Her desk phone rang, and she dithered. It was someone who had her direct line number. She should answer it, she supposed. It might be her mother or Margaret.
‘Hello?’
‘Sweetie! It’s so good to hear your voice. I miss you!’ Colette chirruped down the line.
‘Colette, hey, what are you doing ringing me at work? You usually ring in the evening, what’s up? Is everything OK?’ Hilary asked, surprised at the call.
‘You’ll never guess, Hil, I had to tell you. Who do you think is working in Manhattan Eye and Ear, a couple of blocks away?’ Colette asked dramatically.
‘Who?’ Hilary asked, trying to pretend she was interested. Colette’s timing was the pits.
‘Rod Killeen!’ Can you believe it?’ Colette was giddy with excitement.
‘Who?’ Hilary wracked her brains. The name sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it.
‘Hilary!’ exclaimed Colette indignantly. ‘Rod Killeen, the skunk that broke my heart!’
‘Oh yeah, sorry.’ Hilary glanced at her watch. She needed to be getting a move on. ‘What are the odds of that? Did you meet him or something?’
‘God no!’ Colette shuddered. ‘Imagine the shock if I’d bumped into him unexpectedly. No, Janine Winthrope told me that her husband was attending an Irish eye specialist in Manhattan Eye and Ear. She adored Dr Killeen’s accent, she told me. “Killeen?” I said. “Rod Killeen?” “Why yes,” she said. “Do you know him?” Do I know him?’ Colette scoffed. ‘That lying, two-faced toad devastated my life. If only Janine knew. I wonder did he marry that red-headed dumpling?’
‘What differences does it make now, Colette?’ Hilary asked with as much patience as she could muster. ‘You’re happily married to Des. You have a fabulous lifestyle. So what if he married that girl?’
‘I know,’ sighed Colette. ‘But I’d just love him to know how well I did in spite of him. Do you think I should inveigle Janine into throwing a party and inviting him? Oh I could swan in in style and leave him standing there with his mouth open to see what he could have had!’
‘No, Colette! Not a good idea,’ advised Hilary firmly. ‘The past is the past. Leave it there. What’s the point, after all these years?’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ the other woman said dejectedly.
‘I am right, lovie, now I have to fly or I’m going to get stuck in the rush hour. Sophie’s having friends over for her birthday and I’m way behind schedule. I’ll call you next week. Remind me to tell you about Sue and her carry-on. You’re so lucky you don’t have in-laws and elderly parents to contend with. Mind yourself.’
‘OK, you too. Are you sure you don’t think – you know, for closure – that I should—’
‘Positive!’ Hilary said sternly. ‘Bye, Colette.’
She shoved her diary into her bag, grabbed her mobile phone and stood up. She had a lot to do before she’d be able to put her feet up and flop in front of Graham Norton with a well-earned glass of wine. Niall need not worry about waking her when he got in from his gig. She’d be dead to the world because she was absolutely knackered.
Was it just her that was finding it hard to cope? Other women seemed to manage their juggling much better than she did, Hilary mused as she edged cautiously out into the already heavy Friday traffic. Was she just not good at coping with stress? Women were bombarded with images of designer-dressed career women in skyscraper heels breaking through corporate glass ceilings, juggling career, motherhood and home-making with apparent ease. Carrie Bradshaw and Co. were far removed from ordinary women, although in fairness, the portrayal of Miranda the lawyer in Sex and the City when she’d had her baby was real enough. But a noughties-type character from a TV programme she certainly was not, Hilary thought, suppressing a yawn. If any of her friends rang right now and suggested a night out on the tiles, drinking cocktails, they’d get short shrift. Women could not have it all, no matter how much feminists liked to believe it. Women were spread too thin. She couldn’t give her all to her family and her job and there was certainly no room for downtime for her.
Andrea Keirns’s baby had ignited a surge of unexpected longing in her that surprised her. What on earth would she want a baby for at this stage of her life, fifteen years after having Sophie? Madness, she thought, as she crawled along in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Her life had been much less stressful when the girls were babies. She had enjoyed being at home with them, enjoyed bringing them to visit their grandparents, enjoyed picnics and walks on Bull Island, or Sutton Beach. She’d even had time to read. She’d been an avid reader once. If she had a baby now she certainly wouldn’t be jaunting off for picnics and the like and as for reading books . . . ha ha!
Colette was something else, she reflected, amused at her friend’s phone call. How lucky was she if the only thing she had to worry about was trying to show an ex-boyfriend that she had done well for herself? Sometimes Hilary thought Colette had married Des on the rebound. Rod had been her first love and she had fallen for him hard. Hilary had listened to a lot of crying and ranting in those days. She grinned, remembering how she’d even been involved, against her better judgment, in a stakeout of Rod’s flat, one wet December afternoon.
Time had not healed the wound of rejection in Colette’s breast, despite the fact that she’d had a hectic social life in London. It only seemed like yesterday that Colette had come back to Dublin on a Christmas visit and had spent an hour griping about her ex, Hilary reflected, her thoughts drifting back to their early twenties when
