In spite of herself, Hilary laughed. ‘You’re incorrigible, Harpur.’
‘And you’re amazing, Hammond. Go and do what you have to do and ring me immediately!’
‘I will,’ she said heavily. ‘I love ya! Bye!’
Heavy-hearted, Jonathan watched her reverse out of the drive. Hilary deserved so much better, he thought angrily closing the door. What a horrible start to the new year for his best friend.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
‘Just concentrate on your driving,’ Hilary muttered, having swerved very close to the edge of the narrow coastal road. She could not absorb what she’d heard on the phone. Couldn’t take in what had actually happened. It was like a dream but, as she slowed down to let a dog walker cross the road and heard the rhythmic whoosh of the sea against the shore, she knew it was no dream.
Would Colette be back at her parents’ house yet? It was on Hilary’s route home anyway; she would wait until her erstwhile friend arrived if she wasn’t there. Colette had been driving Jacqueline’s Merc for the few days she’d been in Ireland, and she’d arrived at the party in it.
The navy Merc was gleaming in the mid-morning sun when Hilary roared up the drive. Frank’s silver Merc was parked in front of it. Hilary didn’t care who was there. Colette O’Mahony had pushed her too far this time. She wasn’t getting away with it.
She rang the doorbell, tempted to keep her finger on it, but she didn’t want to alert Colette to anything untoward.
‘Ah Hilary. Happy New Year! I didn’t know you were with Colette. She’s just gone down to make herself a coffee in the kitchen,’ Frank greeted her kindly, opening the door wide.
‘Thanks, Happy New Year to you too,’ she said, returning the greeting before marching past him along the marble-tiled hall and down to the kitchen. Colette had her back to her as she stared out of the kitchen window.
‘Niall warned me about you all along and I wouldn’t listen to him,’ Hilary said tightly, keeping a lid on her temper with difficulty.
Colette spun round. ‘Whatever he said, he’s telling lies. He wanted to seduce me! He made the first move.’
‘What is your problem, Colette?’ Hilary roared. ‘Why are you so horribly mean-spirited and jealous that you could even consider making a move on my husband? You made the first move! Don’t lie.’ She glared at the other woman and walked up to her and thrust her face close to hers. ‘I dropped everything, and I mean everything, in that week coming up to Christmas to fly to New York and be with you in your hour of need. I’ve always been there for you, even when you do your hot potato act, and this is the way you repay me. You’re no friend, Colette, you never have been. It’s all about you! You! You! You! And it always has been. Ever since we were little girls. Why, Colette? Why?’
‘Why, Colette? Why?’ mimicked Colette. ‘Why don’t you just shut up and stop whinging? You’re so smug, Hilary. You call yourself a friend. How do you think I felt knowing that you only played with me out of pity, because your mother made you?’ Colette snarled.
‘What?’ exclaimed Hilary, gobsmacked.
‘Don’t you remember? Begging your mother not to ask me to your birthday party?’
‘I don’t remember that,’ retorted Hilary, mystified. What had childhood birthday parties got to do with how Colette had behaved today?
‘Of course you don’t remember. Why should you? You weren’t the one standing behind the door listening to your mother telling you that you had to invite ”poor” Colette. How would you have felt if it were you? You with your happy clichéd Walton family,’ she sneered. ‘The mother who was always at home with the dinner cooked, ready to help with homework, ready to bake cakes with you. And then you married your oh so perfect husband – you never had your heart broken like I did when I was young. No, because your life is oh so perfect! And then you had your oh so perfect daughters who never put a foot wrong, so stop bleating why, why, why,’ Colette ranted as years of suppressed resentment erupted.
‘Is that why you did what you did today?’ demanded Hilary, astonished. ‘Because you’re jealous of me? Is that why you went after Niall?’
‘Niall is lying, it was him!’ yelled Colette. ‘He couldn’t wait to get my clothes off, and why wouldn’t he want a sexy, toned woman in his arms. I haven’t let myself go like you have. Look at you, you’re flabby and middle-aged and—’
‘I know what happened, you lying cow!’ Hilary shouted, producing her phone and dialling the message minder and putting it on speaker. Niall’s deep voice echoed through the kitchen.
‘Oh you’re up, did you sleep well?’
‘On and off. I just feel so sad.’
‘Ah you poor thing,’ Niall said and there was the sound of more movement . . .
Colette paled. ‘Turn it off right now. I won’t listen to this!’ she screeched.
‘You will listen to it, you lying, devious bitch, the way I had to.’ The air was thick with hostility as they eyeballed each other and the recording played out its sorry tale.
‘Colette!’
Hilary turned round. Frank stood at the door, horrified.
‘Colette, how could you do that to Hilary? How could you betray a friend so grievously?’ he demanded. ‘Answer me. I’m speaking to you.’
‘Are you for REAL?’ his daughter shouted at him. ‘Don’t you dare judge or chastise me. Do you think I’ve ever forgotten finding you riding the arse off Mrs Boyle, the nanny I loved, when I was a child? With her chunky thighs, and her legs waving in the air, and your skinny, white, hairy ass and your trousers around your ankles. Do you think I’ve ever forgotten how you took me to the Shelbourne as a “treat” that day and fed me such rich confectionery I was sick all the way home. Do you think I’ve ever forgotten that it was “our little secret that Mummy must never know about, because it would make her very sad and she might leave us”? I haven’t forgotten any of it, Dad, any of it.’ Colette was red-faced with fury. ‘I’ve never forgotten how I used to cry myself to sleep when I was a kid because of you. Men are shits; I learned that from a very early age. I learned it from you, first, Daddy dearest!’
Frank gasped, stricken, before sitting down heavily at the table. ‘Colette, I . . . I . . . I don’t know what to say,’ he said lamely, head bowed, unable to look at either of them.
‘Well then, just butt out,’ she snapped as they heard the front door open.
Frank and Colette turned to look at Hilary. ‘Please, Hilary, my wife doesn’t need to know any of this,’ Frank pleaded. ‘Please say nothing.’
‘Hilary, Mummy’s done nothing to you,’ Colette said in rising panic. ‘Please don’t play that back to her.’
‘Hello, Hilary, Happy New Year,’ Jacqueline offered, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek, oblivious to the tension, as the dog she had been walking bounded around them boisterously, tail wagging furiously.
Colette looked at Hilary imploringly. Hilary gave her a cold stare over Jacqueline’s shoulder. Why should she make life easy for her former friend? Wasn’t that what she had always done, given her the soft option, never making a stand? And look how Colette had repaid her.
Frank sat rigid on his chair . . . waiting. Hilary took a deep breath. ‘Hi, Mrs O’Mahony, Happy New Year to you too,’ she said in as normal a voice as she could manage. ‘I’m afraid I have to rush, we’re going to Dee’s for lunch and I’ve to collect Mam and I’m late. I’ll see myself out.’
‘Give my regards to Sally,’ Jacqueline said cheerfully, shrugging out of her Barbour. ‘Colette, I’d murder for a cup of coffee,’ Hilary heard her say as she walked out of the kitchen, down the hall to the front door, without looking back.
‘Are the girls up?’ Hilary walked into the kitchen. Niall was putting clean dishes away and had another pile of plates stacked ready to go in the dishwasher.
‘No, not a budge out of them.’ He had his back to her.
‘You were right about one thing,’ she said flatly.
‘What’s that?’ He turned to look at her
.
‘Colette O’Mahony was never any friend of mine. And today I learned what a husband I have.’
‘Hilary! What did she say to you?’ he asked, alarmed. ‘It’s not what you think. Honestly.’
‘She’s always maintained that men are hot-wired to cheat, and today I found out why. According to her there’s no such thing as a faithful man because—’
‘Hilary—’
‘Just listen, Niall. I know everything!’ Hilary replayed the message for the second time that day.
‘God almighty! She must have had her phone on without knowing it!’ he exclaimed, horrified.
‘Would I ever have found out if she hadn’t?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said miserably.
‘Well I’m glad I know! I’m glad I heard it. I’m glad I know I have the most wonderful husband in the world,’ she said, throwing her arms around him and kissing him ardently.
‘I love you, Hilary. I couldn’t believe it when she started running her hands up under my shirt and trying to kiss me.’ Niall shook his head at the memory. ‘And the things she was saying.’
‘I know . . . like she hadn’t had sex for months and she’d always fancied you and she was aching for you. Jonathan and I nearly fell off our stools.’ She flinched at the memory, snuggling in to him as he enfolded her in his arms.
‘Did you feel better when I told her that she was a disgrace and didn’t know the meaning of the word friendship?’ He smiled down at her.
‘I preferred it when you said you loved me more now than when you married me, and that false boobs and a plastic smile would never turn you on like the real thing. And I particularly liked it when you said I was the sexiest woman you had ever known and there was nothing that she could offer you that would ever tempt you to betray me. I really did like that bit.’
‘Did you?’ He gave her such a tender smile she buried her face in his neck and started to cry.
‘Aw don’t cry, Hilary, she’s not worth it. Truly she isn’t.’ Niall tightened his arms around her.
‘I’m not crying because of her. Jealousy has blighted her life like a malignancy that’s eating her up. She’s such a sad, bitter, twisted woman. I almost feel sorry for her, so don’t worry I’m not going to waste any more energy on Colette O’Mahony. I’m crying because I love you so much, and you love me, and that makes me very happy,’ she sniffed.
‘You women are such complicated critters, crying because you’re happy,’ he teased. ‘I’ll never understand you.’
‘You understand me very, very well,’ Hilary said, raising her lips to her husband’s and kissing him for all she was worth.
Colette lay on her bed in a darkened room having pleaded a migraine. She buried her head under the pillows so the sound of her sobs wouldn’t be heard. How dare Niall Hammond turn her down and speak so disrespectfully about her. How dare he imply that she was a plastic Barbie, even if she had been somewhat refreshed? How dare he order her out of his house and tell her to never darken his door again, as if she was some sort of criminal.
He needn’t worry: it would be a cold day in hell when she would ever have anything to do with either him or Hilary again. They had humiliated her. They could both get lost.
Niall was an arrogant big-head, for all his ‘I love my wife’ crap. He was no better than her father or Des or bloody Rod Killeen who had dumped her all those years ago. She had given her heart to Rod and he had trampled all over it and she’d never got over it. Niall might have turned her down, but she was damn sure he wasn’t squeaky clean. None of them were. She was finished with men, finished with the fuckers, she vowed. All they’d ever brought her was misery.
It had been so deeply satisfying to tell Hilary what she thought of her and her precious family, and to finally spew that vile secret out of the depths of her. Her father had been knocked sideways. Francis O’Mahony, lauded and esteemed senior counsel, who loved to preen and pontificate, hadn’t enjoyed hearing about his white-arsed rumpy-pumpy with lardy-legs Boyle.
No wonder she was bulimic, Colette raged. Her father had used food as a treat and reward for keeping quiet about ‘their’ secret. She had been taken to every plush hotel in the city for afternoon tea in the months that had followed her discovery. She would never forget that day, coming back early from playing with the girl next door because they had argued, and letting herself in through the back door. She could still remember as clear as if it was yesterday the sun shining through the window on the landing. Rays of diffused light streaming onto the red-gold-patterned carpet that covered the stairs. And the sounds. The groaning and grunting. The terror she experienced, feeling that something was wrong. That her mummy or daddy was ill.
And then, the shock of discovery. The sickening tableau that was revealed when the bedroom door was pushed open. The knowledge that a secret would have to be kept. A burden was added to the hurt and sadness already borne.
Colette wept at the memory, swamped by childhood grief that had never been acknowledged properly until today.
Hilary had never had to deal with the likes of what she’d had to contend with, Colette thought sorrowfully when the weeping had subsided. Little Miss Perfect would be back sometime, knocking on her door, wanting to let bygones be bygones because ‘life’s too short to fight’. Hilary never held on to a fight in all the years they’d known each other. She’d always caved in. But she could knock as hard as she liked, because Colette wanted nothing to do with her ever again. Why would she want to stay friends with a woman who had everything she craved? Hilary’s happiness only emphasized her own failure. She didn’t need to have her nose rubbed in it for a minute longer.
And as for her father! Frank would pay dearly for her years of misery. If Des could no longer fund a lifestyle she had grown accustomed to, Frank would. Now he was the keeper of the secret, and she was the one in charge. A week in a villa in St Barts was just what Colette needed to get over this unspeakable period in her life. And she’d be travelling first-class!
Recovery
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
‘You’re a better woman than I am, Hilary, because I wouldn’t be going to that man’s funeral,’ Jonathan exclaimed.
‘If it wasn’t for Mam I’m not sure if I’d go. I couldn’t give a hoot about Frank O’Mahony to be honest. But Mam and Jacqueline were, and I use the term lightly, “friends” a long time ago, and Jacqueline did come to Dad’s funeral. I’d say it was that meltdown that Colette had last year that brought on the stroke that finished Frank off eventually,’ Hilary reflected.
‘And are you going to talk to Jezebel O’Mahony?’ he asked bitchily.
‘Jonathan!’ Hilary giggled.
‘Well are you?’
‘I suppose I’ll have to offer my condolences. We’re only going to the Mass, not the graveyard. We’ll be on our way to Leanne’s wedding when old Frank is being lowered into his loamy grave. A funeral and a wedding in one day! From one extreme to the other.’
‘Is Sophie looking forward to being a bridesmaid? Can’t believe Leanne is getting married. It only seems like yesterday that they were giddy teenagers.’ Jonathan poured boiling water into the teapot and shook come chocolate biscuits onto a plate. They were in Hilary’s office reviewing their diaries.
‘She’s a bit nervous, but the bridesmaid dress is fabulous on her. It made me cry when I saw her. She’ll be next, I’d say.’
‘Well I don’t know about that,’ grinned Jonathan, rooting in the mini fridge for a carton of milk.
‘Really? What are you saying?’ Hilary demanded, pushing her diary away. Compared to the hectic days of the boom, there were a lot of gaps in it.
‘Well you know Murray’s been commissioned to do the photography for a book on Irish heritage and learning in Europe?’ He cocked an eye at her.
‘Yeah, I heard you talking about it.’
‘I’m going to travel with him for a couple of months in the autumn and see where it goes from there.’ Jonathan’s face split in a melon-sliced
grin.
‘Oh bliss! That sounds fantastic. Jonathan, I’m delighted it’s all going so well for you. Murray is all I’d want for you and more. But I’ll miss you!’ She made a face.
‘You and Niall can fly out and join us on weekend breaks every so often,’ he suggested, pouring them two mugs of tea.
Hilary laughed. ‘Those days are gone. Remember when money was no object? Remember how I booked flights for myself and the girls to fly to London that time, and it cost hundreds, and it didn’t cost me a thought? Can’t do that any more, I’m afraid. But maybe we might manage one weekend!’
‘We’d have great fun. How about when he’s photographing the Irish college in Rome?’ Jonathan urged.
‘I’m getting excited,’ Hilary grinned.
‘Oh and by the way . . . if Murray and I go down the aisle, you’re my bridesmaid!’
‘I should think so, buster. I should very much think so,’ Hilary declared. ‘I’d better go on a diet!’
‘I think you’re mad to go to that funeral. I wouldn’t give that two-faced bitch the satisfaction,’ Niall growled when Hilary told him she was accompanying her mother to Frank O’Mahony’s funeral. ‘Let Dee bring your mother.’
‘Mam and Dee don’t know what happened with Colette, so they’d be wondering why I didn’t go, and besides, my mother is an inspiration to me. Jacqueline dropped her like a hot potato when she hit the big time and began mixing with the la-di-das and she didn’t need Colette minded any more, but when Mam heard Frank was dead, do you know what she said?’
‘What?’ Niall asked.
‘She said, “Poor Jacqueline, my heart goes out to her. I know what it feels like to lose a husband and she might need a shoulder to cry on.”’
‘Your mother’s a saint,’ Niall retorted. ‘Like mother, like daughter!’
‘Far from it, and you and I know that. But she’s a very good, decent person and the least I can do is support her.’
A Time for Friends Page 48