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“Shay?” she asked.
I dropped her hand and signed, What aren’t you telling me?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t understand that. Do you want to write it down? It’ll take me a minute, but I’ll be able to read it.”
Frustrated, I pulled out my phone and typed the same question I’d just signed at her. She took the phone, a concentrated expression on her face as she started to read it. Daniel sniffed at another dog that walked by with its owner. Maggie finally handed me back the phone and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
I shot her a glower.
“You’re very expressive.”
Yes, I was aware of that. I had to be when often my face was the only way to get my point across. I continued glowering at her, and she let out a heavy breath. “Okay, fine. Today isn’t the first time I’ve met your friend Nigel,” she said and began walking again.
As soon as the words left her mouth, my stomach dropped as I fell into step beside her. My initial instinct was something happened between them, and I was filled with jealousy. Nigel went out with his work friends all the time. What if he and Maggie met at pub or a club and slept together? The very thought made me feel ill. I was possessive over Maggie, whatever it was we shared, and I hated the idea of her being with my best friend.
“It was a couple of weeks ago now,” Maggie continued, and I braced myself to hear the story of her meeting Nigel at a pub, him chatting her up at the bar. But that wasn’t the story. Far from it.
“I was in my flat after work one night, and there were a bunch of people outside making a racket. There’s a pub just down the road, so we often get rowdy groups passing by. Anyway, I ignored them, hoping they’d move on, but after half an hour, they were still out there.” She paused to swallow. “Your friend Nigel was among them. My upstairs neighbour, Siobhan, she’s in her sixties. When she opened her window asking the group to stop making so much noise, Nigel was particularly rude to her. Then my other neighbour, Bob, who’s seventy, went outside to have a word with them. Everyone moved on by then, but Nigel remained. He stole Bob’s walking stick and began intimidating him with it. Even when I came out and told him the Gardaí had been called, he still didn’t leave. It was only when he heard sirens he finally fled. Poor Bob was shaken by the incident. And I know Nigel was drunk, but that’s still no excuse.”
I stared at her, my stomach turning for a whole other reason now. I couldn’t believe Nigel would act in such a way, but then, I wasn’t around him a lot when he drank, and from the emotion in Maggie’s voice as she recounted the incident, I knew she wasn’t lying. My expression hardened as I pulled out my phone. I needed to have a word with my friend.
“What are you doing?” Maggie asked, watching as I typed. “Are you messaging him?”
Me: You’re an arsehole.
His response was almost instantaneous.
Nigel: Fuck. She told you, didn’t she?
Me: Yep.
Nigel: Look, I was really drunk that night.
Me: I don’t want to hear it. You’re a dick. I can’t believe you tried acting like there was something off about Maggie just because she saw you making a drunken arse of yourself.
I put my phone back in my pocket. It vibrated with another message, but I’d check it later. I was too furious to keep texting with him.
“I don’t mean to cause trouble between the two of you,” Maggie said quietly as we reached a row of houses.
I sent her a look that said I was glad she’d told me the truth. If my friend was out there bullying older people outside their homes, then I needed to set him straight that it was shitty behaviour. If that was the way Nigel wanted to behave, then I didn’t want his friendship, even if we’d known one another for going on twenty-eight years.
Maggie paused in front of a blue door, the paint peeling away from the wood.
“This is me,” she said, pulling her keys from her bag. She hesitated, glancing from me to the door. “Um, I’d invite you in, but your house is so lovely, and my flat is …” she trailed off, and I recognised the look on her face. Shame. “My flat isn’t the best.”
I placed my hand on her shoulder and held her gaze, hoping she could see in my eyes I’d never judge her for where she lived. My house was nice, sure, but it was my dad’s house, not mine. He made a decent living working as a manager at the Cadbury factory for thirty years, which allowed him to buy our house. I knew how difficult buying property and renting was nowadays. My brother and Dawn had gone through hell bidding on houses before they finally found a place within their budget. I imagined it was even more hellish being a renter like Maggie.
