The Gift of Friends Page 6

  She turned over and obliged him. As usual, there was no joy in it for her. She simply hoped it would be quick and wouldn’t hurt.

  He finished and rolled over and passed out on his back, so she knew she was in for a night of listening to his snores. She left the room. She’d long since given up creeping about. He was out for the count and even if she’d put on Irish dancing shoes and River Danced across his chest and into the spare room, he wouldn’t have stirred.

  The good thing about her duty being done for a while was that he’d be in slightly better form for a couple of days. So while she didn’t gain any personal enjoyment from their deed, it would serve a positive purpose for everyone else around him. Sex put him in better form, and that was good for her and for Drew.

  She’d never have really known the difference if it wasn’t for Tommy.

  Chapter 4

  NANCY WOKE TO THE SOUND OF THE KINGFISHERS’ calls. She turned her head on the pillow to listen. One called, and after a short pause the other would answer. A perfect pair, she thought with a smile. Last year, when she’d finally realised what type of bird was making that particular call, she’d phoned in to a wildlife radio programme she sometimes listened to and asked about them. The expert had been quite excited, telling her that the bird was amber-listed, which meant its population was somewhat depleted, and that she was extremely lucky to have a nesting pair that she could observe up-close.

  Nancy was thrilled to have something so special in her garden. She collected tadpoles in the spring to feed them and any spiders or creepy-crawlies that ended up in her house were left on a little perch for them to snack on. She’d named them Bonny and Clyde because they were so tame and cheeky. They’d come right up to the kitchen window and take food while she was doing her washing-up at the sink, not a bother on them to be so close to a human.

  Nancy lay there feeling cosy and comfortable and thought back over the night before and the wedding. The party had gone on into the wee hours, and she had had great fun with a group of girls almost a quarter of her age who were doing vodka shots. Nancy didn’t actually drink the alcohol, but she’d enjoyed the buzz nonetheless. In fact, she and alcohol had parted company many years ago, but she still loved to party.

  One of the things she really enjoyed about getting older was that it was so easy to shock people. She’d found out that presumptions were a powerful thing. Once people saw her grey hair – even though it was cut into a funky choppy bob – they saw ‘old woman’ and treated her accordingly. She loved to stay quiet, listening as they rabbited on about the weather or teabags of whatever inane subject they thought she’d be interested in, and then pounce with a sharp comment or a well-judged swear word. It worked a treat every time. Their eyes would widen, then, depending on their personality, they’d either shun her or sit closer and want to hear more.

  It had been just that way last night. She’d found herself sitting next to a group of Lily-Rose’s friends, and she got chatting to them. Oh, they were fabulous. All dressed up in amazing gear and each one more stunning than the next. They were politely making conversation with her, on their best behaviour, when she held up her hand and said, ‘You all look so beautiful and are so full of youth, I’m going to give you some advice and you’d do well to listen to it carefully. Old age is an absolute bitch. One minute you’re twenty, the next minute you’re seventy, it just creeps up on you like that.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘You have to party your hearts out while you can. Be outrageous. Go crazy. Follow your heart. Do whatever the feck makes you happy. Trust me.’

  There was a stunned silence after her little rant, then one of the girls said, ‘Jesus, fair play to you. You’re right, and I’m going to write that down and remember it. And look at you, still going strong. What age are you yourself?’

  ‘Seventy next year,’ Nancy said, ‘but that won’t stop me. It’s just an even better excuse to be wicked,’ and she winked at them.

  The girls shrieked with laughter.

  ‘I wish you were my mum,’ one of them said. ‘Can I adopt you?’

  Nancy shook her head. ‘Forget it. I like my life too much to be adopted by anyone.’

  ‘Oh, I love it,’ one of the girls said. ‘Since I hit thirty I’ve been coming under such pressure from my parents for a grandchild, and I haven’t the heart to tell them I don’t want to be a mother. So it’s okay not to want that?’

  ‘Of course,’ Nancy said. ‘It’s the single biggest commitment you can make in life. There’s no breaking it. So you have to want it from the core of you. If you don’t, don’t do it. You can’t live your life to make other people feel good about you. They have to suck it up and feel good about who you are, the real you. Otherwise tell them to take a running jump.’

  ‘I’m Natasha,’ the girl said, holding out her hand and smiling widely. ‘And you are my official new favourite person.’

  They shook hands and the girls toasted Nancy.

  ‘To wisdom!’

  ‘Ah now,’ Nancy said, ‘I’m only alive long enough to be able to tell it like it is. I’m not sure that’s wisdom. But you won’t go wrong if you take my advice, I will say that.’

  The girls took her into their circle and the chat flowed, along with the vodka, as they told her about their lives and asked her opinion and laughed at her anecdotes and stories. Nancy felt wonderful – being with young people brought out her own youthfulness and she revelled in their attention and energy. As the night darkened around them, the chat became more personal, and Nancy listened to their worries about the future.

  ‘What do you regret most, looking back?’ asked Natasha. ‘Or are you a person with no regrets?’

  ‘Ah, I’ve a few regrets of course,’ Nancy admitted. ‘My main regret, if you could call it that, is that I didn’t spend more time with some of my husbands and less with others.’

  ‘Husbands?’ Natasha said. ‘How many times were you married?’

  Nancy held up her right hand. ‘Four times. Mercifully, I married the first three over in the States or I’d probably still be shackled to the first miserable sod. I lived in America for a long time. I loved it then, but I’m happy to be home now. Only the last husband, my real love, was from here.’

  ‘How many children have you?’

  ‘I missed the boat with children, I’m afraid. I was too much in love with alcohol to manage to fit anyone or anything else in. A sad and silly mistake that I regret massively. You asked me my regrets,’ she said turning to Natasha. ‘It’s booze. Never allow it to take over your lives, ladies.’ The girls all looked uncomfortable, but she desperately wanted to stop them from making the same mistake.

  ‘Did all of your divorces happen because of the drink?’ asked a stunning girl with waist-length hair and legs that went on for ever.

  ‘No, darling,’ she said. ‘I fell out of love with one. He was a very kind and sweet man. He was too nice, though, if you get my drift? I know that sounds crazy. At first I loved the fact that he adored me so much, but then I found him stifling. Eventually, I totally fell out of love with him.’

  ‘I do that all the time,’ said another girl. ‘I’m all about the new relationship stuff, the chase, the spark, the excitement and then when I have him, I don’t want him anymore!’

  ‘Yeah,’ Nancy nodded, ‘falling out of love is just as much of a body blow as falling in. Oh it’s a killer, and every part of me ached. I thought I had flu at first. Then I knew it was the physical gut-wrenching fact that I no longer loved Maddox.’

  ‘Cool name,’ said someone.

  ‘I know, right? But I had to leave him. I divorced him, and I can still see the sadness in his eyes. God, I felt so mean.’

  ‘So are you married now?’

  ‘No,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’m widowed. The last guy, Liam, died of unexplained causes twenty-two years ago. I cried for a month. Losing him was like losing a limb. I felt utterly changed and sort of useless.’ A tear trickled down her cheek as she thought of Liam. The pain was still there, just
beneath the surface. ‘You know that phrase that it’s better to have loved and lost?’

  The girls all nodded.

  ‘What a sack of horse shit.’

  They all giggled, in spite of trying to hold it in, as she was clearly upset.

  ‘Hey, it’s okay to laugh,’ she said, smiling at them. ‘I love the sound of laughter. There’s nothing better. I miss having someone to laugh with, so I see my neighbours a lot. I love it when they drop by for a chat.’

  The girls would have happily talked on until morning, but Nancy performed her usual escape trick by saying she was popping to the loo and then walking on out the door and home. Pearl had already retired for the night, so she didn’t have to make a big song-and-dance about saying goodbye.

  She smiled to herself now, remembering all the fun, hoping the girls had heard her words and would take them on board. Seven decades gave you a good bit of perspective, and if that could help someone younger make the most of their time, that would make her very happy.

  There was a snuffling sound and her bedroom door creaked open a little and Nelly padded across the floor and jumped up onto the bed.

  ‘Morning, Nelly,’ Nancy said, reaching to scratch her behind the ears. ‘I’d say you’re hungry, are you? I’m later than usual this morning because I was kicking up my heels last night.’

  She had decided after Liam died that a dog was a necessity because the house was so quiet and lonely. After her first dog passed away, she’d found Nelly at the animal rescue centre and it was love at first sight. Nelly was a Bichon Frise. Nancy picked her up and kissed her warm, furry head. She wriggled and writhed with excitement, making Nancy giggle.

  ‘Okay, calm down, little girl!’ she said. ‘I know, I know, I love you too.’

  Nelly settled down on Nancy’s tummy, and Nancy sighed and gave in to the luxury of lying on a bit longer. The chat last night had made her think about her husbands, little flashes of the past rising up and falling away again. Given this famous perspective she felt she had now, it wasn’t surprising that none of her marriages had lasted. Maturity and hindsight showed her that she’d been a dreadful wife – impossible to live with when all she really wanted was drink.

  One husband had filed for divorce, saying the final straw was her disrespect for God when she’d turned up for mass on Christmas Day looking like a homeless person. He actually wrote on the divorce papers that she had fries in her hair. On that occasion she’d gone on a bender, bought takeaway as she staggered home and fallen asleep with her face in the box of fries. Not her finest moment, she knew.

  Then there was husband number three, Barney. She’d bumped into an old college friend while staying at his parents’ home. Her husband had gone home early, disgusted with her, and she’d partied on into the night, not caring what he thought. They had a family lunch the next day, preceded by a special mass at her in-laws’ home. She’d rolled in during the mass and proceeded to sing ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ with gusto, much to everyone’s astonishment. After that she heckled the priest and made loud burping noises and howled with laughter.

  Barney had dragged her by the arm up to their bedroom and flung her inside the door. She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a little scared by the anger that was rolling off him in hot waves.

  ‘How could you embarrass me like that?’ Barney hissed. ‘Where are your manners? You’re from out of town. My parents have never met you and they’ve been excitedly telling the neighbours that we were arriving to share the holidays with them and you show up to their home and to a mass looking like this!’

  Sitting on the bed, she’d looked down at her ensemble. There was a man’s brown overcoat she’d found in the cupboard in the hallway last night. She’d figured her pyjama bottoms would be acceptable seeing as they had Santa figures all over them. She’d pulled on a clean white blouse and a sleeveless red sweater vest.

  ‘I look festive,’ she said, attempting to defend herself.

  ‘You’re a walking obscenity,’ he cried, throwing his hands up in the air.

  Confused, she looked down at her pyjama bottoms, then suddenly realised the Santa figures were either flashing or doing rude things to themselves.

  ‘Oh honey, I got them in a Kris Kringle box from Maggie at work.’ She thumped her forehead with the heel of her hand. ‘It was a lucky dip and she’s twenty. She must have thought they were a hoot.’

  ‘Well my folks, their neighbours and I do not think they’re a hoot.’

  They’d stayed there for three further torturous nights, during which time Nancy’s in-laws barely spoke to her.

  As soon as they got back to New York and walked into their apartment, Barney delivered a New Year’s surprise. She was on the floor in utter shock, and it took her a few moments to realise he’d punched her.

  ‘Never embarrass me like that again. You need to learn some manners. By the time I’m finished with you, I’ll ensure you know how to behave.’

  She had no cuts and the bruises were down her back where she’d hit the wall, but she was broken and damaged all the same. And it wasn’t the only beating either. Barney was only getting started. Slowly, bit-by-bit, he took her personality and pushed it behind her terror. For a year and a half she was lost to herself, living in fear, constantly told she was a useless, rude, stupid whore. Then one day she just walked out. She still didn’t understand where that bravery came from, but she had packed a bag with what dignity she had left and walked out of that apartment and away from Barney’s hatred. She didn’t understand how she did that, any more than she could understand why she’d stayed for eighteen months. The drink had turned her into something she wasn’t.

  Then later, after she’d kicked the drink habit and turned things around, she’d met Liam while she was working at a makeup counter in a very fancy store on New York’s Fifth Avenue. He was looking for a gift for his grown-up daughter. His accent took her right back to home. They chatted and laughed together while she picked out a little hamper of goodies for his daughter. He took the glossy bag from her, then looked her in the eye and asked her out for a drink after work. She wanted to say no because she’d decided men were not for her, but an invisible force pulled her towards him. Three hours later, they were sitting in a bar, Liam sipping Guinness and she sipping a diet soda. Liam made a face at his Guinness and she laughed.

  ‘What do you expect? You’re in New York. It might be the city that never sleeps but it’s not Dublin. The Guinness is shockingly awful here. You’ll have to go home for that.’

  ‘Well, this is just a holiday,’ he said. ‘So I’ll be downing a decent pint in a few days’ time.’

  They regarded each other in silence.

  ‘When are you coming back to Ireland?’ he asked.

  She smiled at him. ‘Sadly, never.’ And she’d meant it. Her job and one-room apartment were cosy and safe. She could go to work and go home, eat a proper meal in the large canteen at work and make a toasted sandwich in the evening. She had a small TV and that was enough. She knew she was existing, not living, but she simply didn’t trust herself to do anything more.

  Liam wasn’t prepared to give up on her, however. Over the next six months he begged her repeatedly to come back to Ireland and be with him. ‘Come for one month and if it doesn’t work out, you walk away with no hard feelings, okay?’

  In the end she reckoned she didn’t have anything to lose on those terms, so she’d agreed. She sublet her apartment, left her New York life ready to move back into, and booked a flight home. Liam collected her at the airport with a dozen red roses and a smile as wide as the Shannon. He drove her straight to the new house he had just bought on Kingfisher Road and Nancy honestly thought she’d died and gone to heaven. The stream, the garden, the mountains as a backdrop, the neat and calm spaces created by the lovely neighbours – it was perfection.

  Liam told her every day how delighted he was to have a woman in his life once again. His first wife had died of heart disease and although it took his children a little whi
le to accept her, Nancy formed a polite relationship with them. She was happy to be partners and live together, but Liam proposed one memorable night with champagne under the stars in their garden, and it felt so right that she cast aside all her feelings about marriage and gave him a resounding ‘yes’. It was a simple ceremony, but beautiful, and it made them both very happy.

  When Liam died suddenly just three years after she’d moved over, his children kept up a forced sort of exchange with the odd phone call, then text message, and then nothing. She hadn’t heard from them in years. She still missed Liam desperately, but she had made a very firm decision that she was now finished with men. She’d had her fair share and she’d come to a point where she was happy with Fraser, her first dog, and her neighbours. They rallied around her and once she got over the initial shock of Liam’s death, she began to enjoy her life again. Slowly she built relationships with the other women on Kingfisher Road and before she knew it, twenty years had passed.

  Nancy got up and did some light stretching, enjoying the suppleness that her all-important pilates classes bestowed on her body. She went down to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. She enjoyed a proper cup of green tea first thing, made the old-fashioned way with teapot, strainer and leaves. The aroma rose up and enveloped her and made her feel instantly more awake.

  She pulled a warm cardigan over her pyjamas and took her cup outside, loving the feeling of the dewy grass on her bare feet. She wandered around the garden, sipping her tea and making mental notes of what work she needed to do in the beds. She went down by the stream, to the spot where Liam had proposed, and she gave thanks that after all her years of bad habits and bad men, she had got a taste of proper, grown-up romantic love. She missed it so badly, yet was so grateful it had been hers – even for such a short time.

  She walked on down by the stream edge, listening to it burbling and gurgling. She had planted montbretia all along here some years ago, and it had proved an inspired choice. The heat of the orange was glorious, a real show-stopper. As she walked on, a flash of blue caught her eye and made her smile. Her kingfishers were busy at work, looking for food no doubt.