A new song began and she recognized it as ‘The Coolin’, a famous Irish air with haunting music. When Niall had sung the first verse in his deep baritone:
‘Have you seen my fair-haired girl walking the roads
A bright dewy morning without a smudge on her shoes?
Many a young man is envious and longing to marry her
But they won’t get my treasure
. . . no matter what they think’
he turned and looked at his wife, his eyes crinkling in a loving smile. Hilary smiled back, seemingly unaware of anyone else in the crowded room. It was an intimate, tender moment between them that ignited a surge of envy in Cecil B. DemilleColette when she compared her own circumstances to her friend’s.
Every time she looked at Hilary and Niall together she felt deep and resentful jealousy. How could they still look at each other the way they did after all these years? It wasn’t for show; it was quite natural and unaffected. It didn’t help that Niall looked particularly dishy in an open-necked black shirt and a pair of grey chinos. He had aged very well. The grey at his temples was sexy; the lines around his eyes and mouth added character, rather than age, to his appearance. Surely somewhere on his travels he had indulged in a liaison with some other woman. He had hardly remained faithful to Hilary all this time, Colette thought, as her friend’s husband strummed his mandolin, playing the evocative air to a hushed room. The pure, sweet notes and the vibrato caught at her emotions and she felt like breaking down in tears.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Jonathan whispered, sitting down on the sofa beside her. ‘Are you OK?’ She nodded, unable to speak, annoyed that he had noticed her distress. ‘Can I freshen your drink?’ he offered kindly.
‘No I’m fine, thank you.’ She swallowed as Niall and his group began the second stirring verse.
‘Is that your boyfriend?’ She nodded in Murray’s direction. He was singing along, playing the spoons expertly.
‘Well we’re friends, let’s say,’ Jonathan murmured, delighted that Murray had been instantly accepted into his precious unit.
‘A trad fan, clearly,’ Colette said drily.
‘Might end up in Niall’s band yet. I just wanted to make sure you were OK. Tonight must be difficult for you,’ Jonathan said, standing up.
‘Very kind,’ she said in a tight, clipped voice and he wondered why he had bothered.
‘I don’t know why she came. She’s sitting there with a face on her. She’s certainly not enjoying the evening,’ Hilary moaned to Jonathan an hour later while they removed cling film from the platters of food she was serving for the buffet.
‘I know. I got short shrift when I asked her was she OK.’ Jonathan handed Millie a dish of chicken boscaiola and a bowl of tabbouleh to carry over to the table.
‘It must be very hard for her,’ Hilary sighed, wishing Colette had stayed with her parents. She was in a prickly humour and the copious amounts of gin she was drinking weren’t helping.
‘Is she staying the night?’ Jonathan murmured as a gale of laughter heralded an array of revellers come to offer help with the buffet.
‘Yes, as far as I know.’ Hilary gave the huge pot of curry a stir while Jonathan sprinkled freshly cut dill on the salmon.
‘We’re hungry,’ Hilary’s sister Dee announced tipsily.
‘Well tell everyone to come and tuck in and help themselves,’ Hilary said gaily, determined that Colette wouldn’t ruin her evening. ‘And, Jonathan,’ she murmured.
‘Yeah?’
‘Murray is lovely, very easy to talk to. Perfect for you.’
‘Don’t jinx it,’ he grimaced, twirling around the kitchen with a plate of sizzling cocktail sausages, tutting when Dee helped herself to three of them. The kitchen teemed with hungry guests, and the buzz of chat and laughter filled the air. Hilary was swallowed up in the middle of them, urging friends and family to partake in the banquet laid out on the table.
‘Come on, Colette, chow’s up,’ Niall said heartily, noticing her sitting on the sofa on her own.
‘I guess I’m not that hungry, Niall,’ she sighed, tucking her legs up under and slanting him a glance.
‘Will I get you a plate of food and bring it in to you?’ he offered, hating to see her miserable.
‘Ah I suppose I should make the effort and mingle, and have something to nibble on.’ She took a deep breath and stood up.
‘Good woman,’ Niall said encouragingly, dropping an arm around her shoulder as he escorted her into the kitchen. ‘Grab a plate there and fill it up – you could do with putting on a few pounds,’ he grinned, and she laughed.
‘You were always direct, Niall,’ she said, amused, her mood lightening.
‘More like putting my two feet in it, my darling wife would say.’ Niall began to fill his own plate.
‘She’s not worried about putting on a few pounds, obviously,’ Colette giggled, getting in a catty dig.
‘She’s a grand hoult of a woman,’ Niall said appreciatively, not quite the response Colette was expecting. Didn’t he mind that Hilary was at least a stone overweight?
‘Well I’m trying hard to keep the middle-age spread at bay. I won’t let myself go.’ Colette took a small spoonful of tabbouleh and a portion of salmon.
‘Have some cheesy potatoes, they’re scrumptious,’ Niall urged before turning to check that his mother-in-law had enough food.
‘Colette O’Mahony, you look amazing!’ Vivienne O’Hara, a mutual friend from way back, declared. ‘My God, you don’t look a day over thirty-five. Have you had a facelift?’
‘Of course
