A Time for Friends Read Online Free PDF Page B

Niall. ‘Are you sleeping with
him?’ she’d asked when Niall had gone to the marquee to get more drinks for them.
    ‘Of course I am. I’m practically living in his flat,’ Hilary laughed. She was glowing, she’d dropped weight, her hazel eyes were sparkling, and the new layered hairstyle
suited her chestnut locks. Colette couldn’t help the surge of envy that washed over her.
    ‘Have you met the parents?’
    ‘I have.’ Hilary grinned. ‘I was invited to Sunday lunch, the first time, and I was rattling, especially when Niall told me his mother only brought out the good china, and the
Irish-lace tablecloth, for very special occasions. I was petrified I’d drop gravy on it or something. But they were lovely and made me feel at home and I relaxed and we actually had a good
laugh. Now we get on very well. His dad has the same easy-going way as Niall and his mum spoils him rotten. Niall can do no wrong in her eyes and I was worried Margaret might see me as a rival
– you know the way some mothers-in-law are? But she’s very easy to get on with, thank goodness, although Niall’s sister’s a bit prickly.’ Hilary grimaced.
    ‘Older or younger?’ Colette probed.
    ‘Sue’s at least ten years older. I’ve only met her a couple of times, she doesn’t visit her parents that often. She’s very career orientated and very superior. A
bit up her own ass actually. Thinks she’s an “intellectual”. Looks down her nose at Niall’s music and wouldn’t be “seen dead” at a trad session. We
won’t be bosom buddies, for sure,’ Hilary observed ruefully.
    ‘So it’s
serious
? Is this what you’re telling me?’ Colette was taken aback at the speed of Hilary and Niall’s romance.
    ‘Yep!’ Hilary grinned. ‘We’re going to look at houses after Christmas!’
    That news had put a dampener on her visit home. It was unthinkable that Hilary would be married before she was. Colette had gone back to London with a mission. It was time to reel Des in.

C HAPTER T HREE
    ‘Now, son, are you
sure
you’re eating properly?’ Nancy Harpur asked anxiously, wishing she could get her hands on her only son to give him a decent
feed.
    ‘Mam, honest, I am,’ fibbed Jonathan, averting his eyes from the biscuit jar, the bread bin with the crusty baguettes and Maltana, and knowing that his small freezer compartment
contained a packet of processed chicken Kievs, while his fridge had a chunk of mouldy cheese, a black carrot, two splits of champagne and a bottle of Chardonnay.
    ‘What are you having for dinner today?’ Nancy demanded quick as a flash.
    ‘Chicken and veg,’ he riposted. ‘Lovely buttered carrots just like you make them.’
    ‘Good boy!’ she approved, appeased. ‘So how is work going?’
    ‘It’s OK. Busy.’ He nibbled on a bread stick, having no intention of telling his mother that he hated his job in the Civil Service and that his boss was a homophobic bully and
he felt sick to his stomach going in to work every day. His mother didn’t need to know
any
of that. ‘I’ve got another interior design commission,’ he said, changing
the subject. ‘And I’ll be needing curtains made up. Gorgeous gold brocade. I’ll bring the material down as soon as I’ve bought it.’
    ‘Grand, I’ll clear the decks so. I’ve been busy this last week with the sewing,’ Nancy said briskly, delighted with his news.
    ‘And I’m doing a lighting design course tomorrow, so I’m looking forward to that.’
    ‘I’m delighted you’re doing so well for yourself in Dublin. So pleased, Jon, you deserve it. You’re a great lad,’ Nancy praised, and Jonathan smiled. His mother was
his greatest champion, always had been, and always would be. He adored her.
    ‘How about we plan a weekend for you to come up soon and I’ll bring you shopping, and to the theatre, and we’ll have dinner somewhere posh?’
    ‘Ooohhh lovely!’ Nancy enthused. Going to spend a weekend with Jonathan was always fun from start