One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story)

by Mandy Baggot

Clara’s mouth fell open and she started to splutter as the receptionists behind her giggled. ‘I wasn’t aware I had to report my day off activities to the CEO.’

  ‘Absolutely you don’t.’ He touched his nose with his finger. ‘I won’t say a word.’ He grinned, indicating the elevator. ‘Going up?’

  ‘Yes, but …’ Clara started.

  ‘Before you do anything this morning, Clara, could you get the Christmas tree guys back here and have them put it back in the lobby.’ He looked at the vacant space, not even a pine needle in sight. ‘But get a bigger one. And more decorations.’ He pressed the button for the lift. ‘And get a couple of thousand dollars’ worth of toys to go under the tree. We’ll give them to employees’ children and the hospital.’

  ‘Oliver, what’s happened?’

  He smiled. ‘Nothing’s happened. I just think we should get the Christmas tree back in here.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Because it’s nearly Christmas.’ He stepped into the lift.

  ‘It was nearly Christmas the other day when you had them take it down,’ Clara answered, following him.

  ‘Timing is everything,’ he replied, unable to keep the grin off his face.

  Clara shook her head as the doors closed. ‘I saw the front page of the newspaper yesterday.’ She turned to look at him. ‘I called in to speak to you about it only to be told you were out of the office.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘And when I called again, every hour on the hour, I got given the same message.’

  He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘It was your day off. What the hell were you doing calling me? I told you I expected you to …’

  ‘Spend the whole day in bed, yes, the whole lobby heard you.’

  ‘And did you? In between phone calls?’ He moved himself into Clara’s personal space, ducking his head a little to catch her eye.

  Clara smiled back at him, a coy expression on her face. ‘There may have been some marital harmony at some point during the day.’

  He clapped his hands together and laughed. ‘Good.’

  ‘And where were you? Did you and Andrew Regis take the meeting to the country club or something?’

  He felt his smile slide and he tightened his lips together, drawing in a breath. ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Well, you should know he’s been on the phone already this morning,’ Clara said.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Twice,’ Clara added. ‘And so has your mother.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Three times.’

  He stood tall, ignoring the weight in his chest. Whatever his mother was up to with Andrew Regis he wasn’t going to let it pull him out of this good place he was in right now.

  ‘Reconsidering the tree and the presents?’ Clara asked.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘The tree comes back, the presents arrive and when the mail is ready I want you to come into my office and tell me the most romantic place in the city to take someone on a date.’

  ‘According to the newspaper, you grant women wishes.’ He watched the smirk play on her lips.

  ‘Don’t believe everything you read in the press, Clara.’ He winked. ‘And why don’t you have William call someone named Nick in packaging. He needs an assistant manager I’ve heard.’

  He watched the smile arrive on Clara’s lips. Today he was unstoppable.

  * * *

  Dean Walker’s Apartment, Downtown Manhattan

  ‘No, Peter, I don’t really know,’ Dean paced around the kitchen, his mobile phone to his ear. ‘He turned up here last night, said there was a problem and I’ve been up all night trying to find this report on the internet.’

  Hayley cringed as she sipped at her cup of tea. Angel kicked her ankle from her seat around the breakfast bar and glared.

  ‘You have to tell him,’ Angel said through tight lips.

  Hayley shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the Globe.’

  ‘We don’t know that.’

  ‘He didn’t sleep,’ Angel stated, a spoonful of cereal in her mouth.

  ‘How do you know? You should have been asleep.’

  ‘I’m going to tell him,’ Angel said.

  ‘Tell him what?’ She raised her teacup in innocence.

  ‘That there’s nothing wrong with the Globe and that you’re trying to get a job.’

  Hayley watched Angel swing her legs to the side, facing her body towards Dean.

  ‘Uncle Dean!’ Angel called loudly.

  Hayley jumped down from the high stool, spilling tea as she set the cup down and raced to Angel. She put a hand over her mouth and pulled her into her body, muffling the sound. This was becoming a regular tactic.

  ‘Angel, please don’t,’ she begged.

  Angel fought herself free and wiped at her mouth with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. ‘You leave me with no choice then.’ She reached across the table and dragged the New York guidebook across the countertop.

  ‘Oh please, not one hundred and one facts about the birds of Central Park.’

  ‘Let me see.’ Angel thumbed the pages of the book. ‘I think … yes … the New York Public Library followed by the Empire State Building and then the Rockefeller Centre.’

  ‘I thought we might have a look at a couple of galleries and can we swap the library for a browse around Barneys or Bloomingdales?’

  ‘No.’ Angel crossed her arms over her chest.

  ‘Oh fine, you win.’ She stuck her tongue out. ‘Go and get dressed then.’

  Angel pulled a face and headed towards the door, swinging her hips in some sort of victory dance.

  ‘I’ll see you when I get in.’ Dean ended the call, putting his mobile phone down on the countertop. He did look pale and harried, and it was all her fault.

  ‘Listen, I reckon Oliver’s got it wrong. You know what these MDs are like. What do they know about the grass roots of the business?’

  Dean was suddenly looking at her like she had grown a second head.

  She looked down at her onesie. Had she spilt something on herself? ‘What?’

  ‘You said Oliver,’ Dean stated.

  She swallowed. She’d totally forgotten Dean knew nothing about any of their meetings. She could feel her cheeks turning into a riot of colour. ‘Isn’t that his name?’ she offered.

  ‘Yes, I just …’

  She interrupted quickly. ‘Angel wants to go to the Empire State today and, after I’ve phoned as many galleries as I can, we’re going to go and visit some more and hope I get a lead on Michel.’

  Dean picked up his coffee mug. ‘D’you think that’s wise?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Going to the galleries with Angel. I mean, what if he’s actually in one of them?’

  ‘Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Have you?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve decided I’m going to talk to her about it at the top of the Empire State, having drunk several strong coffees.’ Hayley felt her chest tighten at the thought of broaching the subject with Angel. She carried on regardless. ‘I’ll tell her I know about her wish and that I’m going to help her find her father.’

  A loud bang on the floorboards had Hayley turning towards the doorway. She gasped. Angel was stood just behind her, the special dictionary fallen open on the floor at her feet.

  29

  Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan

  ‘That was reception again. Your mother has left another message,’ Clara said, putting down the phone on Oliver’s desk.

  ‘When do you think she’s going to give up?’ he asked, leaning back in his chair.

  ‘I’ve known her half my life, Oliver. She isn’t going to give up until you talk to her.’

  He nodded, filling his chest cavity with a long breath. Clara was right, of course, but he wasn’t ready yet.

  ‘Is this about the McArthur Foundation?’ Clara asked.

  He shook his
head. ‘No.’

  ‘Then …’

  He knew she’d deliberately left the end of her sentence open, the words hanging there, just waiting for him to fill in the gaps.

  ‘So, romantic locations,’ Oliver said, pulling himself upright and smiling at Clara.

  ‘You were serious about that?’

  ‘Did you think I wasn’t?’

  ‘It’s that woman who was here the other day.’ Clara smiled. ‘Lois.’

  He couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his mouth. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Oliver, I’ve never seen you look like that before.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like you’re not running from the world.’

  He swallowed, the smile fading a little. Was that what he did? Was that how others saw him? He felt the familiar grip of fear tighten its hold on his heart. Planning a date like this was having faith in something he didn’t believe in. This wasn’t a casual pick-up. Making a diary entry with someone was as permanent as he’d ever been. A voice at the back of his mind was urging caution. You are going to die. He swallowed, tempted to listen. Or did he dare to ignore it? Live life without thinking too hard, like Tony kept suggesting.

  ‘It wasn’t a criticism,’ Clara said quickly. ‘I just know how much pressure you’ve been under since your father died and …’

  He cleared his throat. ‘So, I was thinking of a Broadway show. What’s best?’

  Clara put a hand to the turquoise statement necklace on her chest, twisting the beads between her fingers.

  ‘No?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘Well, it’s a nice idea but you can’t really talk to each other in a show.’ She shifted in her seat. ‘A first date should give you an opportunity to get to know each other better.’

  He nodded. ‘You’re right. What was I thinking?’

  He thought over Clara’s statement, watched her cheeks redden because she’d spoken her mind.

  ‘Dinner?’ Oliver suggested.

  ‘Where’s your originality? Food is good but you need something more.’

  ‘Cocktails?’

  ‘Clichéd.’

  ‘Philharmonic orchestra?’

  ‘You can talk over violins?’

  He stabbed his pen at the pad in front of him and picked up the stress baseball. ‘Why is this so difficult?’

  ‘Because you care.’ Clara smiled. ‘What are her interests?’

  The question jarred his thought process. He didn’t know. They had met three times now, had conversation, kissed, and he had no idea what she liked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He felt pathetic. ‘She has a daughter.’

  ‘Even I knew that. Think, Oliver.’

  ‘She’s smart.’ He stood up. ‘I don’t necessarily mean intellectually so …’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know that. But she’s a smart talker, knows how the world works, finds the fun in everything. Fights me for the last word.’

  ‘Feisty and fun-loving.’ Clara nodded, making notes on her clipboard.

  ‘Am I wasting my time here, Clara?’ He turned towards her.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Should it be this hard?’

  ‘The very best things in life are the ones you have to fight for.’

  He swallowed, a feeling of melancholy washing over him. ‘My father used to say that.’

  ‘I know he did.’ Clara smiled. ‘And then he would tell the story about the boat capsizing.’

  The story he had recalled just last night had been told at every networking event his father had attended since he was old enough to go with him to them. It had only been replaced with something else when Ben had died. Then it had been all about life being too short, making the most of what you had, no longer about going out and aiming big, fighting for what you wanted. Richard Drummond’s success hadn’t dwindled after Ben’s death but his outlook on life definitely had.

  His eyes lit up as a light bulb went on. ‘How about Greenwich Village?’

  Clara smiled. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

  * * *

  Empire State Building, Midtown Manhattan

  ‘Did you know there are a hundred and two floors in this place? Reasons Christmas is better in New York number 55 – exercise whilst visiting iconic buildings,’ Hayley said. She breathed in the wintery air and leaned against the barricade of the eighty-sixth-floor main deck. The temperature had dropped below freezing, which meant a wind that bit but no snow and a bright, clear blue sky with a sun doing its best to heat the city up.

  ‘I’ve waited eighty-six floors for you to tell me about my dad. I’m not going to wait sixteen more.’

  Hayley felt the bitterness in Angel’s words and saw the anxious expression just visible under Dean’s New York Rangers beanie she had borrowed. Acting on maternal instinct, she reached for the collar of Angel’s coat and refastened the undone top button.

  ‘Mum,’ Angel said, shaking herself away.

  ‘Look out there, Angel,’ Hayley pointed to the vast expanse of skyscrapers below them, laid out like a glass and metal picnic blanket. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

  ‘Please, Mum.’

  She let out a sigh, her breath hot mist in the air. She’d told Dean she was going to tell Angel up here. She’d kidded herself that she was ready. But Angel overhearing the earlier conversation meant it wasn’t something she could hide away in her diary anymore. It was time to face the music, and the consequences.

  She smiled. ‘Well, I guess it’s confession time.’ Her voice shook slightly. ‘I heard you asking God and Father Christmas to find your dad and that’s why we’re here. In New York.’ She let out a rush of breath. ‘And I haven’t told you because I wanted to try and find him first.’

  She watched for Angel’s reaction but there was little except the wide eyes that were growing larger and the fact she was looking less child genius and more vulnerable nine-year-old as the seconds ticked past.

  ‘You’ve never asked me and I thought maybe you didn’t want to know or …’ Hayley started. She sunk her hands into the pockets of her coat.

  ‘I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,’ Angel responded.

  ‘Hurt my feelings? Why would you think that?’

  ‘Because if I told you I wanted to know about my dad, you might think you weren’t enough for me.’

  She gulped back a knot of feeling. ‘Oh, Angel, if you wanted to know, you should have asked.’

  ‘I thought one day you would tell me. I didn’t want to upset you.’ Angel blinked her dark eyelashes. ‘And I used to hear Nanny shouting at you about him. She calls him “that man” and she keeps saying he ruined your life.’

  Hayley clapped her hands to her mouth as her stomach fell to ground-floor level. Angel had heard those horrible rows, the arguments about the latest ‘dead-end’ job she’d got that hadn’t suited her mother. The constant reiteration about how she’d had to pay for that first year of college even though Hayley hadn’t been able to go. Her dreams being killed. The car crash of her life. Just how much had Angel heard and never told?

  She had to compose herself. This wasn’t about her mother’s disapproval, this was about her daughter wanting to know where she came from.

  ‘His name is Michel,’ Hayley began. ‘And he’s an artist.’

  A quizzical look appeared on Angel’s face, her brow furrowing. ‘Painting?’

  ‘Yes, and photography,’ Hayley replied.

  ‘Oils or watercolours?’

  Hayley hesitated. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘And he lives here? In New York?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘But not now?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hope he still does.’

  Angel still looked puzzled. ‘Can’t you call him or email him or something? Say I want to meet him.’

  This was where it was going to get difficult. But she wasn’t going to lie to Angel, there had been too much hidden for too long already.

  ‘Angel, I don’t have his contact details.’ She set her e
yes on the city and said a mental prayer. ‘I never had them.’

  Angel didn’t respond straight away and Hayley zoned in on the dulled noise of the streets from their position in the sky. Normality to the residents of this state, rush, bustle, heading to work or off home, business, pleasure. None of them could be going through the same situation she was.

  ‘But he was your boyfriend,’ Angel stated finally.

  ‘Not really,’ Hayley admitted on a breath. She turned to face her daughter then. ‘We’ve done the whole how-babies-are-made thing, haven’t we?’

  Angel pulled a face and nodded her head. ‘I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Well, we only did it once.’ She let another breath go. ‘And I never saw him again.’

  She swallowed her guilt and shame and kept looking at Angel. Eventually Angel looked up and met her eyes.

  ‘You mean he doesn’t …’ Angel paused and wet her lips. ‘He doesn’t know about me?’

  Hayley shook her head. ‘Angel, I’m sure if he knew about you he’d have been to see you.’

  He would, wouldn’t he? Just like, if she’d known a way to contact him before Angel was born, she would have. Wouldn’t she? Hadn’t she wanted to? Wasn’t it her mother who had told her he wouldn’t want to know and she was better off without him?

  ‘So, he’s never known about me,’ Angel repeated, her eyes getting even bigger.

  ‘No, but he’s going to. That gallery we went to the other day, before the Guggenheim, I’m sure he exhibited there and the man I spoke to is going to contact some more galleries who are going to help. And I went to the club we met in just the other night and there’s a bartender there who might know him and …’ Hayley gabbled.

  The wind was blowing the strands of hair flying loose from under Dean’s hat and Hayley just wanted to envelop Angel in her arms and not let anything touch her. This obviously hadn’t been anything like her daughter had envisaged in her mind. She had known her father was out there somewhere, but perhaps she’d imagined a real relationship between her parents, her father knowing about her but having to leave for some reason. This, as Hayley had always thought, was an unkind truth.

  ‘I’m going to find him, Angel.’ She struggled to keep her voice steady.