The young lad laughed. ‘And a happy Christmas to you too, mam,’ he said cheerily as he swung the tree with effortless ease into the boot of the car.
Unable to see out the rear-view mirror and with the boot of the car hopping up and down, Maggie crawled home at five miles an hour. She was panting and scratched to bits by the time she managed to extract the tree from the boot. The young lad who had sold it to her had made it look so easy, but it was a mighty tree and at one stage Maggie had her arms around it trying to keep it upright and it was like doing a crazy waltz in the driveway as the tree went one way and she hung on grimly trying to straighten it up. Orla Noonan would have to be sweeping her garden path, Maggie thought irritably, as she tried to look as though waltzing around her drive with a Christmas tree was the most natural thing in the world.
Orla and Billy had never spoken to them after the ‘incident’. But Maggie didn’t get hung up on it. It was their loss. To be a friend you had to behave like a friend, and Orla Noonan had never managed that. The children still played on the street together and Maggie was glad of that. At least her neighbours weren’t so petty as to bar all contact.
She finally managed to haul the tree into the garage. She’d decorate the rest of the house but Terry could put up the tree, she decided, as she gazed at her scratched hands.
No doubt Alma would have the perfect manicure, she thought wryly. Alma was always creaming her hands and elbows. Maggie was hoping to get her hair cut first thing in the morning to look a bit presentable.
She worked like a Trojan for the rest of the day, putting away the shopping and decorating the house. Normally she enjoyed putting up the Christmas decorations but today she was too harassed. As the tin of snow got blocked for the umpteenth time, as she sprayed icicles on her red-taped decorated porch, she cursed like a trooper and longed to fling it out the window.
‘Mam! The porch is MEGA!’ Michael enthused when he arrived home from school. His eyes were alight with excitement and pleasure and, for a moment, all her hard work was worth it as he and the girls went from room to room exclaiming with delight over the decorations.
When she actually sat down for a quick cup of coffee after giving the children their dinner, she realized that she wasn’t quite as disorganized as she’d thought that morning. The guest-rooms were all ready, beds changed, furniture polished until it gleamed. Her grocery shopping was all done. The house was decorated, apart from the tree. She’d made a dent in her Christmas shopping. All the Al Shariffs’ presents had been bought. She’d been so impressed with the gifts in Avoca Handweavers she’d driven down one morning after Richard’s funeral and bought all round her. Scented candles, room scenters and pot-pourri were big this year and Maggie had been ruthless, refusing to be sidetracked and ticking names off her list with a vengeance.
She still had her parents’ presents to get. Her mother wouldn’t thank her for scented candles. She liked Maggie to pick clothes for her, and her father was always happy to get a jumper and a good detective novel.
After she’d got her hair done in the morning she’d take a scorch out to Blanchardstown. Roches Stores would have plenty of clothes that would suit both her parents. She could buy the book in Easons and she could go into Paco and buy something for under the tree for the girls. That would be another few chores off her ‘Still to Do’ list.
Tonight she had to do her Christmas cards. If she didn’t hurry on and write them, her friends and relations might get them in time for New Year. She eyed her laptop, packed neatly in its carrier.
So much for her novel. She was writing in fits and starts, which was very frustrating, and she knew the chance of her getting anything done in the next two weeks was highly unlikely. She was going to miss her deadline for sure, but there was nothing she could do about it, she thought glumly.
Her thoughts turned to the meal she would serve her guests on their arrival. They’d be flying all night with a flight change at Heathrow and their plane got into Dublin at four thirty. Maggie had decided to bring her three to the airport in her car and Terry could go in his. The airport at Christmas time was always spectacularly decorated and the kids were looking forward to the treat with great anticipation.
She’d decided, seeing as it was possibly the one day that she could get away with it, to serve Marks & Spencers chicken korma which was particularly tasty. She’d defrost a couple of cartons and some ready-cooked rice, add some fresh herbs herself and serve a side salad. Alma would never know the difference. It was cheating, she knew, and the old Maggie would never have done it, but times were different and this was the new Maggie. She’d warn Terry to say nothing.
After that it would be all home cooking or eating out. She had several chicken, lamb and steak dishes precooked and frozen so that would make life a little easier, nevertheless she would have to do the full Irish breakfast every morning. Sulaiman was particularly addicted to bacon, sausage and fried brown bread, and could never get enough of it when he was in Ireland. It was just her luck that he didn’t practise his dietary laws, she sighed, as she cleared away the dinner dishes and switched on the dishwasher.
The kids were fighting over what to look at on the TV. Michael wanted to watch the five o’clock Star Trek on Sky, Mimi wanted to watch MTV. Normally she would have gone in and mediated and sent one of them upstairs to watch the portable in her bedroom but she was too tired to move, and she’d started writing her cards. She let them at it, with the consequence that there was a full-scale battle raging when Terry came home from work minutes later.
‘For fuck’s sake, Maggie, would you do something with that lot,’ her husband snarled as he flung his briefcase down by the door and went to the fridge and poured himself a glass of orange juice.
‘You do something with them, they’re your children too for crying out loud. I’ve done all the grocery shopping, half the Christmas shopping, your family’s presents included, and I collected that goddamn tree and decorated the house today and if you’re not bloody careful, I’ll drive to Galway tomorrow and spend the next two weeks with Caroline and you can deal with the whole shaggin’ lot yourself,’ Maggie exploded.
Terry’s cheeks turned a dull puce with temper. He marched out the door and seconds later she could hear him roaring at the kids. The TV was switched off and they were ordered to their rooms to do their homework. Silence reigned in the Ryan household.
She kept her head down, busy with the cards, while he put his dinner in the microwave and set a tray for himself.
‘The tree’s in the garage, I couldn’t manage it myself. All the lights and decorations are on the landing,’ she informed him coldly. He ignored her and took his dinner tray into the sitting-room.
‘Suit yourself,’ she muttered. If he didn’t put the tree up it could rot in the garage for all she cared.
Three quarters of an hour later she heard much cursing and swearing as he hauled the tree in from the garage and tried to get it straight in the stand. Maggie grinned. If it fell down on top of him it would be good enough for him. Twenty minutes later he rampaged into the kitchen. ‘Half those bloody lights aren’t working. Where’s the spare bulbs?’
‘You put the lights away last year,’ she said calmly. It was the same every single year.
‘I can’t bloody remember.’ Terry was working himself up into a right rage.
‘Try the toby jug on the glass cabinet,’ Maggie said sweetly. The spare bulbs had been kept there for donkey’s years but he never remembered.
Silence reigned once more in the Ryan household until Terry tripped coming down the stairs and a box of baubles spilled all over the place, some getting trampled underfoot as he slithered to the bottom. A stream of obscenities rent the air.
Maggie threw her eyes up to heaven. Once Christmas was over she’d a good mind to take off to Galway as she’d threatened. Between Terry and the Al Shariffs she’d be lucky not to end up in an asylum.
Forty-two
‘Maggie, your hair is gorgeous cut short.’ Alma Al Sha
riff rushed out into Arrivals and swooped on Maggie, enveloping her in a warm embrace as waves of Chanel No 5 wafted into the air. Alma had obviously sprayed herself with perfume after disembarking.
‘Terry, my good buddy!’ Sulaiman left his luggage trolley and advanced, arms outstretched, to embrace Terry, kissing him on both cheeks.
Dublin airport was pandemonium. There was hardly room to move with the crush of people gathered around Arrivals.
‘Terry, Terry!’ Alma shrieked and launched herself on him, much to his delight, Maggie noted sourly. Alma was wearing skintight jeans, a black skintight polo that hugged every voluptuous curve, and a pink pashmina shawl. She looked slim, trendy, perfectly made up. A million dollars. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in the same style that Maggie remembered.
At least I’ve changed my hairstyle, tumbling curls are so bimboish, Maggie thought childishly, annoyed with herself for her envious reaction to the other woman’s slenderness.
‘Hi, Maggie!’ Sulaiman beamed, greeting her in his attractively accented English. His curly beard tickled her cheek as he kissed her warmly.
Maggie hugged him back. She liked Sulaiman and now that they were here, she was glad to see him. He’d aged, she thought, noting the liberal streaks of grey in his black hair, and the heavy jowls his beard couldn’t conceal.
‘My God, Maggie,’ shrieked Alma. ‘Look at the size of those children!’ She enveloped each of them in a monster hug, kissing them exaggeratedly, much to Michael’s dismay.
‘Darlings, come and say hello to the Ryans,’ she urged a tall black-haired boy and a pretty blonde younger girl. ‘Ali, Noori, say how do you do.’
Behind them a rotund middle-aged woman was struggling to stop parcels falling off one of the heavily laden trolleys. ‘You remember Mrs Ling.’ Alma smiled at Maggie.
‘Hello Mrs Ling, let me help.’ Maggie deftly repacked some of the packages and smiled at the Filipino maid.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Terry urged. ‘It’s bedlam.’
‘You should have seen Heathrow.’ Sulaiman threw his eyes up to heaven. ‘It was a nightmare from start to finish.’
‘I hate that airport. I dread changing terminals,’ Alma declared as they pushed their way through the throngs. ‘Isn’t it lovely the way they have the airport decorated here. It’s so nice to be welcomed home. The snowmen are fantastic. The kids were enchanted. I’d love it if it snowed for them. They’ve never seen snow,’ Alma confided to Maggie as they followed their husbands and children.
‘Are you not cold, Alma?’ Maggie asked curiously. She’d expected the other woman to be wearing her fur.
‘Not really, pashminas are really warm and besides I’ve got thermal long johns and a body suit under the clothes. Sulaiman is going to buy me a new fur coat in the States,’ she confided.
Maggie was sorry she’d asked. Long johns and a body suit, and the woman still looked that slim. It was sickening.
‘Sorry it’s a bit of a trek,’ Terry apologized. ‘We took the two cars so that the kids could come and parking was a nightmare. We’re in block C on different levels, unfortunately. We’ll put some of the luggage into Maggie’s car and perhaps Mrs Ling could go with her, and we’ll follow.’
‘Fine, fine.’ Sulaiman beamed happily. ‘Are we having rashers and sausages for breakfast tomorrow?’
‘We are, good buddy, we are,’ Terry said expansively, trying to keep his eyes off Alma’s slim rounded ass.
‘Excellent! I’ve been looking forward to this since we made our booking.’
‘I figured that you’d be tired, so we’ll have dinner as soon as we get home and you can go to bed whenever you like,’ Maggie suggested.
‘That sounds like heaven. And I’m starving. We had meals on all the flights but I just couldn’t eat them,’ Alma remarked.
Maggie felt like a heel. She should have provided something home-made, she berated herself. But it was too late now. The korma was defrosted and the salad prepared with just the dressing to be added. She’d shove a few garlic breads into the oven. That would add a bit of bulk to the meal.
‘Mommy I’m tired,’ Noori whinged. ‘I don’t want to have dinner. I just want to go to bed.’
‘That’s fine, pet. You can go straight to bed when we get home,’ Maggie said sympathetically.
‘You can play with my Sindy disco tomorrow if you want to,’ Shona offered good-naturedly.
‘Sindy’s for kids,’ Noori said with snooty superiority.
‘Oh!’ Shona was crestfallen.
Little Madam, Maggie thought crossly. Noori hadn’t changed a bit from what Maggie remembered of her.
‘I’ll play with it with you, Shona,’ Mimi said kindly. It was all right for her to call her sister a kid, but not for anyone else to.
Shona’s face lit up. ‘Thanks Mimi,’ she said happily. Shona hero-worshipped her older sister and thought anything she did was cool.
‘Here’s the car,’ Maggie said hastily as they reached the Golf.
‘What a small car,’ Ali remarked dismissively. ‘We have a four-wheel drive for when we go to the desert and a Mercedes for town.’
‘How nice for you, Ali, we don’t have any deserts here.’ Maggie’s tone was bright, if a tad brittle. More’s the pity, or I could bury you in one, she thought silently.
‘But you might get to see snow?’ Michael chipped in earnestly.
‘I’d like that.’ Ali’s tone changed. ‘My parents have promised me that we will see it in America.’
‘Well if it comes when you’re here we’ll build a snowman. My dad builds mega snowmen,’ Michael assured him.
‘And can we throw snowballs?’ Noori’s superiority vanished.
‘You might not like throwing snowballs, Noori,’ Mimi said coolly. ‘You get wet and there’s lots of screaming. You might think it was just for kids.’
Maggie hid a smile. Good girl, Mimi, she thought.
Noori flashed Mimi a filthy look and ignored her. ‘Mommy when can we get out of this place?’ she whined.
‘We’re going now, darling.’ Alma gave an expressive shrug. ‘She’s exhausted,’ she said by way of mitigation.
‘I know,’ Maggie said. The child had had a very long overnight flight, a change of terminals and another flight. Her whinging was understandable. Maggie was always good at making allowances. They packed the Golf and Terry and the Al Shariffs went off to locate his car. No doubt Ali would be disappointed in that too, even though it was a Saab 95.
The traffic seemed even worse than usual. The congestion at the airport roundabout was chaotic. Poor Mrs Ling sat in the front seat beside Maggie, her eyelids drooping, her head nodding. There was nothing worse than the tiredness of travelling, Maggie thought sympathetically, as she crawled along at a snail’s pace.
They didn’t do too badly once they got onto the M50 and as soon as Maggie got home she unpacked the boot with Mrs Ling, and immediately turned her attention to dinner. The chicken korma in its attractive serving dish was ready to pop in the microwave, and by the time Terry arrived about ten minutes later an appetizing smell was wafting through the kitchen.
‘Your tree is beautiful,’ Sulaiman enthused.
‘It’s a real tree!’ Noori’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘We only have an artificial one.’
Michael looked chuffed. ‘And look at our holly and our mistletoe, that’s real too.’
‘The mistletoe certainly is, Alma.’ Terry winked.
Alma giggled and gave a provocative pout. ‘It’s a long time since I was kissed under the mistletoe.’
‘Terry, could you put the dressing on the salad, and open a couple of bottles of wine,’ Maggie cut in. If he thought he was going to act the idiot and stand around flirting with Alma while she did all the work he was sadly mistaken. He’d been ogling her from the minute she’d arrived.
‘Sure,’ he said lightly and winked at Alma again.
‘Now we must give out the presents,’ Noori proclaimed bossily. ‘
Mrs Ling, what bag are they in?’
Poor Mrs Ling went rooting and the next ten minutes was bedlam as the Al Shariffs exchanged Christmas gifts with the Ryans and paper and ribbons went everywhere.
Dinner was a lively affair. Sulaiman and Alma ate every scrap with evident enjoyment, and everyone seemed to have got their second wind. Maggie, after her second glass of wine, began to relax. She’d been worrying needlessly about the dinner, she chided herself silently.
The children went off to play with the computer and Mrs Ling, at Maggie’s urgings, went to bed. ‘We’ll put the children to bed,’ Maggie said kindly, ‘won’t we, Alma?’
‘Of course we will. We’ll all be in bed soon anyway,’ Alma agreed.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Mrs Ling murmured and slipped out of the room in her quiet unobtrusive way.
‘We’re going to the theatre tomorrow night—’
‘And the pub?’ Sulaiman enquired eagerly.
‘And the pub,’ laughed Maggie. ‘And then Terry and Sulaiman can go and play golf one morning and you and I can go shopping. We’ll bring the kids to Fort Lucan, an adventure centre, one day and the pictures another, and you and I can go into City Girl and have some treatments one morning before you go.’ She turned to Alma.
‘Lovely.’ Alma gave a little wriggle. ‘I’ll have a full-body massage,’ she said huskily, looking directly at Terry.
‘Sounds very nice too.’ Terry poured her another glass of wine. ‘Have some more pavlova,’ Maggie urged. And put on an ounce!
‘No thank you, Maggie. I’m as full as an egg. I shouldn’t have eaten any dessert at all.’ Alma patted her non-existent tummy. ‘I’ll be getting fat.’
‘Indeed and you won’t, Alma,’ Terry said gallantly. ‘You look very well. Doesn’t she, Maggie?’
‘Oh, very well,’ Maggie agreed politely.
‘You look very well yourself, Terry,’ Alma flirted.
Terry puffed out his chest. ‘I work out as often as I can and play the odd round of golf,’ he boasted.
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