Coming Home for Christmas

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Is Olivia with you? Are the girls there?’

  ‘Yes, we’re all here. Your father has just given the mix his seal of approval and the wishing ceremony is taking place.’ Esther smiled down at her granddaughters, who were waiting impatiently for her to make her wish, so they could spoon the mixture into the bowls.

  ‘I’ll make a wish for you, Auntie Alison,’ Kate offered loudly.

  ‘Did you hear that, Alison?’

  ‘I did. I’d love you to make a wish for me, Kate,’ Alison said as Esther held the phone out for them all to hear the exchange. ‘Give it a good stir for me,’ she urged.

  ‘Me too, me too,’ clamoured Ellie, grabbing the spoon.

  ‘Mommm!!’ Kate protested. ‘I said I was doing it.’

  ‘You can all do one,’ Olivia said, as it looked as though a row was going to break out.

  ‘Wow! Three wishes – how lucky am I?’ Alison’s voice drifted over the pudding basin as her nieces each gave a vigorous stir, trying to outdo each other with their vim.

  ‘There, it’s done,’ Esther assured Alison when it was finished. ‘You don’t usually ring in the afternoon. You’re not off work sick or anything are you? Are you ringing from a call box?’ she queried. ‘I can hear traffic.’ It was strange that her daughter should ring during the day. It was usually night time in Ireland when she phoned, generally being too busy in the morning to make personal phone calls.

  ‘Emm . . . yeah, I was just heading uptown to a meeting and had a few minutes to spare, and I have to go to a function tonight so I just thought I’d give you a quick call. The signal’s not great on my phone here so I used a booth. I wanted to see how you were doing after the flu.’

  ‘Much better, love, much better,’ Esther said warmly, touched by her daughter’s concern. ‘How are you? Up to your eyes as usual? Gadding about having the high life with Jonathan? Are you off anywhere exotic this year?’

  ‘Er . . . just staying in New York,’ Alison fibbed, hating having to lie but not wanting to worry her parents about how utterly her circumstances had changed. Jonathan might not even be on the scene by Christmas if her altered situation impacted too much on their relationship.

  ‘Do you want to say hello to your father?’ Esther asked. ‘He’s here helping out.’

  ‘I’d love to. Thanks, Mam. Enjoy making the puddings. I’ll talk to you soon.’ Alison was relieved she didn’t have to tell any more vague untruths to her mother.

  ‘Hello, Alison, how are you doing?’ Liam took the phone. ‘How are things in the Big Apple? Are the banking dramas having any effect on you? It’s dreadful here, Anglo’s gone belly up.’

  ‘Umm . . . I know – I lost my shares there, the greedy scumbags.’ Alison was thrown off guard. She longed to drop the façade and confide that she’d gone belly up and lost her job as well as her investments. She was trying to keep the feelings of stomach-lurching apprehension at bay as her savings diminished with heart-stopping rapidity and the affluent lifestyle she had known became a mere dream. Her success story was over, her family would be so disappointed – for her, not in her – if she told them the truth. It would be so easy to blurt it out, but what good would it do? It would only upset them, and she didn’t want to do that. She’d keep quiet for another while, maybe things would take a turn for the better.

  ‘Yeah, it’s all a bit mad here too, Dad, we’re just hoping things might begin to stabilize now that Obama’s plan has been passed by Congress,’ she managed.

  ‘Tough times, love. You know, you should think about buying a place at home, just so you’d have a roof over your head if you ever wanted to come back. Property prices are way down. Now’s the time to buy. Or if you’re planning on staying stateside, buy there. That’s a very hefty rent you pay out in New York. It’s dead money,’ Liam advised.

  ‘Yeah, good thinking, Dad. The next time I’m home I’ll see what the scene is like.’ She tried to keep her tone airy. ‘Is Olivia still there? I’ll say a quick hello before I head off.’

  ‘Yes, love, here she is. Mind yourself now and keep in touch. I’ll email you tonight.’

  ‘OK, Dad, bye.’ Liam handed the phone to Olivia.

  ‘Hi, Alison, pudding mix is looking good,’ Olivia said.

  ‘Sounds like fun,’ her sister said wistfully.

  ‘It is, but the washing-up awaits!’

  ‘Is everything on track for the party?’

  ‘Yeah, no prob,’ Olivia said non-committally.

  ‘Right, see you next week so.’

  ‘Is it snowing?’ Olivia changed the subject hastily, aware of their mother’s keen hearing.

  ‘Pelting down. I better go – I’ll call you over the weekend. Let me hear another wish being made.’

  Olivia held the phone over the table. ‘Right, everyone, hands on the wooden spoon and everyone make a last wish for Alison,’ she ordered.

  Eager hands grasped the spoon and stirred it in a circle in the big basin of pudding mix. ‘For Auntie Alison,’ her nieces yelled as Liam placed his hand over his wife’s and gave it a little squeeze, knowing instinctively that Esther was wishing Alison was there with them. She felt a stab of loneliness as she took the phone to say goodbye to Alison and hung up.

  ‘Perfect,’ Liam said briskly as they gave a last decisive stir before handing his wife back the wooden spoon. She watched her three granddaughters spooning pudding mixture into the bowls. Liam was helping Ellie, grey head bent close to blond curly one. Ellie’s tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated intently on the job in hand. Lia spooned slowly, carefully, not wanting to drop any of the mixture, while Kate lashed it in any which way, in her usual carefree gung ho manner. They all had such different personalities, Esther thought fondly as she watched each bowl fill up. Olivia was gathering up the dishes to bring them over to the sink. Esther began filling the dishwasher. She was a lucky woman, to be surrounded by her family. Her daughters were reared and doing well for themselves, her granddaughters were the joy of her life, and her husband was her greatest blessing. How many women hitting seventy had what she had? she thought gratefully, trying to banish the frisson of sadness Alison’s phone call had brought. Her daughter had sounded tired, as if she was making an effort to be bright and breezy for them; maybe it was because she’d lost her bank investments. That had to be disheartening. All that hard work for nothing because a small circle of greedy people who felt the rules didn’t apply to them had behaved with an arrogance and avariciousness that was beyond belief. Alison had worked damn hard to get where she was. Perhaps that was the problem, maybe she was working way too hard and it was getting on top of her. But definitely today she hadn’t been her bright, bubbly self, and Esther couldn’t help but worry.

  Chapter 6

  Alison hung the phone back in its cradle after managing a subdued ‘Thanks,’ and rooted in her bag for a tissue. She felt incredibly lonely. She could just imagine the fun, laughter and excitement in the big warm kitchen at home. They were five hours ahead of her, and her day stretched out in a long, dull vista that made her feel strangely lonely, unsure and apprehensive. Her earlier positivity had disappeared after speaking to her family. She’d had her post redirected to her new building, and there had been no comfort in her mail delivery this morning: utility bills and job refusals and some junk mail. She was going to have to try and get a job waitressing if something didn’t come up soon, she thought glumly.

  ‘Now stop!’ she said sternly to herself as she headed back to her new pad. She wasn’t going to wait for her friends to come to help her unpack; she was going to make a start on her unpacking right this minute. They’d been good enough to help her move her stuff. She needed to just get on with things. It was imperative to keep busy, then she wouldn’t have to think about the disaster her life had suddenly become. Right now she would give anything to be at home with her family, making Christmas puddings. In fact, right now she wished she were a child again, with nothing to worry about, cocooned in the love and s
afety of home.

  She could see the Irish guys were back with another load of boxes and belongings for JJ’s place. Impulsively, she headed into the deli and ordered four coffees to go and a bag of cookies. It was surely time for them to have a coffee break. It would be a neighbourly thing to do. The kind of thing you’d do at home, she thought, perking up at the thought of having someone to talk to and have a laugh with. She carried the cardboard coffee-holder carefully as she jaywalked across the street. Frankie, the short, wiry one, was leaning against the van having a smoke. ‘Are you on for a coffee? I thought you could do with a break,’ she said cheerily.

  ‘Hey, that’s decent of you. I’ll give the lads a shout – or do you want to come up to JJ’s?’

  ‘Are you inviting strange women up to my crib, bro?’ a deep voice behind them said.

  ‘Your new neighbour here bought us coffee, so yeah, bro,’ Frankie joshed back.

  ‘Well, thank you, Ms Dunwoody. Let me take that. We don’t want you spilling it. Will you make it up the three flights?’ JJ slagged.

  ‘I go to the gym, I’ll make it,’ she said confidently.

  ‘You’re a fit-lookin’ woman all right,’ Frankie asserted. ‘And that’s more than I can say for myself.’

  ‘After you,’ JJ said politely when they reached 3B.

  ‘Oh, it’s big! Much bigger than mine,’ exclaimed Alison, walking down a hallway that led into a large airy room with two long sash windows to the front and a smaller window to the side.

  ‘This is a one-bed. There are two one-bed apartments on this floor and the floor underneath. Your floor and the ground floor are the studios,’ JJ explained. ‘A friend of mine owns this building. I helped him renovate it. I’m in the process of buying a fairly rundown clapboard house in Westchester that I’m going to renovate in my spare time. I’m going to live in a trailer there once the deal goes through and spring comes.’

  ‘Oh! You’re in the building trade?’ queried Alison, gazing around at some beautiful pieces of furniture which, to her eye, looked very expensive.

  ‘I’m a carpenter by trade, but I specialize in bespoke furniture,’ JJ said as he handed her a coffee, and offered one each to Frankie and Fintan.

  ‘Wow, that’s an amazing table.’ Alison ran her finger along a circular rosewood table that gleamed even in the leaden daylight that filtered through the voile curtains. There were six chairs, too, carved ornately and padded in a rich burgundy material. JJ Connelly had impressive taste, she reflected, noting the elegant bookshelves awaiting their treasures and the slim, matching rosewood, glass-fronted cabinets that stood at each corner of the wall, the round table between them.

  ‘Glad you like it,’ he said crisply, blue eyes glinting at her. He’d taken off his peaked sports cap, and his thick, dark-chestnut hair was boyishly tousled.

  ‘Have a cookie?’ she offered, remembering she’d bought them.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ He took one out of the bag she proffered and wolfed it down with a slug of coffee. Alison offered the bag to the two F’s, as she’d privately christened them, and they gave them short shrift.

  ‘So what line of business are you in, Alison?’ JJ eyed her speculatively.

  ‘I was in the financial sector.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Was?’ He arched an eyebrow at her.

  ‘Yep. I lost my job a few weeks ago. The firm I was working for collapsed after the Madoff scandal. Went to work one morning and we were all told to go home, the company was bankrupt. So that was that. Jobless, with not much prospect of getting another one at the moment. I’ve sublet my apartment uptown and taken this one while my friend, who lives here, is in LA. I took it for three months. If I don’t get a job by then, I guess I’ll have to quit America and go home, or see what comes up elsewhere,’ she explained.

  ‘That’s tough,’ he said quietly as the two F’s murmured agreement.

  ‘Yeah, it’s kind of ironic – my speciality is wealth management,’ she added lightly.

  ‘Ah well, ye wouldn’t be dealing with the likes of us, Alison,’ Frankie grinned. ‘We don’t have any wealth worth talking about, do we, lads?’

  ‘Yer right there,’ Fintan agreed.

  ‘My sister was made redundant recently, in London.’ JJ frowned. ‘Worked for twenty years with the same company, gave her heart and soul to them, and wham! Out the door without even a word of thanks. You’re only a commodity in business. I used to tell her so when she took work home with her. “You’ll get no thanks for it,” I told her, and I was right – and I take no pleasure being proved right either. I bet you were the same.’

  ‘Yeah, a bit, I put in the extra hours, but I felt it was appreciated,’ retorted Alison defensively.

  ‘Listen, my dear good woman, and take this to heart for the next job you go to, it’s every man for himself in business, and profit is the bottom line. It’s a rare thing to find humanity in the cut and thrust of the corporate world. I have to say, from what I’ve seen in business, I’m very glad I work for myself.’ JJ eyed her quizzically. ‘Did you have a nice pad uptown?’

  ‘Two bedrooms, separate kitchen and a little balcony. I loved it. I was gutted leaving it,’ she admitted. ‘I’m really hoping to get another position asap and get back to it.’

  ‘The recession won’t last for ever. They’re talking recovery already. I swear to God that’s what I love about the States. It’s all so positive, even when things are at their worst. At home it’s all gloom and doom. The media are so negative over there, it always shocks me when I go back.’

  ‘You’d nearly shoot yourself if you lived at home, listening to that pessimism day in day out,’ Fintan interjected as he took another cookie and scoffed it in one mouthful, crumbs scattering all over his fleece and his bushy red beard.

  ‘I’m going home next week for my mother’s seventieth. Couldn’t be worse timing. I won’t be saying anything about losing my job though. My dad’s been on at me to buy property for years, he says rent is dead money, and he’s right, I suppose. It’s too late now though,’ Alison confided. It was so odd: she felt very comfortable with the three Irishmen, and having a conversation with them was almost a treat. She hadn’t realized just how lonely it was being unemployed, having nowhere to go and no one to interact with during the day.

  ‘Well, look at it like this – if you’d bought at the peak of the boom, you’d be in negative equity,’ JJ said kindly, ‘although I have to say, in general, I’m a fan of bricks and mortar myself. Don’t trust the stock market.’

  ‘Right now neither do I. I’ve taken such a hit with my investments and bonuses.’ Alison nodded in agreement, draining her coffee. ‘I guess I better let you get on and finish unpacking. I’ve to make a start myself. I’ve boxes everywhere.’

  ‘Thanks for the coffee, neighbour,’ JJ grinned, showing even, white teeth.

  ‘Thanks, Alison, nice to meet ya,’ and ‘Good on ya,’ the two F’s added.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Alison assured them, deciding that she was going to make her studio as nice as possible, just in case JJ Connelly ever came to her door looking to borrow sugar. She’d buy some just in case.

  Once she made a start, it wasn’t so bad, and there was a degree of satisfaction in emptying each box, putting away her belongings and beginning to feel an ownership of her new abode. Once the empty cardboard boxes were flattened, the place didn’t look so cluttered, and she was quite pleased at the homely ambiance she created by putting her books on the bookshelves and her lamps at each window. Alison loved soft lighting in her home space. It relaxed her and made the place feel cosy, especially in the viciously cold winters of the past few years. Most of the offices she had worked in had fluorescent lighting, which she hated.

  She stared around after she’d emptied the last box into her by now bulging closet and wondered could she follow up on Melora’s suggestion to place a swathe of cream curtain material, to drop in soft folds from the archway that divided the bedroom area from the small sitting room. She c
ould ask JJ. He was a carpenter. It wouldn’t take long to stick a curtain rail across the top of the arch.

  Melora, minimalist to the last, had put most of her possessions, including her designer clothes, bags and shoes, in storage, all carefully wrapped and labelled. She intended coming back to New York when the winter was over with either a prospective husband or, failing that, a new job in wealth management. No recession was going to get the better of her; she’d emailed Alison telling her she already had a date, having only arrived in LA a week previously.

  ‘You go, girl,’ Alison had emailed back in admiration.

  Melora was very anxious to get married, as were most of Alison’s single friends in New York. It was all about the date and the man, or meeting that special someone, or wondering was the man you were dating really into you. Sometimes Alison wondered if she had a gene missing. Or, she pondered guiltily, was she a bit shallow? She liked dating, but it wasn’t the end of the world if there wasn’t a man in her life. She hadn’t had much time to get into a serious relationship in her twenties, between work and college. But over the last few years she’d had two relationships that had ended because the guys felt she was more committed to her job than she was to them. What was so wrong with loving your work? If it was the other way around and she’d felt they were more committed to their jobs than they were to her, it would have been a perfectly acceptable scenario for them and she would have been labelled ‘needy’.

  Jonathan suited her perfectly. They had fun, the sex was OK, she wasn’t in danger of losing her heart to him – and that was good also, she felt. Losing your heart left you out of control and it was bad enough being out of a job and having temporarily lost control of her career, without losing control of her emotions. That would be a total disaster.

  She heard clattering down the stairs and stuck her head out the door. It was Fintan, the red-haired, bearded one of the trio.