“So Chris, I have some news.” There seemed to be something on Aggie's keyboard that demanded her attention as she spoke. Chris sensed something was up, and she threw a worried glance at her Dad who was squashed onto a chair alongside her. His eyes were fixed on the computer screen. Aggie looked like she was about to cry. Sure enough, a moment later, the tears started to roll down her cheeks.
“Aggie? What is it?” She looked from the screen to her Dad and back again. “Are you okay?”
“She's fine.” Matt put a reassuring hand on his daughter's knee.
“Aggie, what's wrong?” Panic was rising in her.
Aggie looked up. “Chris, I'm pregnant.”
Ten thousand miles apart, two sisters sat looking at each other, the same tears rolling down their cheeks. And a broken-hearted father sat watching, clearly wishing with every part of his soul that the love of his life was standing behind him, putting a hand reassuringly on his shoulder.
TwelveThat year, there seemed to be no autumn season to speak of. After one of the warmest and driest summers on record, the weather got very cold and windy towards the end of September, and the leaves all seemed to fall earlier than usual. The news was full of talk of water shortages, and only after it rained almost every day for the entire month of October did the reservoirs around Dublin start to return to normal levels. By December, more typical Irish weather had returned. Changeable was the accepted technical term for it. Predicting the weather for Ireland was no easy task. It mightn't have seemed so, but Christine knew that her job was a lot more straightforward than that of the meteorologists on the national news. Many of the geographical areas she was concerned with had established weather patterns. Weather was far more predictable over land, and while forecasting how it might impact on the global economy was never an exact science, it was certainly somewhat dependable. Trying to predict what was in store for a little island at the edge of the Atlantic was a lot trickier.
The first Friday of December was particularly cold and dry, and the pavement sparkled with frost where it had escaped rush-hour footsteps. Walking to work every day was one of the changes Christine had made since the summer. Since meeting Gavan. She had taken the decision to make some improvements to her life before she turned thirty. Some were just small things, walking to work, drinking less coffee, rising earlier so as not to be always rushing at the start of the day.
Other changes went deeper. Opening up. Letting in. Moving on. She had certainly taken steps in those directions. Aggie's pregnancy had probably been the catalyst for that. It had come as a shock to her in some ways, but the inevitability of it had suddenly seemed so obvious. When the shock had abated, she had been left with the clear realisation that the whole world was turning without her, moving on, as she sat in the middle like a fulcrum, watching it happen, holding on tight to the past, to her grief. Maybe it had been the news that her sister's world was still rotating, maybe it had been Gavan, maybe it had just been time, but she had made the decision to try, to really try and move on with it.
So she had made changes. She had Gavan stay over more often, and she had even stayed at his place once or twice, although they both preferred the privacy of her apartment to meeting his room-mates in his kitchen in the mornings. Having him there meant that there was no opportunity to give in to the blackness. Or at least, it helped. There had been one or two nights when she had left him sleeping to go and sit on the floor of the bathroom in forced silence with her tears, but only one or two.
Emily had stayed over too, although since she had moved in with Jack at Halloween, that had become a less frequent occurrence. Even Emily was moving on.
She still visited the grave every weekend, but not always on a Saturday. This was perhaps her greatest step. It had only come about when Gavan had surprised her by whisking her away one Friday for a romantic weekend in a country hotel. His excitement had been such, that she had steeled herself, silently promising that she would go the second she returned on Sunday afternoon. Which she had. And the sky hadn't fallen in. She had even let Gavan drive her there, although she had asked him to stay in the car.
The one thing that she hadn't felt the need to change, was work. She was almost two years at CarltonWachs now, and she was loving it. Her role was changing, developing, she had been given more responsibility. As the business grew, there was talk of even possibly hiring a graduate meteorologist in London who would report into her. Even Mark seemed a lot easier to work for these days. She guessed it was his split from his partner that had caused the change, or maybe it was Petra making his working life easier. Whatever the reason, his once tenebrous demeanour seemed to be changed. He was almost jolly, and it certainly made life at CarltonWachs a lot more enjoyable.
Yes, as she arrived at the bank that December morning, Christine felt, for the first time in a long while, that life was good.
~
Mark was miserable.
Bloody Christmas.
He wrestled with a stray garland of tinsel which had fallen from Petra's pin-board as he searched her desk for his BlackBerry. Why did they feel the need to make the office look so tacky for one whole month of the year? Mark had never particularly liked Christmas. He had the usual fond memories of it as a child, of electric trains, and sugared jellies in tins, and his father with a paper hat on, drinking his one whiskey of the year. But as an adult, it was just another occasion. Like Easter, or Halloween. Nothing special. He and Jennifer had gone skiing last year. To the Caribbean the year before that. Another repercussion of having no children. But it meant that Christmas was just another holiday. A place in the working calendar to take a breath before starting all over again in January. And he still had all those Christmas lunches and drinks to attend. Christ. He was so exhausted. His reserve of Christmas cheer was depleted, and the season hadn’t even really begun yet.
And he had been trying so hard. Since September, he had really been making an effort not to obsess about her. To get on with his life. To focus on work, and on his other staff. He had really tried to put all his energy into making CarltonWachs a great place to work. He had the party of parties planned for later in the month. Well, Petra had the party of parties planned for later in the month, but under his instruction. That girl really was something else. Mark knew that if it hadn't been for Petra, there would still be a black cloud sitting over the office. Instead, there was a Christmas tree on every floor, tins of butter cookies in the coffee room, and a massive party planned for the whole building. All he had to do was get with the prevailing mood.
“Petra, where the fuck is my BlackBerry?”
Petra appeared in front of him with a disapproving look on her face. “On your desk, Mark, where I left it when I finished updating it for you.” She handed him one of the coffees she was holding.
“Oh, right. Thanks.” He took the coffee and tried a half-smile. “Sorry.”
Petra ignored him and proceeded to fix the errant garland decorating her desk. “Shay is waiting for you in your office.” She looked up from her pin-board. He was excused.
“Right, thanks. Thanks for the coffee.”
“You're welcome.”
And to think he had entertained the idea that she had fancied him when she had started working here. He knew better now. He was fairly sure Petra thought she could run things around here just as well without him. And he almost didn't doubt it. He took his coffee into his office where Shay was sitting on the couch, flicking through a copy of the Financial Times.
“Hey Shay.”
“Mark. Alright?” Shay folded the paper and flopped it down onto the low coffee table.
“Ah yeah. Just gearing myself up for three weeks of lunchtime drinks and five hour dinners.”
“I know. I've started running. Last year I put on half a stone before Christmas. I'm gonna meet it head on this year. Otherwise Nina will kick me out.”
“Hmm.” Mark stood sifting through papers on his desk with one hand, his coffee in the other.
“Anyway, I'm to ask
you over for New Year's.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. We're having a dinner party. Apparently. God help us.”
Mark thought about it. He hadn't considered New Year's Eve yet. Now that he did, he could see the huge potential for starting the year on a very depressing note, alone, at home, with a bottle of whiskey. Having some definite arrangement for the night would be no bad thing. “That sounds good.” Hogmanay. Wasn't that what they called it in Scotland?
“Really? You'd be on for it? Are you sure?”
It's a big deal in Scotland. Hogmanay. “Sure, I'm sure. Not like I have a long list of other places to be.” Kilts. And dancing. And, hogs.
“Okay. That's great. Nina will be delighted.”
“Tell her thanks.” Mark was glad to have that particular hazard averted. “Who else will be there?”
Shay stood up, looking very like someone who needed to be somewhere else. “Oh, you know. Nina's sister and whichever poor sucker she's seeing at the time. Probably a few neighbours. You know Nina. She'll most likely invite a few single girls from her book club, just to mix it up.”
Mark suspected Shay was avoiding eye contact. “Look, Shay, if Nina feels the need to play matchmaker for me, that is not a problem. Just be a mate and vet them first, yeah?”
“No, no Mark. It's not like that at all, I'm sure.” The rising colour of Shay's cheeks made Mark think otherwise. “I'll let you get on with things here. I'll tell Nina you're available anyway.”
“Do. Thanks again.”
When he was gone, Mark sat down at his desk and thought about Nina hatching a plan to set him up with someone. Why not? He should definitely start dating again. And who better to set him up than Nina? She knew him well enough. And she wouldn't introduce him to someone unsuitable. Yes, this was not a bad thing at all. He stood up from his chair and walked over to the window. The sun was low in the sky. It reflected on a window pane on the corner of the square, sending an almost blinding light out across the CarltonWachs building. People walked on the pavement beneath him, wrapped up like presents against the cold. Across the street, a huge Christmas tree was being levered into place at the gate into the square. He could see two small children standing with a young woman, staring up at it, dwarfed by it. Lost in its magic.
Mark took a deep breath. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.
~
“I just don't see why we can't have partners there. For once.” Amanda was ostensibly speaking to Dee, but her raised voice and angry glare were firmly directly at Petra who was sitting with her back to them both. Petra swung around to face them. Dee busied herself with her coffee mug.
“Because, Amanda,” Petra took on the tone of a frustrated mother, “the budget was such this year, that had we included partners, we wouldn't have been able to provide a free bar. Which, as you know, more people voted for.”
“Here, here,” one of the dealers standing at the back of the crowded coffee room raised his mug to more encouraging cheers. Petra glanced in his direction, clearly not feeling she needed the support of any louts in her argument.
“Yeah well.” Amanda drained her coffee. “It would be nice for once to have something for our husbands. And wives. They're the ones that suffer when CarltonWachs wants us to stay on until ten at night. They never get any acknowledgement.”
“Just cos you want to show off your posh fellah, Mandy,” Craig laughed at her. “We all know how fantastic he his already. You tell us every day.”
“I do not.” Amanda's cheeks burned under the gaze of twenty pairs of eyes. “Anyway, at least I have a fellah I could bring.”
“Craig probably has a fellah he could bring too,” an unidentified male voice from near the coffee maker called, to jeers and whoops from the other dealers present. Amanda smiled.
“Anyway,” she focused her indignation back at Petra. “I would have thought you'd love to introduce us all to your fiancée.”
Now it was Petra's turn to go red. She stood up, gathering the empty coffee cups from the tables near her.
“It wasn't my decision.” She sounded very put out. “It was Mark's. And it's all arranged now.” She pushed past the bodies standing between her and the sink, and started running the taps.
A girl in a white shirt and cheap black trousers rushed in through the door. “Can one of you come back to reception and help me?” She looked from Amanda to Dee.
“I'll go.” Dee went to stand up.
“No, I'll go.” Amanda got up and followed the young girl out of the coffee room. Others followed after her, one by one.
“Thank you all so much.” A middle-aged woman, one of the receptionists from the ground floor, called after them. “Anyone who still has to make a donation, I have the bag here. Thank you. Thanks again.”
Christine looked at Craig. “C'mon, we'd better go and do some work.”
“I'm not going,” he said quietly. “The Christmas party. Not this year.”
Christine looked at him. Just then she noticed Freddie rush into the room. He walked over to the woman holding the collection bag.
“Sorry I missed it, Rosaleen.” He spoke quietly. “Here's something anyway.”
Christine saw him slip a fifty euro note into the bag. Rosaleen's eyes lit up. “Thanks, Freddie,” she said.
Freddie left again without a coffee, swiping a leftover biscuit from a plate as he went. Christine watched as Rosaleen collected empty cups and brought them over to Petra at the sink.
“You should go,” she said to Craig, standing up from her seat. “It has been a crappy year, but all the more reason to go.” And she handed her cup to Petra and went back to her office.
Thirteen“So it's lovely to look at, and it has a great feel. And it's both high-def and Eye-Fi compatible. It's got image stabilisation, twelve megapix…” The young shop assistant's red Santa hat bobbed in concert with his level of enthusiasm for the camera he was handling.
“I didn't really understand a word you just said,” Christine smiled. If she had to guess, she’d say he had skate-boarded to work.
The young man considered her for a moment. “If you're looking for a camera for general use, that's easy to operate, and you're not Herb Ritts, then this is the one for you. The best one in your price range.”
“Okay. I'll take your word for it.” Christine took out her credit card. “And I'll take the camera.”
“Great.” He looked relieved. “The bag comes in different colours. Would you like the pink one? Or the purple?”
“Eh, no. It's not for me, and I don't think he likes pink. Black is fine.”
“Okay, sure, sure, great.” He proceeded to gather together various paraphernalia that apparently came with the camera, humming to himself all the while, like he had invisible earphones on. The counter got so cluttered with stuff, that Christine could hardly make out the camera itself. She really hoped Gavan would like it. He had only ever used the camera on his phone in all the time she had known him, so she thought he might appreciate having a proper one. She had most of her Christmas shopping done now, not that she'd had much to get. She'd get Emily's next. She had seen her admiring an expensive sequinned top in a magazine, and after a little research had found out that it was for sale right here in the department store. Emily would never buy it for herself, it was too extravagant a purchase for her, but Christine could afford it. Emily had been such a good friend to her. She wanted to get her something special.
The store was a wonderland of baubles and lights. It wasn't even eleven, but the place was heaving with Saturday shoppers, buoyed up by the sparkle, the tinsel, the cheery, twinkly Christmas music. The pungent aroma of expensive cosmetics and perfumes abated a little as she ascended the escalator, gradually being replaced by the scent of cloves and cinnamon wafting through from the home-wares department. She made a mental note to return there to buy herself some wine glasses, as she continued on another flight of the stairs to where Emily's top would hopefully be. The air got cooler as the escalator rose, and the bed
lam of the ground floor was replaced by a calmer scene of serious clothes shoppers, many of them seeking out the perfect party dress for the season. She walked onto the floor, a sea of eye-level rails of colourful lacy garments. She stopped at one, and set her bags down at her feet. As she carefully slid the wooden hangers across, examining various beaded chiffon tops, she felt something warm grab her leg.
“Mammy.”
Christine's body froze. She just tilted her head a little and saw the top of a small blonde child, a girl of three or maybe four, her arm wrapped around Christine's thigh. Her frigid reaction clearly alerted the child. She looked up at Christine, and her face crumpled like a paper bag. She started to sob.
“Mammy, Mammy,” she wailed, looking right and left and back up at Christine, as if to check that it definitely wasn't her mother standing there. Christine stared at her for a second, and then looked around, over the clothes rails. There was no sight of any fretting mother calling, or searching.
“Mammeee.” The child suddenly let go of Christine and ran off further into the maze of long black coats and painted silk dresses. Christine grabbed her bags and took off after her. She could hear the little girl's voice getting increasingly petrified.
“Wait,” Christine called. She turned a corner and saw the child standing still between two rails, looking to her right and her left. Then she watched in dismay as the girl sat down on the rough blue carpet, and covered her head in her little arms, tucking her knees under her like a small threatened animal. The fur-lined hood of her cable knit cardigan shook as she sobbed. Christine went to her, and crouched down beside her.
“Sweetie, are you lost?” The little girl kept her head covered. Christine put her hand gently on her arm. “Were you with your Mummy?”
The back of the little blonde head moved up and down.
“Well, why don't we try and find her together?” Christine looked around for a security guard, or a sales assistant, but all she could see were clothes. The girl raised her head and looked at Christine. “What's your name sweetie?” Christine asked.
Alberta Clipper Page 11