The Art of Friendship. Erin Kaye
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Ballyfergus High Street.
Laura sighed softly at the sight of the food. ‘This looks delish. Thanks, Mum.’
‘Yeah, thanks Mum,’ chimed Sarah.
‘You’re both welcome,’ said Patsy. ‘But I wish you two would stop fighting. It gives me indigestion.’
Immediately Laura, always the one to cave in first, addressed Sarah. ‘Can I borrow your straighteners, please?’
‘Course you can,’ returned Sarah, fast as a tennis ball.
Laura stared at her sister, her clear hazel eyes wide like saucers. ‘What was all the fuss about upstairs, then?’
‘You didn’t say please,’ said Sarah quietly, a sly smile creeping onto her lips.
‘You’re a big kid, Sarah. Do you know that?’ said Patsy, starting to giggle and soon the three of them were laughing uncontrollably. Patsy held her hand over her belly and, said, ‘You two crack me up, you really do.’
When they’d quietened down, Laura helped herself to some food and asked, ‘When’s Dad coming home?’
Patsy glanced involuntarily at the clock. ‘Don’t know. He’s going to be late again.’
‘He’s always late,’ said Sarah, her mouth full of food. ‘These days anyway.’
Patsy paused, considering this. Sarah was right. Martin had been getting in later and later, rarely making it home before eight. He blamed it on pressure at the bank in Belfast where he worked and the ever-worsening commuter traffic that clogged up the city’s arteries like cholesterol.
‘Is everything alright, Mum?’ said Laura, helping herself to more chicken. ‘I mean with Dad.’
‘Of course it is. He’s just busy, that’s all,’ she said, the maternal instinct to protect them springing forth. Some habits were hard to shake.
She pushed her plate away, the food like a balled fist in her stomach while the girls ate in silence. Since Christmas, Martin had been withdrawn, uncommunicative. She’d put it down to the January blues and, if truth be told, she’d been so busy she hadn’t really paid too much attention. Was it just work, like he said? Or something more sinister? She glanced at the clock again. Could he be having an affair? Her heart stopped, started again. She shook the notion off energetically like water from an umbrella.
‘Where are you off out tonight?’ said Sarah to her younger sister, scraping her plate clean.
‘A crowd of us are going round to Catherine’s to watch a DVD.’
‘Tell me something, Laura,’ said Sarah. ‘If you’re just going to watch a DVD at Catherine’s what d’you need to straighten your hair for?’ Sarah winked at Patsy. ‘Will Kyle Burke be there?’
Laura blushed, still young enough to be embarrassed by a crush on the best-looking boy at St Pat’s. ‘He might be,’ she said casually, looking at her plate. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Leave her alone, Sarah, will you?’ said Patsy, standing up and carrying her plate over to the sink. ‘Come on. Help me clear up.’
Laura collected the glasses from the table and Sarah stacked the plates. Patsy said, ‘Aren’t you going out tonight, Sarah?’
‘No. I’m tired,’ she said, punctuating her sentence with a yawn. ‘I’m going to watch the telly and have an early night.’ She carried the plates over to the dishwasher.
If she’s tired at twenty-one, thought Patsy, what’s she going to be like when she’s my age? She rubbed the small of her back, achy from being on her feet all day. Sarah loaded the dishwasher and Patsy regarded her thoughtfully.
Her elder daughter was a self-contained, solitary girl who was a bit of an enigma. Patsy was proud of Sarah and she loved her, of course, but she did not easily identify with her. Laura she understood. Like Patsy she was fun-loving, gregarious, people-orientated, always in the thick of any social action. She hated even being in the house alone.
And Patsy had known, almost from the moment of her birth, that Laura was her favourite. She had accepted this realisation with equanimity; she didn’t love Laura more than Sarah, she just enjoyed her more. And because she was acutely aware of this favouritism, she took great care to make sure she treated the girls equally.
‘You can’t stay in on a Friday night,’ scoffed Laura, who had been out for the last three nights on the trot.
‘Not everyone’s like you, Laura,’ said Sarah pointedly, picking a cherry from a bowl on the island unit and popping it in her mouth. ‘Some of us are quite content with our own company.’
‘Oh, my God! Look at the time,’ cried Laura suddenly. ‘I’d better get ready. Louise is coming for me at eight.’ She dropped the glasses in her hands into the sink with a loud clink and ran out of the room.
Sarah opened the bin, spat the cherry stone into it, and let the lid slam shut. ‘She goes out too much,’ she observed. ‘She should be studying.’
‘Ach, sure she might as well have some fun while she can,’ said Patsy indulgently.
‘You’ll not be saying that if she fails her exams,’ said Sarah darkly.
‘She’ll knuckle down when she has to,’ said Patsy. She hung her apron on a brass hook on the back of the kitchen door and wondered how two siblings, raised the same way, could be so very different in nature and temperament. ‘So what’s on telly?’
‘NCIS and Numbers,’ said Sarah, moving towards the door into the hall. ‘Fancy watching them with me?’
‘No, thanks, love. I’ve got some work to do,’ said Patsy. ‘I might as well get it done before your dad gets in.’
Half an hour later, Patsy was engrossed on the PC, looking at dates for the Irish art fairs. Perhaps Janice, Clare and Kirsty could be persuaded to join her at the Art Ireland spring fair at the end of March – the perfect time for an overnighter in Dublin, a warm-up for their more ambitious trip to London later in the year.
‘Well, that’s me off,’ said Laura, bouncing into view at the door. She’d changed into another (even tighter) pair of jeans, with the over-priced and completely impractical grey knitted Ugg boots she’d so desperately wanted for Christmas. One good rain shower and they’d be ruined. Her face was shining with youth and vitality.
‘Well, you have a great time, love. And be…safe,’ said Patsy. ‘Tell Louise to drive carefully.’
The doorbell went and Laura said, ‘Gotta go.’ She gave her mother a forceful hug and kissed her on the top of the head. ‘Bye, Mumsy,’ she said and Patsy laughed.
Laura bounded out of the room. Patsy got up immediately and followed her but only as far as the landing so that she could watch her daughter trip nimbly down the stairs, open the front door and slam it shut behind her. Coatless as usual. Patsy pulled her cardigan tighter and smiled, remembering the thrill of going out at that age. The feeling that the whole world was there to explore, that endless possibilities awaited you. The feeling of having your whole life ahead of you.
A few moments later a car pulled up outside. A door slammed and Martin came in, pushing the door to quietly. He did not see Patsy watching him. He put his keys in his jacket pocket, set his briefcase on the floor and then paused. He put both his big hands over his face and stood there for some moments, rocking back and forth, in a state of private grief. He might have been crying.
Patsy put her hand to her throat, shocked. Martin rarely showed emotion. She had never seen him cry. Not even when the girls were born or when his father died. Suddenly she felt like a peeping Tom, observing while herself unseen. She took a few steps back, so that she was out of Martin’s sight line should he happen to look up, and waited.
‘Patsy,’ came his voice after a few moments, sounding just like normal. ‘That’s