One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story)

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘I see,’ the woman replied.

  ‘I called.’ Hayley took a breath. ‘A couple of weeks ago and the person I spoke to said they would call back but they didn’t and …’ She stopped as her mouth dried up. ‘I know it’s an odd request but we really need to meet with him and just … see how he is,’ Hayley continued. ‘We lost touch.’ And I had a baby. She couldn’t say that. This woman would think she was completely hopeless.

  ‘Do you have files?’ Angel asked. ‘Could you look in a book or on a computer and see if you have a phone number or an email address for him?’

  The woman smiled at Angel. ‘What is this person’s name?’

  Angel looked up at Hayley, her eyes urging her to make the reply.

  Hayley cleared her throat. ‘Michel. Michel De Vos.’

  The woman nodded. ‘I will go and see.’ She turned away from them and headed left out of the room.

  Hayley blew out a breath. ‘My heart’s hammering.’

  ‘Mine too,’ Angel admitted.

  Hayley swung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. ‘Listen, no matter what she says, it’s a positive, right?’

  ‘Right,’ Angel agreed.

  ‘Because she’ll either have something or she won’t.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Are you sure this was one of the galleries he talked about?’

  ‘Pretty sure.’

  Angel looked up at her then. ‘How much wine had you drunk?’

  ‘Angel!’

  ‘Well, you don’t remember everything right after you’ve had wine.’

  ‘It was this one … my ten-year diary said so … I think.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t really matter because if the lady comes back and says there’s no record of him, we have hundreds of others to try. And we will try them all.’

  She could see Angel was nervous. She was lifting her feet up and down as if they were cold, then shuffling her heels on the floor. The red coat swung around her knees as she twisted and, all of a sudden, she looked so small. This was a huge thing for a nine-year-old to be going through. Hayley had dealt with it very badly. She should have given Angel more credit and told her sooner.

  The squeak of shoes on the shiny floor gave them their first indication that the woman was coming back. Hayley held her breath until her chest ached.

  The lady stopped just in front of them and, for a second, Hayley wondered if she was going to say anything at all. Then she smiled.

  ‘I have good news.’

  ‘Oh … really?!’ Hayley looked at Angel. Her daughter was on tiptoes, cheeks glowing in anticipation. Was this it? Had they finally found Michel. She felt sick. This was good. This was what you wanted.

  The woman looked at the paper in her hands. ‘He has exhibited here ... in 2004.’

  Angel deflated like a bouncy castle being turned off. Hayley took hold her hand and squeezed it.

  ‘… and again just last year.’

  Air gushed from Angel’s mouth like someone had turned on a leaf blower.

  ‘Last year,’ Angel’s words came out in a loud whisper. Her body straightened taller as her enthusiasm gained momentum.

  ‘Well, I …’ What was it she wanted to say? ‘Do you have a contact number for him?’ Hayley asked.

  The woman’s lips drew inwards. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

  ‘An email address?’ Hayley said. ‘Anything?’

  ‘I have a website address, that is all.’ The woman held a small piece of paper in her hands.

  Hayley watched Angel light up like a Christmas tree, eyes twinkling, skin glowing, smile wider than the Hudson River.

  ‘Could you give it to us,’ Hayley said excitedly. She swung her rucksack off her back and began scrabbling inside of it for her phone.

  The woman adjusted her glasses, looking down at her own writing. Angel started to read out the letters.

  ‘www.oilandwater.org.’

  Hayley started tapping the address into the search engine on screen. What sort of website address was that? But out of all the searches on Google, Safari, Bing and Internet Explorer it was definitely one she hadn’t tried before. Her fingers shook with each key tap.

  As she hit the search button she could feel the nervous energy like static coming out of Angel’s every pore. This meant the world to her daughter. She said a silent wish as she watched the blue line creeping at a snail’s pace along the top of the phone screen. Please.

  The line zipped along at last and a mainly white page appeared.

  This webpage is not available.

  No. Hayley hit the refresh button, angling the phone away from Angel’s gaze and fixing a smile on her face. This time the blue line was quick.

  This webpage is not available.

  Hayley raised her head, caught the expectant look of the woman, the Olympic swimming pool sized eyes of Angel. What was she going to say? She let a small cough start her off.

  ‘Damn 3G never works when you need it to.’ Her cheeks were burning like hot oil was coating them. ‘I’ll check it on the PC when we get home.’

  Delaying tactics would have to do for now. She needed to make sure she had tissues and marshmallow hot chocolate before she said anything to Angel.

  31

  Downtown Manhattan

  ‘I need the nearest bodega,’ Hayley said as they trudged through the rapidly falling snow on the way back to Dean’s apartment.

  ‘Do you have 3G yet?’

  Angel had phrased this question in ten different ways since they got off the subway. Hayley was still wondering how to reply. She knew she had to tell her daughter. She knew she’d promised honesty. She just wanted to get her back to the apartment, in a safe, confined place before she told her it was another dead end.

  ‘He could be right here in New York,’ Angel continued, her eyes rising to the height of the buildings all around them.

  Hayley grabbed her arm as the stream of people hurrying along the street thickened. The inclement weather and the rush-hour city traffic were converging together in a congested mix that was making her head spin. She really did need fizzy wine.

  ‘Do you think he’s in New York now?’ Angel asked above the engines of the long line of cars and the beeping horns.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But he must still be in America,’ Angel continued. She was full of excitement or nervous energy. Maybe a little of both.

  She was in a no-win situation. She made a non-committal noise that didn’t affirm anything.

  ‘He could be living just a few streets away from here,’ Angel said, starting to skip.

  ‘Angel, stay close,’ Hayley begged.

  ‘There might be a phone number on his website. We could call him and …’

  ‘Angel, stop.’ Hayley pulled her to a halt, swinging her out of the throbbing wave of commuters and into the doorway of a bakery. The scent of freshly baked confectionary filled her nose. Wafts of spun sugar hit her hard as Angel lifted her head, eyes large. All her daughter’s hopes and dreams about meeting her father coated her expression.

  ‘I just …’ Hayley started. She swallowed. ‘Just don’t get your hopes up too much.’

  ‘Why?’ Angel asked bluntly, putting her hands on her hips.

  ‘Because …’ Could she put this off any longer?

  ‘Because what?’ Angel’s voice was softer now, faltering.

  Hayley squeezed her eyes tight shut, trying to ignore the street sounds, shut out the smell of road traffic, simmering hot dogs and mustard sauce, icing sugar and fondant from the bakery. She had to do this now. She swallowed, feeling like someone about to pull the head off a favourite teddy bear.

  ‘The website didn’t exist.’

  A truck had stopped next to the sidewalk with a whoosh of hydraulics and Hayley wasn’t certain Angel had actually heard what she’d said. There was no change in her daughter’s expression, no lip-trembling or tears welling up. Should she tell her aga
in?

  ‘The website …’ Hayley started.

  Angel nodded then, her chin defiant. ‘I heard what you said.’ Now there was a slight wobble to the voice.

  ‘I’m sorry, Angel,’ Hayley whispered out.

  ‘Why?’ Angel shook her head. ‘We’re trying every gallery in New York, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes.’ Hayley nodded, determined.

  ‘It’s just one stupid website. He probably bought another one.’

  Her daughter was trying to be brave and it hit her heart hard. That’s my girl. Never give in.

  ‘Absolutely.’ She nodded. ‘And we’re going to find out what it is and we’re going to find him.’

  A guy dressed in a Santa suit began strumming out ‘Feliz Navidad’ as the snow started to fall again. Hayley slipped her arm around Angel’s shoulders. ‘Let’s go get us some popovers.’

  Hayley’s phone began to ring, Beyoncé’s ‘Single Ladies’ sounding out through the material of her rucksack.

  Hayley unzipped her bag and dipped her hand into it.

  She looked at the display. It was an unknown number. She pressed to answer and put the phone to her ear.

  ‘Hello.’ She swallowed down her rising heart. Angel dragged at her arm.

  ‘Miss Walker? It’s Rebecca Rogers-Smythe.’

  ‘Oh hello.’ She knew what this was. She didn’t need to be as clever as Angel to know she was going to be sacked. Her only surprise was the fact this hadn’t happened sooner. The shouting from the housekeeper and the look on the woman’s face the previous day had been an obvious indicator. One of them, or perhaps both, would have been on the phone requesting that Agatha never darken their door again.

  ‘I’ve had a call from the client you cleaned for yesterday.’

  Hayley closed her eyes. She would jump in first and resign. It had been a ridiculous idea anyway.

  ‘Ms Rogers-Smythe …’ she started.

  ‘She would like you to drop in this evening if possible.’

  ‘I can’t … wait, what did you say?’ She creased her brow and looked out, past Angel and onto the darkening street.

  ‘I realise it’s an unusual request but I can only assume she was pleased with what you did.’

  ‘Pleased? You mean she didn’t …’ The word complain was on the tip of her tongue but something told her to stop.

  ‘I’m really hoping you could fill her twice weekly spot,’ Rebecca interrupted.

  ‘I could … head over there now if that was convenient.’

  Angel screwed up her nose and folded her arms across her chest, tapping her foot on the floor.

  ‘I’ll give her a quick call back and confirm. Toodle pip!’

  Hayley ended the call and dropped the phone back into her bag. ‘Cheer up, genius kid. I think your fairy light arrangement might have just scored me the cleaning job.’ She inhaled the winter air. ‘Either that or we’re about to see a rich woman go all Wrestle Mania.’

  ‘We’re not going to a bodega?’ Angel asked.

  ‘No, we’re going back to Westchester.’ She took a step out onto the sidewalk and stuck out her hand. ‘Taxi!’

  * * *

  Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan

  ‘So …’ Oliver leant back in his chair and squashed the stress ball with his right hand. ‘Where are we with the woman who was threatening court action on the maternity leave issue?’

  Clara tried to stifle a yawn but he caught it. It was after five. She’d worked her butt off today.

  ‘Was it twins or triplets?’ Oliver continued. ‘Huey, Louie and Dewey?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Clara shook her head and dropped her eyes down to the notepad in her hands, looking for the information. ‘I’m not quite sure.’

  ‘Clara, pack up, you’re going home.’

  Clara shook her head. ‘We have two other employment issues to go through.’

  ‘Not today. Go home.’ He stood up. ‘What’s the name of the employee who wants to extend her time with her children?’

  ‘Kate Vickram.’

  Oliver nodded. ‘Agree to it. In fact, get Mackenzie and her team to make it standard in all the contracts.’ He paused, looking to the windows where snow was flashing past like a rushing white fog. He turned back to Clara. ‘And send her a care package. Good stuff. Things for her, things for the babies and get her husband some beer. He’s going to need that.’

  He watched Clara’s jaw drop a little away from the rest of her face. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Clara, I’m sure.’ He raised a finger in the air. ‘And tomorrow I want flash cards.’

  ‘Flash cards?’

  ‘You know those things kids use to learn letters and words? A is for apple etc. Well I want employee photos and names.’

  ‘You want employee photos and names,’ Clara repeated.

  ‘It’s time I invested some time in the people that work for me,’ he answered.

  There was a knock on the door and Clara looked at her watch.

  ‘Are we expecting someone?’ Oliver asked, striding towards the door.

  ‘I’m not,’ Clara replied.

  Oliver threw open the door and Delaney Watts dropped her hand, adopting a glossy smile to greet him. This was one person he did recognise. Blonde, perfectly turned out, with the nose of a bloodhound. Delaney took care of his public relations with the ability to sniff out bad press quicker than a gossip columnist. Except the headlines in the news yesterday, which she was still getting to the bottom of.

  ‘Oliver,’ she said, putting her hand out to him.

  He shook it and opened the door wider. ‘Do we have another problem?’

  She let out a tinkle of a laugh. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Good news comes via a PowerPoint presentation in the boardroom, bad news is delivered here with paper evidence.’ He indicated the file she was clutching to her chest.

  She smiled.

  ‘Know who sold me out to the New York Times?’

  ‘I’m still working on it.’ Delaney smiled at Clara. ‘Hey, Clara.’

  ‘Hello, Delaney.’

  Oliver returned to his seat, putting his hands behind his head as Delaney sat in the chair next to Clara, crossing her slim legs. ‘So, go on, tell me what devastation is about to fall on the company.’

  He watched Delaney’s expression change. The confident smile was wavering a little, her pupils sharpening. He swallowed and waited.

  ‘I got a tip-off from my contact at Business Voice.’

  This wasn’t going to be sugar-coated. Delaney had on the voice that had delivered uncomfortable news many times before. Oliver coiled his fingers around the arms of his chair.

  ‘Andrew Regis has done an interview. It’s going to press tomorrow.’ Delaney uncrossed her legs. ‘He’s going public on the collapse of the deal and he’s using sound bites like “the end of an era for the companies’ relationship” and “a bond destroyed by Drummond’s fears for the future”.’

  Oliver tightened his grip on the chair as his heart began an uncomfortable beat. He hadn’t been expecting this. With whatever was going on between Regis and his mother, he hadn’t anticipated an attack on the family name being on the cards. What was the idea behind that? What would his mother think about the Drummond name being dragged through the dirt? The thoughts circled around in his mind, colliding, smashing together, weaving and interlocking until they were one horrible mess.

  ‘Now we have a couple of options,’ Delaney said, opening up the file on her knee. ‘We can …’

  ‘Let it run,’ Oliver said. He cleared his throat, trying to remove the emotion.

  ‘Oliver, I’m not sure that’s the right choice,’ Delaney responded quickly.

  He stood then, taking a deep breath and trying to quell his rapid heartbeat. ‘How confident are you with your source? Because I don’t believe it.’

  ‘We’ve worked together for a couple of years now.’

  ‘How do you know this isn’t a test?’ He looked to Clara. ‘W
hat if all this is a fabrication to cause me to make a knee-jerk reaction.’

  ‘That isn’t really my source’s style. He’s passed me considerable information in the past – all accurate.’

  Oliver put his hands to his forehead. ‘He wouldn’t do this. He’s dating my mother.’

  ‘What?!’ The word came out of the women’s mouths at the very same time.

  ‘Is that true?’ Delaney followed up. ‘Is that why the merger isn’t going forward?’

  ‘No,’ Oliver shook his head. ‘That would be an emotional decision and not a business one.’

  He saw Clara toy with her necklace out of the corner of his eye. She knew all too well how emotion could cloud his judgement. Was it all about not being able to cope with this change in circumstance? Or was there real foundation to his pulling out of the deal? He’d had enough suspicion to employ Daniel Pearson. Didn’t that alone say enough?

  He picked up the stress ball from the desk and palmed it from hand to hand, the eyes of the women on his every movement.

  ‘Do nothing, Delaney. If it’s true and that article is anything like you say it’s going to be, his union with my mother is going to be very short-lived.’ He launched the ball across the room and watched it hit the framed infographic.

  32

  The Drummond Residence, Westchester

  ‘Fashion alert on the cabbie back there. Double denim and a paisley shirt,’ Hayley said as she and Angel mounted the steps towards the grand entrance of the imposing Westchester house. She was trying to lighten the mood for herself as much as for Angel. She had played through the various outcomes of this visit on the cab ride over. The very worst one was Cynthia standing at the door alongside US immigration officers with guns and handcuffs. The best one was the housekeeper being allowed free rein of the fire poker.

  ‘And he sang out of tune,’ Angel added.

  ‘Like you,’ Hayley said, nudging her arm.

  ‘I sing in tune!’

  ‘I’ve heard dolphins love it.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Oh damn it!’ Hayley stopped walking. ‘What am I wearing?!’