The Art of Friendship (13 page)

‘Well, if he is,’ said Janice angrily, ‘I’ll…I’ll have his balls for Christmas lights!’

Patsy started to laugh at the absurdity of this notion and the fact that sophisticated Janice had uttered these words. The others joined in, including Janice.

‘I can’t believe I just said that,’ she exclaimed and slapped a delicate hand over her mouth.

Soon tears of mirth rather than sorrow were streaming down Patsy’s cheeks. She wiped them away and said, genuinely moved by Janice’s loyalty, ‘Oh, Janice. You’re a great pal. So you are.’

Janice blushed and Clare said, ‘You need wine, Patsy. Here, take this.’

She thrust a glass into Patsy’s hand and watched while she put the glass to her lips.

‘There,’ said Clare, sounding satisfied, and she sat down in the tub chair beside Patsy. ‘That feels better now, doesn’t it?’

Patsy gave her a weak smile. Wine seemed to be Clare’s solution for most ills. But it wasn’t the wine that calmed Patsy’s soul. It was the love and concern she saw in her friends’ faces as she looked at each of them in turn.

‘Thanks, girls,’ she said. ‘I need all the laughs I can get.’

‘Patsy, you mustn’t jump to conclusions,’ said Clare earnestly, leaning forwards with her hands clasped anxiously between her knees. ‘There could be all sorts of innocent reasons for Martin’s behaviour.’

‘Maybe he’s planning a surprise for you both and wants to keep it a secret,’ offered Kirsty.

‘Like what?’ asked Patsy.

Clare glanced sideways, searching for an answer. ‘A holiday?’ she said at last.

‘That’s my department,’ said Patsy flatly. She wondered if they would ever go on the safari now. If it had all been a pipe dream. ‘So much for renewing wedding vows and starting afresh and rekindling romance. At this rate I’ll be lucky if we’re still together come September.’

‘Now come on, Patsy,’ chided Janice gently while Kirsty patted her back. ‘We all know Martin and none of us thinks him capable of cheating on you. He adores you.’

‘Maybe it’s some sort of personal crisis,’ said Kirsty, removing her arm from Patsy’s shoulder. ‘That might be why he wasn’t in work this afternoon and why he was drinking.’

‘A personal crisis?’

‘You know. A midlife crisis. Maybe he’s under a lot pressure at work. It can’t be easy being a banker in this climate.’

‘He has been working very hard,’ acknowledged Patsy, clutching to the shred of hope offered by this theory.

‘And he’s bound to be concerned about financing Laura’s education,’ added Janice. ‘It must prey on his mind. Maybe the burden of responsibility is getting him down.’

‘So it could be that, couldn’t it?’ said Clare.

Patsy nodded. ‘I guess so.’ Perhaps she was imagining the worst. But until Martin confided in her, she couldn’t help but let her imagination run away with itself. ‘But why doesn’t he just talk to me?’

‘Maybe,’ said Janice carefully, ‘he feels he’s failed you and the girls.’

Patsy looked into her glass, which was now empty, and bit her lip. She did blame him for the shares disaster. But she hadn’t given him a hard time over it, had she?

‘I’ll just have to try and talk to him again,’ she said. ‘I need him to open up and tell me what this is all about.’

‘That’s the spirit!’ said Janice.

Patsy smiled, her spirits, if not completely restored, then more buoyant. She was so glad she had come out. As she’d hoped, the girls had helped her get some perspective. Martin had been a loving and faithful husband for a quarter of a century. He wasn’t going to suddenly have an affair, was he? The reason for his subterfuge was, as the girls suggested, probably something much more mundane. It could even be a cry for help. And even if Martin didn’t want her help, he needed it. Her job was to make him see that. She took her purse out of her bag and asked, ‘Can I get anyone a drink?’

‘Don’t you dare!’ Janice grabbed the purse out of Patsy’s hand. She held it close to her chest, her fingers gripping the
red leather like a vice, and laughed. ‘You’re not paying for anything tonight, Patsy. The drinks are on us and no arguing.’

Patsy, who was driving, insisted on water and while Janice went up to the bar, Clare raised the subject of the exhibition. ‘Listen, Patsy,’ she said, ‘I’d understand if you don’t want to go ahead with it. Or would rather postpone. You’ve got a lot on your plate just now.’

‘Oh, Clare, it’s sweet of you to say that,’ said Patsy and a look of loss, no, resignation, passed fleetingly across Clare’s features. It was as though a shutter came down, closing in her dreams. Well, thought Patsy grimly, her dream of a safari might have to be shelved, but she’d be damned if Clare’s dream was going the same way. ‘But there’s no question of cancelling the exhibition. I contacted Bronson and it’s all organised, Clare. I can’t pull the plug on it now.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Clare and the light came back on in her eyes. She bit her lip to suppress a smile. ‘I don’t want to put you under any pressure.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Patsy airily. ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she lied. The last thing she wanted to do right now was organise an exhibition. It required energy and enthusiasm, both of which she was low on. But she would do it for Clare.

Janice came back with the drinks and sat down.

‘We’re talking about Clare’s exhibition,’ explained Kirsty.

‘In fact,’ said Patsy, ‘that reminds me. It’s time I got the invitations out.’ She would also have to drum up some media coverage, organise drinks and canapés – on a very tight budget – and hang the pictures. It would keep her busy if nothing else.

‘Who’ll you invite?’ said Kirsty.

‘The usual. All the great and the good plus my regular customers. And you lot of course!’

‘Would you mind if I gave you a list of names?’ said Janice,
and she gave Patsy a meaningful stare. ‘I think they would be very interested.’ By this Patsy understood that they would be willing to put their hands in their pockets – not just stand around knocking back free drinks. Exactly the sort of people she wanted to come.

‘That’d be fantastic. You know the more I think about it,’ she added brightly, surprising herself with sudden inspiration, ‘the more I think that this exhibition is exactly what the gallery needs right now. I need to get people talking about it and get more people through the door.’

If she could earn more money from the gallery it would take some of the pressure off Martin. ‘I think,’ she said, voicing her thoughts out loud, ‘I need to diversify.’

‘Into what?’ said Janice.

‘Oh, jewellery and bags, maybe. I’d make sure everything was of high quality and tasteful, but reasonably priced. I’ll still sell original artwork but maybe supplement it with less expensive prints.’

The conversation rumbled on along these lines, everyone pitching in with ideas, empowering Patsy and filling her with some optimism. She might not make a fortune, but she would contribute more to the family finances than she was currently – and shoulder some of the responsibility she had, perhaps unfairly, been too quick to pass on to Martin.

Concious that she had monopolised the conversation too long, Patsy turned to Kirsty. ‘How’s the job going?’

‘Great,’ said Kirsty brightly. ‘Better than I expected. I love dressing up in my suit for work and my boss Denise and I get on really well. She’s pretty much given me free rein to do things my way. I’m organising all sorts of new things for the schools’ programme. David’s class are visiting next week which I’m really excited about! Though I don’t know if he’ll be pleased or embarrassed to see me.’

After a short pause, Clare said, ‘Has Kirsty told you the latest? She’s met someone.’ She paused dramatically. ‘A man.’

‘Oh do tell!’ cried Janice.

Kirsty sighed and accepted the inevitable – she wasn’t going to get away with not telling them. ‘It’s someone I’ve known for quite a while. And nothing’s happened between us. Nothing at all. I don’t even know if he likes me.’

‘But you like him?’ said Patsy.

Kirsty squirmed in her seat. ‘Quite a lot,’ she admitted. ‘I hadn’t seen him in a while and when I met him recently, I realised that…well, my feelings towards him had changed.’

Patsy and Janice leant forwards in their chairs, waiting breathlessly for her to go on.

‘That’s it,’ she said, uncomfortable talking about her feelings and embarrassed to be the centre of attention. ‘There’s nothing else to tell.’

‘Has he kissed you?’ Patsy winked at Janice.

Kirsty blushed again and gave Patsy a gentle thump on the arm. ‘Of course not! We’re just friends.’

‘But not for long,’ said Clare meaningfully and she ran her finger round the top of her wine glass. ‘He sounds very promising,’ she added, as though she were talking about an applicant for a job.

‘Well, aren’t you going to tell us who he is?’ said Janice, impatiently.

‘Okay, but you mustn’t go round telling people.’ Kirsty looked over her shoulder, leant forwards and watched the faces of her friends carefully so that she could gauge their first, and honest, reactions. ‘It’s Chris Carmichael, the gardener.’

Janice exchanged a favourable, if slightly surprised, look with Patsy and said, in an encouraging tone, ‘Mmm. He’s very handsome.’

‘I think so too,’ said Clare thoughtfully. ‘In a Gordon Ramsay kind of way.’

‘Yes, he’s all sexy and rugged,’ went on Patsy, giving her shoulders a little shake and pouting her lips.

Kirsty blushed in embarrassment. ‘Stop that, Patsy!’ she said and gave her another playful thump.

‘So have you told him how you feel?’ said Janice, getting down to brass tacks.

‘No, of course not.’ Kirsty looked at the table.

‘Why ever not?’

Kirsty was horrified at the very idea. ‘I just can’t march up to him and ask him if he fancies me! What if he said “no”? Plus there’s something else.’

‘What?’

‘I think he mentioned children once. He might be married.’

‘Can’t you just ask him?’ said Janice, sounding a little exasperated. ‘You know, slip it into the conversation.’

Kirsty shook her head and put a hand to her chest. ‘Oh, no. I couldn’t do it without it being obvious I was fishing. Honestly.’

‘You don’t need to, pet,’ said Patsy with authority. ‘I can put your mind to rest on that one.’

Kirsty held her breath and waited for Patsy to go on.

‘Chris Carmichael’s been divorced for over ten years. His ex-wife, Paula, works in the book shop on the High Street. I’ve known her for years. And as far as I know Chris is not involved with anyone else.’

Kirsty bit her lip and suppressed a smile, her heartbeat quickened by this news. Chris was single! He was a free man. There were then no obstacles to them forming a relationship. There was no reason why it mightn’t work out between them. And every possibility it could…

Wednesday nights in Clare’s house had taken on an unwelcome predictability. Invariably, like tonight, there was Izzy, sat at the kitchen table doing her homework, Rachel and Josh running riot and Liam nowhere to be seen.

It had its advantages. One of them was that a fragile camaraderie had developed between Clare and Izzy, based on mutual hostility towards Liam – blatant on Izzy’s part, thinly veiled on Clare’s. Children, of Izzy’s age and intelligence especially, were very perceptive. Izzy was angry at her father’s neglect and she had divined, without being told, that Clare was fed up being left holding the fort.

The phone rang.

‘That’ll be your dad,’ said Clare, taking a sip of the teatime gin and tonic she allowed herself every day – one of the compensations for being a stay-at-home mum.

Izzy rolled her eyes. ‘I wonder what time he’ll be home tonight,’ she said in a world-weary tone, far beyond her tender years.

Clare said, ‘Let’s see, shall we?’

‘I’m so sorry, Clare,’ Liam gushed into the phone. ‘I’d planned to leave early but it just didn’t work out. Things have been crazy here since the lay-offs. Tell Izzy I’ll be there by seven thirty at the latest. I promise. Love you.’

Clare put the phone down and sighed. ‘Seven thirty,’ she said.

‘Figures,’ said Izzy, tugging at the hem of her way-too-short skirt. ‘Still, could’ve been worse.’

Clare tried to be understanding about the pressure Liam was under. As the size of the economy contracted, more and more businesses went bust, and accountancy firms felt the knock-on effects. At Liam’s office they’d already let six people go. The reason Liam was often late home, he told her, was because he was literally fighting to keep his job. Part of that battle was being ‘seen to be keen’. And if that meant staying late at the office, then that was what he had to do, like it or not.

Clare understood all this very well and she hated seeing Liam under such pressure. That was why it was so important that she get her own career off the ground. Their future as a family would be much more secure if they had two sources of income. And the only way she could secure that future was by being, in the short term at least, a little bit self-centered. Something that, as a mother, she found hard to do. She would just have to try and be more like a man.

Clare looked at the vegetables in the sink, ready to be peeled, and the polystyrene packet of sleek, pink chicken breasts sitting on the counter – the rudiments of a meal for her and Liam. The kids, including Izzy, had already eaten: fish fingers, chips and peas. Then she looked at the clock and did a quick mental calculation. She
had
to work tonight. She didn’t have time to cook a meal. With the exhibition just six weeks away she had no choice. She still had to finish off three paintings and do another four from scratch. She was really feeling the pressure but she would not let Patsy down. Or herself.

Liam would just have to fend for himself. She put the
chicken back in the fridge and tossed the vegetables into the basket under the sink.

‘Aren’t you making Dad something to eat?’ asked Izzy.

Clare glanced over at her stepdaughter. ‘No. I haven’t time. He can grab a sandwich or something when he gets in. I’m going to put Rachel and Josh to bed now,’ she said, expecting no response.

‘I’ll take them up and do their bath if you like,’ said Izzy quite cheerfully without raising her head, and Clare was astonished. She put her hands on her hips and stared at her stepdaughter, trying very hard to figure her out. And then it hit her – Izzy was really only comfortable when she was in opposition. She needed an adult enemy on which to project her anger and frustrations.

Until recently Clare had been the relentless target of her foul temper and moodiness. Now – partly through his own fault – it was Liam. She and Izzy would never be friends, she’d come to accept that, but this uneasy truce was a damn sight better than the former status quo. And it wouldn’t do Liam any harm to be at the receiving end of his charming daughter’s temper. It might open his eyes to what she was really like.

It was sad that it had taken a common cause to unite them, albeit warily and probably only temporarily. It gave Clare an insight into what life could be like if only Izzy would stop blaming the adults around her for messing up her life. Okay, she never got the happy ever after every little girl craves – but she needed to get over it. She saw, underneath the bravado, a vulnerable child crying out for attention. It seemed to Clare that she didn’t get enough from either her mother – or her father. Recently, as well as working late, Liam had started catching up on paperwork at weekends, which meant he’d even less time for Izzy.

‘Josh! Rachel! Time for bed. Race you to the top of the stairs,’ called Izzy as she headed up the hall.

Soon squeals of laughter and the sound of splashing came from upstairs. Clare sighed. It was nice to see Izzy enjoying her younger siblings. But she wouldn’t take advantage of her – or give her any opportunity to say that she had. She knew that Izzy would happily paint her in a bad light if it served her purposes.

Clare tidied the kitchen, made a quick sandwich and wolfed it down standing at the sink, followed by a bag of crisps. Then she filled Rachel’s bottle with milk, warmed it in the microwave, and took it upstairs.

Amazingly, Izzy had both kids out of the bath, dried and in their pyjamas. Rachel was sitting on the floor looking at
The
Very
Hungry Caterpillar.
She poked a finger through one of the holes in the book which the hungry caterpillar of the story had supposedly chewed. Izzy was on her knees brushing Rachel’s fine, wet hair.

Clare went over and put her hand on Rachel’s bottom, checking that Izzy had remembered to put a nappy on her.

‘I didn’t forget,’ said Izzy, prickly, as soon as she realised what Clare was doing. Rachel grabbed the bottle and began guzzling down the milk.

‘Just checking,’ said Clare. ‘I’ll get a hairdryer.’

She came back a few moments later and said to Rachel, ‘Shall I dry your hair, sweetheart?’

‘No,’ said Rachel with a grin. ‘Izzy.’

Clare managed to hide her disappointment. ‘You okay with that?’ she said to Izzy.

‘Yeah.’

Clare plugged in the dryer, uncoiled the flex and gave it to Izzy. She went through to Josh’s room, where he was on the floor playing armies. This consisted of lining green plastic
soldiers up in rows on the carpet and throwing missiles, in the shape of marbles, at them. They were dead when they fell over. She touched his short, spiky hair. It was almost dry.

‘Time for bed,’ she said.

‘I have to kill these baddies,’ he announced.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

She went into the bathroom. It was a mess. Towels and dirty clothes were strewn across the floor and a big puddle of water lay beside the bath. Nice to know that there were some things a twelve year old couldn’t do as well as her, thought Clare. Quickly she dried the floor, hung the towels back on the rail, and put the dirty clothes in the laundry basket.

Back in his bedroom, Josh had finished the game. By the time she’d read to him, settled him down to sleep and went through to Rachel’s room, her daughter was in her cot, hovering on the brink of sleep. Clare leant over the crib beside Izzy and kissed Rachel on the forehead. Her eyes fluttered, opened, closed again.

‘She’s gorgeous like that, when she’s all clean and sleepy, isn’t she?’ said Clare.

‘Yeah,’ said Izzy, her words a soft breath. She leant over and stroked the top of her little sister’s head. ‘Night-night, Rachel.’

‘Thanks, Izzy,’ said Clare. She quietly raised the side of the cot, and together they tiptoed from the room.

Five minutes later, at the precise moment that Clare heard the key in the front door, the atmosphere in the house changed. Izzy looked up from her books, resentment radiating from her like heat.

‘Izzy,’ warned Clare, reaching for her jacket, which was hung on the back of a chair. ‘Don’t give your father a hard time. He’s not late on purpose.’ She started to shrug into the coat.

‘Hello,’ called Liam. He came into the kitchen wearily, with his tie askew. He gave Clare a hug, kissed her on the cheek and said, surprised, ‘You off out?’

‘Mmm,’ said Clare, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. ‘I’m going to the studio.’ She took an apple from the fruit basket and put it in her pocket. ‘How was your day?’

‘You know. The usual madness,’ he said and rolled his eyes.

Liam went over to Izzy, who had ignored him when he’d come in and was now pretending to be engrossed in a book that, up until now, she’d barely glanced at.

‘How are you, love?’ he said and kissed her on the scalp.

‘Don’t,’ she said and ducked her head.

‘What’s up with you?’

‘You’re late,’ said Izzy and gave him one of her mutinous glares.

Liam let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumped and he said, ‘I’m sorry, alright? Something came up and I just couldn’t get away.’

Clare put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile. It wasn’t right, in fact it was horrible of her, but she couldn’t help but take some satisfaction in seeing Liam’s discomfiture. Now he knew what she had been dealing with all these years.

‘Listen,’ said Clare, ‘I’ve got to run. Don’t wait up. I don’t know when I’ll be home.’

‘Okay. Something smells good,’ said Liam, looking about the kitchen expectantly.

‘Oh,’ said Clare, airily. ‘That’ll be the kids’ tea you can smell.’

‘So what’s for dinner?’ said Liam and he rubbed his hands together. ‘I’m starving.’

Clare busied herself with the zip on her jacket and sidled to the back door. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t have time to cook tonight.’

He opened his mouth in astonishment.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said, feeling guilty. ‘I spent all morning at the surgery trying to see the duty doctor about that rash under Rachel’s chin. He got called out on an emergency and we ended up waiting for nearly two hours.’

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘Just a touch of eczema. He gave me some cream for her chin. And then Josh had a party this afternoon.’

‘But couldn’t you rustle something up now?’ he said forlornly. ‘I’ve had nothing to eat all day.’

She hardened her heart. She wasn’t responsible for the fact that he hadn’t eaten – couldn’t he buy a sandwich at lunchtime like everyone else? ‘No, I’m sorry, Liam, but I can’t. I need to go now if I’m to get any painting done tonight. Not that I like painting under artificial light, but it seems that’s the only time I can get to do it.’

‘And what am I supposed to do about that?’ he said and glowered at her. ‘I’m at work all day.’

‘A bit more help at the weekends would be nice. If you looked after the kids a bit more I could work then. You’ve no idea how long it takes to complete a picture.’

He let out a sigh that sounded like steam escaping from a gasket. ‘You’re something else.’ He shook his head. ‘So what am I supposed to do for food?’

‘Make something. There’s chicken in the fridge.’ It won’t kill you, thought Clare, wondering when Liam had become so averse to pulling his weight. When they’d first met he was a competent cook – now she couldn’t honestly remember when he’d last made a meal. ‘Or do what I did. Have a sandwich.’

And with that she left before he could say another word.

Clare drove to the studio, her head full of the unpleasant altercation with her husband. She did feel guilty about him coming home with no dinner ready but what was she to do?
She had come to the conclusion that she simply couldn’t do everything. She couldn’t be everything to everyone. Something had to give.

She opened the door to the studio, stepped inside and left all thoughts of Liam outside. She couldn’t afford to dwell on them. When she entered this world, she had to give her art one hundred per cent attention. Anything less led to mistakes and mistakes equalled lost time – and time was her most precious resource right now.

An hour later, Clare had finished her first glass of wine and was just putting the finishing touches to a complex view of Carnlough Harbour taken from the end of the limestone pier. She loaded the brush with black paint and set to work on a chain mooring a red dinghy to a buoy.

Suddenly there was a sharp tap on the door. Startled, Clare looked up to see Janice smiling in at her through the window. Her heart sank. She looked at the fine, thin brush in her hand and wondered when she would ever get the space and peace to paint. The kids, Izzy, Liam and now Janice. Why did everyone want a piece of her? How was she supposed to be creative under this kind of pressure?

The door opened. Janice poked her head in. ‘I saw the light on. Can I come in?’

‘Of course,’ said Clare. She wished she could say no but Janice had been so very generous to her.

Janice stepped inside, a cigarette dangling from her right hand, and the smell of smoke filled the room almost instantly. Janice only ever smoked if she was drunk or stressed. Tonight she seemed perfectly sober, which suggested to Clare that something was up.

‘You don’t mind if I smoke in here, do you?’ said Janice, flicking a lock of dark brown hair over her shoulder with her left hand. ‘It’s cold out there.’

‘No, it’s fine,’ said Clare, dropping the brush into clean water. A cloud of black pigment swirled up like octopus ink.

‘So. How are you getting on?’ asked Janice, glancing at the two empty wine bottles in the bin. Clare gave herself a mental kick – she should’ve put them in the recycling bin days ago. Janice came closer, wafting the cigarette close to Clare’s left cheek. ‘Oh, that one’s Carnlough, isn’t it?’

‘It’s not finished,’ said Clare, suppressing a cough.

‘It’s very good. Once you’ve added in the details it’ll be a fine picture. In fact, I might bag that one for myself.’

Clare smiled, knowing only too well that Janice and Keith would buy at least one of her paintings and exhort their well-off friends to do the same.

‘Thanks for all your support, Janice.’

Janice looked at the polished nails on her left hand, then at Clare. ‘Well, I try to do my bit. I know you’ll be successful with or without my help, of course, but it’s nice to be involved. It’s actually very exciting helping someone launch their career. Who knows where it’ll lead? And it’ll give me something to talk about at dinner parties when you’re rich and famous.’