‘Narky cow!’ she muttered crossly, flinging herself on the sofa, and picking up the latest copy of Vogue. Hilary would get over her temper tantrum and call her back. She was never able to sustain a row. She wouldn’t keep this one going, Colette thought confidently, settling down for a read of one of her all-time favourite magazines.
Typical of Colette to ignore her anger and rebukes and pretend everything was fine, Hilary raged, flinging knives and forks from the dishwasher container into the cutlery drawer. Typical of her to take no responsibility for their friendship whatsoever. Typical! Typical! Typical!
‘I hope you told her to stick her invite,’ Niall said at supper that night when the girls were in bed and she told him about Colette’s phone call. ‘Colette has proved my point over and over. She doesn’t know the meaning of the word friendship. There’s an old saying, There comes a time when you have to stop crossing oceans for people who wouldn’t even jump puddles for you. That time is now, Hilary. Forget her, she couldn’t give a toss about your friendship and the sooner you recognize that the better.’
‘Ah stop, Niall, it’s just the way she is,’ Hilary said, his words making her feel uncomfortable. She hated acknowledging the truth of what he was saying. It made her feel a failure.
‘That’s all I’m saying, I’m off to bed, I’m whacked and I’ve an early flight.’ He kissed her and walked out of the kitchen.
Hilary sat with her hands around her mug of cocoa. Much as she hated agreeing with him on this, she knew her husband was right. Colette was on the other side of the Atlantic, had been there two months without making contact. She was building a new life, just as she’d done in London. They had nothing in common any more and it was time to admit that she and Colette had never had a real friendship. They were more a habit, she thought in surprise. And a bad one at that. She wouldn’t be crossing the Atlantic, physically or metaphorically, for Colette any time soon. It was time for letting go.
When Hilary hadn’t phoned three months later, Colette couldn’t stand it any longer. Even though she was up to her eyes settling in to her exciting new life, attending functions, networking for all she was worth, finding her way around the city, every time she got a phone call she still expected it to be Hilary. They’d often gone for two months or more without getting in touch, but never as long as this, and usually it would be Hilary who would ring.
It was almost Christmas, and Hilary hadn’t even sent a card. Unheard of! Colette had sent a card, and a parcel, to the Hammonds, with three fabulous Marc Jacobs leather handbags, and a Ralph Lauren wallet for Niall that she’d got in the Black Friday sales after Thanksgiving. But not a word of thanks from Hilary. And she had made sure to enclose a card with her New York address and phone number. Colette was rattled to say the least.
On Christmas Eve, before heading out to brunch at Tavern on the Green with her parents, who had flown over to celebrate the season with them, Colette slipped into the bedroom and dialled Hilary’s number from the phone on her bedside table.
To her dismay, Niall answered. Colette swallowed. Pretend everything’s normal, she told herself. ‘Niall, Happy Christmas,’ she said brightly.
‘The same to you. Who’s this?’ he asked.
‘It’s me, Colette,’ she almost squeaked.
‘Oh!’ His tone was chilly, and her heart sank.
‘I just wanted to wish you all the compliments of the season and make sure the parcel arrived OK. Is Hilary there?’ she persevered.
‘Hold on and I’ll see if she wants to talk to you.’ She could hear the sound of Bing Crosby singing ‘White Christmas’ in the background, and one of the girls calling Niall, looking for matches.
Probably to light a candle in the window, an old Irish custom on Christmas Eve, Colette thought, feeling lonely and homesick for her home town. Would Hilary talk to her? If she didn’t it really was the end of their friendship, and Colette, for the first time, began to realize what a loss it would be to her. Hilary was like her big sister. Always there in times of trouble. Always a shoulder to cry on, or a sounding board for advice. Her heart was thumping when she heard the phone being picked up. Would it be Niall to tell her that Hilary didn’t want to speak to her?
‘Hello.’ Hilary’s voice came down the line and Colette exhaled, not realizing that she had been holding her breath. The relief was so immense she forgot she was going to act breezy and unconcerned.
‘I’m sorry, Hilary,’ she blurted. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please say you’re still my friend.’
‘Crummy timing as always, Colette,’ Hilary said. ‘I’m up to my elbows in stuffing.’ But Colette knew she was teasing.
‘Do you forgive me?’ she ventured.
‘Just about, but don’t do it again,’ her friend warned.
‘And would you have let Christmas go by without ringing me?’ Colette asked, still amazed that Hilary had held out for so long.
‘It’s a possibility, for sure,’ Hilary answered. ‘But we’ll never know now, will we?’
‘You never sent a card.’
‘Did you deserve one?’
‘I suppose not,’ Colette conceded. ‘Did you get the parcel?’
‘Yes. I was undecided whether or not to put it under the tree,’ Hilary said coolly.
‘Oh!’
‘But now that you’ve phoned and
