A Time for Friends Page 10

  ‘Yeah, I remember. Thanks, I owe you,’ he said and hung up.

  Galvanized and wondering what on earth was the matter with her new friend, Hilary opened the fridge, took a long slug of orange juice straight from the carton and hurried upstairs to shower. The hot water sluicing down over her shoulders felt good and she lathered soap over herself and began to feel much more human. She dried herself swiftly, pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, towelled her hair dry and ran her fingers through it to shape it and applied a sliver of lipstick before grabbing her purse and house keys.

  Her stomach was growling as she walked briskly down the tree-lined street and around the small green, surrounded by neat cottages, to make her way to the shops. The supermarket was busy and she threw croissants and baby tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon bits and grated cheese into her basket, chose two coffee slices and two cream doughnuts from a selection of luscious-looking cream buns, grabbed a newspaper from the stand and stood in the queue thinking how lucky she was to be so near to shops, pharmacies and a DART station.

  She and Niall had bought their cottage when house prices were low, just before they got married, and had extended and renovated it over the years. Now, in this first year of the nineties, house prices were rising and houses in their area were much sought after. It might not be a posh pad near Kensington, she reflected, placing her groceries on the belt, but it had been a good buy and it suited them down to the ground, despite Colette’s pronouncements that Hilary and Niall should ‘relocate and upsize to somewhere – ‘a little more upmarket – like Howth, Sutton or the seafront’.

  Hilary liked where they lived. There was a good mix of young families, single professionals and older people who had lived in the area all their lives. She particularly loved the fact that because there were so many cottages they weren’t overlooked. And, unlike Colette and Des, they at least had their own garden, and a big, well-laid-out private back garden at that, Hilary reflected, stuffing her purchases into plastic bags and handing the cashier a twenty. Colette and Des had no front garden to speak of and shared a very overlooked communal garden at the rear of the Holland Park mansion. Hilary loved her privacy and wouldn’t swap with Colette for anything, and had no intention of going more ‘upmarket’, thank you very much, she reflected, thinking how even more snobby her friend had become over the years.

  The sun was warm on her face, dappling through the bursting, blossoming emerald foliage of the trees, and children played on the green, laughing and squealing as they raced around in the fresh air.

  She glanced down the street when she got to her own small cul-de-sac and saw no sign of a car parked behind hers in the drive. She’d have time to set the table outside and start their brunch before Jonathan arrived.

  She unpacked the shopping and made herself a cup of tea to keep her going, wondering what on earth was wrong with him. He was clearly very upset by something. At least he felt he could come and talk to her, even this early in their friendship. She stood at the cooker, inhaling the mouthwatering aromas as she fried off the bacon bits and mushrooms and filled the croissants with them, before adding the sliced baby tomatoes and cheese and wrapping them in tin foil. She slid them into the preheated oven. They wouldn’t take long to cook.

  Was it boyfriend trouble? Or was it because of his homophobic boss? Jonathan had told Hilary of his encounter with his horrible manager and how upsetting it had been. It must be so difficult being gay and suffering snide comments and abuse from intolerant, unkind, uncharitable people, in every strata of society. She’d never given the topic much thought but if any of her children or her nieces or nephews were gay and were treated badly when they were older she’d be horrified. Life was hard enough without being judged because of sexual orientation, which was a personal matter as far as Hilary was concerned. Love was precious and if you loved someone and they loved you back how lucky were you in a world that was often hard to live in.

  Hilary brewed a pot of fresh coffee, enjoying the welcoming smells wafting around the kitchen, and was setting place mats and cutlery on the patio table when the doorbell rang. Jonathan, pale and miserable, stood on the step, shoulders drooping, eyes red-rimmed. A far different Jonathan from the funny, vibrant, eager and enthusiastic young man of the day before. Her heart went out to him and it was the most natural thing in the world for her to open her arms and give him a comforting hug. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, leading the way into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh Hilary, my life is a mess.’ He shook his head. ‘Something happened to me when I was a child. I thought I had managed to put it behind me but something’s come up and I feel I’m right back where I started,’ he added shakily.

  ‘Ah no!’ She rubbed his back as he slumped onto a kitchen stool, her heart sinking. ‘Abuse?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘Yeah.’ His lip wobbled.

  ‘Oh Jonathan, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what to say,’ she said helplessly. ‘Can you talk about it? Can you tell me what’s happened to upset you?’

  ‘I don’t want to offload on you, Hilary. God, we’ve only just met and here I am bawling in your kitchen.’ He gave her a wobbly smile, tears brimming in his eyes.

  ‘That’s what friends are for! And we’re friends,’ she said firmly, deciding to abandon her plan to eat outside. ‘Let me pour you a coffee. I have a few cheese, bacon and mushroom croissants in the oven, if you’re able to eat.’

  ‘I felt a bit sick earlier, but the smell is very enticing,’ he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and perking up a little bit in the warmth of her cherishing.

  ‘Sit there, and I’ll dish them up. I’m starving,’ she confessed. ‘I felt very ropy this morning and haven’t had anything yet, and the reason I rang you was to apologize for acting like an out-and-out dipso. I haven’t drunk that much in yonks.’

  ‘Would you stop! I wasn’t that far behind you, you’ve nothing to apologize for. I hope it’s the first of many a night on the tear for us,’ he said with some of his old spark as she handed him a mug of coffee.

  She laughed. ‘My nights on the tear will be few and far between, unfortunately. I have a husband and children to factor in.’

  ‘Minor detail,’ he said airily and she was glad to see a bit of colour coming back into his cheeks. She served up their brunch and sat beside him at the counter. ‘This is lovely,’ he said, forking melted cheese and some bacon and mushroom into his mouth.

  ‘My children love it.’ She savoured the flaky croissant, feeling ravenous.

  ‘I’d say you’re a great mother.’ He took a gulp of coffee.

  ‘Oh I don’t know so much – you should hear me screeching at them in the mornings to get down for their breakfast.’

  ‘My mother had a wonderful roar,’ he smiled. ‘“JonaaAAATHANNN!” It would wake the dead.’

  ‘You’ve very close to her, aren’t you?’ His conversation the previous day had been peppered with mentions of Nancy.

  ‘Yeah,’ he sighed, putting down his fork. ‘And that’s part of my problem.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she invited.

  And he did, the whole tragic, sad, appalling saga, right up to where his mother had phoned him and told him she expected him to be at the removal. It emptied out of him in halting, angry, grief-stricken bursts.

  ‘You can’t go! You just can’t go,’ Hilary said emphatically, tears trickling down her face. She was devastated for her friend.

  He reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘No one’s ever cried for me before,’ he said.

  ‘Haven’t you told anyone? Your sisters even?’ she asked, wiping her eyes with some kitchen towel.

  ‘No, I never told them. I couldn’t bring myself to, or my mam, they’d be gutted.’

  ‘If something like that happened to one of my children, I’d want to know,’ she said fiercely.

  ‘Don’t forget my father was dead and Mam was working her fingers to the bone to make ends meet for us and give us a good upbringing,’ he reminded her. ‘I couldn’t bring mys
elf to tell her. I didn’t know how to tell her. I was afraid she might not believe me. And besides I was petrified of what he might do if I told her. He always threatened me that he would make life hard for her if I said anything. That used to scare the living daylights out of me.’

  ‘But when you grew up and when her life became easier, would you not have said it to her? It would have been healing for you not having to carry the burden of secrecy,’ Hilary persisted.

  ‘My counsellor points that out too, when she tells me it’s my choice and I should do what’s right for me, but can you imagine how tormented Mam would be? Her life would be in upheaval. She’d never have a moment’s peace of mind again. And, she would have still had him living beside her until now.’ He shook his head. ‘Hilary, I just couldn’t do it to her, even though I was tempted to tell her many times and I know that she would never hold it against me. I know she would chastise me for keeping it from her for so long. But why would I allow that bastard to destroy two lives? Because her life would be destroyed. She’d be tortured with guilt . . . wouldn’t you?’ He eyed her glumly.

  ‘Yes! I’d never forgive myself for allowing it to happen—’

  ‘No! No, Hilary, you can’t say that. You wouldn’t “allow” it. Mam didn’t “allow” it to happen. It was him and his cunning, and his deviousness. He was such a calculating bastard. All paedophiles and sexual abusers are. And I was good at hiding stuff, too. A lot of abused children are. They feel it’s their fault and they don’t want to upset their parents. So I attach no blame to my mam in any way,’ he said emphatically.

  ‘I know you don’t, Jonathan, I’m just reacting as a mother. I’d want to know,’ she pointed out.

  ‘And I’m just reacting as a son who loves his mother very much,’ he said gently. ‘She’s almost seventy now. She deserves a peaceful old age and I want her to have a tranquil, untroubled life. She’s sure as hell earned it.’ He sat up straight. ‘And you know something? She’s going to have it. Thanks for letting me talk this through with you, Hilary. I was angry with her when she phoned me expecting me to go home tomorrow. But I bloody well will go. It will be good to see that coffin. Damn good. I hope the fucker died screaming!’

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK to go? It might all be too much for you when you get there,’ Hilary said dubiously.

  ‘No. I won’t let it overwhelm me. I will not be that bastard’s victim any longer. He’s had enough of my energy. I choose to go. I choose not be a victim.’ He looked at Hilary and threw his eyes up to heaven and smiled sheepishly. ‘God, I sound like a self-help book!’

  ‘No! You sound like a very brave man who is taking control of his own life. You should be proud of yourself, Jonathan. Your mother couldn’t have a kinder, more loving son.’

  ‘Isn’t it amazing?’ We’ve only known each other two days and I feel as if I’ve known you forever.’ He smiled at her.

  ‘I know.’ Hilary laughed. ‘I was telling Niall about meeting you on the course yesterday and about you coming back here last night and he was wondering should he fly home and duke it out with you, until I reassured him and said there was more chance of you fancying him than me.’

  ‘And what did he say?’ Jonathan asked warily.

  ‘Ahh that was grand. He was relieved I hadn’t fallen for someone,’ she joked. ‘Niall takes people as he finds them. You’ll like him and he’ll like you,’ Hilary assured him, refilling his mug of coffee. ‘Oh and I have something for you,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’ She went into what was once the small kitchen in the original cottage but which now housed two desks and two computers, hers and Niall’s. She rooted in her desk drawer and located two lighting catalogues.

  ‘Here you go,’ she said, brandishing them in front of Jonathan. ‘I thought these might give you some ideas for your latest project.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ he exclaimed, flicking through them eagerly. ‘Ohhhh I love these,’ he said, pointing to a waterfall pendant light. ‘And those sconces would be perfect for what I’m doing now!’ Hilary watched as he poured over the catalogues and was so relieved that the grey look had gone from his face and some colour had come back. He had looked so miserable and forlorn when he’d arrived; she’d been worried about him.

  ‘Hil, you’re a dote!’ He jumped off the stool and enveloped her in a hug. ‘First for letting me come over and unload on you, and second for this. I was supposed to be going into town to have a look at furniture and fittings but after getting Mam’s call I just fell to pieces and couldn’t hack it. But hell, I’m going to go to town and my client’s rooms are going to get the best damn makeover any designer ever came up with. Thanks so much for these. And thanks for reminding me that there’s much more to my life than what Gus Higgins did to me all those years ago.’ He hugged her again, tightly, and she returned the hug with equal warmth.

  ‘Why don’t I go with you?’ she suggested on the spur of the moment. ‘The kids won’t be home until this evening. I’m a free woman! To hell with housework, and the massive pile of ironing I was going to do. You can give me some pointers on the design side of things. I need to up my game a bit.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Jonathan’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Yep, when do I ever get the chance to go to town, child-free, on a Saturday?’ she grinned. ‘Just let me get my bag.’

  ‘The Mary Poppins one?’

  ‘No, smarty, I have a smaller one with only two side pockets,’ she retorted as he began to clear their dishes. ‘Put them in the sink. I have to empty the dishwasher – I’ll do it later. Let’s go,’ she instructed gaily.

  Hilary loved the idea of expanding her interests to include interior design projects and she knew, from their conversations the previous day, that Jonathan would be able to teach her a lot. And it would be fun!

  Hilary felt privileged that Jonathan had trusted her, and felt comfortable enough with her, to divulge his appalling secret. She knew without the shadow of a doubt that, if she ever needed him, his would be a shoulder she could cry on. Different indeed from the friendship she shared with Colette, who hadn’t even had the manners to phone and thank her for supper, or apologize for arriving without a by your leave and imposing on her evening with Jonathan, Hilary thought acidly. Intuitively she knew that she would get far more support from her friendship with Jonathan than she ever would from her friendship with Colette, as old as it was.

  She remembered a quote of Aristotle’s that she had written in her notebook of quotes, a notebook she had kept since her schooldays. Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies. That would be her and Jonathan, Hilary reflected, transferring her keys and wallet into her smaller bag while he rinsed the dishes under the tap. A friendship had been born between them and she was very grateful for that gift. She would value it and so would he. Colette took Hilary’s friendship for granted and didn’t value it at all, and she was getting a bit fed up with it. One of these days, Colette might find out that Hilary was no longer available to be at her beck and call when it suited her. Hilary had new fish to fry and fry them she would, she thought in amusement, spraying some perfume on her wrists and slicking some lipstick across her lips, looking forward to her unexpected jaunt to town with Jonathan.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jonathan pushed away his half-eaten breakfast and gave a deep sigh. All around him the hum of chat and laughter, the clatter of cutlery against china and the smell of Bewley’s coffee could not give him the feel-good experience Sunday morning breakfast in Omni always did. Orla lifted her head from the Sunday Tribune. ‘You OK, hon?’

  ‘Yeah I’m fine,’ he fibbed. ‘Didn’t sleep great last night.’

  ‘You’re not finishing your brekkie?’ she asked, fork poised.

  He laughed and shook his head. ‘I’m leaving room for a Mammy Dinner! She’s cooking a roast for me so she can “feed me up”, so she said, so help yourself.’

  Orla speared a sausage and hash brown. ‘I love hash browns!’ she raved, eating with relish. Do you want anoth
er cup of coffee?’

  ‘No thanks. I think I’ll head, if that’s OK with you. I want to get on the road.’ Jonathan tried to keep his tone light. His stomach was knotted, he felt faintly queasy.

  ‘No prob,’ his friend said distractedly. Orla’s topknot had just come askew and she was tucking her long auburn hair back into the tortoiseshell comb that kept it in place. She didn’t realize just how agitated he really was, he thought. He had never told her about his past. He hadn’t told any of his friends about his childhood secret. He just wanted to be normal with them and not have them feel sorry for him. Dublin was his future, he’d reasoned. He never wanted to look back.

  But sometimes, in spite of your best intentions, you had to, he thought morosely, folding up his paper neatly and taking a last slug of coffee. ‘Are you going to stay the night at home and come back early in the morning or will you drive back tonight?’ Hair sorted, Orla tucked into the cream cake she had treated herself to.

  ‘I’m going to come back tonight. It’s bad enough having to get up on Monday mornings to go to work without having to get up at the crack of dawn and drive for an hour and a half from Rosslara to Dublin, in bumper-to-bumper traffic.’ Jonathan grimaced. He stood up and leaned over and kissed her. ‘Be good!’

  ‘Don’t be a spoilsport,’ Orla grinned. ‘I’ll be as bad as I get the chance to be. Ciao, baby, drive carefully.’

  ‘I will,’ he assured her before making his way in between the tables in the crowded restaurant to the exit. Eating breakfast in a café had become the new fad in Dublin, a sure sign that the grinding recession that had banjaxed the country in the last decade was over, he reflected. It was all so . . . nineties . . . so cosmopolitan. It was far from hash browns he’d been reared, but now a fry-up wasn’t considered a fry-up without them.

  Sunday was the only day they had had a cooked breakfast when he was growing up. It was such a treat to come home from Mass, dressed in his Sunday best, and have his mother put the rashers and sausages on the pan and to listen to them sizzling and spitting while she fried bread on another pan. How they would all tuck into this once-a-week treat with gusto, and then, because it was Sunday, have a chocolate gold-grain biscuit afterwards, to dunk into the second cup of tea. Now every day was a fry-up day, it seemed.