One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story)

by Mandy Baggot

  It sounded lame and nowhere near enough.

  ‘So we just need to sit tight and wait a little bit longer, OK?’ Hayley asked Angel.

  Angel nodded. ‘OK.’ Her voice was soft, lacking in any real emotion.

  ‘OK?’ Hayley checked.

  Angel nodded again. ‘His eyes are just like mine aren’t they?’ she stated.

  Hayley smiled. ‘Yes, they are.’ She said a mental prayer in the hope God was watching this and that he could send a team of disciples to give Michel a kick up the backside.

  * * *

  Restaurant Romario, Greenwich Park

  ‘So, what are you thinking of doing on this sabbatical?’ Cynthia asked. She slipped an olive into her mouth and watched Oliver from across the table.

  ‘I have no idea. Try and stay alive long enough to enjoy it, I guess,’ he responded, grinning.

  ‘That isn’t funny, Oliver.’

  He took a swig of his beer. ‘I need to sort out the unholy mess at the company first. Peter Lamont’s dismissal, the Regis Software episode…’ He looked at his mother then, wanting to gauge her reaction. She had been stronger than he could have imagined over Andrew Regis and he knew how much it must have hurt to have her trust and loyalty betrayed.

  ‘Cole is quite capable of stepping up to the plate,’ Cynthia said.

  ‘I know,’ Oliver replied. ‘I’m just not quite ready to hand over the reins just yet.’

  ‘And if you had another focus? Something else to concentrate on in the meantime?’

  Her last sentence made him realise where this was heading and he was shaking his head with a whole lot of certainty. ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t even know what I’m going to say,’ Cynthia said, picking up her wineglass.

  ‘I definitely do know.’

  ‘I want you to speak at the McArthur Foundation fundraiser, Oliver.’

  ‘Mom, we’ve done this before. I don’t want to get into another fight about it.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Cynthia responded, putting her glass back down on the table. ‘So, why don’t you tell me about Hayley Walker?’

  Oliver fumbled with his beer bottle and it slipped from his hand, spilling some of its contents on the red and white tablecloth. He reached for his napkin and began to mop up the fluid. His mother had thrown him. He didn’t know what to say. Had Hayley told his mother about them? How else would she know?

  ‘Oliver, I still come here with Janice and Linda.’ She reached across the table and lay a hand on his arm. ‘Anna told me you brought someone here, how you were with each other … Tony filled me in on the rest.’

  Oliver’s eyes shot to the bar area where Tony was making drinks for other tables.

  ‘Don’t worry, he didn’t give you up easily. I did have to threaten every bad teenage photo I have of him, blown up to poster size and put on the windows of his new restaurants.’

  Oliver blew out a breath. ‘There’s nothing to say. We had one date and then I realised it wasn’t going to work.’

  And he’d been reliving every moment of their time together ever since. Her laugh, the way she talked at a hundred miles a second, her enthusiasm for life. And there it was. How could someone so full of life be forced into his pity party?

  ‘You know she’s helping me organise the fundraiser?’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, she told me.’

  ‘She’s doing an excellent job.’

  ‘She’s an excellent person.’ He raised his eyes to his mother then. ‘Very capable.’

  Cynthia let a sigh leave her lips. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way, Oliver.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be what way?’

  ‘Running from your feelings doesn’t make them go away. All it does is make you sad and the person you have feelings for even sadder.’

  He picked up a slice of pizza from his plate, thought about eating it, then dropped it down again. ‘I can’t do what you did with Dad and Ben.’

  ‘What did I do?’ Cynthia asked. ‘Except love them unconditionally?’

  ‘There! That. Exactly that.’ He wiped his fingers on the napkin. ‘How can I expect someone to care for me unconditionally when the truth is I could die at any time?’

  Cynthia shook her head. ‘I was in a very dark place when we lost Ben. We all were. But your father, he held us all together as best as he could, knowing his number could be up at any time.’ She placed the flats of her hands on the table as if she was garnering strength from its solidity. ‘He told me that everybody in this world could die at any time and he was right. All of us are dying, Oliver. I could get run over in the street, or be gunned down by that gang over in the housing project, there’s risk just getting up in the morning.’ She smiled then. ‘But we can’t all stay in bed. Netflix wouldn’t cope with demand.’

  ‘Mom …’ Oliver started.

  ‘You need to stop being so afraid and contact the consultant, Oliver. And then, tell Hayley everything.’ Cynthia paused. ‘If she’s the person you think she is then it won’t matter one bit.’

  52

  Dean Walker’s Apartment, Downtown Manhattan

  ‘I can smell burning,’ Angel remarked, padding into the kitchen dressed in a fluffy cat onesie.

  ‘No burning here, just golden brown waffles.’ Hayley served the food onto a plate. ‘Grab them while they’re hot.’

  Hayley watched Angel eye the charred offerings like they were offensive. ‘What?! Black is the new golden brown. Everybody’s doing it.’

  ‘Where’s Uncle Dean?’ Angel asked, climbing up onto a bar stool and pulling the orange juice carton towards her.

  ‘Work. He had to go early. He said something about it being a big day. That could mean something crucial about the Globe or it could mean he’s going to his favourite restaurant for lunch.’ Hayley slipped onto the stool next to Angel. ‘Eat up.’

  ‘Could we phone Michel?’ Angel asked.

  Hayley stiffened. She’d called Michel half a dozen times the night before and left messages. There had only been endless ringing and the bleep of the answerphone. It was up to her to try and make it right. She’d apologised over and over, she’d tearfully begged and told him how much Angel wanted this until she’d run out of words.

  ‘Listen, I think we should just give him a minute to get used to things. I mean, before yesterday he didn’t know about you, Angel.’

  ‘I know but he was really nice and …’

  ‘Hey, I promise we’ll call him tomorrow, OK? Besides, I need your help today. I’ve got a million phone calls to make about the fundraiser and emails to chase up and I need to meet with Cynthia.’

  Hayley stopped talking. She had promised Angel two things on this holiday, one was she would find her father and the other was to spend quality time with her. She’d found the man but he’d run off, she’d wasted her time with a billionaire and she’d got a job. She was scoring so badly on every count. She swallowed down a mouthful of overdone waffle. What was running through Angel’s overactive mind right now? She’d wished for her father for months and now they’d found him he’d run out on them. She wanted to hold her daughter close, shut all the doors to this harsh side of life and protect her from everything and everyone. It had worked for so many years. This was her fault. She had invited in this heartache.

  She smiled at Angel. ‘Listen, I promise, if I get all the things on my list done by this afternoon, we’ll go skating at the Rockefeller Centre.’

  ‘Yay!’ Angel exclaimed. ‘And can we get a Hillary Clinton bobble head? I promised I’d bring one back for Jessica.’

  ‘I’m scared that those even exist.’ Hayley smiled through a mouthful of waffle.

  The intercom buzzed and Hayley slipped down off her stool. Had she ordered something for the fundraiser to be delivered here? She needed to get her list in order. She’d drawn butterflies all over her writing last night plus an idea for a dress she was never going to get to make.

  ‘Hello,’ she answered.

  ‘Hayley?’

 
; Michel. Her heart jolted and immediately her eyes went to Angel who had juice drizzling down her chin.

  ‘Yes … I’m here …’ She swallowed.

  ‘About last night, I …’

  ‘Sshh, la la la la la, it’s OK, don’t speak any more. I’m coming down.’ She shut the intercom off before Michel could say anything else. The last thing she wanted was for Angel to know how he had bolted from the flat like his clothes were on fire.

  She saw Angel open her mouth to speak but she pointed, warning her not to. ‘Wipe your face. I’ll be back.’

  * * *

  Drummond Global Offices, Downtown Manhattan

  It was just nerves this time. Oliver’s heart was pounding hard as he pumped the stress ball in his hand. He felt sick and clammy. He couldn’t concentrate.

  ‘Do you want me to get Delaney to draft something for the press?’ Clara asked.

  He hadn’t heard what she’d said. What were they talking about now? Had they moved on from Peter Lamont?

  ‘I’m sorry, Clara. What were we discussing?’

  ‘All this stuff with Andrew and Peter is getting to you, isn’t it? How could it not? I just can’t believe it of Peter. His poor wife and the children.’

  ‘What I told you about that, Clara, it goes no further.’ Oliver let out a sigh, his chest burning. ‘Peter has been fired for leaking confidential information to a competitor, nothing else. His private life stays that way, for Andrew Regis too. This whole thing is already killing my mother.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Throwing herself into the McArthur Foundation fundraiser. I don’t think it’s fully hit her yet.’

  He put his hand to the knot of his tie and loosened it a little. Was it hot in here? Outside the windows he could see the snow was falling again. What was Hayley doing right now? Was she with his mother organising the fundraiser he couldn’t be part of or was she with Michel? The last thought stung. He cared about her, really cared about her, but he had to let her go. Whatever this guy turned out to be, Oliver could almost guarantee he didn’t have a life-limiting condition going on.

  ‘And what about you, Oliver?’

  ‘Dean Walker has been made head of department. He was in charge of the Globe anyway so it makes sense …’

  ‘You haven’t answered the question.’

  ‘I think that’s the boss’s prerogative.’

  The sentence was out of his mouth before he’d thought about it. Clara didn’t deserve his sarcasm. She had been there for him, sucking everything up, since his father died. She’d been unfailing in her support no matter how badly he’d treated her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Clara.’ He sat back, the leather chair reclining. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘I know you’re the boss, Oliver, but I worry for you.’ Her hands went to the necklace at her throat.

  ‘I know you do.’ He nodded, reaching for the baseball stress ball again. ‘And I’ve decided to take a little time out.’

  ‘You have?’

  He nodded. ‘Once this scandal has been dealt with, once the Globe is launched, I’m going to take a minute, do some things I haven’t done for a while.’

  ‘Like what?’

  He smiled. ‘I don’t know. Not make plans for one thing. Maybe take a vacation.’

  Clara smiled. ‘And Lois? Will she be someplace in these not-making-plans plans?’

  ‘No,’ he responded, squeezing the ball tight. ‘I’ve burned my bridges there.’ He sighed. ‘And it’s no more than I deserve.’

  * * *

  Dean Walker’s Apartment, Downtown Manhattan

  Michel’s dark hair was covered in snow and Hayley was sure the faded denim jacket he was wearing was the same one he’d worn ten years ago. His eyes were ringed by dark circles, hinting at a lack of sleep the night before. She was almost pleased. How many sleepless nights had she endured when she’d found out she was pregnant, then the sleepless nights with a crying baby. She swallowed. Single parenthood had been her choice. The noise of the city going on around them – cars, bikes, Santas with handbells – all faded away as if knowing the importance of this moment.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he started, his blue eyes meeting hers.

  She didn’t know how to respond to the statement. What was he sorry for? Leaving? The things he’d said?

  ‘No, Michel, I’m sorry. I should have done everything differently. I realise that.’ She sighed. ‘But I can’t go back.’

  ‘I know,’ he whispered.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Hayley asked, bluntly.

  ‘I would like to meet my daughter,’ he replied, the sentence wrapped with emotion.

  Hayley nodded, the enormity of it all hitting her with a vengeance.

  Michel shook his head, flakes of snow scattering. ‘I do not know what I am supposed to do.’

  ‘Listen, I’m not asking you to marry me and fly to England. All she wants is to meet you, to know who you are. Anything else is going to take time.’

  He put his hands in his hair. ‘This is life-changing.’

  Hayley nodded. ‘I know.’ She let out a breath. ‘But Angel, she’s the brightest thing in my life. She’s clever, exceptionally so, and she’s funny and she makes me laugh a hundred times a day … and she has your eyes, Michel.’

  There were tears in those eyes now as he nodded his head. Maybe she hadn’t been wrong about this man after all.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

  She wanted this so badly for Angel. It didn’t have to be formal, nothing set in stone or permanent plans for the future, it just had to be a beginning, a chance for Angel to know her father.

  She led the way up the stairs to Dean’s apartment, Michel following and her heart beating like an enthusiastic little drummer boy. Pausing at the top of the staircase, Hayley took a breath then pushed open the door that led to the kitchen.

  And there Angel was. Cleaned face, eyes expectant, the hood of her cat onesie pulled over her head so the ears stood upright. She marched past Hayley and held her hand out to Michel.

  ‘It’s very nice to meet you again,’ she said. ‘Mum says you have “busy” hair, but I like it.’

  Michel laughed, his eyes crinkling up, his mouth open in genuine amusement at Angel’s comment. Hayley remembered that expression and her body warmed in response. She carried on watching as Michel took hold of his daughter’s hand and gave it a small shake. ‘It is very nice to meet you too.’

  ‘I’m glad you came back,’ Angel continued, her eyes fixed on Michel.

  ‘Me too,’ he responded, his voice coated with emotion.

  ‘My friend at school wants me to bring home random things from New York.’ She reached for her sketchbook on the breakfast bar and pulled it into her arms. ‘We need to finish that picture.’

  ‘I’m not sure you need me to finish it. You are an excellent artist,’ Michel said.

  ‘Well, Mum can only draw dresses and stuff, so I guess I must get it from you.’ She smiled, holding out a pencil to him.

  Hayley’s heart swelled as Michel accepted the pencil. It was a start.

  53

  Dean Walker’s Apartment, Downtown Manhattan

  Hayley had been making phone calls all morning to organise the McArthur Foundation fundraiser whilst keeping one eye on Michel and Angel. They’d drawn quietly for half an hour or so, Angel looking up from her pad every now and then, blinking like she couldn’t believe Michel was real. Hayley had also seen Michel doing exactly the same thing. When he looked at his daughter it was as if he were gazing at an object of wonder, something beautiful he couldn’t quite believe was so close, something he didn’t quite understand yet. And now, as it neared lunchtime, they were going ice skating. Angel had thrown that out there with all the finesse of someone who was used to getting their own way and, as Michel had shown no obvious signs of wanting to leave, Hayley felt duty-bound to give in.

  ‘What do you think?’ Hayley asked, twirling around in the kitchen. ‘Ice skating chic or ice skat
ing chic?’

  ‘Those aren’t gloves,’ Angel remarked, staring at Hayley’s hands covered by long woollen sleeves.

  ‘No, I gave you my gloves. These are hand-warming couture.’ She stretched them out for Angel to see.

  ‘They look like sleeves off a jumper.’

  ‘Ha! But the people of New York won’t know that. They will think, “ooo look at that fashionista wearing hand-warming couture”.’

  ‘Are you OK with doing this?’ Michel asked her.

  ‘Of course,’ Hayley said. ‘I’ve got my hand-warming couture which is going to stop me getting my fingers sliced off. I’m all good.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Michel whispered as Angel focussed on buttoning up her coat.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For this second chance,’ he said. ‘I behaved so badly last night and …’

  ‘See that girl over there?’ Hayley interrupted. ‘She hasn’t stopped smiling since you walked in here this morning.’ She laid a hand on Michel’s arm. ‘That’s all I want.’

  He nodded as if he understood.

  ‘OK then,’ Hayley said, addressing Angel. ‘Let’s get this over with … I mean … let’s go and have some fun.’

  * * *

  The Rockefeller Center Ice Rink, New York

  ‘Have you skated before?’ Angel asked, holding onto the side of the ice rink, her feet as still as she could keep them.

  ‘Of course,’ Michel answered, turning his body and expertly moving backwards like a winter Olympian.

  Hayley hadn’t even taken a step onto the ice yet. This small patch of white in the middle of the brick, steel and chrome of the surrounding buildings was almost surreal. As was the giant tree towering over them like a triffid and the gilt statue of some old god surrounded by a waterfall.

  ‘It’s Prometheus,’ Angel said, looking at Hayley.

  ‘Is that another word for freezing?’ Hayley asked, her teeth chattering together.