It was as they chatted, allowing their pulses to calm, that they heard the distinct and loud knocking on the front door, followed by Phil’s voice calling, ‘Enya! Open up! Enya!’
‘Shit! It’s my dad!’ Holly ran down the stairs while Enya grabbed her cotton dressing gown and popped it on over her summer PJs. She held her breath, wondering what Phil might have to say, wondering why he was knocking, considering their last horrid encounter.
Holly opened the front door and Phil rushed in, shoulders back, baseball bat in hand. ‘Holly! What are you doing here? What’s happened? We heard screaming!’
‘Nothing, it’s nothing, Dad, we’re fine.’
‘It didn’t sound like nothing.’ His chest heaved.
‘I gave Enya a fright and she returned the favour,’ Holly explained.
‘Why aren’t you at home?’
‘I fell asleep.’ Holly shrugged.
Enya watched from the stairs as Phil went briefly into the kitchen and back out again. ‘Tell you what, it gave me a fright too,’ he commented as he poked his head into the sitting room, checking the coast was clear, before finally coming to a stop in the hallway. She felt relief and something very close to hope to see Phil rushing to her defence when he thought it was needed. Nothing less than Jonathan would expect, and she was grateful.
‘Shall I call the police?’
It was this question that alerted Enya to Maeve’s presence, the older woman standing in her pale-blue nightdress on the front step with a milk pan in her hand and two curlers at the front of her hair.
‘Heisthe police, Maeve.’ Jenny’s voice now, the woman just out of sight.
Jenny! Her best friend, here too!She felt the bubble of happiness in her stomach.
‘I know that,’ Maeve snapped, ‘but does he need backup?’
Had there not been so much confusion at this late hour in their usually quiet cul-de-sac, Enya would have laughed out loud. Maeve had clearly been watching too many cop dramas on TV.
‘What are you doing here, Holly?’ Phil repeated.
‘As I said, I, I fell asleep on Aiden’s bed. Enya didn’t know I was here – I crept into her room and scared her.’
‘You could say that.’ She trod down the stairs and switched the kitchen lights on. ‘Would anyone like a cup of tea?’
It was the kind of situation Jonathan would have found hilarious. The three households standing in the kitchen in their nightwear, all except Phil, who wore a set of grey prison sweats that earlier in their friendship, before the great rift had occurred and all interactions were riven with fragile emotions, she would have asked if he’d stolen, a perk of the job.
Jenny took a seat at the kitchen table as she had a thousand times before and Maeve and Phil followed suit. It was a small act, this gathering, but spoke of reconciliation, of familiarity, and after the day spent at The Mount, she was entirely grateful. Just being in Jenny’s presence was a reminder of how much they had shared, all the confidences exchanged over the years, the advice given and more laughter than this whole house could hold. Her best friend. Enya swallowed her tears. It was not the time for tears, it was time to put the kettle on.
Enya sipped the tea and felt the restorative nectar slip down her throat. It was good to know that in case of an emergency, she was guaranteed a decent turnout by way of response, although she was still a little unsure of what Maeve might achieve with her weapon of choice – the old milk pan that now sat on the table.
‘How’re you doing, Holly?’ Maeve reached out and patted the girl’s arm.
‘I’m okay. All good, really.’
‘She’s getting there, aren’t you, love?’ Jenny added, and Enya felt the unspoken judgement of Aiden land all around them. He was, after all, the reason for this sorry mess in the first place. Not for the first time she felt conflicted, wanting to defend her son, but also uncomfortable with his actions.
‘I’ve started knitting.’ Maeve smiled. ‘I’m making a shawl for the little one, and then I’m going to do a cot blanket.’
‘Oh, Maeve, thank you.’ Holly smiled back. ‘I thought about knitting something but don’t seem to have the energy for it.’
‘Well, thank goodness for you, Maeve. I couldn’t knit a stitch, but I’m good at playing hide-and-seek, and I can read a mean bedtime story.’ Enya wanted to add her contribution.
‘I bought a couple of nursery rhyme books this week.’ Jenny beamed over the top of her mug. It was a second of normality, of ease, a reminder of their lovely friendship.
‘We should make sure we don’t get the same books, Jen. I’ve still got most of Aiden’s from when he was little. All the classics,Can’t You Sleep, Little Bear?andPeepo!’ She felt it important to mention her son, keep him here in his home and in this scenario, despite his absence.
‘Oh, she used to lovePeepo!’ Jenny smiled at her daughter.
