The Art of Friendship. Erin Kaye
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a while,’ said Martin glumly and took another swig of beer.
‘Now, now,’ scolded Patsy, coming over and sitting down in the chair beside him. She patted his bony knee and gave him a sparkly smile. ‘I thought we’d agreed not to be pessimistic.’
‘I’m not,’ he said and the corners of his handsome mouth turned up in a laconic smile. ‘I’m being realistic.’
‘Well, you have to take some time off, don’t you?’ said Patsy.
‘I guess so.’ The corners of his mouth fell as he shrugged and looked away. Took another swig of beer.
‘Well, look, why don’t you book the last three weeks in September?’
‘Why three weeks? Why September?’ he said, sounding slightly irritated.
‘Oh,’ said Patsy. ‘No particular reason. Just that Laura should be off to uni by then. It seemed like a good time.’
‘It’s the worst time if you ask me.’
‘Maybe we could book a nice holiday, just the two of us,’ she ploughed on, ignoring his last comment.
‘I dunno,’ he said, uninterested, and a little knot formed in her stomach. Did he not want to go on holiday with her? And had he completely forgotten it was their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary in September? She tried not to let his indifference hurt.
‘Don’t let’s make any rash decisions just yet,’ he said. ‘Let’s wait and see how…how things turn out with the economy.’
Patsy got up and busied herself with tidying away the supper things. She thought back to the image of Martin standing in the hallway earlier, wracked with grief. Sure, he’d made an error of judgment about the shares, but it wasn’t that big a deal. They would adjust their finances, work round it. She couldn’t imagine that was what was upsetting him so much. No, there was something else. Something he wasn’t telling her.
When Martin got up to leave the room she went over to him and put her arms around him. She raised her face to his but, before she could speak, he stiffened and turned his face away. ‘I need to get changed,’ he said and simply walked out of the room.
Tears pricked Patsy’s eyes. She put her hands to her face and blinked fiercely to prevent them flowing. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. She knew it in her heart. Was he lying about his health? Had he done something stupid he was trying to hide from her? But what? She wracked her brain. And then the cold hand of fear settled on her shoulders, causing her to sink into the nearest chair. Had her first instinct been right? She thought of all the nights he’d been late home from work. And much as her heart told her it couldn’t be true, her head told her it could. Was he, after all these years, having an affair?
She thought of the vows they had taken all those years ago – vows she had believed in then and still did. The question was, did Martin? She’d hoped the safari might help them re-connect, inject romance back into their lives, help them find each other again. Now she needed it to do much more. She needed it to save her marriage.
‘Dorothy,’ said Kirsty. ‘It’s really good of you to have David and Adam overnight. Again.’
‘It’s no trouble, love,’ said Dorothy, a comfortably rounded woman, with jet-black hair from a bottle and bright red lipstick. She smelt of face powder and Chanel No.5 and was well-dressed in a smart black skirt, patterned blouse and scarlet cardigan. She wore a set of pearls round her neck and discreet diamonds twinkled in her fleshy earlobes.
They were standing in the hall of Harry and Dorothy’s handsome Victorian three-storey home on The Roddens – the house in which Scott had grown up. The boys had been here since lunchtime – Kirsty had been grocery shopping and called in on her way home to deliver their overnight things.
A grandfather clock tick-tocked at the foot of the stairs. The bold floral wallpaper, now fashionable again, dated back to the first time Kirsty had visited this house nearly eighteen years ago, when Scott had brought her home to meet his parents. The collection of china plates, each one depicting an agricultural activity of a bygone age, which covered the walls and snaked up the stairwell, had been in its infancy back then. And Kirsty had gone back home to Scotland with the impression that Dorothy and Harry had not approved of her.
The wallpaper might be the same, but everything else had moved on. Grief had a way of changing people. Now she felt accepted by her in-laws, loved even. And every birthday and Christmas since had seen a new addition to Dorothy’s plate collection – it certainly simplified the task of buying presents for her – until every inch of wall space was covered.
David and Adam ran in from the garden where they’d been kicking a ball about and shouted, ‘Hi Mum!’ in unison. Then they threw off their coats, hat and gloves, kicked off their mud-coated shoes and left everything in a tangled heap by the front door.
David was well-built with ears like question marks, sandy-coloured hair, grey eyes that were a little too close together and highly coloured cheeks. His little brother had inherited more classically handsome looks – he had a pretty cupid’s bow mouth, china-blue eyes, darker hair and a slighter build. Neither child looked much like their father but Dorothy was never done rooting out family resemblances on the Elliott side of the family.
Suddenly Kirsty noticed something different about them. ‘Their hair!’ she exclaimed.
‘Yes, I gave them both a wee trim. Thought they needed it. You know, for school.’
Kirsty swallowed and tried to smile. Their haircuts, while not a complete disaster, had been crudely done. Adam’s fringe was slightly crooked and David’s thick hair was cut just a tad too short above his ears.
‘But I always take them to Alison at Faith’s,’ said Kirsty faintly. ‘I was going to take them next week.’
‘Ach, no point wasting good money when you can do it for nothing at home. I always cut Scott’s hair when he was a boy.’
Kirsty’s heart sank. ‘I really would rather you didn’t do it in future,’ she said quietly and felt her face redden.
The smile fell from Dorothy’s face and she gave Kirsty a sharp glance. Then she gave her shoulders a quick shrug. ‘As you wish,’ she said shortly and she ruffled Adam’s dark thatch. ‘Your grandpa’s on the top floor,’ she said. ‘Go and see what he’s up to. I think he might have something for you.’
‘SWEETS!’ screamed Adam. ‘It’s sweets, isn’t it, Gran?’
‘Let’s go and see,’ said David, always the leader.
They scampered up the stairs on all fours, like monkeys, almost delirious with happiness. They were so loved in this house, so spoilt by their grandparents – like all children should be. Kirsty felt a lump in her throat and swallowed. She just wished Dorothy and Harry wouldn’t overstep the mark.
Dorothy extended her hand to Kirsty and said, ‘Sure, you know we love to have them. We’d do anything for those boys.’ Her gaze drifted to the top of the stairs.
Kirsty stared at Dorothy’s outstretched hand, and tilted her head to the right. It took her a few foolish moments to realise that Dorothy was waiting for her to hand over the boys’ overnight bag. Not that they needed much – among other things, Dorothy kept pyjamas, dressing gowns and toothbrushes for them here. The bag contained only clean clothes for the next day.
‘Are you sure it’s not too much trouble? I could always get a sitter,’ said Kirsty, clutching the bag to her breast.
The smile on Dorothy’s face fell away as did her hand and she said, ‘Now don’t be silly, Kirsty. Where would you get a sitter so late in the day?’ She paused, adjusted her tone, and went on, smiling brightly as though to reinforce the truth