At a Time Like This (27 page)

Claire refills our glasses. ‘A tip, Maggie. Or insider trading?’ her voice is very quiet.

Maggie looks up at her. ‘I don’t know, Claire, and that’s the truth. She called them our “collaborations”. All I know is that Georgie managed the transactions
– said she was building me a nice little portfolio. She’d call me from time to time, give me only a little while to make up my mind whether to buy or sell.’ Maggie pauses. Her
expression is filled with admiration. I don’t feel so sure.

‘She was never wrong. That one time, the time of the Alaska mining company? It took a while, but our shares quadrupled in value. She rang me one morning and told me she was going to
offload the lot, told me what I was likely to get. I agreed, told her to go ahead and sell. That wasn’t the only time. There was a computer games company, too, that she said all the analysts
got spectacularly wrong. Nintendo – I’ll never forget it. We bought low, then whatever game they produced went through the roof and we made a fortune. Well, a fortune for me. The upshot
of it all was that within three years, our bank loan was paid off.’

She hesitates again and the effect is dramatic. Claire and I wait. I become conscious of the fact that I can’t leave my engagement ring alone.

‘And as well as that, as well as not having a business loan to pay back any more, I now have fifty grand in the building society and I’ve just bought a cottage in Leitrim.’

Her words are tripping over themselves. She simply cannot say them fast enough.

I gasp. I cannot help myself. ‘But is that legal?’

Maggie grins. ‘Yeah, Nora, it’s all legal. Georgie left me in the happy position that I never did anything wrong and she didn’t get caught – that’s if there was
ever anything to get caught
for.
Maybe she sailed a bit close to the wind, and maybe I should have asked more questions, but I didn’t.’ She shrugged. ‘I bought and sold in
small amounts, comparatively speaking and I was always very, very careful. But she must’ve gone for the kill every time.’ She laughs. ‘Half a million cash for Georgie. Well,
I’ll raise my glass to that.’

And she does. And so, eventually, do we.

Claire

Well. I don’t know what to say. I’m flabbergasted.

If I thought that the evening was over after Maggie’s revelation – and Pete’s – I had another think coming. A lot of things have become clear to me tonight, so much so
that I wonder how I haven’t put them all together before this. Once they are assembled, they make perfect sense. They bring clarity and completeness to a picture that, up until tonight, I
didn’t realize had so many bits missing. It’s like the way I felt that first day when I met Georgie in Front Square and she made things shimmer into focus for me. Except that now there
are four of us, each with a different corner of the jigsaw.

I noticed that Nora was looking agitated, once Maggie confessed to her cottage in Leitrim and a nest-egg in the bank. I wondered why. She and Frank have never been short of money; their latest
acquisition is a time-share in the Canaries. We all spent a good deal of time looking at her photographs, the last time we met. And a beautiful apartment it is, too. Quite a departure from
Nora’s normal frilly tastes.

I decided that more wine was called for. One glass above and beyond what she’s used to, and Nora opens up like a steamed mussel. It was one of the many things about her that used to make
Georgie mad as hell.

Used to make? Isn’t it strange, how we become accustomed to the changes in our lives, how rapidly the past begins to fade? Right until that moment, I would never have believed it so easy
to speak of someone with all the force of Georgie’s presence in the past tense.

One good thing about Nora is that she only ever goes the extra mile in our company. That way, her Prosecco-fuelled indiscretions rarely cause any damage. I refilled her glass. To my surprise,
she didn’t protest, but took it from me wordlessly. Okay, I thought, something serious is going on here, too, not just Georgie’s absence. Maggie noticed it as well.

‘Nora?’ she said. ‘You’re very quiet. Is everything okay? I mean, everything else, apart from Georgie?’

Nora’s glance was fierce. She has never cared much for Georgie. And that’s probably the biggest understatement I have ever made. Sometimes I’ve wondered what has kept her
coming back for more. Maggie and I are fond of her and have protected her from the excesses of Georgie’s tongue as much as we can. No matter what, though, Nora has always preferred to be
with
our group friendship rather than without it.

Before she answered Maggie’s question, she knocked back her wine and held out her glass for yet more. Curiouser and curiouser. I reached for the bottle. Its levels were dropping fast. I
wondered which of them, Maggie or Nora, would end up staying the night. Maybe both, I thought. A double whammy Spare room and sofa. That made me pause for thought. I really didn’t want Maggie
on my sofa, the shameful scene of my tryst with her husband. Better get food going fast and line everyone’s stomach.

‘I have a life, too, you know,’ Nora was saying. ‘Not everything has to be
always
about Georgie. Or, in fact, about the two of you.’

Maggie and I knew better than to respond. Not yet, at least. We were both so restrained that we didn’t even look at one another. I was afraid I might laugh, in that wholly inappropriate
way that you do when you’ve just seen someone take a tumble on the ice, or fall downstairs, or make a fool of themselves in public.

Nora began to rummage in her handbag. ‘You’ve always thought me a bit dull and boring, all of you, but especially Georgie.’

I could see Maggie was about to say something to that one, but Nora held up her hand. It was such an unlikely, imperious gesture that I was lost for words. But for the hairstyle, Nora at that
moment was the closest match I’ve ever seen for Margaret Thatcher. I imagined her pointing a finger towards each of us and intoning, ‘Out, out, out.’ Instead, she sat up straight,
her knees drawn primly together. In her lap lay an envelope, its contents bulking out so that the flap was pushed open. I caught a glimpse of red, but nothing more.

‘At least you two were kind to me, and the three of us always got on well together, once
she
wasn’t around. But I was never able to tell you what had happened before we all
met. I was going to, tonight. And then, as usual, Georgie makes herself the centre of attention.’

Poor Nora, I thought. What she was saying was true. Georgie always dominated our gatherings. I handed around a plate of mini vol-au-vents, filled with slivers of smoked salmon and cream cheese.
Not terribly substantial, but better than nothing. At least they’d be something of a distraction at what appeared to be yet another crucial stage of this extraordinary evening. I felt that
for once, I was the one with the uneventful life.

Nora’s tone was as close to bitter as I’d ever heard it. I knew that my silence was the wisest course just now and so I left the potential for speech to Maggie. While Nora might be
angry at
her
for always colluding with Georgie, at least she didn’t disapprove of her in the same way that she disapproved of me. It may have happened a quarter century ago, but I have
never forgiven Nora for calling me a slut. I may well have been that since, in her terms, but back then I slept with one man. The man I have happened to love for the whole of my adult life. So I
said nothing and waited for Maggie to take her cue.

‘What is it, Nora?’ her tone was kindly, but not patronizing. ‘What was it that happened to you before you knew us? And there’s no Georgie here, now. You can tell
us.’

I admired her tact. I remembered the first night we’d met, how I watched the door of O’Neill’s, waiting for the two of them to arrive together. I was fearful that they would
always be two against one. Maggie warned me of the boundaries, on that occasion, telling me of how she and Georgie had been friends since they were four. In her eyes, Georgie would always be number
one. I wondered what she was thinking now.

Nora reached into the envelope and pulled out a photograph of a laughing young woman in a red dress. That much I could see. She handed it to Maggie, who studied it for a moment and then raised
one hand to her lips. Her mouth fell open. All in all, she was the classic cinematic gesture of amazement, almost a cliché. I didn’t need her to say anything, didn’t need either
of them to explain. I had already begun to guess, seeing Maggie’s response and Nora’s expression of proud ownership. I waited my turn and Maggie handed me the photo without a word.

It was obvious. Nora’s best features are her sallow skin and her dark eyes. She used to tan very nicely at the first hint of sun. I used to envy her that, among other things – like
her three sons, for starters. Anyhow, with my colouring, the most I could achieve was a sprinkling of freckles across my nose. When Nora did become tanned, her brown eyes became lustrous and almost
compensated for the chunkiness of her figure. The young woman in this photograph might have been Nora, a quarter of a century ago – but with a very different look on her face. She was the
spit of her three brothers. When I say she might have been Nora, it was almost true, except for her unmistakable air of North American confidence. Maggie got up and put her arms around Nora and
rocked her.

‘Nora, Nora, Nora, why on earth didn’t you tell us?’

Nora hugged her back. Tears coursed down her cheeks, making silvery tracks in her over-powdered makeup. ‘I couldn’t. First I’d been made promise not to, and then it was too
late.’

I felt a mix of emotions as I held the photograph in my hands. Grief for my own lost motherhood, envy at the fact of somebody else being so richly rewarded, once again, where I had been
deprived. But there was more. I felt sorrow too, for all the gaps and glitches in our knowledge of one another. Regret for all the missed chances for being kind. I swallowed. This was one
opportunity I decided I would not miss, one time when I could do something generous for someone else. This wasn’t my moment, nor Maggie’s, not even Georgie’s. Right now belonged
to Nora.

I sat down beside her on the sofa and took her hand. Her face was shiny with crying. ‘Nora,’ I said, ‘what a beautiful young woman your daughter is. Tell us. Tell your friends
everything, right from the very beginning.’

And she did.

The irony was not lost on any of us that tonight, schemed for and planned for and oh so carefully orchestrated by Georgie over what had to have been a long period of time, became, in all the
ways that counted, a night that belonged to Nora.

What was it I had said about predictable? My friends never cease to amaze me.

Pete called back, sometime between the prolonged starters and the abrupt main course. I put Maggie on to him. We could hear only her part of the conversation, naturally, but
Nora and I could deduce how carefully she was treading, yet how honest she was attempting to be.

‘I’m not going to lie to you, Pete. I’ll tell you what I know – and even some of the things that I might suspect. But Georgie is my friend and my first loyalty is to
her.’ We waited to see how that would go down. Predictably, I thought. Pete’s a good man and he’s no fool.

‘I appreciate that, Pete, and I’ll help you as much as I can.’ Another pause.

‘My guess would be Italy, but you never can tell . . . could tell with Georgie. I swear I have no hard information on where she’s gone, just that one gut instinct. This is as much a
surprise to me as it is to you.’

There was a long gap, with lots of ‘mms’ and ‘yeahs’ from Maggie.

‘Yeah, the business
is
doing great. I’ve no problem showing you the books if you want to see them. But not half-a-million-cash-each-great. No way’

Here Maggie’s tone became more guarded. ‘All I know is, she became a dab hand at buying and selling shares. No, not through a broker, at least that’s what she told me. Over the
internet. Yeah. That’s what she said.’

She gestured for another cigarette and, to my surprise, Nora leapt up and brought her one, and her lighter. She even lit it for her.

‘Any personal post was her own, Pete. I never saw her open it, there was never anything for me even to catch a glimpse of. Anything that had to do with her, rather than the business, went
straight into her briefcase. No, of course I never asked. Jesus, it was none of my business.’

I could feel that the conversation was winding to a close – or this instalment of it, anyhow. I suspected that there would be many more.

Maggie came back and joined us. She shook her head. ‘Poor guy,’ she said. ‘I think the shock is just about wearing off now and he’s livid. Absolutely livid. But I really
don’t think I can be of any more help to him.’

‘Come on, lads,’ I said. ‘Let’s sit over to the table and eat something. We can carry on our conversation over dinner.’

The table seemed empty, as though more than one of us was missing. On a couple of occasions, I could have sworn I saw a shimmer around the empty chair. I thought of
Banquo’s ghost and the hair stood up on the back of my neck. I hustled us all back to the living room as soon as I could and set the coffee and petits fours on the low lacquered tables I had
brought back from China.

Nora dived at the petits fours and immediately made appreciative noises. ‘Did you make these?’ she asked.

I smiled. Ever the housewife, even in the midst of betrayal. Georgie would have enjoyed that. ‘I did indeed. Everything home-made in honour of the celebration that was in it – or
supposed to be in it.’

‘They’re good,’ she said. I noticed how relaxed she looked – not just because of the extra wine but because something seemed different about her. If I were fanciful,
I’d say that she looked taller, her shoulders straighter now that an old burden had been cast aside. And maybe the fact of Georgie’s absence had something to do with it, too. ‘Can
you blame Pete for being livid?’ Nora was asking, as she sipped at her coffee. Maggie had been going over and over the things Pete had asked her, reliving the man’s bewildered anger as
he pieced together all the fragments of Georgie’s departure.