Erin Kaye - The Art of Friendship

‘Yes!’ said Clare. ‘I remember you talking about it the very first time we all met at that art class. How long ago was that?’

‘Fifteen years this September,’ said Janice, quick as a flash. She’d signed up for the art class within weeks of moving to Ballyfergus, a busy port on the East Antrim coast, in the hope of finding new friends.

‘God, you’ve an amazing memory,’ said Clare. Janice smiled and wished this wasn’t true – she wished she could edit her memories like digital photographs, ruthlessly choosing which ones to keep and which to discard.

‘We should celebrate,’ went on Clare, earnestly. ‘It’s quite special, isn’t it, staying friends, the four of us, all this time?’

‘I know! How about a girlie weekend in London?’ said Patsy. She slapped her thigh like Doris Day in Calamity Jane.

‘New York!’ cried Janice. ‘Think about the shopping.’

‘Steady on,’ said Clare, with a nervous laugh. ‘We haven’t all got platinum credit cards.’ She flushed slightly and chewed the skin on the side of her thumb. Janice silently chided herself for being thoughtless. Clare was a stay-at-home mum to two small children and she and her accountant husband Liam had limited means.

‘Mmm, Clare’s got a point,’ said Patsy. Her forehead creased into a frown, she rested her chin on one hand and pouted her red lips. Then she sat up suddenly and cried, ‘I know. We could use my brother-in-law’s place in London for free. Eamonn only uses the flat during the week. He’s always on at me and Martin to go there.’

‘He wouldn’t mind us lot pitching up?’ said Kirsty cautiously.

‘Hell, no!’ laughed Patsy.

‘We could get a cheap flight,’ said Clare thoughtfully, now chewing the nail on her little finger.

‘Okay then. Let’s do it,’ said Janice decisively.

‘Brilliant! No time like the present,’ said Patsy, rising unsteadily on her heels. She tugged at her skirt, bunched up around her shapely hips. ‘I’ll go and ask Eamonn right now. He’s here tonight.’

‘But what about your New Year’s resolution? I’m the only one who’s made one so far,’ said Kirsty, sounding peeved about the fact.

‘Whoops!’ Patsy sat down again abruptly, and grinned lazily. ‘Forgot about that.’

‘You were talking earlier about the African safari,’ prompted Clare, who appeared the most clear-headed, though it was hard to tell. She could drink copious amounts and still appear relatively sober.

‘Oh, yeah,’ enthused Patsy. ‘It’s something I’ve always dreamt about. Ever since I was a little girl. It’s our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary this September. And this’ll be our second honeymoon. The one we never had first time round.’ She stared at the wall, an enigmatic smile on her lips.

‘What did you do for your first?’ asked Kirsty.

‘A week boating on the lakes of Fermanagh.’

‘Sounds romantic.’

‘It was,’ said Patsy and she gave Kirsty a suggestive wink that made her friend blush. ‘We never had the money back then to go abroad or do anything fancy. Martin had just got promoted to Assistant Manager in Bangor and he wasn’t earning much. And neither was I. We spent the first four years of marriage saving up to buy our first house. Then I fell pregnant and there was never the money to go off and do something so indulgent. With kids there’s always something more important to be spending your money on, isn’t there?’

‘You can say that again,’ agreed Kirsty with a vigorous nod.

‘But this – this’ll be special,’ went on Patsy dreamily. ‘I know it’ll be expensive but I’ve been stashing a bit away here and there from the gallery’s profits. It’s going to be fantastic!’

‘Does Martin know?’ said Janice, thrilled by Patsy’s infectious enthusiasm.

‘That’s the best bit! It’s going to be a complete surprise. I’m going to book it all and then only tell him at the last minute.’

‘He’ll need his jabs though,’ cautioned Janice, a seasoned traveller. ‘He’ll know something’s up then.’

‘Okay, so I’ll keep where we’re going a secret. I’ve been looking at Botswana and September seems to be a good time to go – it’s between rainy seasons.’

‘We’ll have to do our London trip after then,’ observed Janice. ‘Maybe October.’

Kirsty looked at Clare. ‘And what’s your resolution?’

‘I’m going to take up painting again,’ Clare said quickly, as though she had been waiting to be asked. ‘Seriously this time, no amateur stuff. That’s my resolution.’

There was a short pause while everyone took in this unexpected news.

‘Jesus, you’re a dark horse, Clare McCormack,’ said Patsy, sounding surprised. ‘You never said a thing before.’

‘I’ve been thinking about it for a while,’ said Clare, staring at the empty glass in her hands. She sounded like she was making a confession. ‘I’ve done the mummy thing and, well, it’s about time I got back into the real world, I think. That’s why I’m thinking of painting.’

‘Commercially?’ said Patsy, and she sat up straight, her interest as art connoisseur and gallery-owner stimulated despite her lack of sobriety.

‘Don’t you think I’m good enough?’ asked Clare, too quickly, her glance bouncing between Patsy and the glass in her hand like a ping-pong ball. Then, as though it was too much of a distraction, she set the flute on a shelf behind the loo and folded her arms. She blushed, her insecurity laid bare.

‘Hell’s bells. You’re more than good enough,’ enthused Patsy. ‘Sure, before you had the children, your pictures sold like hot cakes at the annual art show,’ she added, referring to Clare’s striking watercolours of local scenes. Janice nodded in agreement.

‘Yes, but that was all very…very amateur,’ said Clare. ‘I’m thinking of trying to make a career out of it.’

‘And you will, Clare. Won’t she, girls?’ said Kirsty, looking round the room for support.

Everyone nodded. ‘Just think, you could be the new Sam McLarnon,’ Janice said, referring to a highly regarded local artist who, like Clare, specialised in watercolours of the East Antrim coast.

‘If I was half as good as Sam, I’d be delighted,’ said Clare.

The conversation turned to the going rate for a McLarnon watercolour and Janice tuned out. It was her turn next to make a resolution but she had no idea what to say. Clare’s clear-headed ambition served only to underline the inherent futility of her own existence. She didn’t make resolutions as a rule, past experience having taught her that what happens, happens. You just have to ride the wave of life, deal with it, cope. Just as she had always done. Fate dealt you a hand and it was foolishness, almost bordering on arrogance, to think that you could actually influence it.

Just as she hated looking back, Janice abhorred the notion of planning ahead. She’d discovered long ago that the best way to deal with life was to live, like a child, in the moment. The making of resolutions implied that you had control over your life. And Janice knew that this was not the case.

Still, she had more sense than to share these deterministic views with her friends. She didn’t want them to think her depressing on this of all nights, when as well as looking back, everyone wanted to look forward with hope and optimism. And most of all she didn’t want to disappoint them.

‘Your turn, Janice,’ said Clare, right on cue.

‘Well,’ said Janice, clearing her throat. ‘I’ve decided that this year I’m going to…to start a new project.’

There was silence, the others waiting for her to go on, assuming she had some further clarification to share with them. Patsy nodded her head encouragingly.