A Time for Friends (60 page)

‘It had to end sometime, it was mad stuff. I heard a pair whinging on
Liveline
about apartments they’d bought in Dubai and not being able to afford to pay the mortgages on
them. Talk about losing the run of yourself. It was far from apartments in Dubai we were reared.’ He shook his head. ‘And what did you think of the Grants? I wonder what’s going
to happen to the fancy spa we created for them.’

‘I know, scarpering off to America after declaring himself bankrupt, and transferring his assets and property to Gina. That will give her a headache and a half,’ Jonathan
observed.

‘I felt a bit sorry for her. Her life seemed so ruled by all the socializing and entertaining she had to do. I can’t see Gina becoming a “developer” in her own right with
all her husband’s transferred assets, like that other hard-faced blonde who’s never out of the papers,’ Hilary said sarcastically.

‘Dyed
blonde, dearie. She’s so sharp she’d give scissors a run for their money! I saw her in action at a party once . . . not for the faint-hearted.’ Jonathan
grinned.

‘Are you looking forward to your party?’ He changed the subject, fed up with all the gloom and doom.

‘I really am this year. It’s been a tough one, sure, and I’m glad it’s almost over. But Niall and I are doing OK in spite of the downturn. And the girls have jobs, so as
a family we’re doing a lot better than most. I’ve missed them terribly at home, Jonathan. I can’t wait to see them and I think a good old night of music and craic will do us all
the world of good, even Colette.’

‘Can’t imagine her dancing “The Walls Of Limerick” in her Louboutins.’ Jonathan rolled his eyes.

‘Stop!’ Hilary laughed.

‘Sorry. You do know, don’t you, that if it wasn’t for you and Niall and your New Year’s Eve party every year I’d be curled up in bed.’ Jonathan smiled at
her.

‘No you wouldn’t! Russell and Kenny wouldn’t allow it, nor would Orla,’ Hilary retorted.

‘True perhaps but I
do
hate it. I always feel such a failure.
Another
year on my own. Greta Garbo has nothing on me!’

‘Well perhaps you won’t be on your own this year. Maybe Murray won’t have made plans and he might like to come.’ Hilary reached across the table and squeezed his
hands.

‘I’m afraid to even think about it. I’m afraid to even hope something could come of it. I’ve lost my nerve.’

‘No you haven’t. You invited him for coffee. You took the brave step and made your leap of faith. Isn’t that what Hannah would say? Now let the doors open.’

‘OK, I will. Thanks for being the best friend anyone could have and here’s to the best New Year’s Eve party
ever
!’ Jonathan raised his glass in toast.

‘Amen to that!’ said Hilary, clinking her glass with his. ‘I just have a feeling it’s going to be a cracker.’

She shouldn’t have come to the Hammonds’ party, Colette thought dourly, taking another swig from her G&T. And she shouldn’t have continued to drink gin.
It depressed her, soured her. Yes, that was a good word, sour. It described how she felt exactly. Sour and sad and lonely. If Des and Jazzy had been here she would have actually enjoyed the night.
There was a great buzz. People were enjoying themselves in that carefree, uninhibited way she had rarely seen at the parties she had attended in Manhattan. But her family weren’t with her.
She was here as a single woman, her first social occasion since her split with Des, and it felt soul-destroying. Even Jonathan Harpur was with someone, she thought irritably. He was sitting on the
edge of an armchair, smiling at a tall, tawny-haired, self-assured man who fitted in seamlessly and seemed very at ease, although it was the first time he’d met Jonathan’s friends.
Jonathan still acted as though he owned the house, just as he had the first time she’d met him all those years ago when she had arrived unexpectedly and he had ended up cooking her meal.

Tonight he had been pouring drinks and handing round canapés with Sophie and Millie. It annoyed Colette that
she
felt like a guest and he was treated like one of the family. The
girls obviously adored him and there was a lot of affectionate banter between them. She didn’t know most of the guests, apart from Hilary’s mum and sister, but she didn’t
particularly want to spend the night chatting to them knowing that they were feeling sorry for her. She should have booked into a hotel and not let on to her parents. They were so busy throwing
their own soirée they wouldn’t have thought to question her.

A new song began and she recognized it as ‘The Coolin’, a famous Irish air with haunting music. When Niall had sung the first verse in his deep baritone:

he turned and looked at his wife, his eyes crinkling in a loving smile. Hilary smiled back, seemingly unaware of anyone else in the crowded room. It was an intimate, tender
moment between them that ignited a surge of envy in Cecil B. DemilleColette when she compared her own circumstances to her friend’s.

Every time she looked at Hilary and Niall together she felt deep and resentful jealousy. How could they still look at each other the way they did after all these years? It wasn’t for show;
it was quite natural and unaffected. It didn’t help that Niall looked particularly dishy in an open-necked black shirt and a pair of grey chinos. He had aged very well. The grey at his
temples was sexy; the lines around his eyes and mouth added character, rather than age, to his appearance. Surely somewhere on his travels he had indulged in a liaison with some other woman. He had
hardly remained faithful to Hilary all this time, Colette thought, as her friend’s husband strummed his mandolin, playing the evocative air to a hushed room. The pure, sweet notes and the
vibrato caught at her emotions and she felt like breaking down in tears.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Jonathan whispered, sitting down on the sofa beside her. ‘Are you OK?’ She nodded, unable to speak, annoyed that he had noticed her distress.
‘Can I freshen your drink?’ he offered kindly.

‘No I’m fine, thank you.’ She swallowed as Niall and his group began the second stirring verse.

‘Is that your boyfriend?’ She nodded in Murray’s direction. He was singing along, playing the spoons expertly.

‘Well we’re friends, let’s say,’ Jonathan murmured, delighted that Murray had been instantly accepted into his precious unit.

‘A trad fan, clearly,’ Colette said drily.

‘Might end up in Niall’s band yet. I just wanted to make sure you were OK. Tonight must be difficult for you,’ Jonathan said, standing up.

‘Very kind,’ she said in a tight, clipped voice and he wondered why he had bothered.

‘I don’t know why she came. She’s sitting there with a face on her. She’s certainly not enjoying the evening,’ Hilary moaned to Jonathan an hour later while they
removed cling film from the platters of food she was serving for the buffet.

‘I know. I got short shrift when I asked her was she OK.’ Jonathan handed Millie a dish of chicken
boscaiola
and a bowl of tabbouleh to carry over to the table.

‘It must be very hard for her,’ Hilary sighed, wishing Colette had stayed with her parents. She was in a prickly humour and the copious amounts of gin she was drinking weren’t
helping.

‘Is she staying the night?’ Jonathan murmured as a gale of laughter heralded an array of revellers come to offer help with the buffet.

‘Yes, as far as I know.’ Hilary gave the huge pot of curry a stir while Jonathan sprinkled freshly cut dill on the salmon.

‘We’re hungry,’ Hilary’s sister Dee announced tipsily.

‘Well tell everyone to come and tuck in and help themselves,’ Hilary said gaily, determined that Colette wouldn’t ruin her evening. ‘And, Jonathan,’ she
murmured.

‘Yeah?’

‘Murray is lovely, very easy to talk to.
Perfect
for you.’

‘Don’t jinx it,’ he grimaced, twirling around the kitchen with a plate of sizzling cocktail sausages, tutting when Dee helped herself to three of them. The kitchen teemed with
hungry guests, and the buzz of chat and laughter filled the air. Hilary was swallowed up in the middle of them, urging friends and family to partake in the banquet laid out on the table.

‘Come on, Colette, chow’s up,’ Niall said heartily, noticing her sitting on the sofa on her own.

‘I guess I’m not that hungry, Niall,’ she sighed, tucking her legs up under and slanting him a glance.

‘Will I get you a plate of food and bring it in to you?’ he offered, hating to see her miserable.

‘Ah I suppose I should make the effort and mingle, and have something to nibble on.’ She took a deep breath and stood up.

‘Good woman,’ Niall said encouragingly, dropping an arm around her shoulder as he escorted her into the kitchen. ‘Grab a plate there and fill it up – you could do with
putting on a few pounds,’ he grinned, and she laughed.

‘You were always direct, Niall,’ she said, amused, her mood lightening.

‘More like putting my two feet in it, my darling wife would say.’ Niall began to fill his own plate.

‘She’s not worried about putting on a few pounds, obviously,’ Colette giggled, getting in a catty dig.

‘She’s a grand hoult of a woman,’ Niall said appreciatively, not quite the response Colette was expecting. Didn’t he mind that Hilary was at
least
a stone
overweight?

‘Well I’m trying hard to keep the middle-age spread at bay. I won’t let myself go.’ Colette took a small spoonful of tabbouleh and a portion of salmon.

‘Have some cheesy potatoes, they’re scrumptious,’ Niall urged before turning to check that his mother-in-law had enough food.

‘Colette O’Mahony, you look amazing!’ Vivienne O’Hara, a mutual friend from way back, declared. ‘My God, you don’t look a day over thirty-five. Have you had a
facelift?’

‘Of course not,’ fibbed Colette. ‘I wouldn’t go under the knife.’

‘I would, if I could afford it,’ declared Vivienne emphatically.

You could do with it,
Colette thought, thinking how florid the other woman looked, and how even the heavy foundation she wore couldn’t hide her broken veins.

‘So come and sit beside me and tell me what you’ve been doing all these years,’ Vivienne demanded. ‘I believe you live the life of Reilly in New York.’ She cocked
an eye at Colette. ‘Why does that surprise me, you were always a go-getter. Just like your parents. There was a time they were never out of the papers with all the tribunals. I believe they
made a fortune and us poor taxpayers are paying for it,’ Vivienne said tipsily. ‘Where’s your OH?’ Isn’t that the jargon they use these days?’

I should be getting ready to party in Park Avenue, not listening to mindless wittering, Colette thought glumly, pasting a faux smile on her face and wishing she was a million miles away.

An hour later she whispered to Hilary, ‘I’m going to go to bed. I don’t think I could cope with “Auld Lang Syne” and all that stuff and I want to call Jazzy. See
you tomorrow.’

‘Ok, I hope the noise won’t disturb you. It won’t be an all-nighter. People will start drifting off after midnight.’ Hilary walked with her to the stairs. ‘I know
this is a hideously difficult night for you, but this year is almost over and a new one is starting and hopefully it will be a much better one for you,’ Hilary said warmly.

‘Always the optimist, you are.’ Colette sighed. ‘Night, Hilary. I’m off. Here’s Viv and she’s plastered.’ She hurried upstairs, desperate to avoid
another ear bashing from her former friend.

‘She’s got very stuck up. Mind she was always a snooty little wagon,’ Vivienne declared crossly as Colette disappeared up the stairs.

‘She’s not feeling great,’ Hilary lied. ‘Come on, the lads are going to play a Dubliners set to bring us up to midnight.’

‘
And the auld triangle went jingle jangle
,’ sang Vivienne, forgetting all about Colette and her moods.

‘So where are you, sweetie?’ Colette kicked off her shoes, positioned her cell under her ear while she unzipped her Chanel LBD and shimmied out of it.

‘Jackson and I are taking Dad to dinner in the Palm Court, and afterwards when we’ve dropped him home we’re going on to a party in the Village.’ Jazzy’s clear tones
floated down the line.

‘Sounds fun. Is Des going to the McLean-Butlers to ring in the New Year?’

‘No, he’s not in the form for it. He’s having an early night. Are you having fun? I can hear a party going on.’

‘I miss you. I’m lonely. I’m going to bed now. It would be too sad to see in the New Year without you.’ Colette sank onto the bed, weary.

‘You should have stayed with Gran and Gramps,’ Jazzy said.

‘That would have been even worse. It will be over soon and I’ll be back in London in a few days. You have fun tonight. You’re young and in love, the best way to be on New
Year’s Eve. Enjoy it and don’t forget I love you.’

‘I love you too, Mom, goodnight. Talk soon.’

‘Bye, sweetie.’ Colette tried to keep her tone light, not wishing her daughter to worry about her. And as for Des, she wouldn’t put it past him to have that woman sleeping in
their bed with him tonight. Early night indeed, she thought furiously as she slipped her phone back into her bag. She undressed and slipped her silk nightie over her shoulders and climbed into bed.
It was cold. She should have thought to put on the blanket for ten minutes before she got in.

Downstairs the party was in full swing, the group giving Dicey Reilly welly, the guests joining in enthusiastically. Colette lay under her duvet, tense and deeply unhappy. Would this night never
end? Next year, even if she had to spend New Year’s Eve on her own, she would stay in London and pretend it was just an ordinary night. Solitude would be far preferable to this purgatory.
Outside she could hear fireworks going off randomly and dogs barking. In desperation she sat up and rooted in her handbag and found a blister of Zimovane she had filched from Jacqueline’s
medicine cabinet. She was tempted to take two so she could sink into oblivion but she decided against it. She wanted to be able to drive home under her own steam. The sleeping tablet took effect
surprisingly quickly and by the time the clock struck midnight and the assembled guests stood at the front door singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ to an accompaniment of fireworks, ships’
horns and howling dogs, Colette was dead to the world.