The Art of Friendship (3 page)

‘Not now, Janice. Later,’ said Keith. ‘It’s nearly twelve! Lads!’ he called to a group of men from work. ‘It’s nearly time for the bells.’

The countdown chant arose from the playroom, where someone must’ve switched on the TV, and it rolled out like a wave through the rest of the house.

‘But…’ began Janice.

‘…five, four,’ shouted Keith, as the chorus grew around them. He threw his arm around Janice’s slim waist and squeezed her until it hurt. He raised his glass into the air like a trophy.

‘Three, two, one,’ she joined in. She forced a smile, determined not to spoil this moment for Keith, furious that Pete had spoilt it for her. But he wouldn’t get away with it, she’d make sure of that.

‘Happy New Year!’ cried Keith and he clinked his glass against Janice’s so hard she thought the crystal might crack. Then he pulled her to him until they were chest to chest.

‘Careful!’ she cried, teetering precariously on her stilettos, the glass in her hand tilting dangerously. ‘You’ll spill the champagne.’

Keith loosened his grip and placed a soppy kiss on her lips.

‘Happy New Year, darling,’ she said, returning the kiss, and he beamed happily. How she envied his contented nature, his ability to always look on the bright side, to see the good in everyone and everything. She loved him for it. Indeed, it was one of the reasons she had married him.

She had hoped, mistakenly, that some of Keith’s magic would rub off on her, that she would become a happier person just by being around him. But it hadn’t worked that way – in fact she worried that, if she wasn’t careful, the opposite might be true. She thought that if he knew the full extent of her pessimism, she would destroy him. Worse, he would stop loving her. For these reasons she did not share with him her darkest thoughts. Like how she really felt about Pete. Tonight, however, she thought determinedly, the issue of Pete’s behaviour could not be ignored.

‘Keith?’

‘Yes, darling?’

‘I know now’s maybe not the time,’ said Janice. ‘But we need to talk about…’

‘There you are,’ shrieked Patsy, appearing from nowhere. She threw her arms around Janice and cried ‘Happy New Year!’ into her left ear.

‘Happy New Year, darling,’ said Janice, embracing Patsy. Her soft, maternal body was comforting – Patsy’s perfume enveloped her like a blanket. She didn’t want to let go.

Soon Janice was surrounded by well-wishers, and, when she looked over at him, so was Keith, his head thrown back in laughter, radiating bonhomie. Janice glanced through the door to the place in the hall where Pete and his friends had been only moments before. They had disappeared. It looked like the topic of Pete would have to wait.

Clare and Liam appeared suddenly, Liam with his navy sports jacket on and Clare carrying a black wool coat over her arm.

‘You’re not leaving already, are you?’ she said, disappointed.

“Fraid so,’ said Clare. ‘We need to get back for the babysitter.’

‘Our taxi’ll be here any minute,’ confirmed Liam. The people around them peeled away like onion skins until only the three of them were left.

‘Well, thanks for a great party, Janice,’ said Liam.

‘Yeah, thanks a million. It was fab,’ said Clare.

If Pete wouldn’t apologise to them, thought Janice grimly, then she would have to…

‘We’d better get going, Liam,’ said Clare, ever the worrier. ‘We don’t want the taxi driving off without us. They’re like hen’s teeth on New Year’s Eve,’ she added, trying to be lighthearted.

‘Liam. Clare,’ began Janice.

They stared at her, waiting.

‘I must apologise to you about Pete’s behaviour earlier.’

‘No, no, no. There’s no need,’ mumbled Liam, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets and finding sudden fascination with his shoes.

‘None at all,’ said Clare, shaking her head and avoiding eye contact with Janice.

‘Just high spirits,’ said Liam, looking at his wife. ‘A few drinks too many, that’s all.’

‘We’ve all been there,’ said Clare, nodding her head at Liam. ‘Haven’t we?’

‘Oh yes,’ he agreed. ‘I insult people on a regular basis, don’t I, pet?’ he said and laughed. Then he added hastily, his face colouring, ‘Not that I was insulted, you understand. No, not in the least. I just meant…I…’

His voice tailed off and there was an awkward pause. Their efforts to mitigate Pete’s crime only served to embarrass Janice further. They were too nice to be honest. Janice took a deep breath.

‘He was unforgivably rude to you and for that I must apologise,’ said Janice. ‘And I wish I could put it down to drink but I can’t. He was completely sober. I asked him to apologise but he simply refused,’ she said blankly, laying out the bare facts. The temptation to invent excuses for him was great. But she would not spare herself the censure that was rightly hers.

‘Taxi for McCormack,’ hollered a rough male voice from the hallway and the relief on the couple’s faces was obvious.

‘Come on, Clare,’ said Liam. ‘We need to go.’

‘God, yeah!’ said Clare, suddenly flustered. Her bag slipped and she juggled it and the coat until she had secured them both safely in her arms again. ‘Well, Janice. It was a fabulous party. Thank you so much,’ she said with a broad smile, placed a kiss on Janice’s cheek and then they were gone.

Janice, grim-faced, headed for the kitchen, looking for Emma, only to find out that she had gone home early, ostensibly with a headache.

Later Janice sat alone in the drawing room as Keith saw the last guests to the door. She nursed a glass of water, her shoes at her feet. The room had been cleared of glasses and bottles and the bar dismantled. The furniture needed to be put back in place, ornaments reinstated where they had been removed for safe keeping, and the room given a good clean. But there was little real damage, bar a few spillages on one of the rugs. Nothing that couldn’t easily be rectified.

She wished the same could be said of Pete. That the blots on his character could be shampooed out like the stains on a carpet. But she feared his nature was too ingrained now. This realisation shocked Janice for, up until now, she had always held out hope that Pete would somehow be redeemed. She had been doing so all his life.

From the very early days when, as a toddler, he bit other children so hard he left bruises, right up until tonight, she had told herself it was a ‘stage’ he would grow out of. And Keith was happy to buy into that fallacy too. They mistook Pete’s maliciousness for mischievousness, cunning for cleverness and deviousness for precocious development. They shut their eyes to the fact that his behaviour didn’t improve with the years. It just became more covert as he gradually began to understand what he could get away with, and what would get him into deep trouble.

And, when the hoped-for brothers and sisters for Pete failed to arrive, they, Keith especially, indulged him. If they had been able to have children together Janice wondered if it would’ve made any difference to the way Pete turned out. He wouldn’t have been so spoilt, but somehow she doubted if his character would’ve been fundamentally different. So
much of character was down to genes, wasn’t it? Janice bit her lip and blinked back the tears. At one time she had convinced herself that good parenting would be enough to overcome the curse of Pete’s legacy. And she had been proved wrong.

Keith came into the room, let out a long, weary sigh and collapsed onto the elegant green sofa opposite Janice. He rested his elbow on the arm of the couch and rubbed his brow with forefinger and thumb, as if smoothing out wrinkles.

‘I’m knackered,’ he yawned. He kicked his shoes off and put his feet on the coffee table.

‘Me too,’ said Janice, exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster of the last few hours. She rubbed the tender red welts across the arches of her feet – the painful price of fashion.

‘Do you think everyone enjoyed themselves?’ asked Keith, resting his head on the back of the sofa.

‘Everyone except Clare and Liam. And Emma, the waitress, ’ said Janice, her anger reignited.

‘What are you talking about, Janice?’

Janice, feeling suddenly chilled, pulled a beaded beige cashmere throw off the back of the sofa and draped it across her shoulders. ‘Pete.’

Keith sighed loudly. ‘What’s he done now?’ The uninterested tone of his delivery irritated Janice. Her husband was always quick to jump to Pete’s defence.

Janice rolled her shoulders to ease the tension across her upper back and took a deep breath. She told Keith what had happened and tried not to colour the story with her opinions and prejudices.

‘Oh, Janice. Is that what had you storming out of the cloakroom with a face like thunder?’ he said when she had finished. Janice felt herself bristle with indignation. ‘It sounds
like nothing more than a case of high jinks to me. And that’s hardly a crime on New Year’s Eve, is it?’

Janice took a deep breath and counted to five. Getting Keith to understand that there was something wrong with Pete was an uphill battle. ‘He assaulted that girl right in front of my eyes. And it isn’t so much
what
he did to Liam. Yes, I can see how it might sound like a harmless prank. And handled the right way, perhaps it might’ve been funny. But it was the way he did it. He wasn’t joining
in
the fun, he was poking ridicule at one of our dearest friends.’

‘It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘I’m sorry, Keith,’ said Janice stiffly, ‘but you weren’t there. There was this awful silence and people didn’t know where to look. Everybody was embarrassed. And Liam was furious.’

‘You’re imagining things.’

‘I’m not,’ she said patiently.

‘Well. Look,’ said Keith. He removed his feet from the table, leant forwards and held his hands out wide, palms upwards as though weighing the truth in them. ‘Did Clare and Liam say anything to you about it? I saw you talking to them just before they left.’

‘No,’ said Janice and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Of course not. They’re far too polite to criticise their host’s son. I apologised to them though.’

‘And what did they say?’ said Keith.

‘They made out like it was nothing,’ she was forced to admit.

‘There you go then,’ said Keith, dropping his hands and relaxing back into the seat again, barely managing to keep the smile off his face.

Janice was reminded yet again of the pitfalls of arguing with a barrister. Keith had a way of rounding an argument into a corner, like a sheepdog. And once he had you cornered,
you felt just as stupid as a sheep. She gripped the edges of the wrap and pulled it tighter, like a swaddling blanket.

‘I always said you let him wind you up too easily, Janice. The trick with Pete is not to let him know he’s got to you.’

Ignoring this comment she said, ‘And what about him molesting that waitress? You’re not going to shrug that off too, are you?’

He said, ‘Again, I think you’re over-reacting. Maybe they were just messing about – both of them. I don’t know. But a quick grope in the hallway hardly constitutes sexual assault.’

‘She didn’t ask for it, if that’s what you mean, Keith. It wasn’t like that. It was totally inappropriate. She was horrified and when I went looking for her later on, I was told she’d gone home.’

‘Her going home may have had nothing to do with Pete.’

‘You’re not taking me seriously, are you?’ she said, balling her fists in frustration. ‘You never believe me when it comes to Pete.’

‘I never believe you,’ he repeated, nodding his head slowly. ‘Hmm.’ This was one of his favourite devices in a debate. By drawing attention to her inaccurate generalisation, he was attempting to divert the argument into a siding. She knew what was coming next. ‘Do you think it’s fair to say that “I never believe you when it comes to Pete”?’

‘That may be an exaggeration,’ said Janice quickly, determined not to let him deflect her. ‘But you persistently fail to accept that Pete isn’t…isn’t…’ She floundered, searching for the right word. ‘He isn’t
right.
’

Keith rubbed his hand through his hair until it stood up on end. ‘He’s a normal seventeen year old, Janice. And, yes, I acknowledge that his social skills aren’t as refined as we might like. But that’ll come with experience. You know
sometimes you talk about him as though you don’t even like him.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s my son,’ protested Janice.

Keith sighed. ‘Look, if it makes you any happier, I’ll get him to phone Liam tomorrow.’

‘Thank you,’ she said ungraciously, pleased to have made some ground but frustrated that she had had to fight so hard for it.

‘Though I’m sure he’ll wonder what on earth Pete’s calling him for…’

‘No he won’t,’ said Janice.

‘I’ve said I’ll get him to apologise, Janice. What more do you want?’

‘And what about the waitress?’

‘I’ll talk to him about that. It wouldn’t be…wise,’ he said, placing careful emphasis on the last word, ‘for him to contact the girl about that. Just in case she decided to take it further. But I’ll make sure,’ he added firmly, ‘that he understands his actions were unacceptable.’

Janice sighed. That was something. ‘Okay,’ she said quietly, mollified but not entirely content.

‘Right. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?’ he said.

She nodded.

‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said and came over to her and held out his hand. She took it, stood up and he kissed her on the forehead – without heels, she was three inches shorter than him. ‘I know you worry about Pete, Janice. But he just needs to find his own way a bit. And he’s going to be alright. I know it. Let’s forget about him for now.’

Janice rested her head on his shoulder and swallowed the lump in her throat. She had a terrible sense of foreboding. Something bad was about to happen; no, more specifically, Pete was about to do something bad. And yet when she tried
to articulate this thought, it sounded ridiculous. She closed her eyes and tried very hard to believe Keith’s optimistic words.

‘Oh Keith,’ she said, ‘I do love you.’

‘I know you do,’ he replied, with the unerring confidence of someone who believes that good things are their due.

It was Saturday afternoon, a fortnight after the party at Janice’s, when Kirsty stood by the bedroom window in her unnervingly quiet house, facing up to the reality of making good on her New Year’s Eve resolution. Janice had talked her into her first blind date – her first date of any kind – in over fifteen years. And while Janice and Keith would be there to support her at the meal in a local restaurant – and she was sure Janice would not pair her up with someone horrible – she was absolutely petrified. She puffed up her cheeks, then blew out slowly, trying to calm her shaky nerves.

Her instinct was to cancel, but that would be the coward’s way out. She would be letting Janice and Keith down and insulting Keith’s colleague, Robert. She told herself that there was nothing to be afraid of. She was sure Robert would be perfectly charming. But it wasn’t him Kirsty was worried about.

She had no idea how to act on a date. Not any more. She was so out of touch with everything. She had only the vaguest handle on current affairs. She had no idea what was hip in the music world. The only movies she went to see were romcoms with her girlfriends. All she had to talk about, really, when she thought of it, was her two sons and re-runs of
CSI, House
and
Numbers
– her favourite TV shows. Not
for the first time, she told herself, she should get a job – at least then she would have something interesting to talk about and, God knows, she could use the money. But this time she really meant it. She should’ve made
that
her New Year’s resolution, forget about men, and save herself all this emotional angst.

But focusing on work wasn’t the answer. She was lonely and the only remedy was male company. She had not been with a man since her husband, Scott, died three years ago. He’d been killed while out cycling early one crisp Sunday morning in November, by an old man driving his battered Peugeot 107 to church. Scott’s helmet had not been secured properly, it had flown off in the impact and he died instantly. The first Kirsty knew about it was the call from the police.

Looking back, it comforted her to know that Scott was not alone when he died – that members of his cycling club, people who cared for him, were there. She prayed that he hadn’t endured even a second of consciousness in which to remember her and his little boys – or to realise that he was never going to see them again. She prayed that he died still believing that she loved him.

Three years was a long time to be alone. Since the accident, everything had revolved around looking after the children and helping Scott’s devastated parents, Harry and Dorothy, come to terms with their loss. More and more Kirsty found herself dissatisfied with the narrowness of her life. And, increasingly, she found herself ready to face the world again. Not only did she need a job – Scott’s insurance money had almost run out – she wanted a job so that she could meet people, laugh with colleagues and feel part of something. But above all, she wanted to be loved.

Instinctively Janice understood this. Kirsty had allowed herself to be coaxed into tonight because, in spite of her
fears and excruciating shyness, she did really want to meet someone and fall in love. And Janice was right – she wasn’t going to meet him sitting at home every night watching TV, or going out with her married girlfriends.

Kirsty turned and stared at the long panelled skirt which lay on the bed. It was made from black-and-grey tartan wool fabric, with decorative pouches at the hem, each one embellished with ivory embroidery. The tartan reminded Kirsty of her Scottish roots, and the bohemian design of her days at the Glasgow School of Art where she had met Scott.

She smiled, remembering, and lovingly touched the fabric of the garment as if it could transport her back to that world. Scott Elliott had been a second-year student studying Product Design when she met him. She was a first year, specialising in ceramics and textiles. He was full of infectious enthusiasm about all the ergonomic products he was going to design which would make the world a better place. And which would make his fortune.

She was swept off her feet. Their affair was intense and sustained over the next two years and, when Scott graduated with no prospect of a job and was persuaded to go back home to Ballyfergus to work in his father’s paper mill, their romance survived the separation. When she graduated the following year, she followed him there.

The phone made Kirsty jump.

‘I was just ringing to see how you were?’ Patsy said when she picked up. ‘Janice hasn’t rail-roaded you into tonight, has she?’

Kirsty laughed. ‘Well, just a bit.’

‘You don’t have to go, you know,’ said Patsy quickly. ‘Just tell her you’re not feeling well.’

‘It’s alright. I’m nervous as hell but Janice is right. I do need to start putting myself about a bit.’

‘I certainly hope not, Kirsty,’ said Patsy with a snigger.

‘That wasn’t a very good turn of phrase, was it?’ Kirsty giggled, then said, serious again, ‘Janice is doing me a favour. She’s giving me the push I need. I would like to meet someone and I’m not going to do that unless I start going out on dates, am I?’ She pressed on. ‘Actually, I’m just trying to work out what to wear. It’s blooming freezing out there tonight.’ She wrapped her free arm around her waist and glanced out at the grey sky.

‘What are you thinking of?’ said Patsy.

Kirsty looked at the skirt as she described it and Patsy said, ‘Nice. What are you going to wear with it?’

‘I was thinking of that black and lace top with the satin trim and…’

‘Mmm, a bit fussy,’ said Patsy, doubtfully, stopping Kirsty dead in her tracks.

‘What?’ she said, her heart sinking. She sat down abruptly on the bed beside the skirt. Never mind knowing how to behave on a date, she wasn’t even capable of dressing herself for one.

‘Do you want to know what I think?’ said Patsy and ploughed on, without waiting for an answer. ‘I think it would look fabulous with a plain black polo neck. You know the ribbed, cotton type. Have you got one?’

‘Yes…’ said Kirsty, cheering a little in the face of Patsy’s enthusiasm. She got up and opened the wardrobe door. Thankfully the polo neck was there and not in the laundry basket.

‘Now imagine it with one of your big funky necklaces, a big black belt and your black suede boots. The ones with the wedge heels. And that grey fur gilet of yours. Better still wrap the belt round the gilet – that’s very now.’

Kirsty hastily assembled a mental picture of the ensemble
and breathed a sigh of relief. It was chic without being old-fashioned and she knew exactly which handcrafted necklace she would wear. Along with a chunky belt (the one with the big silver buckle, designed by one of her old pals from college), she would be true to her bohemian instincts. ‘Patsy,’ she said, ‘you’re so right. The last thing I need is a fashion disaster on top of my nerves.’

‘You’d look great whatever you wore, Kirsty. You’re so pretty. But in that you’ll be absolutely knock-out.’ Kirsty smiled into the phone, grateful for the blessing of her wonderful friend. There was a short pause and then Patsy spoke again. ‘Where are the boys?’

‘Dorothy and Harry have them for a sleepover. They collected them just after lunch. They were planning to take them to the pictures in Ballymena and then for a McDonald’s.’

‘The boys will love that,’ chuckled Patsy. ‘Harry and Dorothy are fabulous, aren’t they?’

‘The best,’ said Kirsty. She held her in-laws in the highest regard. The only complaint she had about them was that, in their generosity and love, they could sometimes be a bit suffocating. But that was a small price to pay for the unstinting affection they lavished on the boys, and the practical help they had selflessly given Kirsty over the last three years – and continued to give, without thought of return.

‘What do they think of you going on a date?’ said Patsy.

Kirsty paused. She worked at an old splat of white paint on the window with her fingernail. It wouldn’t budge. ‘I haven’t told them. They think I’m just going round to Janice’s.’

‘Oh,’ said Patsy, and there was an awkward silence which Kirsty felt obliged to fill.

‘I don’t know why I didn’t tell them the truth. I just feel a bit awkward about it. I know it’s ridiculous.’ She sank down on the bed again, careful not to sit on the skirt.

‘You’re not being unfaithful to Scott, you know, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ said Patsy.

‘It’s not that…’

‘And Scott would want you to be happy, Kirsty.’

‘I know,’ agreed Kirsty, with a long sigh. She wrapped her legs around each other until she was all tied up in a knot. ‘But it’s his parents…Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I just don’t want to hurt them.’

‘You should tell them. They’re going to have to face up to the fact that you’re only thirty-six, for heaven’s sake. Wish I was thirty-six again,’ she said wistfully and then went on, ‘it’s only natural for you to want a life of your own. Sooner or later you’re going to meet someone and everything will change.’

‘I think that’s what they’re afraid of. I think they like things the way they are. And part of me likes it too. I’ve got used to living this celibate life within my comfort zone.’

‘You deserve more than that, Kirsty,’ said Patsy. ‘Don’t sell yourself short.’

‘I won’t. And that’s why I’ve agreed to this date tonight. Much as I’m dreading it.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ reassured Patsy. ‘Just try to relax and be yourself.’ And then, ‘Oh, gotta go. Someone’s come into the gallery. Now you go out and have a blast! And don’t forget we’re meeting at No.11 on Wednesday night. You can tell us all about it then. Bye.’

Kirsty threw the phone on the bed and dropped her chin onto her chest, rubbing her forehead with the heels of her hands. Patsy was right – she ought to tell Harry and Dorothy. Ballyfergus was a small place and it would be unfair if they heard it from someone else. She reminded herself that she was perfectly entitled to go out with whoever she liked. As a widow for three years, she was a free woman, for heaven’s
sake. So why did she feel so uncomfortable with the whole idea? And why so very guilty?

She sighed and stood up. Dusk was already starting to fall, bringing to an end the short winter day. The rest of the afternoon and early evening lay ahead of her, long and empty with nothing to do but get ready. As a single mother, Kirsty wasn’t used to luxurious stretches of time to herself. Other women might have revelled in the opportunity for some serious pampering; Kirsty was at a loss what to do with herself.

She went over to the window, put her palms on the cold glass and stared out at the deadened garden, prettily shrouded in a blanket of hard frost. The street-lamps came on, illuminating a circle of tarmac at the side of Kirsty’s property, which glistened with frost. The garden was plunged into darkness. Little whorls of ice began to form on the outside of the window. She shivered, flicked on the bedside lamp and closed the curtains.

She thought of Janice’s luxurious en-suite bathroom and the rows of exquisite glass bottles that lined the shelves above the bath. Janice knew how to pamper herself. Kirsty could learn a thing or two from her.

‘Right,’ she said and clapped her hands together. ‘Let’s do this properly, girl.’

She ran a scented bath, lit some candles and put on a Mariah Carey CD. She removed her flaking nail polish and, when the bath was ready, peeled off her clothes and got into it. She eased herself in slowly. The water was hot – just at that exquisite point between pleasure and pain. The sensation when her shoulders submerged was like a lover’s caress. She closed her eyes, concentrated on the music and tried to cultivate a positive frame of mind.

At the very worst her date could be a complete bore but
she would still have a good time with Janice and Keith – they were always good fun. However, first she would have to get off this guilt trip she was on. Easier said than done. Because her guilt about dating stemmed not from concern for Harry and Dorothy, or for her children, or because she felt that she was betraying Scott’s memory.

It arose from the fact that, for the last three years, Kirsty had been living a lie. Cast in the role of heartbroken, grieving widow, it was a mantle she wore uncomfortably, especially around Harry and Dorothy, who were so clearly devastated by the death of their beloved only son. When Scott died Kirsty had been traumatised, there was no doubt about that. She’d ended up on tranquillisers for a full six months after the accident.

But the crucial difference between her and Scott’s parents was that, at the time of Scott’s death, she no longer loved him. For a while after he died, she tried to convince herself that she had – it would’ve made all that well-meaning sympathy easier to bear. She tried so hard that she almost came to believe her own fantasy that they had just been going through a bad patch. Witnesses to her anguish at the time put it down to grief – she wore herself out trying to re-write the past.

But, with the passage of time, she was forced to concede that she was kidding herself. She had loved Scott once, with a passion. But, at the time of his death, their relationship was on the brink of falling apart. There were no histrionics or arguments. No violence, door slamming or walking out. Just insidious bickering between two people who had drifted apart and no longer had anything to say to each other. They had not slept together for six months before Scott’s death. The only thing that had kept them together was the children.

Falling out of love with Scott hadn’t been her fault, she told herself regularly, even though she felt guilty about it every day. Scott had changed. Not in any dramatic way, not so that other people would notice. He wasn’t a monster – he provided for his family and he’d never laid a hand on her or the children in anger. But he’d come to hate working in the family business and, in his frustration, he’d hinted more than once that if it weren’t for the responsibilities of marriage and children, he’d be long gone. He never made it clear if he meant long gone from Ballyfergus, or long gone from her and the kids. He was grumpy and irritable at home – and nothing she did seemed to make it better.

Instead of finding release in talking to her, he found it in cycling, and increasingly he took to going off on long weekends. She’d tried to get him to do more family-oriented things instead but he was never interested. She was truly shocked the time she took the kids to Belfast Zoo, on her own again, and realised that she hadn’t thought about him all day. It was then that she realised she no longer loved him.