We were both manic readers. My library of Enid Blyton books was bigger than hers. It was so big that several weeks passed before I realised that Ellen was quietly stealing them from under my nose. One afternoon when we were in Ellen’s house, she proudly showed off her newly extended collection. Impressed, I took down a book and looked through it. My name on the inside cover had been clumsily scrubbed out. I looked at Ellen and said, “But these are my books!” Ellen panicked and snatching the book back said, “No, they’re mine now.” I had to fight her for them.

I lived very close to the school and walked home every day for my lunch. On the way, I passed Ballingcurrig Stores, outside of which were several bubble gum and gob stopper machines. I discovered one day, by accident, that one of the machines was faulty i.e. that you could turn the handle and still get a bubble gum without putting in the penny first. I couldn’t believe my luck. I cherished my secret stash and modestly rationed myself to two bubble gums a day. I let Ellen in on the secret. The day I told her, I went home for lunch as usual and passed the bubble gum machine. The glass bubble was half full. I nodded kindly at it and thought ‘See you on the way back, my friend.’ But when I returned the machine was empty. I assumed I had been rumbled and that the shop keeper had removed the loot. Back at school I sought out Ellen and told her that sadly our supply of bubble gums was no longer. She winked at me and cackled, “No I have them.” She told me that she had ran home at lunch time, got a large shopping bag and cleared the machine all in one go. I was stunned. “Give me some”, I said. “No, she replied, “They’re mine now.”

When we were both seventeen, we went up on the train to Dublin for a one day shopping extravaganza. We were like Ivana Trump and Paris Hilton on speed: we managed to get into every single shop on Grafton and O’Connell Street. We didn’t buy anything because we had almost no money but that didn’t slacken our fervour. Ellen warned me at the outset that we weren’t wasting any time stopping for lunch. However, around mid-afternoon; I crumbled and told her that I could not go on unless we ate something. Ellen rolled her eyes and consented to stop for five minutes. We went into a large fast food place on O’Connell Street which thank God no longer exists. We sat down at a table. My legs were killing me. I said, “OK, I’ll go up. What do you want?” Ellen pulling out a tin of tuna and a bread roll from her vast hand bag said, “A can opener.” In our early twenties, we loved going to night clubs not for the men but to dance. We had no shame, the emptier the dance floor the better. Sometimes we wouldn’t be let in at the door. Ellen would assume her thickest country accent and whine, “But we’re all the way from Fermoy.” It worked every time. I was chief bridesmaid at her wedding. Ellen’s mother said we were a disgrace in my blood red dress and Ellen, head to toe in dangling pearls and a plunging backless dress. Cork couldn’t contain Ellen: she was outrageous. I miss her.

When I was seventeen and had no money, I thought my only chance of going to college was if I could win a scholarship. I had an important interview for such an award. Anne at that time was struggling, surviving on a part-time job as she put herself through the local community college after serving in the army. I told her of my interview, that General Motors was sending me a bus ticket, and I would get to visit the city for my scholarship interview. It would be the first time I ever saw a city. I was excited about the adventure and asked her advice on what to wear. I showed her my best outfit and how I planned to be careful how I sat so that the hole in the bottom of my shoe would not be seen, but I wasn’t sure what I would do if it rained. I showed her how I would stand with my arm slightly in front of me to hide the blemish from my factory-second pants from the farmers’ market. My best blouse was a find at a yard sale, slightly faded but still pretty.

Anne suggested that we go shopping, and we took the bus to the JCPenney store. She took me to the shoe department, and we found a beautiful pair of leather shoes on sale. She told me to try them on, but I thought it was just for fun as neither of us had ever owned anything that expensive before. Sometimes we did go shopping together and tried on things just to see what they looked and felt like, but we never could afford to buy them. It was like playing dressup. But this time was different. Anne handed me the boxed shoes and said, “Here, I’ll buy these for you.” “But . . .” was all I could say. “You deserve them,” she replied. “This interview is important. I want to see you get that scholarship.” I was speechless as I knew this was a lot of money for her, and she would probably have to eat nothing but ramen noodles for at least a month. I went to the interview and crossed my legs so that my beautiful new shoes shone with pride. I won the scholarship and became an engineer. Although they were nice leather everyday shoes, I didn’t wear them much because they were so special. I hope Anne didn’t think I did not like them or something. Now, after twenty years have passed, I still have that pair of shoes with me, and I just wear them on those little occasions when I need to feel special. It’s kind of like having magic ruby slippers when you’re homesick.

Life is what it is. How you see it is what you are. I was ready to strangle this person. My sister urged me to bite my tongue and to use soft words since I might have to eat them afterwards. “If she bothers you that much avoid her and if you do see her, keep it light and frothy.” I tried that. Returning from a holiday, I made a comment about the rain. She looked at me and whined, “The weather was great until you arrived.” I snapped back and said, “Do you ever say anything nice?” She looked startled, “What do you mean?” My sister looked at me with pleading eyes but I plunged on, “If everything is so terrible, why don’t you emigrate?” She looked at me crossly and said, “I’m very content!” Enduring one socio-path who lived next door to me several years ago and who decided I was her ‘friend’ forced me to give some serious thought as to what makes a friend. I googled, I read, I researched and stewed on it for days. Friendship, like all healthy relationships, is about give and take. How much give and how much take must feel comfortable to both parties. Every time, I was with this woman I felt fleeced and she always managed to hoodwink me into minding her children. She seemed incapable of considering anyone else’s needs but her own. I decided in this case the pendulum had swung too far into her court on the take side and I had had enough. I felt incredibly guilty because she was supposed to be my friend but it was getting to the point that I dreaded the sight of her. Then the penny dropped: I didn’t like her. It didn’t lessen the guilt but it did make it easier to finally say to her enough is enough. I chose my moment carefully to tell her the earth shattering news. She shrugged and said that’s ok. The following week she found someone else. Then I was furious. I had put up with her greed all that time purely because I was incapable of saying no. In dealing with miserable people, although it conflicts deeply with my nosy tendencies, I think the Light and Frothy approach is the only way. You can include many positive people in your life but misery merchants are unavoidable if you are related to, live next door, or you work with one.

I worked with a girl years ago and if you asked her how her weekend went, she nearly always dissolved into tears. Her boyfriend stood her up and then made her eat humble pie, a friend got crushed under a tree, she had a fight with the postman. Everything was a disaster. In the beginning, I did the right thing and listened. I would give her my sixpence worth as to how she could resolve her bottomless pit of issues but I soon found myself short of breath: she wasn’t listening. She was waiting for me to shut up so she could say, Yes, but…..” I had to become selfish and avoid engaging her in conversation in anything deeper than the weather. That’s why the weather is so useful: there’s endless variation to it, it’s neutral; it doesn’t care what politics you follow, what race you are or whether you go to mass: the sun shines equally for everyone.