The Art of Friendship (16 page)

She closed her mouth, stunned. His words cut her to the quick. She felt like something had been placed over her, dulling her senses, like a fire blanket over a blaze. Cutting off air and light. All she felt was hurt. If he had any feelings for her, any at all, he would never have said such a cutting, hurtful thing.

‘Well, I’d better get on,’ he said, stood up and rolled his shoulders backwards, and cricked his neck to the right, then the left. ‘That’s the problem with tea, or in this case cordial, breaks. Once you stop you don’t want to start again!’ He laughed, went over to the bench by the window, and picked up his gardening gloves.

‘Chris?’

‘Yes?’ He paused in the process of donning the second glove, and looked at her.

She wanted to say something but she did not know what.
He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to speak. ‘About the new job,’ she said at last. ‘I hope you find something you want.’

‘Thanks.’ He smiled and walked past her. She almost reached out for him. Instead she gripped the arms of the seat with her fingers and sat there staring at his retreating back as he walked slowly across the lawn. She wanted to call out to him but what would she say? She wasn’t brave enough to share her emotions and, anyway, there were no guarantees that he would reciprocate the feelings.

If fact, if this conversation was anything to go by, his reaction would be quite the opposite. He had shown absolutely no interest in her, apart from a brotherly sort of concern. And actions spoke louder than words, didn’t they? It was time for Kirsty to face up to the facts. If Chris cared for her at all he would not be making plans to move away from Ballyfergus. She was quite sure that if she told him how she felt, not only would she have to suffer the humiliation of rejection, but she would risk losing him as a friend.

Tears pricked her eyes and she brushed them angrily from her cheeks. It was time for her to let go of the romantic notions she had harboured concerning Chris Carmichael. Clearly he had a lot more sense than Kirsty in recognising what she had been so determined to ignore – a relationship between them was never going to work.

‘Mum! Mum!’ called Adam. ‘Come over here. You’ve got to see this.’

Kirsty closed her eyes, opened them and took a deep breath. ‘Just a minute,’ she called.

Her children were the only thing that really mattered. Now and again she needed to be reminded of that. She had got the job she wanted, the independence she craved. She should be content. But all she’d thought about for the past
four months was herself – her own needs and desires. And that was indulgent and self-centred. Her boys were still young. They needed her. She was ashamed of herself.

‘Mum!’ cried Adam. ‘Quick! Come and see this. We think it’s a tadpole.’

‘I’m coming,’ she called and hauled herself to her feet. She felt a sudden chill and rubbed the goosebumps on her bare arms. The breeze had picked up, whistling between the heads of the tulips and daffodils and sending a dry leaf from last autumn skittering across the patio, like a mouse on a kitchen floor. The day wasn’t what it had, at first, seemed. She had been fooled by an April day masquerading as summer, just as she had been fooled into thinking that her relationship with Chris was something more than a friendship.

‘Quick, Mum! Hurry up.’

She set off across the lawn, her legs as heavy as her heart. Every step was an effort. She fixed her gaze on the boys to stop herself from glancing in Chris’s direction. Adam looked up as she came close, his wide blue eyes full of wonderment. She pasted a smile on her face.

‘What is it, darlings?’ she asked.

‘Look, Mum. Look,’ said David, his voice little more than a whisper and he held up a white plastic bucket for her inspection. The same one she had used to soak their stained BabyGros and vests in. ‘I think it’s a tadpole.’

It was too early for tadpoles. She bent at the waist to stare into the bucket and yes, the creature in the bottom, circling round the perimeter of its watery prison, was a tiny fish. But she would not tell the boys that, not today. One shattered dream was enough.

‘Do you know what? You may be right,’ she said, ‘You may be right.’

Patsy stood in the gallery at lunchtime on Thursday, staring at the delivery that had just arrived – two big cardboard boxes full of Radley leather handbags. Two weeks had passed since Martin had lied to her and in spite of Patsy’s best efforts she had been unable to get him to open up. If anything, he had withdrawn into himself even more. He left early for work, came home late and was short with her and the girls. It was almost as though he was spending as little time as possible at home. She tried to get him to talk about the pressures of work, but he spurned every one of her efforts. His character had changed so much she hardly recognised him these days.

And she still had no idea what he was hiding from her.

She gave one of the boxes a desultory kick with the toe of her boot and sighed sadly. When she’d told Martin about her plans to diversify, with the objective of shoring up the family’s finances, he’d given her an odd, twisted smile and said enigmatically, ‘Well, I wish you the best of luck.’ There’d been no warmth in it, no enthusiasm. She wondered now if he was indeed suffering from depression. She had tried to help but he would not let her.

The invoice for the handbags needed checking, and each handbag had to be individually priced. Outside the day
was grey and miserable, matching her mood, and keeping customers at home. Rain pounded the deserted pavement relentlessly.

She didn’t care about the handbags or the gallery. All she cared about was saving Martin and her marriage. And she was so tired – worn out with worry and grief, and the strain of keeping up appearances in front of the girls and the rest of the world while her life at home was falling apart.

She had run out of energy, of resources. She couldn’t do it any more. Patsy closed up shop, put on her raincoat, and went home.

Ten minutes later, she parked the car in the drive and dragged herself to the front door. She put her key in the lock but, when she turned it, the door was already open. How odd. She pushed it open, went inside, closed the door behind her. She shook the rain from her hair and called, ‘Hello? Anybody home?’

And only then did she remember that Martin and Sarah were at work and Laura was at school – she’d dropped her off there herself this morning. Either one of them had forgotten to lock the door, or there was someone in the house. Her heart thumped against her ribs.

She heard a noise from the kitchen at the end of the hall. She started to back towards the door, her hand groping behind her for the door handle. Her hands found it, she held her breath, depressed the handle and…a figure appeared in view at the end of the hall.

‘Ahh!’ she screamed, and put her hand on her heart when she saw that it was Martin. ‘Jesus Christ,’ she cried. ‘You scared the living daylights out of me!’

Then she laughed with relief but Martin did not. If she was scared, Martin looked truly petrified. He stood there in his work trousers and white shirt, with slippers on his feet,
holding a broadsheet in his hand. His face was frozen in horror.

The smile instantly fell from her face. She took a few steps up the hallway and her eyes locked with Martin’s. She knew instantly from the expression on his face that something was terribly wrong.

‘Martin,’ she said quietly. ‘Why are you not at work?’

He held her gaze for some moments and shook his head and in that instant she saw pure terror in his eyes. Then he blinked and it was as if a veil came down between them, filtering the truth once more.

‘I…I…’ he stumbled. ‘I thought I’d work from home today.’

He turned sharply and walked back into the kitchen. Patsy followed. The remains of breakfast were on the table – tea and toast and the marmalade jar with the lid off. Bits of the newspaper were strewn across the surface. There was no sign of his briefcase or bank papers.

‘You never said anything about working from home today.’

Quickly Martin snatched a section of the paper off the table and folded it under his arm. But not quickly enough. Patsy glimpsed the word ‘Appointments’ at the top of the page – it was scribbled on all over and circled with blue biro.

‘Are you looking for another job?’ she asked. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t know you were that unhappy at the bank. You should’ve told me.’

He did not answer. He stood with his head bent, looking at the floor.

‘Is this what your moods have all been about?’ She found that she was angry with him for not confiding in her. For causing her so much heartache. Her throat constricted with emotion, her voice rose to a pitch. ‘You’ve no idea what
you’ve put me through these past weeks. I thought you were ill or having an affair…’

‘An affair! How could you think that? I’d never do that to you.’

‘What was I to think? You lied to me about being in Ballyfergus that day. And all along it’s been about work and some sort…sort of effing midlife crisis. We’ve been married nearly twenty-five years, Martin, and you’ve never kept…’

Suddenly she became aware of a small noise and she realised it was coming from her husband. She stopped shouting and looked at him. He was weeping.

‘Martin?’ she said hesitantly. Her anger was justified but it oughtn’t to have reduced her big, strong husband to tears.

Brusquely he wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand. Then he raised his red-rimmed eyes to meet hers.

‘Oh, Patsy,’ he said. ‘I’ve lost my job.’

Patsy sat down abruptly in the nearest chair, stared at the things on the table and tried to make sense of it all. When she’d collected her thoughts, she said quietly, ‘But why?’

‘Cutbacks. There’s almost no lending going on. I knew it was coming. I could see the writing on the wall. But there was nothing I could do.’

‘Oh, my God,’ said Patsy as the full realisation of what he’d said hit her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Panic took hold and spread through her like a fever. How would they manage the mortgage and all the other bills? How could they put Laura through university? Would they even be able to put food on the table? Her blood ran cold when she thought of the healthy deposit she’d paid up front for the safari. But that was the least of her worries.

They’d ploughed almost all their savings into shares and buying the gallery. They had only a few thousand in savings
on top of that, and the modest income generated by the gallery.

Patsy opened her eyes. ‘What about a redundancy package?’ she asked, hopefully.

Martin shook his head. ‘I’ve been with the company for less than a year, Patsy. It’s peanuts. Enough to tide us over for a month or two, that’s all.’

Patsy bit her lip. They were the victims of bad timing and bad luck. Martin had been with the Bank of Ireland for fifteen years before jacking it in to take a higher paid and, as it had turned out, much less secure position with his current employer. If he didn’t get a job soon they’d have to raise capital. They’d have to sell something. But the shares were virtually worthless…

Patsy put her hand over her mouth. ‘We might have to sell the gallery.’

Martin nodded miserably and Patsy tried not to cry.

‘So long as we have each other that’s all that matters,’ she said bravely, trying to convince herself as much as Martin. ‘And our health and the girls. That’s all that really matters, isn’t it?’

He nodded mutely.

‘But I wished you’d told me, Martin. I would’ve faced this with you, shoulder to shoulder, like we’ve always done. Like we’re doing now. Why didn’t you tell me?’

Martin pulled out a chair and sat down on it as though his long legs could no longer support the weight of his body. He hunched forwards with his clasped hands between his legs, his shirt pulled taut across his back and stared at the floor.

‘I didn’t want to worry you. At first I thought I could ride the storm out and hold onto my job but things just kept getting worse and worse. And the worse they got the more
I wanted to protect you – and the girls.’ He glanced up at her, his brow furrowed with pain.

She felt an overwhelming rush of affection for him. ‘You still should’ve told me,’ she said, and smiled sadly. But she couldn’t be angry with him – though misguided, his motives had been honourable. He had acted out of love.

‘I know.’

‘Oh, Martin,’ said Patsy. She got up and went over to him, pressed his face into her bosom, and kissed the top of his head where his dark hair, once so thick, was starting to thin.

At least he wasn’t having an affair. And he wasn’t ill or an alcoholic, or a gambler. Redundancy, unwelcome though it was, was definitely the lesser of these evils. And Martin was a clever, capable man – he’d get another job soon. Wouldn’t he?

Something was still puzzling her, though. ‘But what were you doing in Ballyfergus that day? And why did you lie to me?’

She felt him stiffen in her embrace and then he pulled away. ‘Patsy,’ he said, and she knew from the tone of his voice and the way he stared up at her with wide, remorseful eyes that she would not like what was coming. She tensed.

‘What?’

‘I lost my job four weeks ago.’

‘Four weeks ago,’ repeated Patsy, reeling from the news like a physical blow. He had been unemployed for a month. Getting up every morning, putting on a shirt and tie and pretending to go to work. Deceiving her. She thought she knew this man and yet he was capable of this? Tears pricked her eyes.

‘How could you, Martin?’ she said, a well of hurt expanding inside her as she spoke.

He hung his head and said, ‘I knew how you’d worry – I didn’t want to upset you. I was going to tell you as soon as
I’d got another job, I swear. I thought I’d get one straight away but…that didn’t happen.’

‘But we tell each other everything, Martin. At least we used to,’ she added bitterly. She put a hand on her heart, bruised with pain.

‘I’m sorry, Patsy.’ He sounded broken.

‘I knew something was wrong. I just never thought it was this…’ said Patsy, thinking back over the past month. ‘And all the things I thought it could be are much, much worse than this. You’ve no idea the heartache you caused me. If you’d just told me…’

‘I know. I should have. I’m sorry. What else can I say?’

‘You’ve broken the trust between us, Martin, that’s what you’ve done.’

He nodded, his face ashen. ‘Can you forgive me?’

Patsy said sorrowfully, ‘I’m not ready to yet.’

There was a long silence during which she raked over every incident in the last four weeks, looking for clues she should’ve picked up on.

She brought her gaze back to Martin. ‘What did you do every day? Where did you go when you left the house in the morning?’

‘I drove about. Enniskillen. Armagh. Omagh. Londonderry. Coleraine. I’ve been all over. I even drove to Dublin and back in the same day.’

‘Doing what? What did you go there for?’

He shrugged. ‘Looking for work.’

‘And that day I saw you in Ballyfergus?’

He blushed and looked at the floor. ‘I was going to the Station Bar.’

Patsy tried not to be angry, thinking of the money wasted on fuel for these pointless journeys and squandered in the pub. She thought too, that if she’d known the truth she
would’ve reined in her spending, not carried on like there was no tomorrow. As a result of Martin’s foolishness they were even worse off financially.

‘So any leads?’

He shook his head despondently, and played with the pen lying on the table. ‘The country’s awash with unemployed bankers, Patsy. My CV’s with several recruitment agencies but I haven’t even had so much as a phone call. They’re all saying the same thing. There aren’t any jobs, not for someone like me.’

Patsy felt her bottom lip quiver. Martin wasn’t going to get a job quickly. They could lose the gallery. And the safari…it wasn’t going to happen now. She had struggled to keep that dream alive, even after the shares fell so dramatically in price, but she could do so no longer.

‘I’ll have to cancel,’ she said out loud.

‘Cancel what?’

Patsy blushed, remembering then that Martin, of course, had no idea what she was talking about. All her secretive planning and dreaming had come to nothing in the end. ‘I booked a safari in Botswana for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary in September. It was,’ she said, her voice breaking down, ‘going to be a surprise.’

Tears of self-pity ran down her cheeks and this time it was Martin who got up and came to her. He knelt beside her, put an arm around her waist and she leant her head on his shoulder.

‘I paid a deposit of a thousand pounds,’ she sobbed. ‘We won’t get a penny of it back.’

‘Don’t worry about the money,’ said Martin.

‘But it was going to be our second honeymoon, Martin. The exotic, exciting one we never had. I thought we could even renew our wedding vows.’

Martin moved and she lifted her head. He took her head in his hands and he said fiercely, ‘Don’t say that. We had the most romantic honeymoon anyone could’ve wished for. Just you and me, alone, in the middle of a lake in Fermanagh. Don’t you remember? All we wanted was each other, Patsy. Do you remember what we used to say? So long as we have each other and somewhere safe and warm to live, we don’t need anything else. And it’s true, Patsy.’

She smiled, and the tears dried up. Martin was right. Back then, when they had so little, they’d wanted for nothing. Life had seemed so simple. But somewhere along the way, it had become complicated and the life they led now required endless streams of cash to support it. Things would have to change – and dramatically.

‘It’ll be okay, Patsy. It really will. You’ll see. We’ll go back to the way we used to be. And we’ll be happy. I promise.’

Patsy closed her eyes and tried very hard to believe him.

Janice waited uncomfortably in No.11 for the others to arrive. All she could think about was Pete and the fact that the time when she must tell him he was adopted loomed closer with each passing day.

She ran the palm of her hand along the cool leather arm of the chair, remembering what the place had looked like before the makeover seven years ago. Back then it had been all big floral fabrics and patterned carpet. This is where she and the girls had come for their very first drink together on the evening of that last art class fifteen years ago, and it had borne witness to almost all the landmark events in their lives since.