Best of Friends (16 page)

But in fairy stories, there was always a sign about which road to take. Cute elves would appear singing mystically and pointing their elvish fingers, or the only rabbit in the company would twitch its whiskers and refuse to go in the direction of the big dark tower with the flames pouring out of the top. In real life, the choice was murkier. And there were no signposts.

How did you know which road to take?

And if she took the one without the granny underpinnings, what hope did she have of attracting anything in trousers? Lizzie put her tray down and stared at herself critically in the big mirror over the fireplace. She’d never been able to do anything with her shaggy hair. Her face wasn’t actually that lined, mainly because of the oily, olive skin that had tortured her with spots when she was a teenager. She liked her merry brown eyes, but hated the rosy cheeks that always made her look enthusiastic instead of pale and interesting.

And her boobs, once one of her best attributes, were no longer what could be described as perky. To cheer herself up, she thought of the joke of the ninety-nine-year-old woman who wanted to shoot herself in the heart, was told it was to the right of her left nipple and ended in hospital with a gunshot wound to her left knee. The same could be said for this forty-nine-year-old, Lizzie thought ruefully.

She sat back down and flicked through the channels until she came to a taut medical drama she liked. Lots of blood, trauma and pain. Other people’s pain. Excitement was much easier to handle, Lizzie reflected, if you got it through the tube rather than in your own life. But sitting at home and box-watching did rather mean that you missed out on Life, with a big L.

eight

G
reg and Erin Kennedy were not the sort of people to let life pass them by—not when they could go out and grab it firmly with both hands.

When Greg’s mum developed really bad flu and the planned Kennedy family reunion scheduled for Dunmore had to be put off for a few weeks, Greg and Erin decided to take advantage of the day’s holiday Greg had taken.

They quickly booked a small hotel in Glengarriff, packed their walking gear in the suitcase along with some glad rags, and set off for a weekend of sightseeing and climbing mountains.

It was two years since they’d last done any climbing. Greg pointed out that a week’s hiking along the Appalachian Trail didn’t count. “That wasn’t a trek, that was an amble through the woods!” he said. The long weekend in the Rockies was their last serious trek, in his opinion.

Erin remembered the ache in her muscles after the trip to the Rockies and she hadn’t expected the same level of sheer exhaustion in the beautiful Kerry mountains. But, somehow, she felt worn out before they’d even begun.

On Saturday morning, by the time Greg decided it was OK to stop for a break, Erin felt tired enough to lie down and sleep.

“Come on, slowcoach. You’re nearly there. Just another few yards. I’ve got the chocolate opened …”

“If you eat it all, I’ll kill you,” panted Erin as she hauled herself up the steep excuse for a path, side-stepping sheep droppings shaped bizarrely like tiny bunches of grapes, to arrive at the rocks where Greg was laying out their picnic.

“I am so wrecked. How high did you say this mountain was?”

She slumped down onto a small rock, stretching out her legs and leaning against a bigger rock, with her rucksack as a cushion for her back. This was ridiculous; she couldn’t believe how exhausted she felt. Where was the athletic woman who used to daydream about the pair of them tackling something serious, like Everest?

Greg handed her a square of chocolate and then poured out a plastic cup of coffee from the Thermos.

“High enough to work off all this food on the way down,” he said, unwrapping the hefty cheese and ham sandwiches the landlady of the Mountain Arms Hotel had given them that morning before they’d set off. “Just look at the view. Isn’t it fantastic?”

Erin sighed with pleasure. They weren’t at the top yet, but already acres of steep slope stretched out beneath them, covered with waves of pinky purple azaleas that flowered amid the gorse and bracken. To the right were the brooding shapes of more of the Kerry mountains, splayed haphazardly northwards towards Kenmare. The landscape below looked beautiful, untamed and desolate. Only the telephone poles and the odd house tucked away in the valley among the trees spoke of civilisation.

Far below lay the road where they’d parked the car—a rackety grey road just wide enough for two vehicles to pass, but from this great height, it looked nothing more than a winding dark line on a child’s picture.

Despite the early April sunshine, which made everyone in Glen-garriff insist it was “a fabulous day for the time of year,” it was cold on the mountain and Erin was glad of the steaming hot coffee. She was wearing a heavily padded skiing jacket, lined hiking trousers, thick socks with her walking boots, and a hat that was squashing her ponytailed hair, but she could still feel the chilly wind.

When they’d eaten everything in his rucksack, Greg sat beside Erin on her rock and put his arm round her. He hadn’t bothered to shave that morning and when he rubbed his cheek against hers, she felt the spiky beard rough against her face.

The combination of designer stubble, a soft grey hat pulled down over his hair and the pale sun glinting against his sunglasses gave him the look of some glamorous French skier who’d just come down a black run.

“Wasn’t this a great idea to come away for the weekend?” he said.

Erin kissed him on the cheek. “Yes,” she agreed. “We really needed the break. I’m sorry about your poor mum, but it’s nice to get away all the same, isn’t it? And we can have the big family reunion soon.”

“Erin,” began Greg, “we’ve been here nearly a month …” He paused.

Erin stilled. She knew what was coming. Greg didn’t disappoint.

“Don’t you think it’s time to visit your family or at least make contact?”

She said nothing but dug out another chocolate bar from the side pocket of her rucksack. Did he really think she could just phone up after nine years and think everyone would be thrilled to hear her voice?

“OK, OK, forget I said anything,” Greg apologised. “I don’t want to ruin the day.”

“No, don’t,” begged Erin. “We’re here for the weekend to forget about everything: the pressures of your job, the non-pressures of my nonexistent job and the horrible rented house. And I know you’re on the rental agency’s case and they’re going to find us a mansion soon, but it is horrible.”

“Right, we’re here to forget,” he agreed, and took a big slab of chocolate. “I think we’ve been sitting here too long. I’m getting cold and stiff.”

“Me too,” admitted Erin. “Can we phone mountain rescue and get them to helicopter us back?”

Greg pretended to think about this. “I think they prefer to be called out in genuine emergencies and not to airlift lazy, fat tourists down to their cars so they can head back to their hotels for more Irish coffees.”

“Who are you calling fat?” Erin ripped the last piece of chocolate from Greg’s hand and shoved it in her mouth with a wicked smirk.

“Oh, not you! But since you’ve eaten everything, we’d better go.” Greg got to his feet and put out a hand to haul Erin up. “I’m afraid we’ve a bit further up to go before we’re on the way down.”

They walked in silence, Erin reserving her energy for the hike rather than wasting her breath talking. As she climbed steadily, she couldn’t help her mind slipping off the path in front of her and back to her estranged family in Dublin.

Greg didn’t understand her reluctance to go home. He was a black-and-white sort of person. Families loved each other and no stupid argument, no matter how bitter, should stop people from being there for each other.

But a long time had passed since she’d left. Erin knew she’d changed beyond all recognition. She was a different person from the angry eighteen-year-old who’d packed her suitcase and stormed out of her home one evening. What really scared her was what if everything else had changed too in the years she’d been away? What if her grandparents had died? Erin wouldn’t let herself think about that.

Kerry was eleven years older, so she’d be thirty-eight now, maybe married with kids, or maybe not. Kerry’s love life had never run smoothly. She looked a lot like Erin, without the red hair but with the same long nose. Dad used to joke that Kerry, who had mousy hair dyed blonde, had got the red hair temperament. He’d been right. However the rest of the family reacted, Kerry would find it hard to forgive Erin.

The landlady of the Mountain Arms Hotel was attractive and middle-aged, with a genial manner and shrewd eyes. Meg Boylan had come to the Mountain Arms thirty years before when she’d married the proprietor’s son, Teddy. Then, the hotel had been a family concern with just ten rooms and a small clientele who hadn’t minded the shabby décor or the fact that the rooms were often cold. Thanks to Meg’s hard work and drive, the Mountain Arms was now a thriving business with thirty rooms, a spacious, high-ceilinged room for weddings, a cosy bar named The Devil’s Elbow and a small but elegant dining room called The Haven. Teddy, God bless him, was no help at all when it came to running the hotel, although it had taken Meg several years to discover this after his parents retired.

Nowadays, Teddy made an enjoyable daily circuit between the bookies and a small corner of The Devil’s Elbow where he liked to peruse the racing pages and sip a couple of small ones.

“I like to make sure everything’s run all right in the bar,” he told people cheerily when they enquired about his part in keeping the hotel running smoothly.

This left Meg free to run her empire, keeping a careful eye on the kitchens, not to mention overseeing the hotel’s staff. She enjoyed being on the front desk and had long since realised that valued customers felt even more valued if they got a welcome from the proprietor herself.

She’d been on the desk when the young couple from Dunmore had arrived and found there was something refreshing about the way they’d laughed when she’d asked if they were newlyweds.

“We’re married four years,” grinned the husband.

“And we can’t afford the bridal suite this time, I’m afraid. The budget won’t allow it,” added his wife. “Not that that’s going to affect our enjoyment.” She patted her husband’s arm affectionately.

They had that glow of the just-married about them, Meg thought. And she admired them for their candour in admitting that they weren’t in funds.

“Let’s see what we’ve got for you,” she said, checking the hotel’s computer, a machine she adored, even though Teddy wouldn’t go within an ass’s roar of it. The hotel had a bridal suite, which was the biggest room, with a pretty sitting room that looked out over the bay, and a four-poster bed draped with crimson and gold brocade decorated with medieval bower scenes, including maidens, unicorns and woodland glades. It wasn’t booked until the following week when the Gerrard÷O’Shea wedding party would take over the entire hotel.

Marriage to Teddy had long since drummed the romance out of Meg but the Kennedys had touched her heart.

“I have just the room for you,” she said. “It’s an upgrade but it’s the same price as we originally agreed upon.”

The Kennedys grinned at each other. “Thank you,” they said.

Meg’s face softened as she smiled back at them. Wait till they saw the room.

Greg and Erin adored their luxurious suite, and when they got back from their hike they wanted to do nothing more than throw themselves onto the voluptuously soft bed, but they were both mud-splattered. In the bathroom, they stripped off their dirty clothes and Erin began to run a bath.

“I’ll seize up if I don’t soak,” she said, adding some of the hotel’s lavender bath oil.

“Can I join you?” begged Greg.

Erin took a look at the bath. Greg was such a giant that most tubs were too snug a fit on him, and as for sharing a bath … forget it. But this elderly claw-footed creation was obviously built for large people who liked a bit of space to move around. It could have accommodated three at a push.

“We might go through the ceiling underneath,” Erin teased, as she tested the water with a toe, “but why not?”

They lay back, luxuriating in the hot, scented water, feeling stiff muscles unknot.

“Is that your foot?” demanded Erin as she felt something prodding her ribs. “No tickling.”

“Spoilsport.” Greg sank deeper into the water and Erin could feel his toes wriggling under her armpit, insistent and ticklish.

“We’ve got the bridal suite—we’ve got to do things like this,” he pointed out, still burrowing.

“Like this, you mean,” Erin retorted, sliding under the water, making him jerk upright when her big toe made contact with his groin. Laughing, her hair clinging to her like a water nymph, she sat up and shook the water from her head.

“You wanna play, missy?” Greg said, grabbing her ankles and hauling her through the water onto his lap.

“Is the periscope up?” Erin murmured into his neck.

“Nearly. Why don’t we try dry land?” Greg said, his fingers finding the slippery nubs of her nipples.

Erin clambered out of the bath and wrapped a bath sheet around her, drying herself carefully. No point in drowning the bed too. Out of the bath, the steaming hot water began to have its narcoleptic effect. The bed, when they pulled off the coverlet, looking so inviting and so soft. Erin had suddenly never felt so tired and warm and soothed in her life.

“What a bed. Can we buy one like this?” Erin moaned as she lay down.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful?” yawned Greg, bashing his pillow a bit to get it right. “It’s so comfortable. I slept like a log last night.”

They curled up beside each other, bodies entwined, Greg’s right hand gently stroking the curve of Erin’s back.

“We could have a little snooze,” Greg muttered, his stroking slowing down, “to get our strength back.”

“A little snooze,” agreed Erin sleepily. “Ten minutes.” She somehow raised her head to look at her watch on the bedside table. “Ten to four. We’ll snooze until four.”