The Art of Friendship (38 page)

‘Please,’ said Kirsty, her voice closing up on her as she realised how much Dorothy and Harry’s approval meant to her. ‘Please say you’re happy for me.’

Dorothy sighed again and she was shaking all over. When she spoke, her voice was brittle, and she would not look at Kirsty. ‘I’m glad that you’ve found happiness again, I really am. But I can’t say I’m pleased that you’re proposing to live together – what kind of an example is that for the boys?’

Kirsty had anticipated this reaction from both her
conservative in-laws, and she did not take offence at it. They were from a different generation that lived by different values, that was all. ‘I know you’re concerned about the stability of the home to which I’m taking David and Adam. But you don’t need to be.’

‘But,’ went on Dorothy, not listening to her answer, ‘that’s not what…it’s…’ She shook her head and her lined face crumpled. ‘The boys. You’ll be taking my boys away.’

She cried unreservedly then, great heart-wrenching sobs that tore at Kirsty’s heart. Dorothy, so strong and proud and capable, who had borne her son’s death so bravely, rarely cried and this made her heartbreak all the harder to bear. Immediately Harry was at his wife’s side, his arm around her ample waist, consoling her.

‘There, there now, love. I know. I know,’ he whispered softly like a prayer and smoothed the lines on her brow with the tips of his fingers. Kirsty, embarrassed at being a witness to such an intimate moment, looked away.

Taking the boys away from their grandparents seemed like unspeakable cruelty. How could she do this to Dorothy and Harry? And yet, how could she not? What alternative did she have? Stay here and wait for Chris to come back? It could be years. She did not think she could endure it.

‘We knew things couldn’t stay the same for ever, Dot,’ said Harry. ‘And if we had chosen a replacement for Scott, we’d be hard-pressed to find anyone better than Chris Carmichael, wouldn’t we?’

Dorothy sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes with her hand. ‘Yes, I know,’ she said sadly. ‘I know all that. And I know you’re right. But it doesn’t make it any easier to bear. Does it, Harry?’

Harry took her hand in his and squeezed it. ‘No,’ he said quietly and shook his head, seemingly lost for further words.

They may have only a few years to live, thought Kirsty. How could she leave them now when they were at their most vulnerable? How could she do that to them? Chris was right – the boys would adapt, but not Dorothy and Harry.

‘Why Dubai?’ said Dorothy through her tears, speaking to Harry as though Kirsty was not there. ‘Why so far away, Harry?’

Harry raised his shoulders and lowered them and Kirsty could see then that he too had succumbed to tears.

‘I won’t go,’ she blurted out suddenly, her face burning with shame. Shame that she had so thoughtlessly, so selfishly put her desires above everyone else’s in this family.

Dorothy and Harry looked at her then, with mirrored expressions of astonishment on their faces. They glanced at each other and Harry briskly wiped away the tears from his creased cheek. Dorothy sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her cardigan.

‘Kirsty, you mustn’t pay too much attention to Dorothy and I. Of course it’s a blow for us,’ said Harry and he tried to smile. ‘And we’ll be devastated to see you and the boys go.’

Kirsty was crying now, not really listening to what Harry was saying. She put her face in her hands. ‘I haven’t thought this through, have I? What moving to Dubai would mean to you and the boys. I’ve thought only of myself. Only of what I wanted. I love Chris. But if he loves me he can wait for me.’

‘And spend the next few years of your life being miserable?’ It was Dorothy’s voice, firm and directive, back in control. ‘Don’t you think you’ve been miserable long enough?’

The loneliness would be hard to bear, Kirsty thought, but she would console herself with the knowledge that she had done the right thing, the honourable thing – paying back what she owed.

But what if Chris wasn’t prepared to wait? What if he met someone else? She couldn’t bear it. No, she mustn’t think like that. She would
have
to bear it. She gritted her teeth, pressed them together so hard they hurt. She had tried so hard to do the right thing by the boys, by Scott, by her in-laws. She would just have to keep on trying.

‘Kirsty, listen to me.’ This time Harry’s voice was firm and more assured than ever as if, having allowed himself a brief moment of weakness, he had emerged stronger than before. ‘Look at me, Kirsty. Look at me.’ He snapped his fingers.

Kirsty raised her head, the act itself an effort, and squinted through her tears. Her head had begun to throb and she felt so weary, so worn out. She could not fight any more. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to worry. I’ll not take the boys to Dubai.’

‘Yes, you damn well will.’

Kirsty opened her eyes fully and blinked, brought to by the unfamiliar sound of Harry swearing. He was red in the face and his eyes burned with an intensity she had never seen before.

She opened her mouth and managed to form the word, ‘What?’

‘You are going to go to Dubai with Chris Carmichael to make a life there for all of you. Of course we’re upset at the prospect, but do you think we’d have it any other way?’ Harry looked at Dorothy, his face returning to its normal hue, and she nodded sadly in agreement.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Kirsty feeling foggy-headed, foolish. Was she hearing things? Imagining what she wanted so desperately to be true, rather than what actually was?

‘Do you think we would stand in the way of your happiness, Kirsty?’ asked Dorothy. ‘We would never allow that to happen. We couldn’t live with that on our conscience.’

Confused, Kirsty shook her head. ‘But I thought…you said…’

‘Never mind what we said,’ said Dorothy sharply and then her voice softened, the way it did when she talked to the boys. ‘You’re happier now than you’ve been in years, Kirsty. We can see that. And it makes our hearts glad. And we know that Scott would want to see you happy too.’ She glanced at Harry then and nodded, affirming to herself, as much as her husband, the truth of this statement.

At the mention of Scott’s name, Kirsty briefly averted her eyes.

‘Are you giving me your blessing?’ she said incredulously, hope rising like sap.

Dorothy and Harry both nodded, though there was little trace of joy in their faces.

The tears flowed silently and freely down Kirsty’s face then. This, she understood, was love in its purest form. To give freely and seek nothing in return. Kirsty was no churchgoer but a verse from the Bible came to mind, one that she and Scott had chosen for their wedding. How did it go?
Love is patient and kind…Love does not insist on its own way…it is…not resentful…Love endures…love bears all things.
And Dorothy and Harry would endure. They would bear their hurt and pain because they put Kirsty and the boys’ happiness above their own. And this they did because they loved them so much.

‘Thank you for this. And for…for everything,’ said Kirsty simply, unable to articulate these thoughts in words. ‘As long as I live I will never forget what you have done for me and the boys.’

A pleased smile passed between the older couple and some of the tension in the room dissipated. A wave of relief washed over Kirsty and the muscles across her shoulders relaxed.

And now she was desperate to cheer them up, to give something back to them. She leant forwards in the chair, wrung her hands together, and said, ‘It’ll only be for a year or two, at the most. You can visit whenever you like. And I’ll bring the kids back here for the whole of the summer holidays – and Christmas too.’

Dorothy’s face brightened. ‘Would you?’

‘Of course I will. I promise.’

‘And I’ll get the boys to phone you at least once a week and you can email David as often as you like, Harry. You’ll see them at least four times a year – you will come out and stay with us, won’t you?’

‘Try keeping us away,’ said Dorothy.

Harry fingered his moustache once more as if searching for something tangible and dependable when so much around him was shifting and changing. ‘The boys aren’t so young any more – and neither are we. Lately, I’ve been finding it difficult to keep up with them. Especially with this old leg.’ He tapped his shin with the stick he always kept by him now and smiled bravely. ‘I know Dorothy has too. We’ve had the very great joy and privilege of being involved in their lives on a daily basis when they were young. But the truth is, they don’t need us as much now as they used to.’

Kirsty could see at once what he was trying to do – make her feel less guilty and Dorothy better. ‘Of course they need you. They love you,’ interjected Kirsty quickly.

Harry cocked his head a little to one side and looked at the fire, acknowledging this. ‘Aye, and we love them too. But it’s time for things to change.’

‘I love you both,’ whispered Kirsty, choked with gratitude. ‘I will never forget the kindness you have shown me. And I know I can never repay you.’

‘Oh, yes you can,’ said Dorothy and when she lifted her face to look at Kirsty, her eyes were bright with tears and her cheeks flamed red. ‘You give those boys the best life possible. And love them, Kirsty, love them as much and as hard as you can. That’s all we ask. If you and Chris can do that, then we will be content.’

Content but not, Kirsty noted, happy. The loss of their only son was too great a blow – she saw then that they would never recover from it. They had moments of great pleasure, joy even, and anyone meeting them for the first time would never suspect the burden of sorrow they carried between them. But they would never be truly and completely happy again. In the maelstrom of their grief, they had clung to the boys, the living embodiment of the son they had loved and so cruelly lost. And who could blame them? Who could judge them for that? Not her.

Now, though, it was time for them to let go of David and Adam. Kirsty too. To give them the freedom and space to grow into new lives in another place, like transplanted seedlings reaching for the sun, while their lives contracted through age and inevitable ill-health. And even in their sorrow, Kirsty believed they understood that only too well.

It was New Year’s Eve and Janice stood in her kitchen opening boxes of canapés from Marks & Spencer and arranging them on square white china plates. She wore a black silk-trimmed jersey dress and smart animal-print platform heels.

The pleasant hum of good conversation and background music drifted from the drawing room into the kitchen. The pelting rain on the windows made the inside feel all the more homely and cosy. For this year’s party, if you could call it that, was a much more restrained affair than last year’s with a smaller guest list and a nicer, more intimate feel. Only
twenty or so people were there – people Janice regarded as true friends.

She was relieved when Keith said they hadn’t the cash to spend on a lavish party that anyway would appear vulgar in the current climate of redundancies and austerity – Keith’s firm had recently had to let one of the conveyancing lawyers go. Janice smiled at the memory of last year’s party when she and the others had locked themselves in the en-suite, a tribe apart, away from the rest of the guests. They’d acted like silly teenagers – but it had been fun. She remembered too the resolutions she and her friends had made last year and suddenly that party seemed like a very long time ago.

So much had happened since then. Clare and Kirsty had seen their resolutions realised, but not without heartache, and Patsy’s life had been turned upside-down in ways she never could’ve foreseen. Janice tried to recall her wishywashy resolution – what was it she had said back then? Something about
starting a new project?
She was always starting projects, a fact that served to highlight her lack of direction and goal-less existence. But not any more. She had found the courage, with Patsy’s support, to finally do something meaningful with her life.

‘We’ve come to help,’ announced Patsy, teetering into the kitchen in high-heeled patent leather boots. She looked well and relaxed in a red floaty dress, though that might have had more to do with the glass in her hand than her outfit. Behind her was Clare in flats, black velvet evening trousers and a simple sleeveless top that showed off her well-defined shoulders. She’d lost nearly two stone in the last six months and looked fabulous. Kirsty was last, looking radiant and pretty in a printed wrap dress.

‘Shall I get rid of these?’ asked Patsy and, without waiting for an answer, swiped the M&S boxes into the bin and
climbed onto one of the breakfast bar chairs. Janice smiled and placed a sprig of parsley on top of a mound of cocktail sausages.

‘Let me do something,’ said Clare, and Janice set her to work making crudités.

‘What can I do?’ said Kirsty.

‘Would you mind making up a platter of cold meats? They’re in the fridge. Over there on the top shelf. Yes, just there.’

Patsy put her elbows on the granite surface, held her head in her hands like it was too heavy to remain unsupported and surveyed the proceedings. ‘So when are you going to get me a couple more paintings for the gallery, Clare?’Addressing the wider company, she added, ‘I sold all of them over Christmas, you know. People were fighting over them to buy as presents.’

Clare cut a red pepper in half and started poking out the seeds with the point of the knife. ‘Soon. I promise. It’s just been a bit manic over Christmas. Did I tell you I heard from the Director of Arts Development for the Arts Council?’

‘Really!’ cried Patsy, her interest aroused.

‘Yeah, she phoned me between Christmas and the New Year.’

‘What’d she want?’ Patsy put her glass to her lips without taking her eyes off Clare.

‘She’s putting together a showcase of new Northern Irish artists for a touring exhibition of the UK and she wants me to contribute two paintings.’

‘Why, that’s fabulous!’ exclaimed Patsy, almost spitting a mouthful of wine over Janice’s carefully arranged canapés.

‘That’s amazing!’ squealed Janice and Kirsty said, ‘Well done!’

‘Do you realise how big this is? She wouldn’t be doing
that if she didn’t think you were good, Clare,’ went on Patsy, clearly dumbfounded by Clare’s apparently laid-back attitude to this development. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’