Driving Home for Christmas

by Emma Hannigan

  ‘Sam never complained,’ Lexie said, trying not to get irritated with her mother. ‘In fact, I pushed for the new units more than he did.’

  Taking the stairs two at a time, she grabbed a cardigan to pop in her bag in case there was a cool breeze coming in from the sea. She brushed her teeth, then checked her face in the mirror for flakes of mascara or stray spatters of eye-shadow on her cheek. Pulling her long dark hair into a clip, she decided she’d do. She hoped the short walk between the house and the gallery would kick-start her tan. She thought of poor Sam, who went the colour of a beetroot almost instantly in the sun. Even if they were sitting in the garden for a drink he had to lather himself in high-factor cream. Yesterday evening she’d brought them a glass of chilled white wine each, and tossed the tube of sun screen to him. ‘From blue to burn in sixty seconds! That’s my man!’ she said.

  They teased one another endlessly, that was their way, but underneath it, they were inseparable. The only time she knew Sam got slightly peeved was when she and Maia went too far with the sisterhood gibes. ‘When God created man she was only joking,’ Maia had slurred last Sunday, at their barbecue.

  ‘Lex,’ Sam whispered, ‘don’t get into the whole men-are-worms vibe. It’s embarrassing for Josh and me.’

  As she ran down the stairs, plucking her handbag from the hall table, the photographic portrait, taken around the time of their engagement, stared back at her. She was incredibly fortunate that their relationship had stood the test of time, she thought. So many of their friends were now either single or in second partnerships. Maia was making a very nice living on other people’s failed marriages.

  The second she banged the front door shut, her mobile rang. Stuffing the cardigan into her bag, she retrieved her phone just in time. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said.

  ‘Hello, love. Isn’t it a lovely bright day?’ Penelope said.

  ‘Hm, gorgeous,’ Lexie said, shouldering the phone to her ear as she turned the Chubb lock in the door. ‘I’m just on the way to the gallery. Any news?’

  ‘I could ask you the same,’ Penelope responded.

  ‘Not a dicky-bird,’ Lexie said. ‘I’ll be in work until lunchtime. Kate is covering the afternoon shift and I might head out for a run on the pier later. What are you up to today?’

  ‘I was going to see if you’d meet me for lunch,’ Penelope said. ‘Dad and I have been chatting. Your fortieth birthday is around the corner. Have you any plans at all?’

  ‘It’s not until September, Mum. It’s May now, for crying out loud!’

  ‘It’ll be June tomorrow,’ Penelope corrected. ‘Poor Amélie starts her fifth-year exams in the morning. Billy and Dee are tearing their hair out with her. She hasn’t opened a book, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. My niece is a clever girl. She’s probably done more work than they think.’

  ‘Well, unless they’ve added a study hall to the shopping centre, I sincerely doubt it. She’s turned into a bit of a madam lately. Dee is at her wits’ end. She’ll be leaving school next year. The time to cop on is running out.’

  ‘Lighten up, Mum, for Pete’s sake! Amélie’s seventeen. She’s supposed to rebel against everything. I’d be more worried if she didn’t,’ Lexie said.

  ‘Now, that’s just ridiculous, Lexie. Amélie is in danger of becoming a problem. Billy is too soft with her and leaves all the disciplining to Dee. It’s not right.’

  ‘Mum, it’s none of our business what Amélie, Dee or Billy does in the comfort of their own home. I doubt Amélie is the first teenager to find study a bore and she certainly won’t be the last.’

  ‘You treat her like one of your friends, Lexie. I’m not sure that’s appropriate, considering her current behaviour. Maybe if you took a more removed approach to her it might help Dee and Billy,’ Penelope suggested.

  ‘I can’t help it if Amélie thinks I’m cool,’ Lexie quipped. ‘Besides, she needs to feel there’s at least one person batting on her team. I remember what it’s like when you think the whole world is against you. I wouldn’t go back to being a teenager for any money.’

  ‘Well, that’s neither here nor there,’ Penelope said. ‘So, can you meet me for lunch later? Why don’t we go to the noodle bar on the promenade? Say, one thirty? Will that give you enough time? We can have a better chat face to face.’

  Knowing her mother would probably turn up at the gallery if she didn’t meet her, Lexie agreed. At least this way they’d be in a neutral venue and she could leave if necessary.

  Chapter 2

  AS SHE WALKED INTO THE ARRIVALS AREA OF Dublin airport, Kathleen felt more at ease than she had for weeks. The luggage trolley had a mind of its own and kept veering to the right. Stopping to scan the crowd, she waved tentatively at the man holding a sign with her name on.

  ‘Kathleen Williams?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s me,’ she confirmed happily.

  ‘Let me take that yoke for you,’ the man said, commandeering the trolley. ‘You’ll do yourself an injury. It’s easier to control a box of frogs than one of these things.’

  Kathleen thanked him and grinned from ear to ear. It’d been such a long time since she’d heard the Irish wit first hand. Her parents had immigrated to America to find work when she was a child. Now a silvery-blonde woman of seventy-four, she’d forgotten how much she loved this type of banter.

  ‘So let me guess,’ the taxi driver said, as they sat into his car. ‘You’re here to find your roots?’

  ‘Got it in one!’ Kathleen said. ‘I’m not totally bats, though. In my defence I was born in Dublin and lived in Caracove until I was eight. So I’ve got fairly fresh roots here – for an American,’ she added.

  ‘Fair enough.’ He nodded. ‘So what brings you home after all this time?’

  ‘My husband, Jackson, bought me a ticket and it would’ve been rude not to use it,’ she said.

  ‘Didn’t he want to come with you?’

  ‘He couldn’t make it this time.’

  ‘Probably better off that way.’ The man chuckled. ‘Visiting old haunts with someone else is almost as bad as going shopping, if you ask me.’

  Kathleen laughed.

  ‘So where are we going?’ the driver asked.

  ‘Caracove Bay, please.’

  ‘Ah, Caracove Bay by the sea!’ he said. ‘Lovely spot, isn’t it? You’ll see a big change, I reckon. For the better, mind you. They’ve done up the promenade area – paved it and built lovely glass-fronted restaurants. The big park is a hive of activity now too. The old swings were repaired and a whole host of kiddie rides and slides have been added.’

  ‘How wonderful!’ Kathleen said. ‘Is the bandstand still there?’

  ‘Indeed it is. There’s music of all sorts at the weekends and during the summer.’

  ‘That sounds gorgeous,’ Kathleen said. ‘What about the town? Is it still buzzy?’

  ‘Some of the shops have closed down due to the recession, but the main street is still as alive as ever, I think you’ll find. It’s pedestrianised now and it works well. There was some talk of a modern shopping centre being added a couple of years back but so many of the locals objected the idea was scrapped. I think they were right, too. Caracove Bay has managed to hold on to her old-world charm without remaining in the dark ages.’

  Kathleen marvelled at the changes as they made their way down the impressive motorway. ‘None of this existed when I left. It’s unrecognisable, actually,’ she said, a little deflated.

  ‘Ah, it’s all built up along here, but once we turn off and veer towards the coast you’ll see some familiar sights.’

  The driver was right. Less than an hour later, as they went along the sea road, Kathleen was like a child in a sweet shop as she pinned her gaze on the sights. ‘The old swimming baths! There used to be an ice-cream shop there.’

  ‘Indeed there was,’ the driver said. ‘That must be gone twenty years by now. Are you staying at the Caracove Arms Hotel, love?’

  ‘Oh,’ Kathleen
said, suddenly flustered. ‘Would you believe I haven’t made a reservation? I’ve had a bit of a gruelling time of it lately. I thought I was doing brilliantly just getting here. I hadn’t thought ahead.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll have plenty of room. I know a couple of the staff there. I’ll see they look after you.’

  ‘Would you mind if we pop by my old house first?’ Kathleen asked. ‘I’ve written to the owners asking if I might call some day. Do you think they’d allow me?’

  ‘I’m sure they would. A lovely lady like yourself. Why not, eh?’ he said cheerfully. ‘There’s no harm in asking, I’d say.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. The address is number three Cashel Square, Caracove,’ she instructed.

  ‘No bother, love,’ said the driver. ‘It’s literally five minutes away.’

  Suddenly Kathleen was quite overcome with emotion. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. After all this time she was going to see her childhood home again. She wished Jackson were there to share the moment.

  ‘Here we are, Cashel Square.’

  As the driver turned the cab into the left, the park, with its white-painted iron railings, came into view. Kathleen gasped as they pulled up outside number three. ‘Wow! It looks better than I remember,’ she managed, her voice quite choked.

  ‘The owners have spent a few bob on it, I’d say.’

  ‘It certainly looks well loved,’ she agreed. ‘Could you give me a moment?’

  ‘Take all the time you want, love,’ the driver said, turning off the engine.

  Kathleen released her seatbelt and eased herself out of the car. She was stiff from all the travelling. Inhaling deeply, she was holding back tears.

  The once black door was now a cheerful shade of cornflower blue. The brass fixings were polished to a gleaming shine, and the woodwork around the window frames was flawless.

  Wooden boxes were filled to spilling point with delicate blooms in varied shades of pink. The railings were expertly painted without a sign of rust. The granite steps were scrubbed, showing none of the dirt she remembered from her childhood. Memories of days at the beach, trips to the town and cold winter winds echoed through the corridors of her mind.

  Afraid she’d get caught snooping and ruin her chance of being allowed inside, Kathleen pulled the letter she’d written on the plane from her handbag. Under her signature, she added the name of the hotel she was planning to stay at and popped the letter into the iron post-box attached to the gate. Saying a quick prayer, she hoped with all her heart that the owners would be welcoming.

  ‘Is that it?’ the driver asked, looking surprised. ‘I thought I’d have time for a quick nod-off.’

  ‘I don’t want to appear too pushy,’ she said. ‘I’m terrified of being told to go away.’

  ‘If they’re any way decent, the owners will invite you in,’ he assured her.

  Kathleen stared at the square as they drove around the park and out the other side. She rattled her brain to remember the neighbours’ names. ‘Mrs Caddy lived in number eight,’ she recalled. ‘She hated children and we called her Mrs Crabby behind her back.’

  ‘We all knew someone like that as children!’ The driver laughed. ‘You’d wonder why they were so cranky. I’d never bark at a small child now that I’m an adult, would you?’

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t,’ she agreed. Although she was reluctant to leave Cashel Square, Kathleen was truly worn out. Jet lag and exhaustion crept over her, making her eyes burn and her limbs long to stretch out.

  Mercifully the Caracove Arms had a room available. True to his word, the driver spoke to his friend and made sure she was welcomed with open arms.

  ‘Thank you for being so lovely,’ Kathleen said, handing him the fare with a generous tip.

  ‘The pleasure is all mine. Great to meet you and I hope you have a fantastic stay.’

  Not up to facing a table for one, Kathleen ordered a portion of Irish stew and a glass of cold milk to be served in her room. She managed to stay awake long enough for the meal to be delivered. The lamb was cooked to perfection. Knowing she shouldn’t give in to sleep until that evening if she were to overcome the jet lag, she perched in an armchair and tried to watch the television. She toyed with the idea of turning her cell phone off and decided against it on the off-chance that her letter might prompt a response. Before long her head slumped forward as sleep enveloped her.

  Dear Diary

  I’ve been having – hash-tag – THE worst time. I know it’s her job but my Mum is like so so so so *multiplied by a trillion times* ANNOYING.

  All she cares about is study. She’s acting as if my exams are more important than world hunger.

  These exams are a total waste of space. They’re not my school-leaving ones, just lame end-of-year joke stuff. The real deal is a whole year away. I keep pointing this out to my mother but she’s on this mega-rant and once she gets started it’s blah, blah and triple blah. They’re totally meh, which roughly translates as who gives a toss?

  At times like this, I wish I had a brother or sister to take the heat off. At least if there was someone else in the house I could sound off at them.

  (a)That would mean I didn’t have to write this diary.

  (b)I could blame him/her for everything.

  It’s not all bad news, however. In spite of my mother I’m managing to distract myself in these times of stress. I’ve met this guy. He’s called Elton (named after his mum’s fave singer – he can totally handle it) and I can safely say he is a total mint-bomb.

  When I first met him I thought he was a bit out there. You know the type, bit of a deep thinker and comes out with loads of random stuff that makes you, like, huh? But once you get to know him, he’s just the bomb.

  He says we connected. I totally feel it too.

  There’s one slight hitch in heaven. He’s dating this girl Jenny. She’s in the year ahead of me in school and she’s totally wrapped up in him. She’s one of those foghorn types so the whole school knows she’s his GF.

  He says she was fun for a while but she’s been buried in books for weeks and refuses to go out. He’s so over her.

  I feel bad that he’s dumping her for me. But all’s fair in love and war, right?!

  I’d say she’s going to be devastated. I mean, I would be if he was dumping me. But Elton says there’s no time to stand and stare in this life, we’ve got to roll with the punches.

  We kissed last night. Elton ended up with my chewing gum in his mouth. He pulled his hand through his hair, said, ‘Thanks for the gum, doll,’ and walked off. Slick.

  He’s texting me when the deed is done and we’re hooking up.

  I was going to wear my cropped Abercrombie trakkie bottoms with a tight vest. But I’m not sure Elton is a labels type of guy. He’s not grungy but he’s all about saving the whale and world peace and carbon footprints. So he may not appreciate me rocking up in gear festooned with names. He had a rant at one of the guys about his DKNY shirt. Said it’s free advertising on behalf of the label. I never thought of it like that. Elton’s so deep.

  Other proposed outfit is yellow baby-doll dress with All Stars. Guys go for the super-cute look, don’t they? Even if he’s saving the planet he’d prefer to do it with a good-looking girlfriend, surely. I found a fiver in Mum’s raincoat pocket yesterday. As it was left there I figured she wouldn’t need it so I’m going to buy fake tan. I’ll be rocking the mahogany look.

  Tomorrow is going to be über-sick. #excited

  Later

  Amélie

  Watch out for Emma Hannigan’s stunning new novel, THE SECRETS WE SHARE, coming soon …

  Clara Conway is a woman with secrets.

  But consequently, Clara’s family is falling apart. Her son Max emigrated to the US years ago and she has yet to meet her teenage granddaughter, Nathalie … because Max and his mother no longer speak.

  Meanwhile Clara’s daughter Ava is fighting for a piece of happiness. When Clara unexpectedly reaches out to Nathalie and her
niece comes to visit, Ava’s thoughts turn to Max, the brother she loved and lost. The brother whose abrupt disappearance left the Conway family heartbroken.

  When Nathalie finds a pile of torn, faded letters, she unlocks the door to Clara’s past. Can Nathalie’s time with her grandmother start to right some very old wrongs? And can Clara find a way to reach out to Max and thereby begin to heal the whole family once more?

  After all, some secrets are meant to be shared …

  What makes a house a home? Return to Huntersbrook in Emma Hannigan’s warm novel of family and friendship …

  Holly Craig’s family have lived happily in Huntersbrook for generations but when times grow hard, even she must admit defeat and sell off their once-successful stables.

  The three Craig children, Lainey, Joey and Pippa find themselves locked in a fight to keep their beloved Huntersbrook; dare they transform it into one of Ireland’s most sought after countryside venues?

  Renovation work is well underway when life rears its ugly head and everything stops in its tracks. The Craig family is forced to reassess what matters and although they no longer live at Huntersbrook, can the house work its magic even so … and lead them into the light once more?

  A heartwarming novel of love, friendship and coming home from this bestselling author …

  When actress Jodi Ludlum returns to the Dublin village of Bakers Valley to raise her young son, she’s determined to shield him from the media glare that follows her in LA. But coming home means leaving her husband behind – and waking old ghosts.

  Francine Hennessy was born and raised in Bakers Valley. To all appearances, she is the model wife, mother, home-maker and career woman. But, behind closed doors, Francine’s life is crumbling around her.