ Hilary urged Jonathan as they sped back to Dublin along the M1 after doing a final inspection on a hotel they had revamped in Newry.

  ‘I think we’re up shit creek,’ Jonathan said, switching the stations over to Lyric, filling the car with the soaring tones of Cecilia Bartoli.

  ‘But the regulator has said the banks are fine. The rating agencies gave Anglo Irish A ratings, so what’s going on?’ Hilary proffered a Murray Mint.

  ‘That regulator guy wouldn’t inspire me with confidence. I don’t think he’s able for the job at all, and Moody’s and S&P and the rest of them are only a shower of chancers,’ Jonathan scoffed. ‘Thank God I sold the apartment last year! They’re talking about soft landings for the economy and the property market. Ha! We’re for it, there’s not going to be anything soft about it, and you just watch out, all the rats are going to desert the sinking ship. And we won’t be doing too many spa hotels any more, either,’ he added glumly. ‘There are too many new hotels out there as it is for an economy that’s on the slide.’

  ‘Yeah, I think you’re right. Business had certainly tailed off in the last year,’ sighed Hilary. ‘You did well to sell up when you did. We’re going to take a hit on the apartment we bought on the seafront in Clontarf. We just wanted to make sure to have somewhere for the girls in years to come. I don’t think they’re ever going to be able to afford to get on the property ladder.’

  ‘At least we own our own homes,’ Jonathan comforted her. ‘We can chop firewood and huddle around our log-burning stoves if we can’t afford to pay the heating bills.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’ve got a hotplate on mine too. I can cook a stew on it if needs must, so we won’t starve!’

  ‘It’s not funny, Jonathan! We’ve a hell of a lot of money in bank shares, especially in Anglo. They were our pensions. We put them in what we thought was the safest possible place. We didn’t friggin’ gamble on high-risk stuff. Do you think we should stop at a bank link and withdraw some cash in case there is a run on the banks? Remember that bank in England that went belly-up a while back?’

  ‘OK, we can go to one when we hit Dundalk. You can only withdraw six hundred euros in a day though,’ he pointed out.

  ‘I think I’ll transfer a couple of thousand to the girls’ Post Office or Credit Union accounts when I get home. Just to be sure they have money, in case the banks fail,’ Hilary fretted. The Liveline programme about an imminent banking crisis was scaring her. Millie was working as a chartered accountant in Manchester and Sophie was teaching French and English at the DIT school of languages in Kevin Street, and sharing a house in Portobello. They were happy and independent and she couldn’t wish for more for her daughters. Nevertheless if things were getting rough she wanted to make sure they had money at their back.

  ‘Imagine, you have a twenty-six-year-old and a twenty-three-year-old,’ Jonathan remarked, switching to cruise control as they drove south across the border, and the standard of the road improved considerably.

  ‘No need to remind me.’ Hilary threw her eyes up to heaven. ‘Imagine, I’m over fifty! I’m well and truly middle-aged and I have the grey hairs to prove it, and so have you!’

  ‘Well you disguise them pretty well. You look good for an ould wan, deah!’ Jonathan grinned over at her. ‘That ash-blonde colour suits you.’

  ‘I had to do something, deah! I was only getting six weeks out of a colour, and my roots were as grey as a badger,’ she moaned.

  ‘I know, I’ve more grey than blond. I’ll have to start using Grecian 2000.’ Jonathan made a face.

  ‘You don’t look bad for an ould fella! Even if you have a touch of a jowl.’

  ‘I know, it’s horrific. My chiselled good looks are gone! I may have to go under the knife!’ Jonathan grimaced, patting the loose flesh under his jawline. ‘Where did those years go?’

  ‘It’s a blur! One minute I had teenagers, then I had college students, and now I have grown-up daughters. I’m so glad I took time out after Margaret passed away. I was able to spend time and do things with the girls and with my parents, before Dad died.’

  ‘Yeah, that was a good call. You were much happier, much more relaxed. You did the right thing.’

  ‘And what was all that hard work for anyway? So Bertie, McCreevy and that shower in Fianna Fáil could bankrupt us,’ Hilary said bitterly. ‘I could have spent my time at home with my kids when they were in primary school and still be as well off. And what sort of a future are they going to have, Jonathan? I remember the recession in the eighties; I think what’s ahead of us is going to be far tougher.’

  ‘If I promise to stop and treat you to a cream cake and coffee in Dundalk will you stop talking like that? You’re depressing me,’ Jonathan groaned.

  ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ Hilary apologized. ‘Cream cake might just do the job.’

  The tinny sounds of ‘Goldfinger’ cut off Cecilia’s aria and Jonathan saw Nancy’s name flash up on his Bluetooth. ‘Hello, Mam,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘Jonathan, I’m listening to Joe Duffy and I think you should take your money out of the bank. I’m getting Rachel to bring me to withdraw my money this very minute. I’m going to put it in the Post Office and if I were you I’d buy some gold – it always increases in value when times are bad.’

  ‘That’s good thinking, Mam. Hilary and I are here in the car heading for Dundalk, so we’re going to withdraw some cash ourselves.’

  ‘Honest to God, when you think of that other clown up in the Dáil before he was given the heave-ho, spending a fortune of our money on his make-up, preening and pontificating and telling us there was nothing to worry about in the economy, when the dogs in the street knew that the property boom wasn’t sustainable. I never voted for that crowd, and the people who did only have themselves to blame for getting us into this mess. And as for that Cork fella on the Late Late, with his brownnosing and lick-arsing. I’m telling you, he swung that election, Jonathan, and he got his payback for it with a cushy job in the Senate and his fine fat salary and pension. So it’s as much his fault as anyone’s but no one has anything to say about that!’ Nancy vented her spleen against the individuals who had steered the country so disastrously down the tubes. Jonathan glanced over at Hilary and shook his head. When Nancy got going there was no stopping her. She was still as sharp as a tack, still living an independent life, and had plenty to say about everything.

  ‘Hello, Hilary, how are you?’ Nancy enquired, having got her displeasure off her chest.

  ‘I’m well thanks, Mrs Harpur. Good to hear you in fine fettle.’

  ‘Well wouldn’t that lot of goms drive you to drink, if you were so inclined,’ Nancy retorted. ‘How is your mother keeping? It’s hard on her, I’m sure, since your daddy passed away. It takes a long time to get over it.’

  ‘I know. Hard to believe it’s five years now. But she’s not too bad. Like yourself, she keeps herself busy,’ Hilary said. ‘Dad’s passing was a blessing really. She wasn’t able to look after him, even with our help, and he would have ended up in a nursing home and he would have hated that.’

  ‘Yes, God can be merciful sometimes and death can be a happy release. Well give her my best wishes, pet, and, Jonathan, drive carefully. No speeding now and invest in some gold,’ Nancy cautioned.

  ‘Yes, Mammy,’ Jonathan said meekly, and Nancy laughed.

  ‘God bless, son, take care of yourself. Here’s Rachel so I must be off. I’ll see you on Saturday. I’ll make a biscuit cake for you.’

  ‘Can’t wait. Love you, Mam.’

  ‘And I
love you too, son. Bye, Hilary.’

  ‘Bye, Mrs H.’

  ‘She’s great, isn’t she?’ Hilary said when the phone went dead and Cecilia’s golden tones rang out again. ‘So vibrant still, despite her age. And so on the ball! She’s right about buying gold. That generation is a hardy lot. We’ll be lucky to do as well as them when we get to their age.’

  ‘I know. I feel their feckin’ age,’ Jonathan retorted, indicating to take the slip road off the motorway to get to the nearest bank and then to bring Hilary for the cream cake and coffee he’d promised her as soon as they reached Dundalk.

  Shaun Grant shook hands with his solicitor. ‘Thank you, Edward. Glad we’ve got everything sorted. Best for everyone all round.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Edward Delahunty said suavely. ‘Good luck, Shaun, Gina, safe journey.’

  ‘Thank you, Edward, for all your help and advice,’ Gina said graciously. She looked tired and strained, but as elegant as ever in a beautifully cut raspberry-pink designer suit and high-heeled Louboutins.

  He walked his high-profile clients to the door of his Morehampton Road mansion. He had chosen to see them at home, discreetly, rather than at his Merrion Square office. The papers were doing all kinds of articles on property developers and high-profile businessmen. The Grants were on their hit list. But now they’d have to follow them to the States. The Grants had a private jet waiting for them at Dublin Airport and they were leaving the country. Their mansion with its designer spa, heli pad and cinema was up for sale. Edward gave a polite wave as he watched them walk down the marble steps to their navy Merc. Shaun Grant to all intents and purposes would soon be a bankrupt, golf-playing OAP, with a very rich wife and a family of sons and daughters who were nicely provided for with a substantial trust fund. All eventually paid for by the ordinary folk who had done nothing wrong but who would be ground down with even more taxes to pay for the reckless, immoral gambles the Grants and their ilk had ruined the country with. It fascinated him how so many of them felt that a ‘personal guarantee’ didn’t apply to them the way it did to the hoi polloi who defaulted on their bank loans and mortgages. It truly was one law for the rich and another for the poor.