Читать книгу The Art of Friendship - Erin Kaye - Страница 8

By the time she finally made it to No.11, Clare was half an hour late. No.11 was a small bistro housed in the front of a former hotel on Quality Street. The rest of the hotel had long since been turned into apartments. The original sash windows had been replaced by concertina floor-to-ceiling ones that were pulled back in the summer months and tables placed on the sunlit pavement outside, continental style.

Tonight, though, the windows were firmly shut against the bitter January night. The room was warmly decorated in stylish shades of brown and strategically placed lamps cast pools of warm yellow light on the artfully worn wooden floor. Clare headed over to the table by the window occupied by Janice, Kirsty and Patsy. They were all cosily dressed in trousers, warm jumpers and boots, in marked contrast to their party-wear of a few weeks ago.

‘Come and sit down, Clare,’ said Patsy, patting the seat of the remaining unoccupied brown-leather chair. ‘We wondered where you’d got to.’

Clare greeted everyone with a kiss, sat down and apologised for being late.

Janice, who was, as always, immaculately dressed in a pink cashmere v-neck with grey check trousers, said, ‘What’re you drinking?’

‘White, please.’

‘I’m having soda water and lime,’ said Patsy rather proudly, raising her glass up for inspection. ‘I’m on a detox.’

Janice tutted and said, ‘Yeah, we’ll see how long that lasts. Last year you managed five whole days.’

‘Cheeky cow!’ exclaimed Patsy, and lifted her nose in the air in mock indignation.

The others laughed and Clare said, ‘Well, I could certainly do with a glass of wine. Especially after the day I’ve had.’

‘Sounds ominous,’ said Janice and she floated off to the small bar at the far end of the room. The only member of staff on duty was Danny – all five foot seven inches of him. With his short, spiky blond hair and cherubic face he looked like a boy trying to be a man, even though he was well into his twenties.

‘Well,’ said Janice once she had returned from the bar, set two very large glasses of white wine in front of herself and Clare, and settled down in the chair opposite. ‘Tell us all about it, darling.’

‘Just a minute,’ said Clare, took a long slug of wine and immediately felt herself relax. She set the glass on a coaster. ‘It all started at teatime,’ she began, and the women listened attentively as she related the day’s events.

‘You poor thing,’ said Kirsty when Clare had finished. She put her hand on Clare’s knee and left it there – an act of solidarity. Kirsty’s propensity to touch still caught Clare off-guard sometimes. Like now. She sat there feeling slightly uncomfortable and sorry for herself, fighting back tears, feeling both foolish and annoyed for letting Zoe wind her up so much.

‘That Zoe Campbell,’ said Janice, ‘is a right cow. You shouldn’t have to put up with her.’

‘I don’t have any choice,’ said Clare miserably. ‘Because of Izzy. Sometimes she drives me up the wall but she is only a kid after all. I don’t really blame her.’

‘No, I blame Zoe,’ said Patsy firmly, folding her arms across her motherly bosom. ‘She’s poisoned Izzy’s mind against you. And I bet the wee thing’s too scared to go against that witch of a mother.’

‘Mmm,’ said Clare, thinking that her friends had a point. Zoe had forced Izzy to take sides. ‘It’s just so disappointing,’ she went on. ‘I so wanted Izzy and I to have a good relationship – for my own sake as much as Liam’s. I didn’t realise how hard it would be to make this family work.’

‘It’s not your fault, Clare,’ said Kirsty in her thoughtful, measured way. ‘Stepfamilies are never plain sailing. You just have to accept that you can’t make it perfect.’

Perceptively, Kirsty had pinpointed the primary cause of Clare’s grief – her desire to have the perfect family. She’d come to Ballyfergus to escape her hometown of Omagh where she’d been raised, an only child, by parents who fought all the time, mainly over money. Clare had not forgiven them for her lonely, miserable childhood and, even now, she rarely saw them or spoke to them on the phone. Clare felt the tears threaten to sting again. For, try as she might, she could not ‘fix’ Zoe, or Izzy, and she found that failure hard to accept.

‘We’ve been married five and a half years now. I’ve known Izzy since she was seven and, if anything, things between us are worse than ever.’ She plucked at a loose thread on her black wool slacks.

‘She’s at a difficult age, Clare,’ said Patsy, nodding her head vigorously. ‘All twelve-year-old girls are a nightmare. It will get better. Honestly.’ Patsy was an authority on the subject, having raised two daughters of her own, but Clare remained unconvinced. She hid her scepticism by putting the glass to her lips and taking another long, welcome drink of wine.

She believed that Izzy had resented her from the day they met and would never forgive her for marrying Liam. She suspected Izzy still harboured dreams of her parents getting back together. Zoe was still single and, from what Clare could gather, hadn’t had a serious relationship since splitting up with Liam. Perhaps if she met someone who made her happy, it would assuage some of her anger towards Clare – and Liam…

‘At the end of the day, Clare,’ said Janice, holding out her upturned hand as if offering Clare the gift of her wisdom, ‘it’s Zoe who has the problem, not you.’

‘If it was just Zoe, I could cope with that,’ said Clare. She realised she was picking at the hangnail on her left index finger. She squeezed her hands together in an effort to stop. ‘I don’t have to see her. But Izzy spends a lot of time at our house.’

‘Have you tried talking to Liam, sweetheart?’ asked Patsy. She leant forwards, her hands clasped together between her knees, unconsciously pushing her breasts together. The low cowl neck of her grey mohair jumper revealed a handsome cleavage.

Clare put a hand on her own chest and gave a hollow laugh. ‘He thinks I’m being paranoid. When she’s around Liam, Izzy’s perfectly pleasant. But when she’s with me she’s quite different. Rude and uncooperative. Like tonight.’

‘And what does Liam have to say about all this?’ said Kirsty. ‘She’s his daughter, after all.’

Clare shrugged. ‘I don’t think he really understands. When I report the things Izzy’s said, or done, he argues that she’s just being a normal teenager. I don’t know. Maybe he’s right,’ she said and Patsy nodded.

‘It’s just a stage. It’ll pass,’ she agreed confidently. ‘You’ll see.’

There was a long pause and then Kirsty brought a welcome change of subject. ‘What about your plan to get back to painting, Clare? How’s it going?’

Clare let out a long breath. ‘It’s not.’

There was a collective sigh of empathy from her friends.

‘Why not?’ said Patsy.

‘I tried a few times but the problem is that I don’t have anywhere to paint. Not somewhere dedicated anyway. I set my easel up in the study but it’s just not working out. There’s not enough space and Liam needs to be in there to work, so I have to clear my stuff away every time I finish. I’m only able to paint in snatches – an hour here and there because of the children – so it’s completely impractical to keep tidying the room. And the floor’s carpeted so I’m paranoid about staining it. It’s very frustrating.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Patsy and she frowned, thinking. ‘If I can come up with anywhere…’

‘I know!’ cried Janice, interrupting. ‘What about Keith’s study?’

‘Keith’s study?’ said Clare.

‘Yes. You know the way he got that old garage in the garden converted a few years ago. He had this idea that he would work from home a couple of days a week. Of course that didn’t work out as planned.’

‘Yes, I remember,’ said Clare, her hopes rising. Janice had shown her the study a couple of years ago, just after the conversion. It was a large, north-facing room with floor-to-ceiling windows installed in place of the old garage doors. It sat in the grounds of Janice’s house, fifty yards or so from the back door. Clare set her drink on the table and sat on the edge of the chair.

‘Why don’t you use that? The floor’s stone so you wouldn’t need to worry about carpet stains.’ Janice became more animated as she went on. ‘There’s heating and light and even a toilet. And do you remember the tiny kitchen in the back with a sink and a kettle?’

Clare nodded excitedly. It could almost have been designed as an artist’s studio.

‘It’s got everything you need. In fact,’ said Janice, with a childlike clap of her manicured hands, ‘it’s absolutely perfect. Why didn’t I think of it before?’

‘Oh, Janice. It sounds wonderful,’ said Clare. It was the answer to her prayers – but one that was beyond her reach. ‘But I don’t think I could afford to rent just now.’

‘Who said anything about rent?’ cried Janice, her eyes ablaze with excitement. ‘I don’t want anything for it. Sure, it’s lying there empty. And we’re paying for the heating anyway so that it doesn’t get damp.’

‘But won’t Keith want to use it?’

‘No. I can’t remember the last time he was even in there,’ said Janice. ‘If he ever does the odd bit of work from home, he uses the study in the house. There’s nothing in the office but a dusty desk and an old office chair. To be honest, Clare, I’d rather see it used than lying empty.’

‘Why, Janice,’ said Clare, and she paused for a moment, lost for words. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She put the cool flat of her palms against her hot cheeks. The pessimist in her found it hard to believe what she was hearing.

‘All you have to say is “yes”,’ said Janice.

‘I can’t believe it,’ said Clare, searching in the faces of the others for affirmation that she wasn’t imagining things. Patsy and Kirsty were all smiles.

‘My own studio. It’s a dream come true. I can’t thank you enough,’ said Clare, ‘I really can’t.’ She fought to hold back tears of gratitude brought on by Janice’s largesse.

‘I’ve always fancied being a patron of the arts,’ said Janice. ‘And now you can help me become one. I have high hopes for you, Clare McCormack!’

‘I hope I don’t let you down,’ said Clare. Her stomach made a sound and she placed a hand on her solid belly, tight with excitement and nerves.

‘You won’t,’ said Janice firmly. ‘Now come round first thing in the morning and I’ll give you the keys.’

Clare swallowed. ‘I really don’t know what to say. You don’t realise what this means to me.’

‘I think I’ve a fair idea,’ laughed Janice.

‘I am so very blessed in you,’ said Clare, holding her right hand over her heart. She closed her eyes momentarily, opened them, and looked at each of the three women in turn. ‘So very blessed to have you as my friends. All of you.’

The women exchanged happy glances and there was a long, not entirely comfortable, silence. Kirsty’s high cheek-bones went red and Clare wondered if any of them realised just how much their friendship meant to her. In spite of the differences between them, they were the sisters – the family – she had never had growing up.

A little later, Clare, realising that they had talked about nothing but her for the last half hour, said, ‘What about everyone else’s New Year’s resolutions? How are you getting on?’

‘Kirsty’s got something to report,’ said Janice, with a mischievous smile and a glance at Kirsty. ‘She’s been on a date.’

Immediately Kirsty felt her cheeks burn even brighter. She did not like to be the centre of attention, preferring to be an observer. Even among her dearest friends she was quiet and reserved.

‘Of course! How did it go?’ demanded Patsy, crossing her legs and settling into the chair to listen, her glass balanced on her knee.

‘Do I have to?’ pleaded Kirsty, recalling the evening with discomfort. It had been a disaster but not one that she was ready to laugh at just yet.

‘Yes!’ the others chorused.

‘Oh, okay then. Well, you all know we went to Alloro.’ Alloro was a posh Italian restaurant on the High Street Kirsty had never been to. ‘The food was very good,’ she said. ‘I had…’

‘For God’s sake, we don’t want to hear about the food,’ tutted Patsy, waving her hand dismissively in the air. ‘What about the date?’

‘Well, he was a lawyer friend of Keith’s.’

‘Oh, a lawyer no less,’ said Patsy playfully, pretending to be impressed.

‘So. What was he like?’ said Clare gently, ignoring Patsy’s teasing.

Kirsty thought back to the moment she’d first seen Robert and the pool of disappointment that had settled in her stomach. His dishwater-grey eyes had stared out at her from behind thick glasses – strangely, he’d hardly blinked, reminding her of a goldfish. His dark hair was thinning slightly on top and his smile was reserved, as though he was holding something of himself back. It had the unfortunate effect of making him appear as though he felt himself superior.

‘Average really. Average height, well built,’ said Kirsty, picking her words with care, not wanting to be unkind and reminding herself that she couldn’t afford to be choosy at her age. The pool of available men clearly had its limitations.

‘You mean heavy,’ corrected Clare.

‘No, he wasn’t heavy. Just, you know, solid.’ He had, in fact, one of those stocky, thick-necked builds that could so easily go to fat. Kirsty preferred men who were fit and lean.

Clare looked at Patsy, put her hand up to her mouth and said in a loud, theatrical aside, ‘Fat.’

Patsy grinned and said, ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of beef on a man. But more to the point, did you like him?’

‘Mmm, not really,’ admitted Kirsty. ‘He ignored me most of the night.’

Janice nodded in agreement and Clare said, with a cross frown, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Exactly that,’ said Kirsty, the annoyance she had felt that night rekindled. She put her arms around herself and gave herself a hug. ‘He spent more time talking to Keith than me and Janice put together. He wasn’t interested in a date. Not with me anyway. At one point I turned to speak to him and Robert actually put his elbow on the table, like this,’ she demonstrated, ‘so that I was totally excluded from the conversation he was having with Keith. And then he cut me dead when I was telling him why I didn’t like lamb. Isn’t that right, Janice?’

Patsy and Clare looked at Janice.

‘She’s right,’ nodded Janice. ‘Turns out Robert’s looking for promotion to partner. I think he thought it was a great opportunity to get the ear of Keith. Maybe he was hoping he would put in a good word for him. I’m sorry, Kirsty. If I’d known I never would’ve suggested the night out.’

Kirsty shrugged, pretending that it was water under the bridge, that the rejection hadn’t hurt as much as it had. Her first date in fifteen years and the guy had hardly even looked at her. Even Keith, out of politeness or, more likely, because Janice had primed him, had commented on her appearance. Robert hadn’t given her a second glance, let alone a compliment all night.

‘Well, screw him!’ declared Patsy crossly. ‘There’s plenty more fish in the sea. And you can do far better than a toad like him. Can’t she, girls?’

‘Mind you, you might have to kiss a few more frogs before you meet your Prince Charming,’ teased Janice.

‘Oh, God,’ said Kirsty, putting a hand to her throat and pulling a face. ‘Don’t even talk about kissing him. It makes me feel quite queasy.’

The others roared with laughter and Kirsty felt marginally better. She reminded herself that there was nothing wrong with her. Rather it was her date who had the problem.

She tried to brush it off lightly, but it was a blow to her confidence. All that getting ready – what a waste of time. She could’ve been sitting at home with a tub of Häagen-Dazs watching re-runs of House. She sighed and took a very long slug of wine.

After a few moments, when the hilarity had died down, Kirsty said, ‘What about everyone else? What about your resolution, Janice? You never did say what your project was going to be.’

‘I’m going to get some new equipment for the gym and get this tummy back in shape,’ said Janice, patting her enviable, almost-flat, abdomen. Kirsty instinctively tightened her stomach muscles and sat up straighter. And tried not to glance at Clare, who at a size fourteen was the biggest of them all.

‘Sure, there’s not a pick on you,’ said Patsy. ‘You don’t need to be worrying about losing weight. Not like me.’ She looked down at her boobs, which appeared even bigger than usual under the fluffy jumper, and frowned.

And for a fleeting moment Kirsty thought that Janice’s resolution seemed a little vacuous. With all the money and time Janice had at her disposal, surely she could do something more worthwhile, more rewarding? Like charity work, for example. Then she blushed, ashamed of her tendency to judge others.

‘I have to exercise or I would get fat,’ argued Janice and then added quickly, changing the subject, ‘Now, Patsy, tell us all about the safari…’

Liam was still awake, reading a set of company accounts, when Clare got home. She threw herself on the mink-coloured bedspread beside him, fully clothed, her high-heeled boots still on her feet. The smile on Clare’s face had been fixed there for the last hour and a half. Her facial muscles ached with the effort and yet she could not stop grinning.

Liam looked up and smiled. His chest was bare; he never wore anything in bed, even now in the depths of winter. ‘Good night?’

‘The best! You will not believe what happened.’

Liam laid his papers to rest on the bedside table. ‘Tell me.’ Unusually, for a man, Liam took vicarious pleasure in the gossip she invariably brought back from a night out.

Clare threw herself onto her back, stared at the ceiling, and marvelled at her good fortune. ‘Something wonderful, Liam. Something absolutely wonderful.’ There was a pause. Clare turned her head to look at him. ‘Janice has just gone and offered me a studio to paint in. And – wait ‘til you hear the best bit – it’s completely rent-free.’

Liam frowned and said, ‘Really?’

‘I know, it’s amazing, isn’t it?’ She went on to explain all about Keith’s old office.

When she’d finished, Liam said, ‘That’s certainly a very generous offer.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’

‘You didn’t accept, of course.’

Immediately Clare felt her hackles rise. It was a win-win arrangement between friends. What on earth could go wrong? And what possible objection could Liam have to the proposal? She raised herself up on one elbow, facing him, and said, ‘Of course I accepted.’

Liam whistled air through his teeth and said, ‘I’m not sure we should, Clare.’

‘What do you mean, “we”?’ snapped Clare. ‘She offered the studio to me.’

‘But Keith doesn’t know a thing about it, does he? He might not agree.’

‘Janice wouldn’t have made the offer if she wasn’t sure he’d be okay about it.’

‘All the same, I don’t feel comfortable accepting it gratis.’

‘Well, I do. I can’t afford to pay for it and Janice knows that.’ Clare rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling again, her body hard with tension, her hands balled into fists at her sides. ‘Janice doesn’t want money, Liam. She certainly doesn’t need it. She wants to be part of what I’m doing. You should’ve seen her face. She was so pleased to be able to help me. It would’ve been downright churlish to say no.’

‘What exactly are you doing, Clare?’

Clare turned her head to look at him again, annoyed by his line of questioning. How many times had she talked about her dream? ‘I’ve told you,’ she said, narrowing her eyes. ‘I’m trying to establish myself as a painter.’

‘You mean more than a hobby, then?’

‘If all goes to plan, yes,’ said Clare patiently. ‘Patsy said my work’s as good as Sam MacLarnon, you know. But I can’t sell paintings unless I’m producing them, and I can’t produce them without a decent place to work.’ Clare paused for a moment and said, ‘Why are you asking me these questions, Liam, when you know the answers already?’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Clare.’ Liam paused, lowering his voice. ‘But how are you planning to find the time to do this? With Rachel and Josh to look after, and the house to run as well, you’re run off your feet as it is. I can’t see how you’ll have the time to paint.’

‘Mmm…’ said Clare and she wrinkled her nose in the face of this rather unpalatable truth and stared at the headboard. ‘I guess I’ll have to work evenings and put the kids into nursery a few mornings a week. Or with a childminder.’

‘Expensive,’ said Liam, ever the accountant.

‘I know. And it would be a leap of faith. But we’d have to look at it as an investment. Once my paintings start selling I’ll recoup the costs.’

‘It’s not only the expense,’ said Liam, in not much more than a whisper.

‘You don’t want me to do it because of the effect it’ll have on your life, do you?’

‘It’s not my life I’m worried about, Clare. It’s the kids’.’

Clare turned her gaze on him again, her anger now abating to be replaced with anxiety. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I don’t want strangers looking after my children,’ he said and gave her a hard stare. His right eyelid twitched involuntarily. ‘I thought we agreed this when you gave up work. That you would stay at home with the children at least until they were both at school.’

Clare bit her lip and looked away. He was right. That was what they had agreed. But he wasn’t the one who’d given up a good job as Arts Officer for the local council to stay at home and play earth mother. And if truth be told, had she known what was involved in being a full-time mother to two under fives, she never would’ve agreed to it. She would’ve kept on working, at least part-time. And she would’ve definitely kept on painting.

‘Izzy was practically raised by childminders,’ went on Liam, in the face of her silence. ‘I don’t want that for Rachel and Josh.’

‘Neither do I. But I’m only talking about a few sessions a week. And things change, Liam. It’s time for me to be thinking about going back to work. And, if you think about it, painting is perfect. I can be my own boss and I can fit it round the family. This is my big break and I don’t want to fluff it.’

‘You’re talking it up, Clare. All that’s happened is that Janice has offered you an old office to work in rent-free. That same offer would probably still be there three years from now. At least by then Josh and Rachel would both be in school.’

‘I can’t wait that long.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just can’t.’

‘You mean you won’t. You’re not prepared to.’

Clare sighed and said, ‘You don’t understand what it’s like being at home with young children all day, Liam. It’s absolutely mind-numbing.’

‘And I think you’ve forgotten what the pressures of corporate life are like, Clare.’ He picked up the sheaf of papers he had been reading, scowled at them, threw them down again. ‘Do you think I like sitting in bed at night reading this crap?’

‘No,’ lied Clare. He had surprised her. She had come to believe that Liam was wedded to his job. It suited her to believe that he enjoyed working long hours, that he was passionate about what he did for a living.

‘Are you unhappy at work?’ she asked, considering this possibility for the first time.

Liam rubbed his chin. The stubble rasped against his palm. He sighed. ‘No, not really. It’s just that sometimes…sometimes I’d rather be doing other things. Like spending more time with the kids.’

A mixed blessing, thought Clare, but also a point well made.

‘I know I’m fortunate to be able to spend time at home,’ said Clare, choosing her words like she was walking through a minefield. ‘But I resent it too.’ She ignored Liam’s sharp intake of breath, and addressed the flimsy paper lampshade hanging above them. She’d meant to replace it when they’d moved in four years ago but, like everything else in her life, such tasks had played second fiddle to the all-consuming activity of child-rearing. ‘I know that sounds like I’m contradicting myself. But it is possible to feel both. I know I do. Maybe other women don’t. Maybe there are women who can give themselves wholly and completely to mothering without a sense of loss of self. Do you know what I mean?’ she asked and looked at him.

It was clear from the blank expression on Liam’s face that he did not. She felt a pressing desire to connect with him, to make him understand what painting meant to her sanity.

Clare touched the space between her breasts, pressing down on her ribcage with the pads of her fingers until it hurt. She closed her eyes and said, ‘There’s this need inside me to express myself. I haven’t painted since the day Josh was born and every day it feels as though a little of me…sort of disappears. And I’m afraid that if I don’t do something about it soon, I’m going to lose my identity altogether.’

‘That is sad,’ said Liam, but without a hint of compassion. ‘Having two healthy children and the inability to enjoy them.’

Her disappointment stung like a fresh burn. She had opened her soul to him only to be met with cruel cynicism. She wanted to cry then but would not give him the satisfaction. It took her a few moments to compose herself before she could bring herself to speak again.

‘You’re wrong, Liam. I do enjoy my children,’ she said in a steely voice. ‘I love them and I treasure every precious moment with them. But is it wrong to ask for precious moments away from them too? Is it wrong to desire more from life? If we don’t have our dreams, Liam, then what do we have?’ A tear, cold as glass, slid out of the corner of her left eye and dropped onto the pillow.

‘Reality, Clare.’ He sounded sour, like milk gone off.

‘You used to have dreams once, Liam.’

‘I still do. I’m just a bit more realistic about achieving them than you are, Clare.’

‘I’m not asking for the earth, Liam. I’m asking for a few hours a week so I can go somewhere on my own and paint. It will cost little and harm no-one. And I might just make some money out of it.’

Liam reached out an arm, switched off the bedside lamp, pulled the covers up to his chin and faced the wall.

‘If that’s what you want to do, Clare, then don’t let me stop you.’

And Clare lay there for a full half hour until Liam went to sleep, thinking. Then she undressed, got into bed and lay awake, Liam’s opposition radiating from him like heat from a fire. After a while, her thoughts took flight and she pictured herself in the studio, working in the quiet solitude of the ghostly winter months and later, in the spring, the garden bursting with new growth and the light flooding in through those big windows. She heard the rushing silence, felt the brush in her hand and saw a picture of the Black Arch, near Ballyfergus, take form under her hand. She smiled.

And by the time she drifted off to sleep, she knew that this was something she had to do, with or without Liam’s support. Painting was essential to her existence, as necessary as breathing. She wished she could make him understand that.