A Time for Friends (12 page)

‘I wish we could have ginger beer and anchovy paste.’ Alice linked his arm. Enid Blyton’s midnight feasts always sounded exotic and delicious to their mind.

‘I wish we had a dairy to go to where we could have buns and cream cakes,’ Jonathan said wistfully as his fears and anxiety receded and the prospect of an exciting afternoon
beckoned.

For weeks after the encounter with Gus, Jonathan would feel sick to his stomach every time he walked past his house. Several times he saw Gus coming home from work, or at Mass. The man ignored
him completely. Jonathan hardly dared to believe that the ordeal was over but as the months passed and the warm, bright days of summer ceded to autumn’s glory, he began to relax and committed
the memory of those horrendous episodes to the far reaches of his mind. He was happy at school, in Mr Dowling’s class. Mr Dowling didn’t allow any name-calling, fighting or bullying,
and the next two years were the happiest of Jonathan’s life, before he started secondary school and had to begin standing up for himself all over again.

The memories of his ‘lost years’, as Jonathan called them, brought fresh tears to his eyes as he sat on the bean bag in his bay window and wept brokenly at the grief and bitterness
that engulfed him. Many nights he had lain in bed imagining how, now, as an adult, he would confront Gus Higgins with his abuse and tell him that he was going to bring a court case against him. It
gave him pleasure to conjure up the shock, fear and apprehension that Gus would feel when Jonathan told him he was reporting him to the guards. And when Gus would say as he surely would,
‘You’re a liar and no one will believe you,’ Jonathan would play his trump card.

‘I’ll tell them about your birthmark!’

The satisfaction that much anticipated encounter would bring was a balm to his wounded spirit through the years. And now he was to be denied justice.

If only he’d had the guts to carry it through instead of putting it off. Now it was too late. The bastard had got away with it, and Jonathan was back in his private hell, the hell that no
one knew about except Hannah Harrison his counsellor, and Kenny Dowling, his much admired teacher from primary school, whom he had met in the Front Lounge years later, and instantly recognized, and
wondered how he had never copped that he was gay. They had spent a couple of hours drinking and catching up and Kenny was as nice a man as Jonathan had remembered as a child. Every so often they
would bump into each other and have a chat. Kenny had a partner, Russell, an artist, and they often invited Jonathan back to their house, or for a meal out, or to go to a concert.

One night, when Russell had gone to bed, he and Kenny were talking about an abuse case that had come to light with a mutual friend. ‘Anything ever happen to you?’ Kenny asked
casually.

‘Yeah,’ Jonathan sighed, and then it all came out in a torrent of bitter bile that shook him to his core.

‘That fat bastard. I remember him. A married man with kids and they say it’s us gays who abuse kids,’ Kenny swore, coming to sit beside Jonathan and putting an arm around his
shoulder. ‘I always felt you had a secret sadness. I could see it in your eyes. I should have made an effort to see what was wrong. I just had to be extra careful about boundaries, you know
yourself. I’m sorry, Jonathan, I let you down.’

‘No you didn’t. You gave me peace and security in your class and soon after you started teaching us the abuse had come to an end. In fact I threatened the slimy toad that I would
tell
you
, and after that he never did it to me again. So you did save me from it.’ Jonathan gave a shaky laugh.

‘Look, you have to go and see this wonderful woman, Hannah Harrison. She’s a terrific counsellor. She practises just off the canal in Harold’s Cross,’ Kenny had said,
getting a pen and paper to write down the details. ‘Promise me you’ll go to her – she’ll work wonders for you. She’s a holistic, metaphysical healer as well as a
psychologist,’ he urged. ‘She’s different, but brilliant, and I should know, I’ve been to a few.’

It had taken six months before Jonathan made the appointment. It was the best thing he had ever done for himself. Hannah, an elfin, brown-haired woman in her late forties, had a calm, reassuring
presence. She had such beautiful eyes, blue with flecks of grey and violet around the iris, full of warmth and kindness. The kindest eyes he had ever seen, apart from his mother’s. She had
listened patiently as he poured out his story to her, interjecting a comment here and there and, when he had come to a faltering halt, she had made him a cup of tea.

‘Today is the day you have made a fresh start,’ she said firmly. ‘Today is the day you go forward with your life and begin to clear and release the past. Today is the day you
let go of the burden of guilt and secrecy. Today is the day that you say to yourself that no blame attaches to you in
any
way, shape or form for what that man did to you. Do you understand
that? Today you go free.’

Free, Jonathan thought bitterly, remembering his counsellor’s words; freedom was an illusion. Now here he was back to where he’d started, having to lie to his mother just as
he’d lied as a child, so as to protect her from knowledge that would crucify her.

Nancy would think badly of him if he failed to show up for the removal service. In a small country town like Rosslara, neighbours looked out for neighbours and stood by them in their hour of
need. That was a given. So did he put his mother’s wishes first? Did he allow her to unwittingly reopen a wound he had long fought to heal? Or did he protect himself and stay away? That was
his choice. Jonathan stared unseeingly through the shining windowpanes as his demons returned with a vengeance and the day that had promised so much faded away.

‘Ooooohhhh!’ Hilary groaned, squinting at the blinding disc of sun that assaulted her when she blinked open her eyes. The shrill jangle of the phone on her bedside
locker jack-hammered through her head.

‘Hello!’ she croaked, her mouth dry.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Her husband’s concerned tone jerked her awake.

‘Oh! Niall! Hi. Nothing’s wrong, just bit of a hangover,’ she confessed.

‘Ha, can’t leave you for a day or two and you get rid of the kids and go on the ming!’ he teased. ‘Where did you go? Did you have a night with the girls?’

‘No I didn’t go anywhere. Actually I met a really nice guy on the course and brought him over to see the showrooms, and then we came back here for a Chinese, and then Colette arrived
out of the blue, so we opened another couple of bottles and now I’m paying for it,’ she moaned.

‘
Oh
! Should I be worried about you bringing strange men back to the house when I’m away? Is he still
there
?’ Niall couldn’t hide his surprise.

‘No he’s not!’ Hilary suddenly realized how her description of the previous evening must have sounded to her exiled husband. ‘Jonathan, that’s his name, is a lovely
chap but he’d fancy you more than he’d fancy me if you get my drift.’

‘Oh right! That’s a relief. I was beginning to wonder would I have to jump on the next Aeroflot to London and get myself home and tell him to put his dukes up and fight it
out,’ he said good-humouredly.

‘Ha! I don’t think it’s ever going to come to that with any man. If you saw how I looked now even you would flee. How’s Moscow?’

‘Raining, chilly, crowded and getting dark. What’s it like at home?’

‘It looks like a gorgeous day out.’ She yawned. ‘The sun is shining right in on my face. You know the way our room gets the sun in the morning. Not good in my present
condition.’ She burrowed under the relative darkness of the duvet, with the handset.

‘How’s Colette?’ Niall enquired.

‘Herself,’ Hilary said drily. ‘She’s probably annoyed that I didn’t send Jonathan packing and devote the evening to her. You know what she’s like.’

‘Indeed I do. Go back to sleep for another hour and have a bacon sandwich when you get up and you’ll be fine,’ her husband said kindly.

‘I love you.’ She yawned again.

‘I love you too. Give my love to the kids. I’ll ring tomorrow. Same time. Bye.’

‘Bye,’ she said and heard the click as Niall hung up. She put the handset back in the cradle and turned on her stomach and pulled a pillow over her head and promptly fell asleep.

The phone’s jingle woke her again and a bleary glance at her clock told her that she had been asleep for more than an hour and a half. Her sister’s cheery greeting brought her wide
awake. ‘Morning, Sis, hope you enjoyed your lie-in.’

‘Hi, I did, it was great. I’ll be over in the next hour or so,’ she said hastily, not wanting Dee to think she was taking advantage of her.

‘No need. I was ringing to ask if it would be OK for the kids to come to the pictures this afternoon and I’ll drop them back this evening?’

‘Are you sure?’ Hilary couldn’t believe her luck. What a treat to have a
whole
day to herself. Pity she was feeling so grim.

‘I’ve no choice. There’s great excitement – they were plotting it in bed last night. You know what they’re like when they all get together. I promised them
McDonald’s as a treat afterwards because I’m a big softie, ha ha. So they’ll be fed.’

Hilary laughed. ‘You, a softie?’ she teased. ‘You’re as hard as nails. Are you sure though? Do you want me to come over and go with you?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no point in both of us having to endure an under-twelves!’ her sister retorted. ‘Make the most of the few free hours. I’ll get
you back another time, don’t worry. You sound as if I’ve just woken you up. Go back to sleep, you lucky wagon. See you later.’

Hilary smiled as she hung up. Only another mother could truly understand how precious was a lie-in without children clamouring for attention.

Her stomach rumbled and she realized that she was feeling slightly better
and
peckish. Why was it that you were always hungry the next morning after eating Chinese? Hazy memories of the
night before drifted back. Laughing at Jonathan’s wit. Colette not even trying to hide her irritation when she saw him sitting outside. Weaving her way to the fridge to get more wine. She
couldn’t even remember going to bed. Had she even locked up, she wondered, flinging back the duvet, a frisson of anxiety penetrating her dehydrated fug. She vaguely remembered Jonathan saying
goodbye but not Colette, she thought, brow furrowed, trying to remember as she went downstairs.

The alarm was on. The light was on in the porch. The lights were off everywhere else and the kitchen looked very tidy. That was Jonathan, she was sure. Colette didn’t do cleaning up, she
had people to do it for her, Hilary thought guiltily, wondering what must Jonathan think of her, drinking like a fish and getting pissed.

Her bag was slung under a kitchen stool and she bent down and groaned as she hauled it up. She rooted for her notebook and found Jonathan’s number scrawled on the back of her notes. She
should ring him and apologize, she thought, a tad mortified. She sat at the breakfast counter and dialled his number from the kitchen phone that hung on the wall. It rang for ages and she
remembered vaguely that he had told her that it was a communal phone. He was probably out, she figured, about to hang up, when the phone was answered.

‘Hello?’ a muffled voice said.

‘Hi, could I speak to Jonathan Harpur, please,’ she said politely.

‘It’s me. I’m Jonathan.’ He sounded strange.

‘Oh. Oh hi, Jonathan. I didn’t recognize your voice. It’s me, Hilary. I just rang on the off-chance of finding you in, to say sorry that I got um . . . er . . . a bit tipsy
last night. I’m not usually such a lush, in case I might have given you the wrong impression on our first date, so to speak,’ she explained hastily.

‘Oh! Hilary! That’s fine. No problem,’ Jonathan said, clearing his throat.

‘Are you OK? Are you under the weather too? You sound a bit weird.’

‘Umm. Yeah, I’m fine,’ he sniffed, and she sensed that something was up.

‘Sure you’re OK?’ she probed kindly, not wishing to be intrusive.

‘Yeah . . . no . . . no! Hilary, something happened and I just don’t know what to do.’ He burst into tears, unable to continue.

‘Hey, Jonathan. What’s wrong? Will I come over? I’ve a couple of hours free that I wasn’t expecting,’ she offered.

‘No, it’s OK, I don’t want to put you out.’ She could hear him gulping.

‘Do you want to come up to me, then? I could nip over to the shop and get us something for brunch? I haven’t eaten yet.’

‘Ah no, I really don’t want to put you out,’ he repeated, composing himself.

‘Don’t be daft. Get your skinny ass over here
pronto
!’ she instructed and heard him give a small chuckle.

‘Bossy, aren’t you? Are you sure?’

‘Certain!’ she reiterated firmly.

‘Thanks, Hilary. You’re a pal, and I need one right now,’ he said gratefully.

‘A pongy pal,’ she smiled. ‘I have to go and have a quick shower. I reek of alcohol and I stink! See you in about twenty minutes. Can you remember how to get here?’

‘Yeah, I remember. Thanks, I owe you,’ he said and hung up.

Galvanized and wondering what on earth was the matter with her new friend, Hilary opened the fridge, took a long slug of orange juice straight from the carton and hurried upstairs to shower. The
hot water sluicing down over her shoulders felt good and she lathered soap over herself and began to feel much more human. She dried herself swiftly, pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt,
towelled her hair dry and ran her fingers through it to shape it and applied a sliver of lipstick before grabbing her purse and house keys.

Her stomach was growling as she walked briskly down the tree-lined street and around the small green, surrounded by neat cottages, to make her way to the shops. The supermarket was busy and she
threw croissants and baby tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon bits and grated cheese into her basket, chose two coffee slices and two cream doughnuts from a selection of luscious-looking cream buns, grabbed
a newspaper from the stand and stood in the queue thinking how lucky she was to be so near to shops, pharmacies and a DART station.