The Art of Friendship

by Lisa Ireland

  ‘Goodness no. Go right ahead.’

  So Libby had taken her leave and ended up here in the bedroom talking to Kit, who’d cracked the shits and hung up on her. It was pointless calling her back. Kit, quite rightly, felt she’d been shafted and Libby knew from experience that it would take a lot more than a quick phone conversation to buy her forgiveness. There was no way of salvaging this now. She’d just have to suck up Kit’s fury and do some spectacular grovelling later to make up for this transgression.

  A dull pain thudded behind her eyes. Why was nothing ever easy? She spent her life trying to do the right thing, trying to keep everybody happy, but it seemed no matter how hard she tried, no matter how often she put her own needs last, she could never appease everyone at the same time. One of these days she might just surprise the lot of them and do something for herself.

  But not today. She put her phone back in her pocket and made her way back to the living room.

  Chapter 7

  When she woke on Sunday morning the first thing Kit did was check her phone. Libby had left two voicemails and sent three texts since their phone conversation yesterday, but Kit wasn’t ready to forgive her just yet. Of course she would forgive her – she always did – but right this moment she was still pissed off. On reflection she knew she was probably making a big deal out of nothing, but that didn’t stop her from feeling pretty crappy about being relegated to second choice.

  Peeved or not, she was itching to see Harry, her surrogate nephew. Surrogate child, really. She loved him fiercely, as much as anyone could love a child who wasn’t their own. More maybe. It was Harry’s photo she dragged out of her wallet when the others at work started bragging about their kids. And she was only half joking when she told him she expected him to look after her in her old age. She hoped he’d at least come visit her in the nursing home, if that’s where she ended up. He didn’t know it yet but Kit had left everything she owned to Harry in her will. When she’d signed that document there hadn’t been much to leave – a beaten-up old car, an assortment of well-used furniture, her CD and DVD collection (which might well prove completely useless seeing as everything seemed to be streamed these days) and whatever was left in her bank account when she died. But now she’d inherited Pa’s old house from her mum, her estate was suddenly looking a lot healthier. It pleased her to think that one day Harry – who she was sure Pa would have adored – might live here with his family. Of course he would be just as likely to sell the old place and use the proceeds to build a monstrosity in the outer suburbs, but she tried not to think about that.

  Her phone buzzed. Libby was calling again. She was clearly worried. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet and Libby had strict rules about not calling anyone – not even Kit – before ten on a Sunday. Kit sighed. She was going to give in at some point. It might as well be now. At least that way she’d know what she was doing for the rest of the day.

  ‘Hi, Libby.’

  ‘Kit, thank you for picking up. I’m so, so sorry. You have to know that I would much rather have spent yesterday afternoon with you.’ Libby sounded genuinely apologetic.

  ‘So you said.’ Kit winced. The words came out more churlish than she’d intended.

  ‘It really wasn’t my fault. God, Kit, it was like an invasion. These people, Oh. My. God. It was like a scene from The Real Housewives of Melbourne. And they just turned up. No invitation. No “Have we come at a bad time?” or anything like that. They just arrived and settled in for the afternoon. It was hideous, I tell you, hideous!’

  Kit bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. Libby’s penchant for melodrama never failed to amuse her. But she wasn’t quite ready to let her off the hook yet. ‘I’m sure if you’d said something like, “I’m sorry but we have already made plans for the afternoon,” nobody would have taken offence.’ Kit had always found Libby’s inability to say no an endearing, if sometimes exasperating, quality. Libby was a kind, compassionate soul whose desire to help others sometimes caused her – and Kit – grief. Kit had always accepted the fallout from such incidents, believing that Libby was simply a nicer person than she was. But the thought suddenly struck her: what if the real reason Libby was such a pushover was because she was terrified of being disliked?

  ‘Kit, I don’t think you understand. This is Cam’s job we’re talking about. It’s so important that he make a good first impression. These people seem very involved with each other and there is an expectation that Cam and I will just slide right into their little gang. The whole thing is seriously weird, if you ask me. The CEO and his wife live just around the corner, and the whole executive team live somewhere on the estate.’

  ‘Wow. Talk about bringing your work home. Sounds a bit claustrophobic to me. How will Cam ever get any down time?’

  ‘I know, right? It’s all a bit much. Listen, why don’t you come on over for lunch? There’s a bottle of Moët in the fridge with your name on it. We’ll crack that and I can tell you all about yesterday’s invasion.’

  Kit couldn’t help but smile. She was done being mad. Their plans had been delayed, so what? There was no point in spoiling the long awaited reunion by holding a grudge. ‘What time should I get there?’

  ‘As soon as you can,’ Libby replied. ‘I can’t wait to see you.’

  *

  An hour and a half later, Kit stood at Libby’s front door with her goody basket. She’d successfully negotiated the gatehouse, where the security guard had frowned at her last-century Mazda before checking with Libby that she was indeed an invited guest, and now she stood in front of two enormous opaque glass doors, waiting for them to open. The house was grand, even by Arcadia Lakes’ standards. It sat at the end of a cul-de-sac and the wide expanse of soft green lawn bordered by professionally landscaped garden beds gave an impression of casual elegance, the type that cost lots of money to achieve and maintain. The street itself was quiet. Several similar, albeit slightly smaller, homes folded around the cul-de-sac. Their perfectly manicured gardens gave the only clue that the homes were occupied. No one stood at their letterbox, no kids raced past on bicycles or skateboards, there wasn’t even a car – other than her own – parked in the street. It was a stark contrast to Kit’s street, which had been filled with cars and kids when she left. Old Mrs Farrugia from next door had stopped her and thrust a bag full of lemons into her hands, which now sat in the basket on her arm.

  The door swung open and Libby stood with her arms held wide, squealing. Kit stepped forward and Libby embraced her. ‘It’s so good to see you. Come in, come in. Let me take that for you.’ Libby was talking too quickly. Clearly she was still embarrassed about yesterday’s cock-up.

  Kit handed over her basket and looked around. The light-filled entry hall was massive.

  ‘I’m so sorry about yesterday, Kit,’ Libby babbled. ‘If only you knew how much I wished things had turned out differently. I hope you weren’t too disappointed. I promise I’ll make it up to you today.’

  Kit shook her head quickly. She wasn’t great with apologies at the best of times, and Libby’s declaration of regret irritated her. Instead of making her feel better it only served to open up yesterday’s wound all over again. She ignored the apology and went on as if Libby hadn’t spoken. ‘Wow, if the entry is anything to go by this place must be huge.’

  Thankfully Libby took the hint. ‘It’s totally ridiculous. The house is enormous. I said to Cam that if I get up for a drink in the middle of the night I’m going to have to leave a trail of breadcrumbs so I can find my way back to the bedroom.’ Libby closed the front door and started to walk towards the main part of the house.

  Kit laughed as she followed Libby into the spacious kitchen. She looked around, taking in the elegantly furnished living area, the floor-to-ceiling windows and the trendy alfresco area, which bordered the sparkling sapphire-coloured pool. But for some reason it didn’t seem like Libby’s house at all, and suddenly she realised why. ‘Where
’s all your stuff? Your furniture? I’ve never seen any of these things before.’

  Libby’s cheeks flushed. ‘The place came fully furnished. Most of our things are in storage for now. We had some pieces shipped down here though, some of the things that have sentimental value. Your mum’s wicker chair is in my bedroom and Nanna’s old dressing table is in my walk-in robe.’

  ‘I guess it won’t take you long to put your stamp on this place.’

  Libby made a face. ‘I’m not so sure about that. Alli, one of the women I met yesterday, told me that the CEO’s wife personally chose all the furnishings and that she would be insulted if I made any drastic changes.’

  Kit’s eyebrows shot up. ‘She’s having you on, surely?’

  Libby shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She seemed pretty serious to me. So I might hold off on making any major changes, just until I see how the land lies. It’s not as if the house isn’t perfectly comfortable the way it is, I suppose. I’ll give you the whole tour later, but we might wait for Cam to get back. He’ll enjoy showing you around, I think.’

  No doubt about that. Cam probably thought she’d be impressed with this ostentatious show of wealth. ‘So where is Cam?’

  ‘Playing golf with his boss.’

  ‘Already?’

  Libby nodded. ‘I know. In fact the whole job seems pretty intense to me. But the money,’ she waved her hand around in a wide arc, ‘and the perks are unbelievable.’

  ‘I guess they want their pound of flesh in return.’

  Libby frowned. ‘I guess. Shall we –?’

  ‘Aunty Kit! When did you get here?’

  Kit swung around to see a lanky boy – young man, in fact – bounding towards her with the speed and demeanour of an excited toddler. She opened her arms wide and Harry flung himself against her. She planted a kiss on his cheek and drew back slightly. ‘When did you get so tall? You seem to have grown a whole foot since my visit in June.’

  He disengaged himself from her embrace. ‘Dunno, but I reckon I’m taller than you now.’

  ‘Well that wouldn’t be hard, mate. You know I’m a compact model.’

  Libby smiled indulgently at them both. ‘Consider yourself privileged, Kit. Nobody gets voluntary hugs from Harry these days.’

  Kit grinned. ‘Nothing wrong with being selective, is there, Harry? I’ve always said he has good taste.’

  Harry grinned back before picking up the beach towel he’d dropped during their embrace.

  ‘Are you going for a swim?’ Libby asked.

  ‘Well, I was going to, but that was before I knew Aunty Kit was here.’

  ‘Aunty Kit will be here all day. You can still have your swim.’

  Harry shook his head in protest but Kit sensed Libby’s desire to have some one-on-one time with her and, despite her love of Harry, Kit couldn’t help but feel the same way. Once Cam got home their window for proper conversation would be closed. ‘Hey, Harry, I’m not going anywhere for hours. And I brought my bathers so after lunch I might just join you in that gorgeous-looking pool, so if I were you I’d make the most of the chance to have it to myself. That’ll give your mum and me a chance to catch up on all our boring girl talk. What do you reckon?’

  Harry nodded. ‘Yeah, okay. But you have to promise to come in with me after lunch. Mum never swims. She doesn’t like getting her hair wet.’

  Libby touched a hand to her hair. ‘That’s not true. I swim sometimes. It just has to be hot enough to justify me blow-drying my hair all over again.’

  Harry rolled his eyes. ‘See what I mean?’

  Kit laughed. ‘I promise I am nowhere near as vain as your mother. Nothing short of a torrential storm will keep me from that pool after lunch.’

  Libby’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. ‘Not vain? Who are you trying to kid, Kathleen Munroe? Who’s the one who insists on vetting all photos taken of her and then deletes any that are not completely stunning?’

  ‘Pfft, that’s a major exaggeration if ever I’ve heard one. And I’m not the one who takes two hours to get ready to go out for a drink.’

  Harry joined in the teasing of his mother. ‘Yeah, Mum, you take forever and I don’t know why you bother. It’s not as if you actually look any better when you’re done.’ There was a look of derision on his face.

  Libby’s smile faded and Kit sensed her hurt. She jumped to her friend’s defence. ‘Hey, watch how you speak about my friend here. Your mother happens to be one of the most stylish women I know.’ She tried to keep her tone light, but she looked Harry right in the eye in the hope that he’d get the message that disrespect towards his mother wouldn’t be tolerated in her presence.

  ‘Whatever,’ he said as he made his way outside.

  Kit raised an eyebrow. ‘What was that?’

  Libby sighed. ‘That was a teenager, my friend. Harry’s not a baby anymore.’

  ‘Hmm. I’m not sure if I like this growing-up thing. He never used to answer back when he was little. Remember how adorable he was back then? Although, now that I think about it, he used to boss me around a bit when I’d read to him over the phone.’ Kit adopted a childish voice. ‘“You missed a page, Aunty Kit.” I could never get away with anything.’

  Libby gave her a wistful look. ‘I’d almost forgotten about Wednesday night story time. I looked forward to it all week. It was the one time I could enjoy a cuppa without being asked a bazillion questions. You were a lifesaver back then.’

  ‘Thanks, but I did it for me, not you. I wanted Harry to know me, and that was always going to be a challenge with us living so far apart. It was Mum who suggested the story reading. I think Sandy used to do it for her daughter’s kids and Mum got the idea from her.’

  ‘It was a brilliant idea, whoever thought of it. Harry loved it. He used to ask me every day, “Is it story day today, Mummy?” Of course that was back when he used to actually talk to me.’

  Kit winced. ‘Is it really that bad? Last time I stayed with you guys he seemed his normal chatty self.’

  ‘Yeah, but that was almost six months ago. Maybe the puberty hormones hadn’t quite hit their peak then. It’s really just these past few months I’ve noticed a real change in him. Besides, he’s always better behaved when you’re around. But now you’ll be seeing more of each other, don’t be surprised if you catch a few more glimpses of the real Harry Reynolds.’

  ‘Oh dear. I guess I’d better brace myself.’

  Libby laughed. ‘Welcome to my world. But honestly, as far as teenagers go, he’s not too bad. He’s still the same old Harry, just with a few rougher edges.’

  If Harry were her kid, Kit would be working on knocking off those rougher edges. But she knew from past experience that Libby did not take well to advice on parenting, especially from her, so she decided to move the conversation on. ‘I brought a cold bottle of bubbly with me if you want to have that first.’

  Libby shook her head. ‘I’ve got a bottle of Moët ready to go. We’ll put yours in the fridge for later. You don’t think ten thirty’s too early for alcohol?’

  Kit snorted. ‘As if. It’s champagne, for heaven’s sake. Stick a strawberry in yours if you must and call it brunch.’

  ‘Actually, there’s fruit in the fridge that needs to be eaten. I might cut some up. Feel like some fresh pineapple and rockmelon?’

  ‘You shopped already? I’m impressed.’

  Libby shook her head. ‘The fridge was full when we arrived. There’s everything you can possibly imagine in there – fruit, vegetables, wine, cheese, meat . . .’ She walked over to the stainless steel refrigerator and opened the door. ‘Check it out.’

  Libby wasn’t joking. There was barely any shelf space left in the oversized appliance. ‘Seriously? Who did the shopping?’

  Libby handed her a rockmelon. ‘Felicity – she’s one of the senior executives’ wives – prepared a list for the moving
company. The CEO’s wife, Georgina, furnished and styled the house for us, and they stocked the pantry as well. Even the bathrooms have been filled with the basics – soap, shampoo, toothpaste.’

  ‘Isn’t that a little over-the-top?’ Kit placed the rockmelon on the counter and went to sit on one of the stools on the other side of the bench-top. ‘I mean, who does that? I’m all for working for the communal good, neighbours being neighbourly and all that crap, but this borders on bizarre. Are you sure Cam hasn’t signed you up to some weird sort of cult?’

  Libby pulled out half a pineapple and closed the fridge. She shrugged as she plonked the pineapple on the marble bench-top and started opening and closing cupboard doors. ‘I don’t know. But you know what? If this is how cults operate these days, maybe I’m ready to get my religion on.’

  Kit grinned. ‘Fair enough. What are you looking for?’

  Libby’s head disappeared below the counter momentarily. ‘This,’ she said triumphantly as she reappeared holding a cutting board. ‘I haven’t quite figured out where everything is yet. Now, if I could just find my large knife. It doesn’t appear to be anywhere in this kitchen.’

  Kit slid her behind off the stool and went to join the search. After finding drawers filled with table linen, rows of sparkling glasses and glistening white plates, she was stumped. ‘How many bloody drawers can one kitchen have?’

  ‘I told you the place was ridiculous.’

  Kit opened the door to the walk-in pantry, which was like a whole other room. In fact Kit’s entire kitchen from her old rented flat could have fitted inside it. There was a bench set up with the microwave, kettle, toaster, even a coffee machine. She turned to scan the shelves and found a knife block sitting beside a blender. She picked it up and went back into the main kitchen. ‘Voila!’

  Libby clapped her hands. ‘You, my friend, are a superstar.’

  ‘Just trying to earn my champers. Speaking of which . . .’

  ‘Good point. Why don’t you sort out the drinks while I chop this up? Flutes are in that cupboard over there.’ Libby pointed to the cupboard to the left of the rangehood.