Coming Home for Christmas

by Patricia Scanlan

  I think I’ll just lie here for a little while longer, she thought as she heard the front door close again, and her eyes drooped and she fell fast asleep, the first time ever she’d had a lie-in on a working day during all her time in New York.

  It was after eleven when she woke, bleary-eyed and ravenously hungry. She stared around her, wondering where the hell was she, before the stomach-dropping realization hit. Alison slumped back against her pillows and gazed around. To her right, a long narrow sash window looked out on to the grey cement wall of the building next door. She hadn’t even bothered to pull down the cream blind, figuring that no one could see her on the first floor. A cream chest of drawers stood underneath the window. To her left was a bedside locker with a lamp and, at right angles to the locker, a closet that would have to hold not only her clothes but also her shoes, her collection of designer handbags, accessories and sports gear. An ottoman sat at the end of her bed for her bedlinen, and to use as extra seating. An archway led into a sitting room which had another, bigger sash window facing her bed; beneath it a small desk with a reading lamp on it. Along the wall stood some bookshelves. A purple sofa and an armchair faced a plasma TV. A narrow hallway led to the tiny galley kitchen, bathroom and the front door which opened out on to the landing, off which were two other studios.

  As studios went, it wasn’t bad. The sage-green walls had a soothing ambiance; the blinds and curtains were relatively new and clean; the cream-painted windowsills and doors toned nicely with the green; and the cooker and fridge in the kitchen were new. The building had been recently renovated, Melora had told Alison, and, indeed, the rooms were freshly painted, as were the hallway and landings. Had she found it when she’d first started work in Manhattan she’d have been thrilled with it – it was far, far superior to the dark little dump she’d first lived in – but she’d evolved way beyond a studio, however well maintained, in a not very upmarket area off Broadway. This was a major-league retrograde step, in her opinion.

  Alison slid out of bed and walked over to the window at the front of the building, which looked out over a grey, slush-covered street with buildings similar to her own. Grey seemed to be the predominant colour, all depressing and lacking in character. She could see a drug store, coffee shop and deli and liquor store across the street. Further along, a barber’s, a hair salon, a laundromat and a small grocery store gave splashes of colour with their signage and shop fronts. Melora had picked well: all the basic amenities were right at her doorstep, and Alison tried to see the positive in her own situation.

  On the other hand, bags of refuse had been put out for collection, and a scrawny dog sniffed around one of them, pawing it until the contents spread on to the roadway. A few emaciated trees, thin branches bowed disconsolately under the unwelcome weight of snow, lined either side of the street. There was nothing of the cosmopolitan, smart, uptown atmosphere of her old address, just a general air of shabby greyness. The rumble of the subway trains broke the silence every so often, and the noise of the traffic inching along, muffled somewhat by the snow that was flying down in huge white flakes, blotting out the dreary sky.

  Alison gave a sigh that came from her toes. She needed to get in some provisions, and she needed coffee badly. She’d throw on a pair of jeans and a warm woollen jumper and parka and head across to the coffee shop for breakfast. After that she would make a plan for the day. How strange it was not to have every hour of her day accounted for, but strangely liberating, she decided as she rummaged in a big brown box that held some clothes and found a black rollneck jumper. Another box held her jeans and another her underwear. Just as well she’d taken the precaution of labelling them as the packers had filled them.

  It didn’t take long to dress. She couldn’t face showering, and she barely covered her face with a dusting of shimmer powder, a far cry from the full make-up she applied every morning before going to work. She didn’t care; she was hardly going to meet anyone she needed to impress today. Not wearing make-up made her feel like she was on holidays, she thought a little wildly, tracing on some lipgloss to protect her lips from the cold.

  After breakfast she’d phone home. It would be afternoon there and it would be comforting to hear familiar and loving voices, Alison thought as she wrapped a scarf around her neck, pulled a hat down over her auburn hair, slipped her hands into soft leather gloves and headed out of her apartment.

  Ten minutes later she was nibbling on a muffin and sipping scalding-hot, strong black coffee. It was good coffee, she had to admit as she gazed around her. The red Formica table had coffee rings which the waitress’s perfunctory wipe with a dingy brown cloth hadn’t made any impression on. A young coloured man sat at a table across from her, listening to his iPod as he drank a cappuccino. An elderly woman coughed and sneezed as she had a donut and latte. A young woman cuddling a sleeping baby chatted in Spanish on her cell phone.

  What am I doing here? I should be at work, Alison thought, as terror swept through her and grief for the privileged life she’d lost caught her in a vice-like grip. She was jobless, in a recession that was verging on a depression, and she was only one of thousands. She needed to get her act together and sort something out fast.

  She finished her coffee, paid her bill and hurried out, feeling flutters of nervy panic envelop her. She walked along in the flurries of snow, head bent, to the grocery store, where she bought some basic supplies to stock up her fridge. She’d want to start cooking for herself a lot more; eating out was a luxury she’d be cutting back on. Her heart sank at the thought. Cooking was not Alison’s forte and didn’t interest her in the slightest. She’d cooked an omelette the day before and managed to burn her pan. The omelette, which was tasteless and rubbery from overcooking, had ended up in the bin. She handed over her precious dollars to the woman at the till. ‘Sure is cold out theah today, honey, could ya close the doah on ya way out? Ma poor bones do ache in this weather. Ma son asked me to come and mind the store ’cause his manager’s wife’s havin’ a baby, and the girl that helps is out sick. I’m gonna tell him he needs to put more heatin’ in this place.’ The chatty black woman smiled at her.

  ‘You do that.’ Alison smiled back, taking her brown-bagged provisions off the counter and making way for an elderly Italian man, who lifted his cap to her and inclined his head politely.

  What a gentleman, she thought as she closed the door behind her. She’d only ever seen that in films. It was such a nice, mannerly thing to do. The small gesture lifted her heart and she made her way across the street with her shopping. Good manners were such a hallmark of her parents’ generation, thought Alison, suddenly missing her mam and dad, and home. She’d unpack her shopping and phone them, she decided as she hastened up the steps of her new building and took out her keys. The door opened before she had inserted the key in the lock.

  ‘Oh!’ she said, startled, as she almost bumped into a tall, bejeaned man in a chunky dark-green sweater and a baseball cap who was barrelling out the door.

  ‘Oops! Sorry about that,’ he apologized, taking a step back.

  ‘No problem.’ She couldn’t help smiling. He had such a good-humoured, craggy face – with gorgeous blue eyes, she noted.

  ‘You’re Irish,’ he declared.

  ‘Right back at ya!’ She laughed at his rich west-of-Ireland brogue. ‘Connemara?’

  ‘Drat! I thought I’d got rid of the accent,’ he joked, holding out his hand. ‘John Joseph Connelly, or JJ to my friends.’

  ‘Alison Dunwoody,’ she reciprocated, giving him an equally firm handclasp.

  ‘Well, Alison Dunwoody, I’m delighted to meet you, and these gangsters here are Frankie and Fintan McManus.’ He indicated in the direction of a van she’d just noticed parked on the street. ‘They’re giving me a hand to move in.’ Two men in their thirties raised their hands in salute.

  ‘Howya, Alison?’ greeted the one called Fintan. The other one just nodded shyly.

  ‘Oh, you’re moving in. I’ve just moved in and spent my first night he
re. I was over buying provisions across the street.’ She clutched one of the brown bags, which was beginning to slip, more tightly.

  ‘I’m up on the third floor, so there’ll be a bit of toing and froing for a while. I hope you won’t mind.’

  ‘’Course not. Glad I’m not up there – one flight of stairs was enough for me.’ Alison laughed.

  ‘So you’re on the first floor, if I need to borrow some sugar for my coffee.’ Her neighbour’s eyes crinkled up in a smile.

  ‘Don’t use it,’ she smiled back. ‘It’s bad for you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that, my dear good woman, you sound like my mother. Everyone needs something that’s bad for them.’ He winked at her and she laughed.

  ‘Well, coffee’s bad for you and I use that, so don’t be stuck. I’m 1A,’ she added.

  ‘Likewise about being stuck. I’m 3B.’

  ‘Good luck with your moving, see you around,’ said Alison, edging past him and climbing the stairs to her first-floor studio.

  ‘Right, lads,’ she heard JJ say. ‘Let’s get a move on and give it a lash,’ using a phrase she hadn’t heard since she’d left home. It was strangely comforting, listening to his accent and knowing that she now knew at least one person in her building. That was another good thing that had happened today. Esther had always taught her and Olivia that if they were finding the going tough to count at least three good and positive things that had happened in their day.

  The polite elderly gentleman had raised his cap to her and made her feel good, she had met JJ Connelly, with his twinkling blue eyes, and she was going to ring home from the call box on the corner, because it would be cheaper and she’d be able to spend longer talking to her parents without feeling she was spending a fortune using her cell phone. All in all, it wasn’t the day she had dreaded at all, Alison reflected as she let herself into her new abode and heard the clatter of furniture being lugged up the stairs and the distinctive deep voice of her new neighbour directing operations, with plenty of muffled oaths from Frankie and Fintan.

  Chapter 5

  ‘Gran, this is yummy.’ Seven-year-old Kate chomped with great appreciation on a tender piece of steak as gravy dribbled down her chin.

  ‘Thank you, darling. Wipe your chin, pet, you’ve got gravy running down it.’ Esther handed her granddaughter a paper napkin.

  ‘Grandad, will you make a lake for me?’ Five-year-old Ellie nudged her grandfather in the ribs.

  ‘Of course I will. Give me your plate.’ Liam smiled down at his youngest granddaughter and felt a wave of contentment. He loved when Olivia and her young family spent an afternoon with them. It was like the house breathed life again as childish voices filled the air and laughter and chat and their happy singing and innocent joyfulness infused the bricks and mortar. He made a hollow in Ellie’s creamy mash and built up the sides so that it looked like the crater of a volcano, before pouring in some more dark, rich, aromatic gravy. ‘Now tuck into that, and it will make you big and strong,’ he urged.

  ‘And don’t mess,’ warned her mother, as Ellie splashed her spoon into it.

  ‘Hurry up, everyone, so we can start the puddings.’ Kate was shovelling her dinner into her mouth. Lia, her twin, ate slowly, lost in a daydream, eyes staring into the far distance.

  ‘Slow down, we’ve plenty of time. We don’t want you getting indigestion,’ Esther advised, amused. Typical Kate, no patience for anything. She reminded her of Alison sometimes. Lia was more like Olivia, restrained, logical, working everything out for herself.

  ‘Thanks for doing dinner, Mam. I managed to make inroads on the small bedroom before . . . er . . .’ Olivia caught herself just in time – she’d been about to say ‘before Alison comes’, ‘. . . before Christmas,’ she amended. The sooner her mother’s surprise party was over, the better. She was petrified that she was going to let something slip.

  ‘Are we having apple crumble for dessert?’ Lia finished her dinner and placed her knife and fork neatly together on her plate.

  ‘What do you think?’ Esther slipped her arm around the little girl and gave her a cuddle. Lia nestled into her grandmother’s shoulder and said matter-of-factly, ‘I love you, Gran.’

  ‘Me too,’ echoed Kate. ‘And you too, Grandad,’ she added thoughtfully.

  ‘An’ me an’ me.’ Ellie was not to be outdone.

  Olivia felt a calm come over her. Certainly today had been a bit fraught, but moments like this more than made up for it, and she was keenly grateful for them, aware that these were precious times for grandparents and grandchildren. She had once heard a child psychologist say that a loving relationship with grandparents had the most profound effect on children and added to their sense of wellbeing and security. She could see it with her own daughters. They were supremely confident of their grandparents’ love and Lia’s unprompted declaration came straight from the heart. She could see the delight in her mother’s eyes, and that alone made all the hassle of the day worth it.

  ‘And we love you. You’re the best girls, aren’t they, Liam?’ Esther reached out and squeezed her husband’s hand.

  ‘The best. So good, in fact, I think a trip to Nolan’s is in order after the puddings are made.’ The children’s eyes lit up in childish glee. Nolan’s was the village newsagent’s, and a visit with their grandad always meant treats.

  ‘Yesss!’ said Ellie, punching the air enthusiastically. The adults hid their grins.

  ‘Your grandparents have you spoilt rotten.’ Olivia began to gather the plates. ‘Say thank you for your dinner.’

  ‘Thank you, Gran,’ they chorused obediently.

  ‘That dinner went down fast,’ Esther remarked.

  ‘Yes – hurry, Gran, we want to make the puddings. We hope you won’t be having coffee after the dessert.’ Lia got straight to the point. Esther laughed at their eagerness. ‘Puddings first then coffee,’ she promised.

  Ten minutes later, the dessert was eaten, with many approving comments and scraping of dishes and licking of spoons, and there was a race to clear the table for the big event. Aprons were put on with eager anticipation, the robing ceremony as serious as any in an operating theatre, as strings were tied around the front of waists and, in Ellie’s case, double-wrapped right around her. She was such a little elf of a child, Esther thought, kissing the top of her curly head as she stood on the half-stool beside her ready for action.

  ‘I’ll leave you women to the work. Call me when it’s time to make a wish.’ Liam tucked his paper under his arm and headed for the sitting room.

  ‘Yes, this is ladies’ work,’ Lia assured him, much to his amusement.

  ‘Yes, men are good for putting out the bins and screwing things. My dad is very good at screwing. I bet you are too,’ Ellie declared airily, twirling her wooden spoon around like a baton.

  Olivia gave a snort and quickly turned away, wishing Michael was with them to see his reaction to this high praise.

  ‘I hope so.’ Liam caught Esther’s eye, and she struggled to keep her face straight.

  ‘Right, off with you and leave us to our ladies’ work,’ she instructed her husband. ‘Now girls, give each other some room there, spread out at either side of the table, and we’ll start on the fruit,’ she said, like a general instructing his troops. ‘First we have to cut the cherries – be careful with the knives.’ Olivia, like the good second-in-command that she was, divided out the cherries equally between the trio, and the work began in earnest, cutting and halving, and arranging artistically on their chopping boards.

  The big platter of raisins and sultanas was placed in the centre of the table and the chopped green and red glacé cherries and mixed peel added, bringing glorious colour to the sticky mixture.

  Everyone got a chance to whisk an egg, and sieve some flour, and as Esther showed the children what to do, she caught Olivia’s eye, and mother and daughter smiled at each other, very much aware that they were creating wonderful heartwarming memories for the three little girls, just as mothers and gran
dmothers before them had done for them.

  The wind howled down the chimney, keening like a banshee, and deluges of rain battered the windows, but the kitchen was warm and snug with the smell of whiskey and fruit wafting around the table. Esther felt a pang of loneliness as she thought of Alison. Had her daughter any notion of what a rare afternoon this was for their family, or would she have been at all interested in assisting, had she been here? She sighed and offered up a little prayer for her younger daughter and gave an added one of thanks for all her own good fortune.

  Eventually, the mixture was ready to be spooned into the creamy, speckled pudding bowls which Esther had used for many, many years. ‘Time for the wishing ceremony,’ Kate declared solemnly. ‘Get Grandad quick.’

  Ellie was down off her stool in a flash and she hurried to get Liam. ‘Grandad! Grandad! Come on, come on,’ she yelled, dancing with excitement. ‘You can wish for anything you want, but you’re not to tell what it is.’

  Liam swept her up in his arms and came back into the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively. ‘Ummm! Let me inspect to see if it’s up to standard,’ he said, winking at Esther. He poked and stirred and ate a cherry as his granddaughters watched him anxiously, awaiting his verdict.

  ‘Perfect,’ he declared. ‘The best ever. Time to give it a stir and make a wish. Who’s first?’

  ‘Youngest first,’ Olivia decreed as they all clamoured for the wooden spoon. It was a most solemn occasion. Each of them took their turn, their little faces earnest as they stirred and wished for their heart’s desire. Esther was about to take her turn when the phone rang.

  ‘Hi, Mam, how are things? What’s happening?’ Alison’s voice floated down the line clear as a bell.

  ‘Ah, darlin’, what perfect timing. We’ve just finished mixing the puddings, and we’re all here making our wishes,’ Esther exclaimed. ‘What a pity you can’t be with us, Alison.’ Her heart ached with loneliness. She had such a longing to see her younger daughter, it was almost physical.