Best of Friends (52 page)

“So that’s what you came here for,” he said bitterly. “To beg me to come back, to make it all perfect again. I can’t believe you’re even attempting this, Abby. Do you really think it’s that simple? Do you really think we can go back to the way we were?”

“No,” she said hurriedly. “I know we can’t go back to the way we were but we can try again. Things hadn’t been good between us for quite a while—you know that, Tom. We’d both have to work at it but we have a marriage that’s worth saving, don’t we?”

His face was incredulous. “
We’d
have to work at it?” he said. “What’s all this
we
stuff, Abby? I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t sleep with anyone else. You did. If anybody has to make an effort, it’s you, and I don’t think you can. You sound just like some first-year student who’s standing in my office whining that they didn’t mean to turn the fire alarm on, and it won’t happen again, honestly, sir.”

His voice was full of barely concealed anger and Abby knew she was wasting her time. But she’d had to try. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if she hadn’t made the attempt to get their marriage back on track. The failure of their marriage
had
been down to both of them. Yes, she’d been the one who’d slept with Jay but Tom had been instrumental in driving her to it. She knew that now. Nobody went out and slept with someone else if their marriage was working. And Tom must know that too.

She tried again. “Tom, I’m not saying what happened was your fault but I’m saying we were equal partners in our marriage, and we both let it go wrong. I was the one who committed adultery but that doesn’t mean that the whole thing is my fault, do you understand that? I know it’s hard to face up to that but you must—”

“I must what?” he demanded. “I must take responsibility for you screwing another man? Oh, fuck off, Abby. I didn’t come here today to listen to this crap. I thought you wanted to talk about lawyers and what we were going to do with the house. I can’t believe you have the nerve to come here and ask me to come back—and then pretend that it was all my fault.”

“I didn’t say it was all your fault,” protested Abby furiously. Really, he was so annoying. Couldn’t he see that she was just trying to sort things out, not put the blame on him?

Tom sank the rest of his pint of Guinness quickly. He still hadn’t attempted to order anything for her. Once upon a time, he would have had a drink waiting: a glass of white wine was his staple order for her. She used to joke that he never gave her the chance to order anything different.

“If that’s all you came here to talk about, then I’m going,” he snapped. “I don’t have time to hang around. I’ve another life, Abby, the life you pushed me into.”

He left without another word and Abby sat in the pub for a while, staring at all the other customers who laughed and joked and chatted as if they hadn’t a care in the world. If only she could go back to being like them; if only she could go back to her old life where she’d been so happy and had everything, if only she’d known it.

On Friday morning, Erin stood in the flower shop beside the supermarket and dallied over fragrant Star Gazer lilies, exotic arums and pretty yellow freesias with the most glorious scent imaginable. Mum had never been one for grand flowers, she decided, choosing the freesias. As the florist wrapped up a large bouquet, Erin idly stared out of the shop window and noticed Lizzie Shanahan walking past looking dreamily into the distance.

“Lizzie,” she called, hurrying to the door. “Hello.”

“Hi,” said Lizzie brightly, “how are you?”

She looked down at Erin’s bump but didn’t move to touch it, like so many other people. Lizzie was very intuitive and had seen how uncomfortable Erin was when people did. “How’s the baby?”

“Wriggling like a maniac,” Erin said proudly. “It’s either a foot-baller or a ballet dancer. Greg gets such a thrill when he feels it too. How are you?”

“Great,” said Lizzie, although not so brightly. Debra had got over her hurt at her mother wanting a life apart from her one with Debra, and was now really getting Lizzie down, what with all the caustic little remarks about older women and boyfriends. It was as if Debra thought Simon had been after Lizzie for her money. What money, Lizzie wanted to know.

Erin felt there was something going on but didn’t want to pry. Ruby from the salon suspected that it was hard on Lizzie having her daughter living with her, although Lizzie was not the sort of person to volunteer such a thing.

“What makes you think that?” Erin had asked Ruby, unable to imagine anyone connected to Lizzie who wasn’t just as lovely and warm.

“I’ve met her daughter and she’s a right little madam,” Ruby had said, unimpressed. “I don’t think it’s a barrel of laughs with her at home. I’d say she runs rings round poor Lizzie.”

“I haven’t seen much of you lately, Lizzie,” Erin said now.

“Sorry. Some surrogate mum I’ve been,” Lizzie replied guiltily. “It’s just that—”

“No, don’t apologise,” insisted Erin quickly. “We’re all busy. I’m only saying that I miss our coffee and chat. Abby’s been very busy too: she’s only been in the salon once recently, so I don’t know how she is either. We must all get together to talk about our fund-raising for cancer.”

“I’d like that,” Lizzie said gratefully. That was the nice thing about Erin. She wasn’t one of those high-maintenance friends who went into a total sulk if neglected. “I’ve already done a teeny bit of fundraising,” Lizzie added. “I did a parachute jump for a cancer charity.”

“Fantastic!” Erin was impressed. “I’ve been talking about it, but you’ve really done something. Well done! And I’ve some news for you,” she added, eyes sparkling.

“Your flowers are ready,” called the florist from the depths of the shop.

“Hold on just a minute,” Erin said, and rushed inside. Once she’d got her bouquet, she resumed her story. “I’ve met my sister, Kerry, and I’m going to meet my parents later today. These flowers are for my mum. Greg’s leaving work at lunchtime and we’re driving to spend the weekend with my family.” She beamed.

“That’s wonderful!” Lizzie was so thrilled for her friend that she reached out and hugged her, flowers and all. “I knew they’d be thrilled to hear from you—didn’t I say that?”

“You did and you were right,” Erin admitted. “It just took a leap of faith to contact them again.”

“Family never forget the people they love,” Lizzie said warmly, “and how could they forget someone like you?”

“Well, my real mother forgot me,” Erin replied ruefully. She could talk about it to Lizzie, who somehow managed to understand.

“I bet she didn’t forget about you at all,” Lizzie said. “You don’t know what her life has been like. You’ve got to give her a chance.”

Erin thought about this. Lizzie had such belief in people. Nobody was ever a bad person in her book. Circumstances just forced them into corners where they made bad decisions. “I wish I was more like you,” she said, smiling. “You do see the best in people. I’ve spent ages feeling bitter about my real mother because she left, but you’re right, I need to cut her some slack.”

Lizzie flushed with pleasure at the idea that someone like Erin would want to be more like her. “Bitterness gets you nowhere,” she said. “I’ve found that out.”

“Lizzie, you couldn’t be bitter if you tried,” Erin said fondly.

“I have my moments,” the other woman replied. “So, are you excited?”

“I’m nervous more than anything, I have to admit. And,” she paused, “a bit sad. I’ve missed so much of their lives. I guess I’ll always feel sad about that.”

Lizzie’s eyes took on a faraway look. “We all carry a bit of sadness in our hearts, Erin. It makes us grateful for what we have.”

Erin had initially thought the family ought to meet in the Wexford hotel where she and Greg were staying for the weekend.

“Don’t be daft,” Kerry had said bluntly. “Why would we do that? Mum and Dad are upset they don’t have enough room for you pair to stay with all of us, but they only have three bedrooms and, believe me, it’s a squash getting the girls into that boxroom. Mum and I are going to cook dinner on Friday night, so you’ll come there and you can go back to the hotel later.”

There was no arguing with Kerry when she was in that mood. So Erin and Greg drove to their hotel, checked in, then headed south of Wexford to the coastal town where the family lived. Erin had been like a cat on a hot tin roof for the whole drive, although she did her best to calm down for the baby’s sake.

“This poor child will be born neurotic,” she fretted after yet another bout of “I hope they’re happy to see me but what if they’re not?”

“She’ll have my calm genes,” said Greg reassuringly. “My mother is calm, Dad is so laid-back he’s nearly horizontal, and all that genetic calmness will counterbalance any neurosis from your side.”

“The Flynns aren’t neurotic,” insisted Erin, stung by this inference. “I used to be calm, it’s just there’s a lot going on.”

Greg laughed. “Told you I knew how to cheer you up,” he said.

Erin relaxed. “Anyhow, who says we’re going to have a girl?” she asked.

“Those determined little kicks,” Greg said. “They remind me of you, never wanting to sit still, so I know it’s going to be a girl.”

Erin reached over and rested her hand on the back of his neck, gently caressing it lovingly. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t need to.

When they got to her parents’ house, Erin was a wreck with nerves. “I’m so glad you’re driving because I’d never have been able to find it and I’d have been going round in circles for ages,” she gabbled as she checked how she looked in the visor mirror for the millionth time.

Greg understood her well enough to say nothing to this stream of conversation but tell her she looked lovely. Everyone must have been watching out the windows because Greg hadn’t actually parked the car in front of the pretty little stone cottage before the front door was opened and the occupants streamed out.

“Oh God, Greg, look, it’s Dad and Kerry, and Mum …”

With presence of mind, Greg stopped where he was and put the brake on not a moment too soon. Erin shoved her door open and clambered out into her father’s arms, and suddenly her mother was there too, with Kerry and Lianne, and they were all hugging and laughing and crying at the same time.

“Let me look at you,” said Mum, holding Erin’s face with both her hands and gazing at her as if she could wipe out the lost years by learning every new line or freckle on her beloved face. “You look beautiful,” she said.

“Wasn’t she always beautiful?” said Dad, still holding Erin’s hand as tightly as a drowning man might cling to the lifeboat.

Erin had no idea what they had for dinner. She couldn’t concentrate on something so mundane. Instead, she couldn’t stop stealing glances at her parents, noticing the way her mother’s frame seemed smaller and more stooped with age, and seeing that her father’s grey hair had changed to silver. They looked older, there was no doubt. She would have done anything to turn the years back and be there for them for the nine lost years, and she knew she’d always feel a sense of loss for what she’d missed. But she thought back to what Lizzie had said: “We all carry a bit of sadness in our hearts: it makes us grateful for what we have.”

Lizzie was right. Missing years with her family had made Erin appreciate them all the more. So many families fought and bickered all the time, never appreciating what family ties really meant. Erin was lucky because now she knew just what family meant.

She watched Kerry and Peter laughing at something Greg had said. Peter was a nice man, very quiet as befitted someone who lived with a live wire like Kerry, but very friendly to his wife’s long-lost sister. He clearly adored Kerry and their children, and Erin spotted him touching Kerry with affection all the time, squeezing her hand tightly and stroking her arm.

They could have lost Kerry too, Erin realised with a jolt. Cancer could have taken her away just as it had taken dear Sally. And Sally had known just what family was all about, Lord rest her.

Suddenly a flash of inspiration came to Erin. Family and Sally. How many times had Erin wondered how the families of people with cancer coped? Trying to be brave, they had to hide their own fears and save their crying for when they were alone. But what if there was someplace where everyone could talk about the illness, where there was counselling for the person who was ill and for their family, children, everyone? That’s what they could raise funds for. After dinner, Erin talked the idea through with her sister.

“You mean like a Life Beats Cancer centre?” Kerry said with interest.

“What’s that?” Erin asked.

Kerry explained that the centre she worked at was affiliated with a national cancer charity that raised funds for complementary treatments for cancer patients.

“It’s the holistic approach to the disease,” Kerry pointed out. “They’ve got trained counsellors for the family and the person with cancer, and they offer all sorts of therapies, from visualisation and meditation to nutrition advice. And the help is really practical, too. For example, I went to the one in Dublin to get my wig cut. You know, so many wigs are hopeless but the LBC centre in Dublin has a panel of hairdressers who work on wigs to make them look better.” Kerry touched her short hair reflectively. “They made my wig look fantastic, really natural, and when you’re bald, with no eyebrows and a pasty face from chemo, you need all the help you can get.”

Erin felt a surge of emotion hit her. “That’s it then,” she said firmly. “That’s what we’ll raise the money for—a centre like that for Dunmore.”

On Saturday, Erin left Greg in the hotel to do some work and headed off for her parents’ alone. Peter was taking the girls out for the morning and it was to be just the four of them sitting in the cosy kitchen talking.

With the first of many cups of tea in front of her, Erin heard the story of Shannon for the first time.

“Shannon was so headstrong when she was younger,” Mum explained. She sat with the old white china teapot in front of her, like she’d sat throughout Erin’s childhood. That teapot was part of the family, almost, and seeing them all gathered round it made Erin feel that time had stood still. There were more lines on her mother’s face, naturally, and the arthritis had affected her hands, making the knuckles misshapen. But the warm light still shone from her clear blue eyes—eyes that missed nothing.