A Time for Friends

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Forget about the tea. I’ll have a brandy if there’s one going,’ Frank announced, handing her his coat and hat and stomping into the lounge.

  ‘Mum, would you prefer a drink?’ Colette asked, following her mother in.

  ‘No thank you, dear. I’d love a cup of tea.’ Jacqueline sank down into an armchair. Dublin Airport and Heathrow had been exhausting, packed to the gills with Christmas travellers. They had travelled first-class, of course, and had been fast-tracked through security before reaching the sanctuary of the lounge, but nevertheless the crowds embarking and disembarking and the long wait at the luggage belt after that endless walk through Terminal 1 were wearing and it shocked her to realize how elderly she was becoming.

  ‘That’s a nice tree. See, Frank, Colette has decorated.’ She glared at her husband who was studying the red-and-gold-themed tree that Colette had paid a company to dress for her.

  ‘I’ll just switch on the lights.’ Colette bent and clicked the plug. The last thing she had wanted to do was put up Christmas decorations, and a tree, but she felt she should make some nod towards the season seeing as she had invited her parents to spend it with her. The tree and some floral and candle arrangements were as far as she had gone.

  ‘So where are Jazzy and Des?’ Frank asked again, when Colette had served her mother Earl Grey and handed him a brandy snifter with a good measure of cognac. Colette took a deep breath.

  ‘It’s like this, actually, Mum and Dad. I found out that Des was having an affair and I’ve left him. We will be divorcing. He had a triple bypass so Jazzy is staying in New York for Christmas to be with him, and also because she doesn’t want to leave her boyfriend. I’ve moved back to London,’ she said dully.

  ‘Oh my love!’ Jacqueline exclaimed. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. That’s dreadful news. No wonder you look exhausted.’

  Frank frowned. ‘Are you sure you want to divorce? Messy business, you know. And expensive.’

  ‘I know that.’ She shot a dour glance at him, irritated that he immediately honed in on the financial side of things without a word of condemnation of Des.

  ‘Hmm . . . well think long and hard. At least you have this place.’ Frank took an appreciative drink of the brandy.

  ‘Yes,’ Colette murmured. No thanks to Des, she thought grimly. ‘We took a hit with Lehman Brothers as well. We’ve lost a lot of money,’ she added. Losing because of Lehman wasn’t as shameful as being swindled by Madoff. Frank would never know that, or the fact that Des had tried to speculate with Frank’s late sister’s flat.

  ‘Good God, those bloody banks! All the years your mother and I worked like Trojans and we thought we were saving our pensions in the safest place possible. Damn bank shares! Damn crooks that were running them,’ Frank seethed. ‘Don’t get me started.’

  ‘Did you lose much?’ Colette asked in alarm. Her parents had been her standby if she ended up in straightened circumstances. She hadn’t thought that they would be hit financially, she’d been so concerned with her own situation.

  ‘Your father lost more than I did. I preferred to invest in Post Office bonds and certificates. I didn’t care much for those Anglo lot, from my dealings with them. Sharks!’ Jacqueline said a little smugly.

  ‘Don’t rub it in, Jacqueline,’ snapped her husband, glaring at her. ‘How much did you lose?’ He turned to Colette.

  ‘I’m not sure yet, but certainly enough to have a huge impact on our lifestyle. The Florida properties are gone, Aspen is for rental. Nantucket’s the same, and Des won’t be able to afford to rent a new apartment Uptown. I’m glad Jazzy is educated and living her own life; that makes my decision to come back to London easier.’ Colette took a sip of her G&T. She’d told her parents all she was going to tell them. They were staying for Christmas week, and then she was going back to Dublin with them for New Year. It was the longest time Colette would have spent alone with her parents. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but it was better than spending Christmas and New Year alone, and she knew she had the safety net of spending New Year’s Eve with Hilary.

  It was almost like the closing of a circle. She had always spent New Year with Hilary and her family when she was very young. But it was not how she had envisaged spending this New Year, she thought bitterly, having to struggle not to break down and bawl. Hopefully her parents would be so tired from travelling they would have an early night because all she wanted to do was crawl under her duvet and hide from the world.

  ‘We got on like a house on fire, Hilary. I really like Murray. And don’t panic, he’s nothing like Leon,’ Jonathan assured his best friend as they sat in Ten Fourteen in Clontarf, tucked in to the window table, enjoying their annual Christmas lunch date. The midday sun dazzled on the glistening sea and they watched a huge cargo ship glide up the river, nudged gently along by two tugs.

  ‘He sounds lovely. Well done, Harpur, for being so plucky and inviting him for coffee.’ Hilary raised her wine glass to him.

  ‘I know! I heard it coming out of my mouth and couldn’t believe it. But we stayed talking for ages and then we had a bite to eat and we didn’t leave until after eight. We were there for nearly four hours.’

  ‘Excellent! You need someone new in your life.’

  ‘It’s just a friendship,’ Jonathan demurred.

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Hilary, eyes glinting in amusement.

  ‘It is!’

  ‘I know. And besides, I’ve got to meet him to give him the once-over. Are you seeing him again?’

  ‘Yep, we’re going to a carol service at St Patrick’s.’

  ‘Perfect date for the ex-altar boy and the ex-priest,’ Hilary teased and Jonathan guffawed.

  ‘Why don’t you bring him to our New Year hooley?’ she suggested, devouring a slice of crispy pork belly.

  ‘Really? Would you mind?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. The more the merrier. Do you think he’d come?’

  ‘I don’t know if he’s got plans made but all I can do is ask,’ Jonathan said, eating a piece of pan-fried salmon. ‘Do you know if Colette’s going to come?’

  Hilary shook her head. ‘Don’t know! One day she says she is, the next day she says she isn’t. She’s in a real state.’

  ‘It’s tough. Even I wouldn’t wish what she’s going through on her. Who would have thought that high-powered lifestyle would come crashing down around her ears. Des was a piece of work, wasn’t he?’

  ‘You know I’m not his greatest fan but I still can’t believe he acted out of malice. I think he panicked when he lost the money with Madoff. And he was having an affair. I wouldn’t have stayed. Would you?’

  ‘Damn right I wouldn’t,’ Jonathan exclaimed.

  ‘So if she comes, be nice to her,’ Hilary warned. ‘No smart remarks.’

  ‘Moi, make a smart remark? Hilary, you wound me.’ He pointed a fork laden with creamy mash at her.

  ‘Ha! Ha!’

  ‘It’s been a hell of a year all round though, hasn’t it? You can see the business ebbing away.’ She sighed.

  ‘I know. It’s been our worst year ever,’ Jonathan agreed. ‘And it’s only going to get worse.’

  ‘Tell me about it. That bloody apartment that we bought for the girls has lost half its value, and we’re in negative equity, and the rent has gone down, so that’s not even covering the mortgage. We would have been hit but not as bad otherwise. Niall’s so browned off about it. It was his idea to buy it. And he’s not playing half the gigs he used to because there’s no one in the pubs. Did we ever think it would come to this?’

  ‘It had to end sometime, it was mad stuff. I heard a pair whinging on Liveline about apartments they’d bought in Dubai and not being able to afford to pay the mortgages on them. Talk about losing the run of yourself. It was far from apartments in Dubai we were reared.’ He shook his head. ‘And what did you think of the Grants? I wonder what’s going to happen to the fancy spa we created for them.’

  ‘I know, scarpering off to America after dec
laring himself bankrupt, and transferring his assets and property to Gina. That will give her a headache and a half,’ Jonathan observed.

  ‘I felt a bit sorry for her. Her life seemed so ruled by all the socializing and entertaining she had to do. I can’t see Gina becoming a “developer” in her own right with all her husband’s transferred assets, like that other hard-faced blonde who’s never out of the papers,’ Hilary said sarcastically.

  ‘Dyed blonde, dearie. She’s so sharp she’d give scissors a run for their money! I saw her in action at a party once . . . not for the faint-hearted.’ Jonathan grinned.

  ‘Are you looking forward to your party?’ He changed the subject, fed up with all the gloom and doom.

  ‘I really am this year. It’s been a tough one, sure, and I’m glad it’s almost over. But Niall and I are doing OK in spite of the downturn. And the girls have jobs, so as a family we’re doing a lot better than most. I’ve missed them terribly at home, Jonathan. I can’t wait to see them and I think a good old night of music and craic will do us all the world of good, even Colette.’

  ‘Can’t imagine her dancing “The Walls Of Limerick” in her Louboutins.’ Jonathan rolled his eyes.

  ‘Stop!’ Hilary laughed.

  ‘Sorry. You do know, don’t you, that if it wasn’t for you and Niall and your New Year’s Eve party every year I’d be curled up in bed.’ Jonathan smiled at her.

  ‘No you wouldn’t! Russell and Kenny wouldn’t allow it, nor would Orla,’ Hilary retorted.

  ‘True perhaps but I do hate it. I always feel such a failure. Another year on my own. Greta Garbo has nothing on me!’

  ‘Well perhaps you won’t be on your own this year. Maybe Murray won’t have made plans and he might like to come.’ Hilary reached across the table and squeezed his hands.

  ‘I’m afraid to even think about it. I’m afraid to even hope something could come of it. I’ve lost my nerve.’

  ‘No you haven’t. You invited him for coffee. You took the brave step and made your leap of faith. Isn’t that what Hannah would say? Now let the doors open.’

  ‘OK, I will. Thanks for being the best friend anyone could have and here’s to the best New Year’s Eve party ever!’ Jonathan raised his glass in toast.

  ‘Amen to that!’ said Hilary, clinking her glass with his. ‘I just have a feeling it’s going to be a cracker.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  She shouldn’t have come to the Hammonds’ party, Colette thought dourly, taking another swig from her G&T. And she shouldn’t have continued to drink gin. It depressed her, soured her. Yes, that was a good word, sour. It described how she felt exactly. Sour and sad and lonely. If Des and Jazzy had been here she would have actually enjoyed the night. There was a great buzz. People were enjoying themselves in that carefree, uninhibited way she had rarely seen at the parties she had attended in Manhattan. But her family weren’t with her. She was here as a single woman, her first social occasion since her split with Des, and it felt soul-destroying. Even Jonathan Harpur was with someone, she thought irritably. He was sitting on the edge of an armchair, smiling at a tall, tawny-haired, self-assured man who fitted in seamlessly and seemed very at ease, although it was the first time he’d met Jonathan’s friends. Jonathan still acted as though he owned the house, just as he had the first time she’d met him all those years ago when she had arrived unexpectedly and he had ended up cooking her meal.

  Tonight he had been pouring drinks and handing round canapés with Sophie and Millie. It annoyed Colette that she felt like a guest and he was treated like one of the family. The girls obviously adored him and there was a lot of affectionate banter between them. She didn’t know most of the guests, apart from Hilary’s mum and sister, but she didn’t particularly want to spend the night chatting to them knowing that they were feeling sorry for her. She should have booked into a hotel and not let on to her parents. They were so busy throwing their own soirée they wouldn’t have thought to question her.

  A new song began and she recognized it as ‘The Coolin’, a famous Irish air with haunting music. When Niall had sung the first verse in his deep baritone:

  ‘Have you seen my fair-haired girl walking the roads

  A bright dewy morning without a smudge on her shoes?

  Many a young man is envious and longing to marry her

  But they won’t get my treasure

  . . . no matter what they think’

  he turned and looked at his wife, his eyes crinkling in a loving smile. Hilary smiled back, seemingly unaware of anyone else in the crowded room. It was an intimate, tender moment between them that ignited a surge of envy in Cecil B. DemilleColette when she compared her own circumstances to her friend’s.

  Every time she looked at Hilary and Niall together she felt deep and resentful jealousy. How could they still look at each other the way they did after all these years? It wasn’t for show; it was quite natural and unaffected. It didn’t help that Niall looked particularly dishy in an open-necked black shirt and a pair of grey chinos. He had aged very well. The grey at his temples was sexy; the lines around his eyes and mouth added character, rather than age, to his appearance. Surely somewhere on his travels he had indulged in a liaison with some other woman. He had hardly remained faithful to Hilary all this time, Colette thought, as her friend’s husband strummed his mandolin, playing the evocative air to a hushed room. The pure, sweet notes and the vibrato caught at her emotions and she felt like breaking down in tears.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Jonathan whispered, sitting down on the sofa beside her. ‘Are you OK?’ She nodded, unable to speak, annoyed that he had noticed her distress. ‘Can I freshen your drink?’ he offered kindly.

  ‘No I’m fine, thank you.’ She swallowed as Niall and his group began the second stirring verse.

  ‘Is that your boyfriend?’ She nodded in Murray’s direction. He was singing along, playing the spoons expertly.

  ‘Well we’re friends, let’s say,’ Jonathan murmured, delighted that Murray had been instantly accepted into his precious unit.

  ‘A trad fan, clearly,’ Colette said drily.

  ‘Might end up in Niall’s band yet. I just wanted to make sure you were OK. Tonight must be difficult for you,’ Jonathan said, standing up.

  ‘Very kind,’ she said in a tight, clipped voice and he wondered why he had bothered.

  ‘I don’t know why she came. She’s sitting there with a face on her. She’s certainly not enjoying the evening,’ Hilary moaned to Jonathan an hour later while they removed cling film from the platters of food she was serving for the buffet.

  ‘I know. I got short shrift when I asked her was she OK.’ Jonathan handed Millie a dish of chicken boscaiola and a bowl of tabbouleh to carry over to the table.

  ‘It must be very hard for her,’ Hilary sighed, wishing Colette had stayed with her parents. She was in a prickly humour and the copious amounts of gin she was drinking weren’t helping.

  ‘Is she staying the night?’ Jonathan murmured as a gale of laughter heralded an array of revellers come to offer help with the buffet.

  ‘Yes, as far as I know.’ Hilary gave the huge pot of curry a stir while Jonathan sprinkled freshly cut dill on the salmon.

  ‘We’re hungry,’ Hilary’s sister Dee announced tipsily.

  ‘Well tell everyone to come and tuck in and help themselves,’ Hilary said gaily, determined that Colette wouldn’t ruin her evening. ‘And, Jonathan,’ she murmured.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Murray is lovely, very easy to talk to. Perfect for you.’

  ‘Don’t jinx it,’ he grimaced, twirling around the kitchen with a plate of sizzling cocktail sausages, tutting when Dee helped herself to three of them. The kitchen teemed with hungry guests, and the buzz of chat and laughter filled the air. Hilary was swallowed up in the middle of them, urging friends and family to partake in the banquet laid out on the table.

  ‘Come on, Colette, chow’s up,’ Niall said heartily, noticing her sitting on the sof
a on her own.

  ‘I guess I’m not that hungry, Niall,’ she sighed, tucking her legs up under and slanting him a glance.

  ‘Will I get you a plate of food and bring it in to you?’ he offered, hating to see her miserable.

  ‘Ah I suppose I should make the effort and mingle, and have something to nibble on.’ She took a deep breath and stood up.

  ‘Good woman,’ Niall said encouragingly, dropping an arm around her shoulder as he escorted her into the kitchen. ‘Grab a plate there and fill it up – you could do with putting on a few pounds,’ he grinned, and she laughed.

  ‘You were always direct, Niall,’ she said, amused, her mood lightening.

  ‘More like putting my two feet in it, my darling wife would say.’ Niall began to fill his own plate.

  ‘She’s not worried about putting on a few pounds, obviously,’ Colette giggled, getting in a catty dig.

  ‘She’s a grand hoult of a woman,’ Niall said appreciatively, not quite the response Colette was expecting. Didn’t he mind that Hilary was at least a stone overweight?

  ‘Well I’m trying hard to keep the middle-age spread at bay. I won’t let myself go.’ Colette took a small spoonful of tabbouleh and a portion of salmon.

  ‘Have some cheesy potatoes, they’re scrumptious,’ Niall urged before turning to check that his mother-in-law had enough food.

  ‘Colette O’Mahony, you look amazing!’ Vivienne O’Hara, a mutual friend from way back, declared. ‘My God, you don’t look a day over thirty-five. Have you had a facelift?’

  ‘Of course not,’ fibbed Colette. ‘I wouldn’t go under the knife.’

  ‘I would, if I could afford it,’ declared Vivienne emphatically.

  You could do with it, Colette thought, thinking how florid the other woman looked, and how even the heavy foundation she wore couldn’t hide her broken veins.

  ‘So come and sit beside me and tell me what you’ve been doing all these years,’ Vivienne demanded. ‘I believe you live the life of Reilly in New York.’ She cocked an eye at Colette. ‘Why does that surprise me, you were always a go-getter. Just like your parents. There was a time they were never out of the papers with all the tribunals. I believe they made a fortune and us poor taxpayers are paying for it,’ Vivienne said tipsily. ‘Where’s your OH?’ Isn’t that the jargon they use these days?’