The Art of Friendship

Clare looked at the mess all around her and smiled. Then she started to laugh. What else was there to do? Sometimes things were just so bad, you had to see the funny side.

‘I’m supposed to be going out in two hours’ time,’ she said, shaking her head. She removed a cold baked bean from her hair and examined it. She gave Izzy a wry smile.

‘I’m sorry,’ gasped Izzy. ‘That is just soooo funny, Clare.’

‘Oh dear. I’m going to have to wash my hair now,’ Clare said, which sent Izzy into more peals of laughter.

It wasn’t often that she and Izzy shared a moment like this when they were both just themselves, their defences disarmed. Clare grasped it, almost giddy with pleasure, not wanting the intimacy to end. She gave her stepdaughter a wide grin and for once it was returned by one of Izzy’s less guarded smiles. Not a completely open, warm smile; that wasn’t in Izzy’s nature. Not now, anyway.

Clare had not known Izzy before her parents’ divorce, but there was no doubt in her mind that the girl had been damaged by it and by the ongoing hostility Zoe bore towards Clare and Liam. Not that Zoe had any rightful cause to bear a grudge against Clare. She wasn’t a marriage breaker. Liam was already separated, and in the process of divorce, when they’d first met.

Izzy, a clever child with a high level of emotional intelligence, had learned to navigate her way through the minefield that was family life. Her main objective, as far as Clare could determine, was to stay ‘on side’ with her mother. She had very quickly worked out that the best way to achieve this was not to be too friendly towards Clare. By keeping a frosty distance from her stepmother, Izzy could successfully walk the tightrope that was her life. It wasn’t fair on her, thought Clare – no child should have to walk on eggshells all the time.

And it meant that, try as she might, Clare found it wellnigh impossible to integrate Izzy into her own little family unit. Instead she hovered on the margins, cautious, watchful, reserved. It wasn’t for want of trying on Clare’s part. She felt genuinely sorry for Izzy and for Liam’s sake she tried very hard with her stepdaughter. So an unguarded moment like this with Izzy felt like a breakthrough.

Now that the drama was over, Josh ran out of the room, cackling with laughter. Rachel slid off her booster seat and made to follow him.

‘Not so fast, young lady,’ said Clare, her laughter ebbing but a smile still on her lips. She caught Rachel in her arms as she scooted past, carried her over to the sink and rubbed her face and hands vigorously with a wet flannel.

‘There, that’s better,’ she said, releasing the wriggling child. As soon as she set her daughter on the floor, she padded out of the room.

Izzy’s hysterical laughter had subsided. She wiped tears from beneath her eyes and sighed.

‘Here, you’ll need one of these,’ said Clare, proffering the big box of Kleenex she kept in the kitchen for such domestic disasters. ‘Your mascara’s all run.’

‘Has it?’ said Izzy, plucking a tissue from the box.

‘Uh huh.’

Izzy dabbed at the black stains under her eyes and asked, ‘That better?’

Clare nodded and there was a pause. Izzy looked away and fiddled with her hair. Feeling the moment slipping away, Clare sought to retain it. ‘How’d you get on with your homework?’ she began, and regretted it as soon as she said it.

‘Fine,’ said Izzy indifferently, pulling the shutters instantaneously down. She took a step away from Clare.

‘Here’s a cloth to wipe your things,’ said Clare cheerfully, acting as though she had not noticed the return of Izzy’s habitual coolness. She threw a damp dishcloth onto the table. A knot of sadness formed in her stomach like indigestion. ‘I don’t think you’ll get the tomato sauce off that jotter, though,’ she chattered on nervously. ‘You’ll need to rip those pages out.’

Izzy said nothing, picked up the cloth and wiped the table, her pencil case, file and jotter, smudging the pages with ugly orange smears. She did not remove any of the damaged pages and settled down at the table again.

‘Aren’t you going to tear out those dirty pages?’ said Clare, unable to let the fact that Izzy had ignored her pass unremarked. She forced a laugh, trying to sound lighthearted. ‘You can’t submit homework on that, now can you?’

As soon as she’d said it, Clare bit her tongue. She’d broken the cardinal rule about interfering. And Izzy wasn’t slow to react.

‘Aren’t you going to get on with cleaning up?’ she said, throwing a careless glance over her shoulder at the messy room.

‘I would get on better if I had a bit of help,’ snapped Clare, her balled fists on her hips.

Izzy snorted. ‘It’s not my job to do the cleaning. That’s what you stay-at-home mums are for, isn’t it? Cleaning up everybody’s…sh…’ She stopped, thought better of it, and finished the sentence with, ‘mess.’

Clare closed her eyes and counted to ten while bright flashes of colour throbbed behind her eyelids. She would not rise to Izzy’s bait. The child was no doubt repeating her mother’s sentiments, but that knowledge did not make the remarks any less offensive.

Clare opened her eyes and, determined to ignore Izzy’s last remark, glanced at the clock. A wave of panic washed over her. She had to clean up the mess in the kitchen, bath both children and put them to bed, plus get herself ready to go out. Of all nights, why did Liam have to be late tonight? He simply had no idea how stressful home life could be, especially when complicated by the addition of Izzy with her attitude and raging hormones in tow.

How was she ever going to carve out the time to paint?

‘Do you fancy giving me a hand with Rachel and Josh tonight, Izzy?’ asked Clare, knowing how much Izzy loved to play with the children, especially when Clare wasn’t around. ‘If you could get them washed, it’d give me a chance to clean up down here. You know how they love it when you bath them.’

‘Sorry, I have to do my homework,’ said Izzy with a sly sideways glance, the end of the pencil back in her mouth. Clare could’ve swung for her. She’d sat at the table for a full forty minutes and not written a thing. Now that Clare was under pressure she was refusing to help, and cutting her nose off to spite her face, simply to get at her stepmother.

‘Right,’ said Clare. She picked up the melamine bowl and threw it forcefully in the stainless steel sink. ‘You do that then.’ Her voice came out cold and brittle like thin ice. She found a cloth under the sink and started to wipe down the wall.

‘Where’s Dad?’ said Izzy sharply, after a few minutes had passed. Her voice was accusing. As though it were Clare’s fault that Liam wasn’t here.

‘You know he’s been held up at work, Izzy,’ said Clare irritably from a crouched position under the table, panting with the exertion of wiping the chair legs. ‘You know he would be here if he could.’

‘What’s the point of me coming on a Wednesday if he can’t even be bothered to be here? The whole point is so that we can spend some time together.’

‘And see your brother and sister.’

‘They’re not my brother and sister.’

‘Alright, stepbrother and -sister then,’ said Clare, seething. She added sharply, ‘I thought you said you had homework to do?’

Izzy did not reply. Instead she smiled to herself, inserted the iPod earpieces in her ears and, miraculously, started to write in her jotter. Clare glared at her, but Izzy was now entirely engaged in scribbling furiously away. She had allowed Izzy to rattle her cage and Izzy knew it. One-nil to Izzy.

By the time Zoe rang the doorbell at eight o’clock, Clare was standing in the bedroom in her underwear – bra, pants and pair of black knee-socks. Both Rachel and Josh were settled in bed and Clare had managed to shower, wash and dry her hair and apply make-up. She heard the front door open and close and then Zoe’s sharp voice drifted up the stairs. ‘What? He’s not home yet? Have you been sitting down here all on your own?’

Clare came out of the bedroom and stood on the landing, out of sight, listening.

‘Yes,’ said Izzy, sounding sorry for herself. ‘Clare took Rachel and Josh upstairs just after six and she hasn’t come down yet. I was left downstairs on my own watching TV.’

‘Get your coat. I’m taking you home.’

Clare wasn’t going to let Izzy get away with that. She ran back into the bedroom, grabbed the first dressing gown that came to hand and pulled it on. The belt was missing but there was no time to change. She wrapped the gown around her body, held it in place with her hands and marched down the stairs.

Zoe stood at the bottom, scowling, her lips pursed up like a prune. When she saw Clare coming, she folded her arms aggressively. She was dressed entirely in designer black with polished high-heeled boots and a bold silver necklace resting on a fine cashmere polo. Her long blonde hair flowed over an open black leather jacket. As usual, she looked skinny and stunning and successful. Which she was – Zoe owned three boutiques in as many towns. Izzy, looking sheepish, pulled a coat on over her slight shoulders.

‘Izzy decided not to help with bathtime tonight,’ said Clare by way of greeting, pulling herself up to her full height in what she hoped was an assertive manner. And then, giving her stepdaughter a hard stare, she added, ‘She had homework to do. Didn’t you, Izzy?’

Izzy looked at the floor and, though she said nothing, at least she had the grace to blush. Not that Zoe was watching. She was too busy staring at Clare – her cold, critical gaze took in the entire length of her body from head to toe and back again in three seconds flat.

‘And hello to you too, Clare,’ she said pointedly.

‘I’m getting ready to go out,’ said Clare, suddenly feeling at a disadvantage. She pulled the gown closer to her body and, looking down at herself, realised what a sight she was. A white toe sporting an unpainted yellow nail poked through a hole in the sock on her right foot. She curled her toes in embarrassment. The dressing gown was an old grey flannel one of Liam’s. She remembered now that Josh had ripped the belt off by swinging on it. Clare kept meaning to sew it back on but had somehow never got round to it. She pulled the gown closer and felt her face go red.

‘Somewhere nice?’ said Zoe.

‘Just No.11 with some girlfriends.’

‘Well’ Zoe.’s pale blue eyes narrowed. ‘I hope you’re not relying on Liam to babysit. God knows when he’ll be home. Used to do it to me all the time.’

Clare’s anger was now directed at Liam as much as Zoe and Izzy. Not only had he left her with both of the little ones to put to bed when he knew she was due to go out, but he had placed her in this mortifying situation with Zoe. He should be here to deal with his ex-wife and he should’ve been here for Izzy.

Just then the front door opened, letting in an icy blast of dry air, and Zoe said, clearly enjoying herself, ‘Speak of the devil.’

Liam stepped into the hallway, his overcoat opened to reveal a top shirt button undone and his tie askew. His briefcase hit the floor with a heavy thud and he slammed the door closed. He rubbed his hands together, blew into them and looked at the faces of the three females in the hall, each one, for different reasons, glowering at him.

‘Oh, Izzy,’ he said and went to put his arms around her. She stiffened and pulled back.

‘Where were you, Dad?’ she said, sounding pained.

‘I’m so sorry, babes,’ said Liam, and his arms dropped to his sides. His boyish face was lined and tired-looking. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and gave Izzy a crooked smile. Clare was torn between being angry with him and wanting to hug him. ‘You’ll never believe what happened,’ he said animatedly. ‘I was in the car park just about to get in the car when this spaceship landed right next to me and guess who stepped out?’

‘Dad…’ said Izzy warningly, without a hint of a smile.

‘Okay,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I couldn’t get away. I tried, but this thing in work blew up and…well, I just couldn’t leave.’

‘Couldn’t you?’ said Zoe, her voice laden with scorn. ‘You only have Izzy one night a week, Liam. Is it too much to ask that you organise your diary around that?’

‘It’s not always that simple, Zoe,’ Liam muttered. ‘Sometimes it’s complicated. You know that.’

‘It’s not rocket science either,’ snapped Zoe.

Clare had to bite her lip. How dare Zoe speak to him like that! And why did he take it from her? She treated him like dirt and he let her.

‘Let’s not bicker about it,’ said Liam, with a glance at Izzy. He was always the one to back down, always the one placating Zoe.

Zoe turned her attention to Izzy and said brightly, ‘We really need to be getting home now.’ She placed a proprietorial hand on the small of her daughter’s back and said in a wheedling tone, ‘Did you get something to eat, pet?’

‘Beans on toast,’ mumbled Izzy.

‘That was what she said she…’ began Clare, but Zoe talked over her.

‘Never mind, darling,’ she tutted. ‘We’ll get you something decent to eat when we get you home. Excuse me,’ she said, this last icy comment directed at Liam. He stepped out of her way and she opened the front door. Izzy ducked her head against the wall of cold and pulled her coat tighter around her.

‘I’m so sorry, Izzy,’ said Liam as Zoe propelled their daughter through the door. ‘I’ll make it up to you,’ he called out, but Zoe had already slammed the door in his face. Liam sighed again and traced around his eye sockets with the middle finger of both hands.

‘I’m sorry, love,’ he said.

Clare was angry about so many things she didn’t know where to start.

‘Did you hear her?’ she demanded. ‘Implying that I didn’t feed Izzy properly. She refused to eat the casserole I made. She asked for baked beans on toast.’

Liam shrugged. ‘All she did was ask Izzy what she had to eat. I don’t see what’s wrong with that.’

‘You never see, do you, Liam?’ said Clare. ‘You take everything Zoe says at face value. That was a pointed remark aimed at me.’

‘It’s not worth getting worked up about, Clare.’ Liam hung his coat on the hat stand. ‘You shouldn’t let her come between us.’

‘You let her come between us. I don’t know why you ever divorced Zoe and married me. All she does is insult me and all you do is defend her.’

‘Hey,’ he said, raising his hands in the air, palms facing outwards towards Clare. His usually mild demeanour was gone, and an angry look flashed across his features. ‘That’s really not fair.’

Clare blushed, knowing that she had gone a step too far but, now on a roll, she could not stop. ‘You’re intimidated by her, aren’t you?’

‘I’m not intimidated by Zoe. I just prefer not to be confrontational with her.’

‘But you let her walk all over you. And in front of Izzy.’

‘That’s the way you see it.’

‘That’s the way it is.’

Liam sighed again. ‘I prefer not to argue with Zoe in front of Izzy. Listen, Clare, Zoe has problems. She’s on her own and life’s not easy for her. She doesn’t have many friends and I still feel guilty about leaving her. I guess I feel sorry for her. I wish you would show a bit of compassion too.’

‘Compassion?’ Clare nearly choked on the word. ‘You want me to show compassion to Zoe? Liam, in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s a…a first-class bitch.’ The last words sounded common, harsh, unkind.

‘That’s enough now,’ he said sharply and Clare bit her lip, annoyed with herself. She’d lost the moral high ground and deflected the argument away from her main gripe – that Liam did not do enough to defend her against Zoe’s persistent, insidious put-downs. ‘Look,’ he added, in a conciliatory tone, ‘I’m just trying to keep the peace, Clare. I’ve had a rotten day.’

‘Well, so have I thanks to you. And don’t you ever do this to me again,’ said Clare, remembering just in time that wagging a finger at Liam would necessitate letting go of the dressing gown, making her look even more ridiculous than she already did. Instead, she folded her arms tightly across her chest.

‘What?’ said Liam.

‘Come home at this time when you know I’m supposed to be going out. How often do I go out with the girls, Liam? Once or twice a month? Is it too much to ask you to be home on time just this once?’

‘Clare, that’s unreasonable. If I could’ve been here earlier, I would’ve been. You know that.’ He ran his hand over his face. ‘I’ve had a hellish day.’

‘And to leave me with Izzy as well.’

‘Sure, Izzy’s no bother,’ said Liam.

‘She’s a little madam, Liam,’ snapped Clare. ‘When you’re about she’s all sweetness and light and when you’re not she’s a complete pain. Like tonight.’

‘What did she do that was so awful?’

‘She…she refused to help bath the kids.’

‘Well, to be fair, that’s not really her job, Clare.’ Liam raised his eyebrows, and cocked his head to one side the way he did when he thought she was being unreasonable. This infuriated Clare even more.

‘You don’t understand. The kitchen was a mess – Rachel had spilt baked beans everywhere,’ said Clare, waving her hands about in an agitated fashion. The dressing gown gaped open. She snatched it shut, gripping the collar of the gown under her chin. ‘ asked for her help and she refused just out of spite. And then she was making out to Zoe just now that I’d left her downstairs all on her own when it was her choice.’

Liam shook his head, not really listening. ‘Clare, I’m sorry but I just don’t have time for this right now. I’m only just through the door,’ he said, consulting his watch, ‘and you were supposed to be at No.11 ten minutes ago. Look, why don’t you go and finish getting ready and we can finish this conversation another time?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Clare flatly, torn between the desire to pursue the argument, and the desire to meet her friends before the evening was ruined. She suddenly noticed that Liam looked exhausted and guilt diluted her anger. ‘Why don’t you go and get something to eat?’ she suggested, softening. ‘There’s a casserole in the oven and a crusty loaf in the bread bin.’

‘I will, thanks, love.’

‘What was so awful about your day?’ said Clare.

‘Oh, the usual. Office politics. You don’t want to know.’

He was right – she didn’t. And she conveniently interpreted this as meaning that he didn’t want to talk about it. ‘I’m sorry for going on about Zoe.’

‘It’s alright. I know what she’s like. Believe me, I’d rather battle Boadicea than Zoe any day.’

Clare giggled. Liam looked at her from under a cocked eyebrow and the corners of his mouth turned up in one of his irresistible smiles. ‘But have I told you that you look very fetching in that ensemble?’ he said. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. ‘I always think a woman looks very sexy in her man’s clothes,’ he breathed into her ear.

‘Not in this old thing!’ said Clare, looking down at the dressing gown and smiling. ‘I’m buying you a new one and this one’s going straight in the bin!’

‘Go on, then,’ he said, patting her bottom. ‘You’d better get yourself ready before I ravish you!’

Clare ran up the stairs, giggling, and remembered that Liam’s ability to make her laugh was the reason she had fallen in love with him in the first place.

Chapter Four

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.