A Time for Friends by Patricia Scanlan Read Free Book Online

sobs so that no one would know that he was crying. Many times he had cried silent tears; he would cry many more, he
suspected. But he would never allow himself to be abused and bullied again. Thanks to his counsellor Hannah, he was working through the trauma of his childhood sexual abuse at the hands of his
neighbour all those years ago.
    He would make an appointment to see her soon and speak to her of today’s events. It would be interesting to see if this bully would continue his bullying, Jonathan mused as he moseyed into
the small kitchenette and took the bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge. Gerard Hook was a typical playground bully. Jonathan had fought them many times before, often coming home with a black eye
or a bloodied nose, much to his mother’s dismay. Although she never brought up the subject, Jonathan knew that his mother knew and accepted that he was gay. It was a comfort to him that the
subject had never come up for discussion. It was no big deal, as it should not be. He was Jonathan, her son, and that was all that mattered. He wondered would the day ever come when he would be
accepted in society for who he was as a person, irrespective of his sexuality.
    He poured himself a glass of wine and took a big notebook from his work shelf. He flicked through his notes on colour temperature and colour rendering and how important they were for commercial
lighting. Office lighting was generally low-energy fluorescent in cool white. He hated the white strip lights in the office with a vengeance, with their irritating hum and constant flicker. He was
more interested in domestic lighting, and especially how lamps, uplighters and downlighters could create a warm and cosy ambience. He always felt he’d achieved something when he persuaded his
growing list of clients to change from harsh central lighting to diffused glows around the room. If only he could make a career out of his interior design business. It was his dearest wish and his
greatest goal. That and resigning from his permanent and pensionable job and telling Gerard Hook he could get stuffed!

C HAPTER F OUR
    Hilary stood outside the city centre hotel suite where the lighting design course was being held, rooting frantically in her bag for her registration document. She was sure she
had put it in with a shopping list and two bills she had written cheques for that needed posting.
    The door to the small foyer burst open and a tall, lanky man with a mop of blond hair flopping into his eyes, and carrying a large pink folder under his arm and wearing the pointiest shoes she
had ever seen, hurried towards her, panting. Hilary paused from her rooting and grinned in spite of herself. Someone else late too, she thought with relief, glad she wouldn’t have to slink in
bashfully alone.
    ‘Hi, is this where the lighting design course is? Are you doing it too?’ He sounded breathless but he managed a smile.
    ‘Yes, if I can find my registration letter.’ Hilary resumed her rooting.
    ‘You remind me of my sister, she carries a sack too,’ he said, eyeing her large tote bag. ‘We’ll go in together, it’s probably started. It’s a quarter to ten
and it was starting at 9.30 sharp! As it said in the letter. I’m Jonathan. Jonathan Harpur.’
    ‘Oh! I’m Hilary Hammond’ she responded, thoroughly irritated with herself and wondering if in fact she’d put the letter and bills in the dashboard of her car which was
parked a good ten minutes’ walk away.
    ‘Right, deep breath then,’ the man said, inhaling loudly before wincing.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ Hilary asked.
    ‘I drank a bottle of Chardonnay on an empty stomach, and feel a tad iffy,’ he murmured, opening the large green door.
    A group of around thirty people sat taking notes from the diminutive, bespectacled lecturer, who was pointing to an image on a large screen of a shop-floor display of fabrics, and talking about
something called metal halide lighting. Hilary knew that shop or store