A Time for Friends (3 page)

Students were in various states of undress because of the sultry heat, so being shirtless wasn’t a big deal, she thought with relief, trying not to gaze at her victim’s impressive
pecs while he wrung out his shirt and slung it over his shoulder.

‘You are such a
clutterbuck
, Hilary.’ Colette materialized behind her and gave a light-hearted giggle. She rolled her eyes heavenwards and held out her dainty hand to the
hunk in front of them. ‘Hi, I’m Colette O’Mahony, and this’ – she made a little moue – ‘is Hilary Kinsella who has two left feet as you’ve just found
out.’

‘Well, hi there, ladies. Niall Hammond is my moniker and I guess we should have a round of fresh drinks to get us back on track.’ He waved politely at a waitress and she nodded and
headed in their direction. ‘Guinness for you, Hilary? Did you have anything in it?’

‘Um . . . it was a Black Velvet,’ Hilary managed, mortified, and raging with Colette for saying she had two left feet. Her friend could be so artless sometimes.

‘Brandy and ginger,’ Colette purred gaily, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Hilary saw Niall’s eyes widen slightly. Typical of Colette to go for an expensive short when someone else was paying.

‘Er . . . mine’s with cider, not champagne,’ she added hastily in case he thought they were way OTT.

Niall winked at her and gave the order and added, ‘A pint of Harp for me, please. So, ladies, are you students here?’ he asked, smiling down at Colette. Hilary’s heart sank. It
was always the way. Once men saw blonde, petite, dainty, effervescent Colette, she was forgotten about.

‘Hilary is. She’s doing a boring bookkeeping course; I’m just here for the craic! I’m studying Fine Arts in London. I’m home for the weekend.’

‘Interesting! Fine Arts. How did that come about?’ Niall leaned against a pillar, thumbs hooking into his jeans, and Hilary thought how typical of her luck to encounter a hunky guy
when Colette was home from London on one of her rare jaunts across the Irish Sea. Since she had moved to London to live with her father’s widowed sister, her friend rarely came home, and
wasn’t great at keeping in touch either. She was having a ball going to polo matches, and weekend parties in the country, and drinking in glamorous pubs in Kensington and Knightsbridge and
shopping in Harvey Nicks and Harrods.

‘My parents wanted me to study law. They’re both barristers,’ Colette added, always keen to slip that bit of information into any conversation. ‘I couldn’t bear the
idea,’ she trilled, throwing back her head so that her blonde hair fell in a tumbling mane over her shoulders, and giving a gay laugh. ‘My dad’s sister has a big flat in Holland
Park, and her husband died and they have no children so I went to stay with her for a while and she knew someone in Dickon and Austen’s Fine Art and I worked there and did my degree and
that’s where I’ve fetched up.’

Fetched up
, thought Hilary irritably. Colette was becoming more English than the English themselves.

‘And yourself?’ Niall’s heavy-lidded brown eyes were focused on Hilary. But there was a twinkle in them that she liked and she found herself responding with an answering
smile.

‘I work in my dad’s lighting and electrical business—’

‘She’s a shop manager,’ interjected Colette brightly. ‘Oh look, here’s our drinks.’

‘Let me pay,’ Hilary urged. ‘After all I’ve ruined your shirt.’

‘Another time,’ Niall said firmly, taking his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and extracting a twenty.

‘And what do
you
do apart from playing the bodhrán fabulously?’ Colette arched a perfectly manicured, wing-tipped eyebrow at him, before taking a ladylike sip of her
brandy and ginger.

‘I work in Aer Rianta International, in travel retail. And in my spare time I play gigs with these hoodlums.’ He indicated his three band buddies in the background.

‘Really? An interesting job, I’d say?’ Colette was impressed. ‘Do you travel much?’

‘I do indeed.’

‘I
love
to travel,’ Colette commented gaily.

‘What’s your band called?’ Hilary interjected, knowing that unless she steered her off track, Colette would launch into a description of her travels and Hilary would end up
feeling like a real gooseberry. She was beginning to feel like one already!

‘We’re called Solas, which I’m sure you know is the Gaelic for “light”. Somewhat of a synchronicity, Hilary, wouldn’t you think? Both of us work with
light!’

‘Umm.’ Hilary was caught mid-gulp of her Black Velvet and was afraid she had a creamy moustache. ‘I guess so.’

‘Well, I should get back and play another set, or Solas won’t get paid tonight. It was nice meeting you both.’

‘Are you playing anywhere else over the weekend?’ Colette asked casually.

‘We are. Are you into trad? I wouldn’t have thought that would be your scene,’ Niall remarked.

‘Oh I
LOVE
it,’ Colette fibbed. ‘I adore The Dubliners and . . . er . . . um . . . eh . . .The Clancy Brothers.’

‘And yourself, Hilary?’ Niall turned to look at her.

‘I like trad.’ She nodded. ‘I like the liveliness of it, the buzz of a good session.’

‘And who do you like?’ he probed.

‘I like The Bothy Band, Planxty, De Dannan, and The Chieftains are amazing.’ She shrugged.

‘A woman after my own heart. They’re all unbelievable musicians, aren’t they?’ he said enthusiastically.

‘The best,’ Hilary agreed.

‘So where are you playing tomorrow?’ Colette persisted, annoyed that she hadn’t thought of naming any of those bands, although she only vaguely knew of them. She was more into
The Rolling Stones and The Eagles.

‘O’Donohue’s. Why, are you going to come?’

‘Well, who knows?’ Colette flashed her baby blues at him. ‘But if you don’t see me there you can always ring Dickon and Austen’s and catch me there. Thanks for the
drink,’ she drawled before sauntering back to where they had been sitting.

‘Do you think they would take a collect call?’ Niall grinned and Hilary laughed.

‘Not sure about that.’

‘So will you both be coming to O’Donohue’s tomorrow night?’ he queried.

‘Not sure about that either. We’re doing a big stock take in the shop, and I have to be there. And it’s much easier to get it done after closing time.’

‘Sure, if I see you I see you,’ he said easily. ‘Enjoy the rest of the evening.’

‘You too and sorry about your shirt and thanks for the drink,’ she murmured, heart sinking when she saw him glance over to where Colette was now chatting animatedly to a tall bearded
guy, looking like a dainty little doll beside him.

‘Another brandy and ginger coming up soon, I’d say,’ Niall said wryly, amusement causing his eyes to crinkle in a most attractive way.

‘What?’ She was caught off guard.

‘Your little friend has expensive tastes.’

‘Er . . . she doesn’t like beer, or Guinness,’ Hilary said loyally, taken aback by his directness.

‘She’s lucky to have you for a friend; you have a very steadfast quality, Hilary. Would you come out for a drink with me sometime, when your stock taking is over?’

‘
Me! . . .
Oh! . . . I thought it would be Colette you would ask out if you were asking either of us,’ Hilary blurted.

‘Did you now? Well, ladies who pour their Black Velvets all over me to get my attention are much more interesting than flirty brandy and ginger drinkers.’

‘I didn’t pour my drink over you to get your attention. It was an
accident.
I
tripped
!’ Hilary protested indignantly.

‘Well, it worked, didn’t it? I’m asking you out for a drink,’ he pointed out.

‘Is that right?’ Hilary said hotly. ‘How very arrogant that you would think I’d
want
to go for a drink with you. I’m not
that
desperate to get a
man that I’d waste a Black Velvet on him.’

Niall guffawed. ‘Sorry, Hilary, I couldn’t resist it. Just wanted to see if you’d rise to the bait. I was only teasing, honest. I know you tripped. Come on, give me your number
and let me make amends,’ he smiled.

‘You’ll get me at Kinsella Illuminations, Kirwan’s Industrial Estate; it’s in the phone book. Don’t call collect,’ Hilary retorted, but she was smiling as she
made her way back to the table.

Colette and Beardy were at the bar, Colette making sure she was posed just where Niall could see her as he rapped out a toe-tapping tattoo on his bodhrán. She could pose all she liked,
Hilary smiled to herself. For once in her life, her friend had come in second. Niall Hammond had asked Hilary out for a drink, and out for a drink she would go.

‘He asked you
out
?’ Colette couldn’t believe her ears later that night as they tucked into a kebab on the way home. Colette was staying the night at Hilary’s,
before heading back to her parents’ detached, palatial pad in Sutton the following morning.

‘Yeah, I told him we were stock taking tomorrow and I wouldn’t be in O’Donohue’s, so he’s asked me out. He’s going to ring me.’ Hilary licked the creamy
sauce off her fingers and took a slug of Coke to wash it down.

‘Ah ha! It will be interesting to see
if
he rings. You know what they’re like,’ Colette said dismissively. ‘How many times have you sat waiting for a phone call
from some bloke? Don’t hold your breath, now,’ she advised, nibbling neatly on a portion of their shared kebab. She never dribbled sauce or got it on her fingers. Hilary would have had
no problem polishing off a whole kebab and she was always irritated that Colette would refuse to have one, and then tuck into hers.

‘You make it sound as though I’m permanently sitting by the phone waiting for a fella to ring,’ Hilary said crossly, coming down from her high. Perhaps Colette was right: Niall
might not bother to ring her. She had waited on a few occasions for a guy to ring after he had taken her number, and had waited in vain. Colette rarely had such problems. Men were drawn to her like
bees to honey. And just this once, Hilary had thought
she
might be the one to get the boy! Now she was beginning to have serious doubts.

‘I’m just not wanting you to get hurt, that’s all,’ Colette said kindly. ‘Men can be the pits. Remember what I went through with Rod Killeen?’ Her pretty face
darkened into a thunderous scowl at the memory of the rat Killeen who had dumped her for a tubby little tart with a raucous laugh and a penchant for sci-fi that Rod was into as well. ‘That
guy broke my heart in smithereens,’ Colette reminded Hilary. ‘Used and abused me! And behind my back was having it off with lardy Lynda. Little fat slut!’

Hilary sighed as Colette went into her usual rant about her ex-boyfriend. Colette had fallen hard for the good-looking, laid-back rugby player who was in his fourth year of medical school.
Hilary had been dragged to rugby matches, in howling gales and on rain-spattered afternoons, for the duration of the short-lived romance. Rod had initially been very taken with his ‘little
blonde bombshell’ as he’d nicknamed a delighted Colette and they had enjoyed a lusty couple of months in the early stages of their romance. But Colette’s demanding ways had proved
too much for the muscular medic and he had wilted under her need for constant emotional reassurance, and the tantrums and traumas that ensued when he had had to knuckle down to study for his exams.
Rod had taken comfort in the arms of a cuddly, good-humoured student nurse from Cavan who couldn’t have been more different from Colette in personality and appearance. The fact that Lynda was
a stone overweight seemed to incense Colette more than anything. How could Rod find that
fatso
more attractive than her? she raged to Hilary, completely oblivious to the fact that because
Hilary herself carried a few extra pounds she too could be considered a fatso, in Colette’s eyes.

Personally Hilary could see why Rod would like Lynda’s curves, as well as the rest of her. Hilary had bumped into them one night in O’Donohue’s after Colette had taken flight
to London, and Rod had introduced her to Lynda. She was a down to earth, warm, friendly type with sparkling green eyes, and a mop of auburn curls that cascaded onto smooth creamy shoulders, and a
full and ripe bosom, and was far from the ‘carrot-haired, fat bogger’ Colette had so disparagingly described. Natural and voluptuous, Lynda certainly did not share Colette’s
clothes hanger sophistication.

Rod’s rejection of Colette had been too devastating to bear and, when her mother had suggested that she go to London to get over her broken heart, Colette had agreed.

An angry honking of a car’s horn at the Artane roundabout brought Hilary back to earth and real life. Thank God it wasn’t directed at her, she thought guiltily. She had been driving
on auto pilot, her thoughts way back, what was it, ten or more years since the days of their giddy early twenties? And now both of them were married, she to Niall who had indeed phoned her to
arrange a date, and Colette to Des, a London-based financier whom she had married in a fairy-tale wedding in Rome.

Both of them married, both of them mothers, she to Sophie and Millie, Colette to Jasmine. And both of them with very, very different lives, Hilary reflected as she stop-started her way to work.
Colette was such a complex character, it was a wonder their friendship had lasted as long as it had. She was one of the most competitive people Hilary knew. She
had
to be the centre of
attention. Had to have a bigger car, better job, sexier boyfriend than any of their circle of friends. But Hilary knew that behind the confident, smug, superior façade lay a young woman who
was plagued by insecurity. Hilary was one of the few who knew the real Colette. The Colette who was generous to a fault, the Colette who would cry buckets because of a broken heart, the Colette who
had longed to be ‘ordinary’, just like Hilary and her sister Dee, and have a mother who was waiting at home when she came in from school, who would be interested in hearing about her
day, and who would have a yummy dinner waiting for her. Even though her friend could drive her mad with her selfish, thoughtless behaviour, Hilary could never stay annoyed with her for long,
because she was a big softie and she knew Colette’s vulnerabilities and she knew that Colette thought of her as the sister she’d never had.