A Time for Friends Read online

  The weather had changed, and it was spitting rain as he hurried through the car park wishing he could just go home and flop and not have to face the ordeal ahead. He was committed to attending the removal now, he thought ruefully, having phoned his mother the previous evening to assure her that he would be coming and would give her a lift to the church, much to her delight.

  He was veering from being bullish and determined to apprehensive and subdued. He had tossed and turned all night, his thoughts whirling, trying to keep his anger at bay and his disgust with himself that he had never confronted his abuser.

  Higgins would look him in the eye as brazen as you like and greet him as though nothing had ever happened in the past. ‘You’re looking well, laddie, the big smoke is suiting ya, isn’t it, Nancy?’ he’d said the last time Jonathan had been home, and he and Nancy were walking up their garden path and Higgins had been coming down his, clomping along breathlessly, leaning on his cane. Jonathan, as usual, had been furious at his nerve but because his mother was with him he had forced himself to say hello.

  ‘Wimp!’ he’d chastised himself privately, wondering if Nancy hadn’t been with him would he have confronted Gus Higgins or told him to fuck off. Now it was too late. His pervert neighbour was going to his grave and Jonathan would never have the satisfaction of seeing fear in his eyes, or apprehension, at the anticipated knock on the door from the guards. His chance was gone because he hadn’t had the guts to deal with the perpetrator of his abuse, Jonathan castigated himself, loathing himself for his failings.

  Right now he felt very sick and fluttery in his stomach. He got into the car just as the drizzle turned into a sudden downpour. He and Orla had driven to Omni in their own cars so that he could head off after their breakfast. He was sitting at the traffic lights at McDonald’s when a thought struck him and he cursed loudly. The bloody curtain material – he’d forgotten to bring it. His mother had assured him she had cleared the decks and was all ready to commence making them. What an idiot he was; now he’d have to drive back to Drumcondra. ‘Prat!’ he cursed himself, heading right towards town instead of left as he’d intended. The traffic was heavy even though it was Sunday as he sat opposite the Skylon, idling in neutral, and he realized irritably as he saw people streaming along the wet footpaths, decked in their county’s colours, and cars with flags fluttering out of their windows that there was a match on in Croke Park and he was going nowhere fast. By the time he got to the bedsit he was fit to be tied.

  A note was stuck under his door. Kenny rang and asked for you to call him back. Tom.

  He hadn’t made plans with Kenny and Russell and forgotten about them, had he? Jonathan thought, frazzled, rooting in the jam-jar he kept coins in for the phone.

  ‘Hey, dude, were you looking for me?’ He pretended to be bright and chirpy when Kenny answered the phone.

  ‘Hi, Jonathan. Yes! Um . . . I was just wondering did you hear about Higgins? Did your mum call you?’ Kenny asked kindly.

  ‘Yeah, she did.’ Jonathan sighed heavily. ‘I’m just on my way home. I had to come back here because I forgot the frig-gin’ curtain material she’s expecting. How did you know?’ He was surprised that his former schoolteacher would have heard about his abuser’s death. Kenny had taught the Higgins girls a long time ago.

  ‘Sylvia O’Connell is coming up to Dublin during the week and we always meet up when she’s in the city and she said she was going to a funeral on Monday and I asked was it anyone I knew and she said it was Higgins. She knows his wife from playing bridge.’

  ‘Oh, right!’ Mrs O’Connell had taught him in third class. She and Kenny had been young teachers together and they had got on well. She had eventually become the headmistress of the primary school and Kenny still kept in touch with her.

  ‘I just wanted to make sure you’re OK. Did you say you’re going home?’ Kenny asked.

  ‘I told Mam I’d bring her to the removal. She expects us to be at it. You know what it’s like, us being next-door neighbours and all.’

  ‘Jonathan, could you not make some excuse? That’s going to be hard on you. It’s OK to put yourself first in a situation like this.’ His friend sounded perturbed.

  ‘I did make an excuse, but you know, Kenny, I’m not running away from it, him, or myself any more. I’m Jonathan Harpur. Not a victim! Not a gay! I’m me, a human being, and people can like me or lump me. And his power over me has ended. I’m not letting it continue now that he’s dead,’ Jonathan explained agitatedly.

  ‘Well said, buddy, well said,’ Kenny approved. ‘Stay where you are and I’ll be over in half an hour. I’m going with you.’

  ‘No! No! No!’ Jonathan protested. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m not putting you out and dragging you down the country on a Sunday.’

  ‘Harpur, do as you’re told,’ Kenny said in his best teacher’s voice. Jonathan laughed in spite of himself.

  ‘You’re OK, Kenny, I really appreciate your offer—’

  ‘Half an hour, Harpur! Have your shoes polished and your hair brushed.’ The phone went dead.

  Jonathan shook his head and smiled. How lucky was he to have friends like Kenny and Hilary? Hilary had offered to get a babysitter for a couple of hours and come with him but he wouldn’t hear of it. He knew too that if Orla had known about his history she would have offered to come with him too.

  He put the kettle on to make himself a quick cup of coffee before Kenny arrived, glad that he wouldn’t have to face the ordeal alone. To have someone at his side who knew what had happened to him and who understood his torment was a blessing Jonathan was very grateful for. He felt his spirit revive and his courage flow back. With a good friend beside him he could face what was to come and close that horrible chapter of his life once and for all.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Half an hour later almost to the minute he said he’d be there the loud beep of Kenny’s Peugeot announced his arrival. Jonathan saw with surprise that Russell was with him.

  ‘In case you have to be dragged off the coffin shouting obscenities,’ Kenny’s partner said irrepressibly when Jonathan opened the car door and carefully laid the curtain material, which he had wrapped in drifts of tissue paper, in the back.

  ‘You and whose army?’ he retorted. ‘It would be the talk of the town, wouldn’t it? Pity I’ll have to behave myself. Lads, you’re very kind. Are you sure about coming?’

  ‘Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends. Who said that, Harpur?’ His ex-teacher glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Eh . . . Kavanagh . . . no . . . Yeats.’

  ‘Well done. Enough said. Get in the car, shut the door and sit back and relax,’ the older man instructed.

  ‘I never remember you being this bossy when you were teaching me,’ Jonathan remarked, stretching himself out across the seat and clipping on his seat belt.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ groaned Russell. ‘I live with it every day.’

  ‘You love being bossed about,’ Kenny retorted and they smiled at each other. Jonathan, listening to their teasing banter, wondered if he would ever be lucky enough to have a partner of his own. One that he could be so at ease with. Someone who would know him inside out and accept him, warts and all, and vice versa. What a comfort and joy it must be to have someone to share your life with. So far he hadn’t met anyone he could have that deep connection with, but he lived in hope. He was ever the optimist, he thought with a wry smile.

  ‘Son, you should have told me you were bringing friends!’ Nancy exclaimed when the three of them walked into the kitchen through the back door. She had been scraping carrots and was caught by surprise.

  ‘He didn’t know, Mrs Harpur. It was a spur of the moment decision. I’m Kenny Dowling, his old—’

  ‘Mr Dowling! You’re welcome. I remember you well. You were very good to my boy when he was at school.’ Nancy wiped her hands on her apron and greeted him warmly.

  ‘And this is Russell McDowd, my—’r />
  ‘I’m a friend of Kenny and Jonathan’s. Lovely to meet you, Mrs Harpur,’ Russell interjected kindly, not sure if Jonathan’s mother was ready to hear the term ‘partner’ in relation to another man.

  ‘Delighted to meet you, Russell. I’m ever so pleased Jonathan is making good friends in Dublin. Now just let me do a few more spuds for a bit of mash and there’ll be plenty for the dinner. Jonathan, put the kettle on and make your friends a pot of tea.’ Nancy bustled around putting mugs on the table before taking a bag of potatoes out of her small pantry.

  ‘Please don’t go to any trouble, Mrs Harpur,’ implored Kenny. ‘Couldn’t we go out for a meal and save you the bother?’

  Jonathan laughed as he filled the kettle. ‘Kenny, you’re getting a Mammy Dinner. There’ll be no going out for a meal. You might as well save your breath to cool your porridge.’

  ‘But we arrived unexpectedly, we can’t impose—’

  ‘Whist now like a good lad. It won’t take me a minute to peel these,’ Nancy said firmly, ignoring his protests. Russell couldn’t hide his amusement. It had been a long time since Master Kenny Dowling had been told to whist.

  The rain battered furiously against the kitchen window and a faint growl of thunder grew into a roar as it raged across the sky. The smell of the roast, and the mushy peas that simmered in the small pot on the cooker filled the homely kitchen as the three friends sat around the table drinking tea and chatting easily with Jonathan’s mother. When the food was ready, Nancy carved the pork while Jonathan lashed yellow globs of butter onto the carrots and the boiled potatoes, mashing the spuds into a fluffy white cloud, with a good portion of cream for added texture and flavour. He slid the crispy golden roast potatoes out of the oven, while Nancy plated up the inviting dinner. She smiled, gratified, as the three men devoured it.

  ‘That was scrumptious, Mrs Harpur. You can’t beat a Mammy Dinner, as Jonathan calls it,’ Russell complimented her, scraping the last bit of mushy peas, mash and gravy from the plate.

  ‘You need to cook proper dinners. It’s all very well going to these fancy restaurants and bistros and having your pâtés and your bruschettas and risottos and the like, but meat, veg and potatoes is good for you,’ Nancy declared, placing a large serving of home-made apple tart and cream in front of him. ‘Eat that up now. It was very kind of you to come and save me from myself, I’m a divil for apple pie.’

  ‘Me too!’ Kenny enthused, spooning a mouthful of feather-light pastry into his mouth. ‘Jonathan, we’ll be coming to visit more often.’ He grinned across the table at his friend.

  ‘You come whenever you want. Jonathan’s pals are always welcome. Now I’m going up to get ready. I want to be at the church before the hearse arrives. We’ll meet the girls there; they were in Galway for the weekend. I hope they’ll be back in time. Put the dishes in the dishwasher, son, before we go, so we can come back to a tidy kitchen,’ Nancy instructed, hurrying out of the room.

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ Jonathan saluted.

  ‘She’s a sweetheart, Jonathan. She idolizes you.’ Kenny cleared the table.

  ‘I know. She’s the best. And I’m glad I never told her what happened. She’s contented with her life now and I want it to stay like that.’

  ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re right,’ Russell said quietly. ‘Although I think she would be very supportive of you. More than mine was,’ he added with a hint of bitterness.

  ‘Oh! What happened, or do you prefer not to talk about it?’ Jonathan ventured, placing the saucepans into the dishwasher.

  ‘I told my mother one of the Christian Brothers was making me touch him on his privates and I got a hard clip around the ear and was told not to tell filthy lies about a holy man. She never forgave me for it either and often asked me had I told the priest in confession that I’d been telling lies.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ Jonathan said sombrely.

  ‘She couldn’t believe that a “man of God” would do such things. The Church is sacrosanct in her eyes. All this talk of abuse is the work of the devil to bring down the Church, that’s what she told me a while back. There’s no point in going there. She believes what she wants to believe and she certainly doesn’t believe me.’ Russell’s face darkened.

  ‘Do you go to counselling?’

  ‘Indeed I do. What would we all do without Hannah?’

  ‘Aw she’s amazing. She makes you feel so good about yourself. She’s at a conference in Birmingham this weekend but I’ve booked an appointment next week.’ Jonathan wiped down the countertop vigorously wishing he could wipe away his past as easily.

  ‘Well, the only thing that gives me any satisfaction is that I frightened the shite out of the old cockroach before he died. I met him on the street and of course he didn’t recognize me, but I told him who I was and he still didn’t remember me. Can you believe that?’ Russell grimaced. ‘I was of no consequence to him at all. The fact that he ruined my childhood was not a consideration in this “man of God’s” life. I could have clocked him. I nearly did actually. Anyway I told him I was reporting his abuse to the guards and I told him he’d want to watch over his shoulder wherever he went out because one day myself and some of the other lads he abused were going to get him and bring him somewhere quiet and beat the living daylights out of him. He wasn’t so brave and omnipotent then, I can tell you. He nearly scuttered himself and couldn’t get away quick enough. Died of a stroke two months later.’

  ‘Nice one, mate!’ Jonathan approved. ‘I’d always planned to confront Higgins. I used to imagine all the things I’d say to him. I used to imagine how terrified he’d be of going to prison but I could never bring myself to do it. I kept putting it off and now he’s gone and kicked the bucket, the dirty louser.’

  ‘Forget about him, he has to meet his maker. And after what he’s done, rather him than you or me,’ Russell advised, patting him on the back affectionately.

  You have to meet your maker! The words went round and round in Jonathan’s head as he stood outside in the rain holding an umbrella over his mother while they watched Gus Higgins’s coffin being wheeled from the hearse to the door of the church to be welcomed by the priest.

  He thought he would feel more emotion but mostly what he felt was numbness throughout the short service. It surprised him, especially after the grief and rage he had felt in the previous twenty-four hours since hearing the news of his neighbour’s demise. Perhaps it had been good to go through those emotions then instead of having them surging through him in public and having to try and stay composed, he mused as the soloist sang ‘Nearer My God To Thee’. At the end of the service a sudden unexpected emotion churned his gut and he felt queasy again. He knew he was going to have to walk past the coffin of his hated abuser. He had a fierce longing to give the coffin a good kick. That would cause a fair bit of scandal around the place, he reflected with dark humour, imagining what the neighbours would say if he gave in to his urges.

  He followed his mother and sisters up the aisle to pay his respects to Rita and her daughters and never glanced at the coffin, keeping his eyes firmly focused on the arrangement of roses and lilac on the altar. He even managed a sympathetic smile when Rita thanked him for coming. Jonathan had often wondered if Gus’s wife had any idea what her husband got up to in her absence, but she had always been open and friendly with Jonathan whenever she saw him and he didn’t think she could have been that good an actress. She seemed genuinely grieved at the loss of her husband, which vaguely astonished him as Gus was a loud, lazy, dictatorial couch potato and he couldn’t for the life of him see why anyone would miss him and grieve for him.

  He felt a huge sense of relief when he finished shaking the bereaved family’s hands and reached the end of the pew. He followed Nancy down the aisle towards the door of the church, and freedom.

  ‘We’re going to head back to Dublin now, Mam,’ Jonathan said when they emerged out into the daylight. The rain had stopped and the evening sun was flirting with the clouds.

>   ‘Ah could you not come back for a quick cuppa with the girls?’ Nancy urged.

  ‘I could get a cup of tea,’ Kenny said easily. ‘A quick one, Jonathan, for the road.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ Russell agreed.

  ‘Right, I’ll go with Rachel and I’ll have the kettle boiled in no time and I have a fresh cream sponge to go with it,’ Nancy said happily, tucking her hand into her eldest daughter’s arm.

  ‘Home-made cream sponge, I’m in heaven.’ Russell rubbed his hands together and Jonathan began to relax now that the stress of the dreaded ordeal was over. He was glad he’d gone to the removal, he thought as he sat in the kitchen drinking tea with his family and friends. The girls were laughing at Russell’s camp humour and he didn’t feel he had to make an effort to make conversation.

  He had triumphed over his fears and apprehensions and faced up to his past and it hadn’t been as hard as he’d thought it would be, thanks to the support of his companions. And he hadn’t let his mother down. That gave him great satisfaction. Nancy was the best mother anyone could wish for. She had made his friends so welcome and had served up a feast at no notice at all. He was fiercely glad she had no knowledge of what had happened to him, he thought gratefully, watching her chuckling at Rachel’s good-natured teasing. He had chosen never to tell her. For him it was a good choice, he knew. Hannah was right: knowing you had choices in the decisions you made was very empowering.

  ‘You’re a great lad, Jonathan, thanks for coming and it was lovely to meet Kenny again and Russell is a grand chap.’ Nancy hugged him tightly when they made their move to go. ‘Don’t be strangers now, you and Russell,’ she said to Kenny, following them to the garden gate. ‘And if you could find a nice fella for Jonathan, so that he could be as happy as you and Russell are, I’d go to my grave contented,’ she added matter-of-factly to Kenny.