The Art of Friendship

‘I’ll have my application in first thing, Monday morning. Wish me luck!’

‘To Kirsty,’ said Clare, always quick to raise her glass, and the others copied. Then the food arrived and everyone was absorbed in eating and exchanging chit-chat.

When Janice was finished – she’d eaten only half of what was on her plate – she leant forwards in the chair, and said conspiratorially, ‘Now, what’s the latest on your safari, Patsy?’

Patsy started and her napkin dropped to the floor. She bent down under the table to pick it up and reappeared somewhat flustered-looking. She shook the napkin in the air and laid it across her lap.

‘Well, I’ve paid the deposit,’ she said.

Everyone was silent, waiting for her to go on. It wasn’t like Patsy to be so reticent. Kirsty was just beginning to wonder if something was wrong when Patsy’s face broke into her more familiar smile. ‘It hasn’t been easy keeping it a secret from Martin, let me tell you,’ she said brightly. ‘I had to hide the holiday brochures under the bed and I’m terrified someone from the travel agency’s going to call when he’s there and spoil the whole thing!’

‘What’s the itinerary, then?’ asked Janice. Patsy pulled a slim brochure out of her bag and passed it to Janice, who flicked through the pages and nodded approvingly while Patsy talked.

‘We’re going to the Central Kalahari Game Reserve – it’s the second biggest in the world. And the Chobe National Park, which has sixty thousand elephants. Then there’s the Makgadikgadi saltpans, which are supposed to be amazing.’

‘Saltpans?’ asked Kirsty, picking up the brochure from where Janice had discarded it on the table. It all sounded so incredibly exciting, so far removed from her dull, everyday existence.

‘They’re very remote, shallow basins containing salt deposits from an evaporated lake. They stretch for miles and you explore them on quad bikes.’

Kirsty nodded, her eyes coming to rest on a picture of a vast white plain, the edges disappearing in a shimmering heat-haze. In the photograph a rugged explorer sat astride a black quad bike, a pair of slender arms wrapped round his waist.

‘I know it’s just a holiday,’ said Patsy, looking round at the others, her grey-green eyes misted. ‘But for me it’s a dream come true. A once-in-a-lifetime experience for me and Martin. I doubt if we’ll ever do anything just as exciting, or expensive, as this again. It’s going to be the proper honeymoon we never had. I’ve been thinking we could renew our marriage vows.’

‘Ohhh,’ the women chorused in unison and Kirsty said, ‘That’s so romantic.’

‘It would be, wouldn’t it?’ said Patsy and paused. ‘When you’ve been married a long time, well, you have to do things to…to re-connect every now and then. It’s easy to lose each other in the everyday business of living, isn’t it?’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Clare and Kirsty wondered if that had been part of her and Scott’s problem. Had they allowed themselves to drift apart? Given up too easily? If he had lived would they have been able to re-connect? Would she have been able to save her marriage?

Kirsty eyes pricked with tears and she picked up the brochure and stared at the glossy pictures of majestic lions and leopards, a prehistoric-looking hippo, vast herds of antelope, and a great cloud of long-legged birds rising from a lake. It was a magical world, so remote from small-town Ireland, so exotic, primeval even.

Maybe one day she would go and see these things for herself. She’d like to. But not on her own. It was an experience to share with someone – and not just anyone. Your soulmate. She threw the brochure down in the middle of the table as though it had suddenly become too hot to hold and pushed the remains of her spaghetti carbonara away. Her appetite had evaporated.

She had so much to be grateful for, but she was fed up being alone. Fed up standing on the sidelines of life watching other people, like Patsy, getting on with theirs. She was absolutely delighted for her friend but she couldn’t help but wish it was her planning the holiday of a lifetime with the man she loved.

She would just have to try harder. She glanced at the men at the bar, almost all of whom she knew – or knew of. Ignoring the married ones, she studied the four available men in her age group, three divorced, one single. The fact that Vincent Agnew, plumber, was in his forties and had never, so local gossip went, been in a committed relationship didn’t bode well, Kirsty thought. And not only did she know the ex-wives of the others – she even knew the names of their children. That was problem with Ballyfergus; you knew far too much about everybody and you never met anyone new. And try as she might she didn’t find any of them in the least bit attractive.

She averted her gaze and looked out of the window instead. Outside an icy fog had settled and the crisp night air was punctuated only by the soft haze of the street-lamp and squares of yellow light in the low-rise block of flats opposite. The only males she liked spending time with these days were David, Adam and Harry – how sad was that? Things, she decided firmly, would have to change.

Chapter Seven (#ulink_eb8a9a2d-ecec-5a05-81d8-774e692362a1)

The letter from the council finally came on a wet and windy Friday morning in the last week of February. Kirsty, recognising what it was at once from the frank mark on the envelope, retrieved it from the doormat before the boys trod on it in their muddy shoes. She set the long white envelope carefully on the hall table, drove the boys to school and could think of nothing else ‘til she was back home.