A Time for Friends (59 page)

‘We should send your counsellor to the Vatican,’ Murray joked. ‘She might sort them out.’

‘She’d certainly set the cat among the pigeons. And the thing is, none of the theological arguments about being “the One True Church” would stand up to her basic premise
that love is all there is, and we are all One! So simple when you think about it.’ Father McDaid opened the After Eights and passed them round.

‘I love these,’ Murray approved and Jonathan was struck by how kind he was to his former parish priest, unobtrusively straightening up his pillow, and filling his glass with water
for him to take the tablet that was in a little container on his meal trolley.

‘You’ve a terrific view, haven’t you?’ Jonathan remarked as the last rays of the sunset faded and Daniel O’Connell’s iconic Round Tower, fringed by dark
feathery foliage, was silhouetted starkly against the indigo sky.

‘Superb,’ agreed the priest. ‘It’s a grand hospital. Wonderful care, lovely staff and spotlessly clean. But then of course the nuns still have an input and it
shows.’

‘It’s a pity we couldn’t put a few nuns in government, and in the banks, and we wouldn’t be in the state we’re in,’ Murray observed as a knock came to the
door.

‘Ah it’s the torment herself,’ Father McDaid teased when he saw the physiotherapist appear. ‘She has me wearing stockings, you know.’ He threw his eyes up to
heaven.

‘For that now I’ll make you do two laps of the corridor,’ the physio riposted, handing him his dressing gown.

‘Keep well.’ Jonathan shook hands with him, glad he’d made the effort to visit.

‘I will and keep in touch. And Happy Christmas.’ Their eyes met and they smiled at each other. And Jonathan
knew
that their encounter in the graveyard had been divinely
ordained.

‘Nice to meet you,’ he said to Murray who was pulling on his overcoat.

‘And you,’ said the older man. Lovely eyes, thought Jonathan, noting how green, and flecked with hazel, they were. ‘Take care, Father D. I’ll be in touch,’ Murray
said, patting him on the shoulder.

‘Thank you, Murray, you’re a good friend,’ the priest said gratefully as the physio helped him out of the bed.

‘He looks marvellous. I’ve never actually seen him look as good. He’s a changed man,’ Murray remarked as they walked along the corridor to the stairs.

‘I honestly didn’t think he’d go to Hannah. You could have knocked me down with a feather when she told me he’d been to see her, and then when he rang me out of the blue.
What a shame it took this long for him to get some sort of closure on his past.’ Jonathan shook his head.

‘Dreadful! I suppose I fared somewhat better, I was in my late forties.’ Murray clattered down the stairs beside him.

‘Were you abused too?’ Jonathan asked.

‘Yeah, at school by a teacher.’

‘That’s terrible. Mine was a neighbour!’

‘Imagine that’s the common denominator in our three lives. Dreadful, isn’t it? And there are so many more out there. At least we’ve been helped.’ Murray shook his
head. ‘It’s so good to see Derek embracing all these fresh philosophies and new ideas, compliments of your counsellor who seems to be a very unusual person.’

‘Indeed she is and more. If it wasn’t for Hannah I think I would have topped myself long ago,’ Jonathan confided.

‘That bad. Sorry to hear that,’ Murray said sympathetically as they walked down the steps into the chilly night air. ‘It was the Church’s inexcusable and atrocious
attitude and response to clerical child abuse that made me leave the priesthood,’ the other man explained. ‘I just couldn’t hack it any more. I was in turmoil, full of anger and
frustration. And I also found it hard to accept the way women were treated. I firmly believe there were women apostles. I believe priests should be allowed to get married. I was very out of step
with Church teachings.’ He laughed, showing even white teeth. ‘
Very,
’ he said with added emphasis, jiggling his car keys. ‘This is mine.’ He stopped at a dark
blue Passat. ‘So, Jonathan, it was a pleasure to meet you.’ He held out his hand.

‘Likewise,’ said Jonathan, shaking hands. ‘I hope you’re happy in your life now.’

‘Happy enough now that I’m true to myself, but lonely sometimes. Especially around this time of the year.’ He shrugged.

‘Me too! I always find it . . . difficult . . . especially New Year’s Eve.’

‘Are you with someone?’ Murray looked surprised.

‘No! Long story! Are you?’

‘No! No story,’ laughed Murray. ‘I think you need to be a young man to play the dating game.’

‘Fancy a coffee?’ Jonathan heard himself say spontaneously.

‘Ahh! Yeah! Why not? You can tell me your long story and a bit more about this amazing Hannah,’ Murray agreed.

‘Will we go across the road to the Tolka?’

‘Perfect. And there’s a car park behind it. I’m damned if I’m giving this lot another red cent today.’ Murray indicated the parking hut.

‘Something else in common,’ Jonathan remarked lightly, hardly able to believe he had been so proactive. But there was a kindness and maturity about Murray Corry that he knew would
not lead to callous, calculating behaviour. It might just be a one-off coffee. It might end up as a friendship, which would be a wonderful bonus. Who knew? But all in all today had been a very good
day, Jonathan decided, and the irony was, if he had not stopped at Gus Higgins’s grave none of it would have happened. A divine synchronicity, Hannah would call it, and who was he to argue
with that?

‘You look tired, dear.’ Jacqueline O’Mahony kissed her daughter and studied her under the light of the crystal chandelier that hung in the hall of the Holland
Park flat.

‘And skinny,’ her father said, frowning. ‘Scrawny even, I’d go so far as to say.’

‘
Frank!
’ hissed his wife.

‘Well it’s true! What’s wrong with you, girl? And why aren’t Jazzy and Des here for Christmas? And why haven’t you decorated yet?’ Frank was leaning on a
cane, his face showing the pain of his arthritis.

‘Come in and sit down and I’ll get us some tea,’ Colette said, pretending not to have heard his questions.

‘Where’s your housekeeper?’ Jacqueline asked, removing her elegant black-woollen coat and burgundy-silk scarf.

‘I have to get a new one. It’s been so long since I’ve been here and the agency didn’t have anyone to send so near to Christmas,’ she fibbed. Housekeepers were a
luxury of the past. She would employ a cleaner twice a week, in the new year, who would do housekeeping duties for three hours, but for the last week Colette had been cooking for herself and she
hadn’t bothered eating much. She had ordered a prepared dinner for Christmas Day from Fine Dining caterers, and she had stocked up her freezer with ready-made meals for the duration of her
parents’ visit.

‘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?’