‘Noah, I don’t smoke.’ Roisin was indignant.
‘No, but it looked like you were, Mummy.’
Elsa shook her grey chin-length hair which was as inflexible as she was, thanks to the liberal misting of Elnett hairspray each morning. Roisin watched her lips purse signalling disapproval and it made her think of a cat’s arse. Jaysus, she was really getting into the swing of things, Roisin thought, giving her Christmas finery the once over as they were swept in from the cold. Elsa had teemed her handknitted red reindeer sweater with a pair of fat twin Santa Clauses dangling from her ear lobes. As the front door was closed behind her, Roisin’s sense of smell was assaulted simultaneously with the aroma of roasting goose and her mother-in-law’s heady floral fragrance, Joy. She’d be a nightmare to get stuck in a lift with, Roisin had often thought, sure you’d suffocate from the fumes coming off her before anyone come to the rescue.
‘Shoes off, Noah, please,’ Roisin bossed as Elsa busied herself unwrapping him and hanging his coat up on the hooks by the door leaving her to stamp the snow off her boots and shrug out of her coat. She felt very un-Christmassy compared to her mother-in-law in her plain grey wrap dress. It had seemed simple and stylish when she’d put it on that morning, the perfect outfit for a date with her ex-husband and his mother, nothing flashy, no hint of cleavage or thigh to be disapproved over, but now it just seemed drab. She fluffed her hair up knowing the woolly hat she’d pulled on would have flattened it.
‘Colin’s just on a business call. He works so hard that boy, he never stops,’ Elsa said, herding them into the front room. ‘The fire’s roaring. Go and warm yourselves up. I’ve just got to baste the goose and then I’ll bring some light refreshments through. I’ll be back in a jiffy.’
You’d think she was entertaining the landed gentry, Roisin thought. It was going to be a long day. She poked her head back out the door and called out, ‘I feel terrible arriving empty handed. I would’ve been happy to bring a dessert or a bottle of wine.’ The older woman had been insistent she not bring anything and the bag of begrudged presents she was clutching didn’t count. Elsa’s sprightly form didn’t falter as she marched down the hall waving the comment away.
‘Nonsense, Roisin, I always think homemade is so much nicer than shop bought and Colin has a good nose for wine.’
Roisin mouthed, ‘Bitch,’ behind her back and Colin had a fecking big conker, that’s what he had, nose for wine my arse. She stood still for a moment and breathed in slowly through her nostrils then exhaled in a slow hiss through her mouth just as she did in her yoga sessions. She was a long way from feeling mindful but it did unknot the twisted feeling her mother-in-law was so adept at bringing out in her.
‘Mummy, look at the tree!’
It was real of course, Roisin thought, turning to admire it. It was standing proudly in its bucket giving off a gorgeous scent of pine which was mingling with the woodsmoke from the crackling fire in the hearth. The house had central heating and Elsa only got the fire going on special occasions but there really was something inviting about an open fire, and she looked at the flames leap and dance for a second before turning her attention back to the tree and her son who was squealing with delight at the packages laid out around it.
The decorations dripped from the green fronds which bowed under the weight of them despite the sturdy branches. Roisin knew amongst all the tinsel and baubles were the ornaments Colin would have hung. A new one bought for each of his birthdays. It was a tradition Elsa was carrying on with Noah and five would be set aside for him to place on the tree today. She felt a pang, thinking about the measly fake excuse for a fir tree brought on a rushed trip to Argos earlier in the week. She’d poked it in the corner of their flat trying not to feel let down by its lacklustre appearance which seemed to scream, ‘I couldn’t be arsed!’. There’d been no point in sourcing a real tree though, not with them heading over to Dublin tomorrow.
She’d done her best to make decorating it fun, popping on the Christmas CD she always played this time of year. Christmas wasn’t Christmas without a bit of Band Aid and she did so love doing the Simon le Bon bit. She’d straightened its sparse wire branches, getting Noah to unearth his favourite trimmings from the old suitcase she’d brought with them from their old house. They’d whiled away all of five minutes dressing it, and Noah had asked, as he hung the wooden gingerbread man he’d painted when he was three, if the tree was sick. ‘Mummy, it really doesn’t look very well you know.’
He was right and as she’d stood back to look at their handiwork she’d sighed. She could hear Mammy in her ear and knew exactly what she’d say if she was there, ‘You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, Roisin.’ Feeling Noah’s eyes on her she’d been tempted to tell him that sometimes in life you got what you paid for but he didn’t need to know that, not yet anyway. So, instead she told him she thought the tree might be suffering from tinselitis. He’d whiled away a good hour after that with his little red doctor’s kit. Yes, even dripping with Christmassy embellishments their Argos special came a very poor second to this majestic fir tree that had taken up residence in the Quealeys’ front room. The sheer size of it rivalled Enid Blyton’s Faraway tree. If only she could clamber up it and escape through the cloud at the top to the land of anywhere but here.
She remembered the bag of gifts she’d bought. There was a bar of Joy soap for Elsa—she couldn’t stretch to an actual bottle this year but the Boots’ girl had assured her the soap was a triple milled, French luxury that wouldn’t turn to sludge as it sat beside the bath. There was the usual bottle of malt whisky for Colin and, just because she wanted her presence registered under the tree where Noah was concerned today, a box of Lego. The bloody stuff cost a fortune and should come with a health warning for parents to always wear shoes once opened she’d griped, wrapping it when her son had been brushing his teeth earlier that morning.
‘Here, Noah, put these under the tree.’ He was already on his hands and knees inspecting the labels on the cheerily wrapped packages leaning against the bucket and ignored the rustle of plastic she set down next to him. He picked one up and prodded at it, a frown of concentration on his face. It was mean the way Elsa always made him wait until after lunch to open his presents. She was a stickler for her traditions and Roisin knew the drill. There would be drinks and nibbles first, followed by a lunch far too big for the four of them, then it would be back here where Noah could finally rip into his presents before doling out the rest of the gifts. Then, it would be time for a game of charades followed by coffee, served in the silver plunger which, like the fire, was reserved for special occasions, and finally a film. The Quality Street would be produced with a flourish but a beady eye would be kept on those attempting to take more than one at a time. Roisin sighed at the thought of it all. She planned on making their escape by four thirty which was the earliest they could politely do so. This would give her enough time to pack for their flight in the morning.
The thought of her mammy and sisters lifted her, she was looking forward to seeing them. It had been over two months since they’d last all been together and although she spoke to one of them every other day it wasn’t the same as being there amongst it all. So much had happened since she’d returned from that last trip to Dublin, a newly separated woman who had to somehow find a new life for herself in London. Her brain was still whirring with it all but she hadn’t looked back, not once.
Mammy of course had been insistent on meeting them at the airport and that she and Noah come to her in Howth when they arrived. The thing was, her new apartment chosen for its seaside location wasn’t O’Mara’s. The apartment on the top floor of the family guesthouse was home. Roisin wanted to be back in her old room, to join in with the bickering between Moira and Aisling. Truth be told she’d have given anything to have Mammy and Daddy back under that roof too, but time didn’t stand still and things had changed with Daddy’s passing. She didn’t blame Mammy for moving, she could understand the need for a new beginning aft
er her life had been thrown off course.
Mammy had done the hard sell and would have given any estate agent a run for their money as she emphasised her apartment’s seaside location and stunning views. To which Rosie had replied, given the time of year the water was fit for polar bears not people, come to that it was pretty much the same in summertime too. In the end it was decided they’d stay that first night at Mammy’s and then play it by ear.
She wondered what the Christmas tree in the foyer of O’Mara’s looked like and smiled at the thought of Aisling and Bronagh, the guesthouse’s long serving receptionist, arguing over whether they should go with a silver and gold theme. Bronagh had won, Aisling had told her, adding that fair play to her it did look gorgeous albeit enormous. It couldn’t be bigger than the one she was standing here looking at though, surely? Either way she was looking forward to seeing it for herself. Yes, she thought, hugging her arms around herself, it would be nice to be back in Dublin, like putting on a pair of comfy slippers. She twiddled her toes, the fecking boots were already beginning to pinch.
To distract herself from her squished toes, Roisin did a sweep of the room, noting the tidily arranged cards on the mantle. Her eyes moved to the sideboard and she saw the Royal Doulton ballerina and the collection of porcelain Beatrix Potter figurines that normally adorned it had been put away. When Noah had been a toddler, Jemima Puddleduck and her friends had been like a magnet to him and she’d been terrified he’d break one of them. The more she’d told him not to touch the more determined he’d been to do just that. In their place was a faux gingerbread house, a red glow emanating from inside its white trimmed windows and next to it was a nativity scene, the small wooden figures, Roisin knew, having once belonged to Elsa’s mother.
‘Roisin, Merry Christmas. You’re looking well.’ Colin intruded on her inspection as he appeared in the doorway, the joviality in his tone sounding forced to her ears but she gave him ten out of ten for effort. Registering her normally staid suit-wearing ex was dressed in a navy version of his mother’s reindeer sweater she choked back a giggle. Elsa had him well and truly under the thumb. He was also wearing jeans, and not very well. He was one of those men who never looked comfortable in denim. Come to that he didn’t look comfortable in anything casual, it wasn’t his style. An awkwardness hovered in the air as they both pondered the best way in which to greet one another. Roisin decided to run with formal which while strange felt more honest than an effusive hug and kiss hello. ‘Merry Christmas, Colin.’
He homed in and gave her a peck on the cheek, his lips dry and cool as they grazed her skin. She inhaled his familiar Armani aftershave and for a moment she was tempted to grasp hold of him, to be back where everything was familiar, but she steeled herself. Just because something was familiar and easy didn’t mean it was good for you, and besides, she’d done the hardest bit, the actual leaving, and look how far she’d come. No, there was no going back. Still, she acknowledged as he took a step back and ruffled Noah’s hair, it was sad how it had all worked out. They’d both gone into their marriage full of hope and look where they were now.
‘Thank you for coming,’ he said as Noah wrapped himself around his father’s legs. There was a time Colin would have been irritated by his son’s playful affection but since they’d separated, he seemed to appreciate these gestures more. There was always a silver lining, Rosin mused, and she smiled back at him. He hadn’t needed to say that, he was making an effort and so would she. ‘The tree’s a beauty.’
‘Mummy wanted the biggest we could find.’
But it was going to be hard.
Chapter 3
‘Noah if you shake that any more whatever is inside the wrapping paper will be in a million little pieces by the time you get to open it.’
Noah looked at his mother, the frustration evident on his face and she felt a tug on her heartstrings. ‘Could he not just open one before lunch, Colin?’ she whispered, watching him pick up another parcel. ‘We don’t need to tell Elsa.’
Colin looked at her aghast. Her ex-husband was a rule breaker in the business world where he seemed to think they didn’t apply to him but when it came to the rules laid down by his mother, he might as well have been the same age as his son.
Roisin sighed and managed to inject some steel in her tone. ‘Put it down, Noah.’
He did so, sitting back on his haunches and crossing his arms sulkily.
‘Colin, can you get the door for me?’ Elsa’s voice trilled from the hallway and Colin moved toward it. She appeared with a tray, upon which three steaming goblets of mulled wine, a stick of cinnamon peeking over each of the rims, were perched along with an orange juice for Noah. It was proper juice with bits in it which for some strange reason was his favourite.
‘Elsa, let me take that for you.’ Roisin remembered her manners.
‘I can manage, thank you.’ She placed the tray down on the coffee table. ‘But you could be a dear and go and get the mince pies for me. There’s a plate on the worktop in the kitchen.’
‘Of course. Noah, you’re not to wander about with that juice, do you hear me?’ His sulk over the presents was forgotten and he nodded as Elsa perched down on the sofa next to Colin. She left them to it and headed up the hallway, the walls of which were adorned with photographs of Colin at varying ages. She paused as she always did to smirk up at the last one, taken in his final year at high school. His face was spotty with adolescence and he looked like he was being strangled by his school tie. It was his hair that made her laugh though. It was hard to imagine her husband had ever idolised anybody other than himself but in that old pic he was rocking his curly mullet and had clearly been a fan of Hall & Oates. A tiny sign of rebellion because she was betting Elsa had pestered him day and night to get to the barber shop for a short back and sides. Colin’s dad had passed away when he was small and she used to wonder what Colin would have been like if Elsa had had someone else to fuss over in their family dynamic.
She pulled herself away from the photograph and followed her nose into the kitchen which despite the preparations was in an orderly state with neatly stacked dishes. It was the opposite of the last Christmas spent in Dublin two years ago now when the dishes had haphazardly been piled so high, an avalanche of china was a very real threat. There’d been the usual arguing over who’d been put in charge of the roasty potatoes and who’d left the cabbage stewing. She could hear Moira proclaiming the pot of boiled greens smelt like a urinal and the memory made her grin. Mammy had thwacked her with the wooden spoon for that one.
She might not be a fan of goose but it did smell good and as she inhaled her tummy rumbled. The potatoes she saw, lifting a lid off one of the pots on the stove, were waiting to be parboiled before being tossed in the goose fat and cooked until they’d transformed into crunchy roast taties. The Brussel sprouts were ready to be put on along with the carrots and peas. Colin was terrible on the baby cabbages but it wasn’t her that would have to put up with the aftermath all evening, not this year. The thought buoyed her and she picked up the mince pies, homemade of course with a dusting of icing sugar over the top of them, and carried them back through to the front room.
Noah was just hanging the last of his special decorations on the tree and as she stood in the doorway he began entertaining his granny and daddy with tales about Beyoncé the gerbil. He lived vicariously through Charlotte when it came to that gerbil of hers, she thought, wavering on her stance of not buying him a pet for Christmas. He loved that bloody gerbil and he thought of Charlie as an honorary sister ever since they’d stayed with Stephanie and Jeffrey after she and Colin had separated, lisping to her often that she was annoying, just like a real sister. She had a lot to thank the Wentworth-Islington-Greene’s for. If they hadn’t opened up their home to her and Noah she may well have come knocking on Elsa’s door with her tail between her legs. Stephanie had helped her find her way at a time when she’d felt really, rather lost.
It was Jeffery who’d wrangled a position for her at the en
ormous accountancy firm in which he was a senior partner. She was now secretary for twenty-five hours of the week to Norman who really did look like a Norman with his little round glasses, small build and shiny domed head. She wasn’t a very good secretary but she was trying and Norman was a very kind hearted man so, they were rubbing along nicely. Stephanie had helped her source her flat which while tiny was in the right location and meant Noah didn’t have to change schools. She’d even started doing her yoga teacher training and the other night when she’d gotten up to draw the curtains and seen a star shooting across the inky sky, she’d made a wish that one day soon, she’d be in a position to open her own studio. For the first time in her life Roisin had a plan and she was determined to stick to it. Now as she stood on the periphery of the room, plate of mince pies in hand she felt disconnected from the tableau. It was a strange thought but it didn’t make her sad.
‘Roisin, what are doing standing there letting the cold air in?’ Elsa brought her back into the room.
‘Sorry.’ She pushed the door shut with her foot and put the plate down on the coffee table.
‘Noah,’ Elsa said, ‘come and sit up here now and have a mince pie.’ She gestured to the low slung Ercol chair. Elsa and her late husband, Errol had bought the set of Ercol furniture not long after they were married and she was very fond of saying, ‘quality lasts you know’.
Noah who knew all about being naughty or nice at this time of year decided to roll with nice. He had one more wistful glance at the shiny wrapped boxes under the tree before sitting down in the chair as his granny had asked him to do. Roisin eyed him and was reminded of an old film, Little Lord Fauntleroy. Her son knew which side his bread was buttered on, that was for sure. She sat down in the matching chair opposite him.
‘Now,’ Elsa said doling out dainty china side plates and red serviettes. ‘Watch what I do.’ Roisin had the unnerving sensation she too was being given a lesson on how to eat a mince pie as Elsa flapped the red napkin before draping it over her lap. ‘That way you’ll catch any stray crumbs.’
The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2 Page 2