Coming Home for Christmas Page 7

  ‘Don’t let me delay you,’ JJ said and sprinted up the stairs with panther-like ease.

  ‘How did you meet him and get so friendly?’ Jonathan said grumpily as she locked the door behind them and they began to walk down the stairs.

  ‘He moved in the day after I did. I met him and two other Irish chaps on the stairs moving his furniture up. It was nice to talk to someone from home.’

  ‘He calls you by your surname. He called you Dunwoody – isn’t that rude?’ he sniffed.

  ‘Oh no, not at home, not in the west of Ireland. It’s a form of—’ She had been going to say ‘endearment’, but stopped herself. ‘It’s an Irish thing,’ she explained.

  ‘Who are they? Builders?’ he said contemptuously.

  ‘They’re three really nice guys, Jonathan,’ she said sharply, in no humour for his snobbery.

  ‘If you say so,’ he retorted, opening the door for her.

  ‘I do,’ Alison snapped.

  ‘Any luck on the job scene?’ he asked after a while, as they drove around Times Square and headed uptown.

  ‘I had an interview this morning in a stockbroker’s in Wall Street – along with a few hundred others, I’m sure.’ Alison sighed.

  ‘We let go twenty-five personnel in the West Coast division. It was a rough couple of weeks,’ he moaned.

  For them, not for you, she thought sarcastically. Every time he’d phoned her, he’d been socializing. ‘Poor you,’ she said dryly, but he didn’t even notice.

  ‘I got you a present, babe,’ he said, handing her a small bag.

  ‘Thanks, Jonathan,’ she said warmly, suddenly ashamed of her nasty thoughts. It was a small bottle of Nina Ricci eau de toilette. He’d got it in the airport, a rushed buy, a last-minute better-get-her-something sort of a gift, she surmised, and not even the perfume at that. Jonathan was very careful with his money, unless he was splashing out on himself. ‘My ex bleeds me dry’ was his favourite line.

  The driver pulled up outside the Russian restaurant and opened the door for her. It was a bitingly cold night and she shivered as the chill wind wrapped itself around her. The restaurant was warm and dimly lit, all red damask and gilt. It was only half full. What a spoofer Jonathan was, trying to impress JJ with his talk of the maître d’ holding the table for him as a special favour.

  They ordered Nostoykas – fruit-flavoured vodkas – and read the menu in silence. She chose blinis and stuffed cabbage rolls; he ordered Siberian pelsemi and the Tzyplenok.

  ‘You look great,’ he said slowly as the waiter moved away.

  ‘Thanks,’ she responded coolly.

  ‘I’m looking forward to our reunion,’ he said huskily, reaching out to caress her hand. He leaned across the table and kissed her.

  ‘Later,’ she chided. She thought it was crass to kiss in restaurants. It was strange, but the idea of having sex with him later on was a somewhat uninviting prospect, despite the fact they hadn’t seen each other for almost three weeks. She doubted very much he’d stayed celibate in LA. And the awful thing was, she suddenly realized she didn’t really care. Jonathan had been no help to her at all in her hour of need. He hadn’t offered her a room in his four-bed duplex, he hadn’t offered to help her find a place to live, and the best he could do was to buy her a tacky little bottle of eau de toilette at LAX.

  But that was Jonathan! She knew what he was like. Why should it make a difference to her now? she mused gloomily as the waiter laid their first course in front of them. It must be because she had lost her job and was feeling out of control and vulnerable. Suddenly she wished she was snug in her little studio, listening to the wind whistling outside or, even better, upstairs in 3B with JJ, Frankie and Fintan, having banter and craic and tucking into a fry-up.

  ‘. . . So Yvette said to me that she thinks Gloria is seeing this Goulandris guy, and he’s loaded. She’s such a bitch, looking for more alimony . . .’ Jonathan was on his favourite subject, his ex-wife.

  ‘That’s terrible.’ She’d heard it all before.

  ‘Oh to hell with them,’ he said suddenly. ‘Let’s go to Colorado for Christmas. We’ll have big log fires and spend all day in bed.’

  Alison laughed. His impulsiveness was one of the things she’d always enjoyed about him. ‘It sounds great, but I can’t afford it,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Oh yeah, forgot you’re strapped for cash. Couldn’t you sell a bond or something?’ he suggested glumly.

  Couldn’t you offer to pay for my flight as my Christmas present even? she thought, wondering how she had overlooked his meanness for so long. ‘I was thinking I might spend Christmas at home this year, seeing as I don’t have a job at the moment,’ she said pointedly.

  ‘Oh! You’re going to leave me on my own.’ His brown, cocker-spaniel eyes had their ‘poor me’ expression.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be on your own exactly, Jonathan. Since when have you ever been on your own?’ she said acerbically.

  ‘Well, I know, but we have fun, Red.’ Red was his nickname for her; he thought it highly original.

  ‘Well, Jonathan, it’s like this, I have to tighten my purse strings unfortunately, so I won’t be able to have as much fun as I used to, but you go right ahead,’ she said crisply.

  ‘That’s a nuisance,’ he sighed, forking a dumpling into his mouth. She could see him pondering who else could he ask to go to Colorado with him. She really didn’t care any more.

  ‘Jonathan, would you mind if I went home? I have the most terrible headache,’ Alison fibbed.

  ‘Really? You don’t usually get headaches.’ He was surprised.

  ‘Flo came to town,’ she murmured.

  ‘Oh . . . Oh right. Maybe it would be good to go and lie down then. I’ll phone you tomorrow before you go to the airport,’ he said hastily.

  ‘Great and . . . thanks for the present.’

  ‘Love ya, babe. Let me get the maître d’ to call a cab.’ He stood up and escorted her to the foyer.

  Five minutes later, she was sitting in a taxi heading across town. Jonathan couldn’t get rid of her quick enough, she thought in amusement. Knowing he wasn’t going to have a hot and steamy reunion had put the kybosh on the evening for him. She’d lied. Her period hadn’t come; she’d just known that she and Jonathan were over. He hadn’t even offered to bring her to the airport.

  Being non-exclusive had lost its charm; she needed to be a bit more discerning in who she dated from now on. Paying your own way was all very well, but if your so-called ‘non-exclusive’ boyfriend, whom you’d been dating and sleeping with for almost six months, couldn’t even pay your cab fare home, it didn’t say much about him . . . or her for putting up with it, she acknowledged. It was all very well being Miss Independence, but she needed to value herself more and value the person she dated, she thought with a dart of shame.

  She’d used Jonathan just as much as he’d used her, and it wasn’t very nice behaviour really. She thought of Fintan offering to put up her curtain pole, and JJ going out of his way to buy it. She thought of Jonathan’s dismissive ‘builders’ barb. The three Irishmen had a core of decency in them that he would never have. He might have money and a high-flying job in his father’s company and an entrée into all the top-end restaurants and clubs coast to coast, but he had no real integrity or moral fibre, as her mother would say.

  The next time she dated it would be with a far different type of man, Alison decided, as she paid her cab fare and let herself into her building, glad to shut out the bitter-cold night. She hurried up the stairs and was about to walk down her landing when an impulse took her. It was only gone eight thirty, she noted, glancing at her watch. Taking a deep breath, she took the next flight of stairs, and then the next. The sound of laughter and deep male voices wafted across the landing at the top of the building. And the smell of bacon made her mouth water.

  She gave a sharp rat-a-tat-tat on the door. She heard silence descend inside. JJ opened the door in an unusually tentative manner. His face lit up whe
n he saw her.

  ‘Hey, Dunwoody. I thought you were Mrs W. come to tell us we were making too much noise. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Any Superquinn sausages left?’ She smiled at him.

  ‘They’re cooking right as we speak. Is your . . . er . . . date with you?’ He looked out over her shoulder.

  ‘No . . . I left him sitting in a Russian restaurant. It’s not every day I get invited to a fry-up.’

  ‘It’s not everyone gets invited to one either, I’ll have you know,’ he joked, standing back to let her in.

  ‘Howya, Alison? Ye made it after all.’ Fintan stood up politely as she entered.

  ‘Hiya, Fintan. Yeah, the lure of a real fry-up got the better of me.’

  ‘How’s it goin’, Alison? Would ye like a pint or a glass of wine?’ Frankie stuck his head out the kitchen door. He had a tea towel slung over his shoulder.

  ‘Frankie’s on cooks. He’s a class act at doing a fry,’ JJ explained, as she handed him her coat.

  Fintan gave a wolf whistle when he saw the simple black backless dress she wore.

  Alison laughed. ‘Where’s your wife tonight?’ she asked, feeling quite at home.

  ‘It’s her book-club night, and the kids are staying at their cousins’, one of them had a birthday party.’ Fintan raised his beer glass.

  ‘So what are ye having then?’ Frankie cocked an eyebrow at her. He had the kindest hazel eyes. His wife had recently had their first child.

  ‘Any chance of a cuppa?’ she asked, easing her feet out of her stilettos.

  ‘I’ll make you one. Milk no sugar?’ JJ offered straight away.

  ‘Absolutely no sugar,’ she replied emphatically.

  ‘You’re a real little titch out of them shoes. How do ye wimmen sthand in them?’ Fintan studied her heels in some bemusement.

  ‘A woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do, Fintan,’ she said seriously, and giggled at the expression on his face.

  She hadn’t laughed so much in a long time, she reflected several hours later, as the two F’s made ready to leave. After they had tucked into rashers, sausages, pudding, eggs, mushrooms and fried potatoes and mugs of Barry’s tea, they’d cleared the table and played several riotous games of Sevens. Alison hadn’t played cards since her childhood, but it came back to her, and she won a couple of games, with much slagging and teasing from the others.

  ‘Go down those stairs quietly,’ JJ warned. ‘I’m in fear of my life of another visit from Mrs W.’

  ‘Ah go on, I think you fancy her,’ Alison jeered.

  ‘I do, yeah – she’s all I dream about,’ JJ retorted, as his friends bade whispered goodnights and went quietly down the stairs.

  ‘I better go too,’ she said regretfully. ‘I’m going home for my mother’s surprise seventieth birthday party and I haven’t even packed yet. That’s one of the reasons I steered clear of the wine.’

  ‘What time’s your flight?’ JJ closed the door gently.

  ‘It’s the Aer Lingus flight from JFK tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Is your boyfriend bringing you?’

  ‘Nope,’ she said emphatically.

  ‘Is he your boyfriend?’ JJ looked at her quizzically.

  ‘Well, we weren’t exclusive.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Tsk! That non-exclusive nonsense makes no sense to me. Either you’re going with someone or you’re not,’ JJ snorted. ‘I have no truck with it at all. If I’m dating a woman, I’m dating her and I expect her to be dating me.’

  I see,’ she said mildly. ‘And are you dating a woman, exclusively or non-exclusively?’

  ‘No, the last woman I dated was a bad loser at cards.’ His eyes were glinting with amusement.

  ‘Smarty,’ she retorted. ‘I’m off. I need to get my beauty sleep.’

  ‘Did you not have your afternoon nap?’ he said slyly.

  ‘You’re very funny, aren’t you?’ She grabbed her shoes.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift to JFK tomorrow,’ he offered.

  ‘Oh God no, I wouldn’t put you to the trouble, JJ. I’ll get a taxi,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Ah whist, woman, I might need a favour from you some time. That’s what good neighbours are for.’ He stood with his arms folded, having none of it.

  ‘No, honestly!’

  ‘Be ready at twelve,’ he ordered.

  ‘There you go, bossing me around again.’

  ‘It’s therapy for me. I had a terrible childhood with the three older sisters I was telling you about.’

  Alison giggled. ‘You’re incorrigible. Goodnight.’

  ‘That’s a big word for the likes of me, Dunwoody. Goodnight, and thanks for coming.’

  ‘Thanks for the invite.’ Their eyes met and they smiled at each other, and then she slipped past him and went barefoot down the stairs, the third step creaking as it always did. It was a sound she was now becoming quite familiar with.

  Chapter 8

  ‘So are you looking forward to your trip home?’ JJ asked, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel as they sat in heavy traffic en route to JFK. Alison turned back to face him; she had turned to look behind her as the iconic skyline of Manhattan grew further away and they crossed the river to Queens.

  ‘I’m really looking forward to seeing my parents and sister and her kids. I just can’t believe that my mam is seventy. And I’m dying to see her face when she sees me, but part of me wants to be here to try and get a job. I really took a hammering, JJ, when the firm collapsed. I’ve worked my ass off and I had a good lifestyle, savings and investments, and it’s nearly all gone. I’ve very little left to show for years of study, years of hard graft, so I feel I’ve no business gadding off home. But of course I can’t say that to my sister – she’d have a fit. She doesn’t know I’ve lost my job, and I don’t want them to know at the moment anyway. I don’t want to spoil my mother’s party. I can’t make up my mind whether to stay until Christmas or not.’

  ‘That’s rough, not being able to tell people, but try and enjoy your time at home. And stay for Christmas. Come back in the New Year refreshed and ready to go,’ he advised.

  ‘Yeah, perhaps you’re right, but when your cash is dwindling away it’s kinda scary. I went out with some friends at the weekend, and two of us had lost our jobs, and it was so strange looking for the cheapest thing on the menu and just having one drink – not that I’m an alcoholic or anything,’ she said hastily.

  ‘I know what you mean: basically, counting your pennies when before you didn’t give it a thought. At least you don’t have a mortgage or kids to support,’ he pointed out.

  ‘That would be the pits,’ she agreed.

  ‘Maybe you could become a card shark.’ He grinned. ‘You showed great potential last night. It was a laugh, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, I haven’t played cards in years. It’s a real Irish thing.’

  ‘Next time there’s a fry-up and a card night I’ll be sure to let you know,’ he promised, as the Manhattan skyline became a blur in the distance.

  They sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts for a while. Although he’d chatted affably with her, Alison felt JJ was a little distracted. She hoped he wasn’t regretting his offer to give her a lift. It was a chunk of time out of his working day – something she’d think twice about doing if she’d been in gainful employment, she thought wryly.

  She sighed again. She had such ambivalent feelings about going home. She was longing to see everyone, of course, but her circumstances were far from ideal. Maybe JJ was feeling sorry for her, feeling pity that she couldn’t afford the taxi ride. How mortifying was that? she thought, cringing inwardly, totally sorry that she’d accepted his offer of a lift to the airport. She should have done as she always did . . . stood on her own two feet. It was the best way, then you were obligated to no one, Alison thought grimly, staring unseeingly out the window.

  What daft impulse had made him offer to drive Alison to JFK, JJ thought irritably, slowing to under twenty as the t
raffic increased as they got closer to the airport. What was he doing, flirting and bantering with her and inviting her up to his place for fry-ups? It seemed like such a betrayal of his wife. He banished the thought instantly. He wasn’t going down that route. That only led to feelings of guilt. He had enough to deal with, he thought angrily as he heard the woman beside him sigh deeply. She had her own problems, he acknowledged. Losing her job and her apartment and having nothing on the horizon was a daunting situation for sure. Going home under such circumstances was tough. It had been a neighbourly gesture to offer her a lift. But if that was all it was, why did he feel so bloody guilty?

  ‘Thanks so much for the lift, JJ,’ Alison said politely as he pulled up at the set-down area.

  ‘I’ll get you again, don’t worry,’ he promised her, opening the door to get her case from the boot.

  ‘It can’t possibly be as cold at home as it is here.’ She shivered, pulling the collar of her woollen coat up over her ears.

  ‘It’s bad enough I heard. I was talking to my mother last night and she said it was arctic,’ JJ remarked, as he lifted the case out of the boot as if it were a feather and clicked open the wheels for her.

  ‘Thanks JJ, have a great Christmas. I’ll see you after the holidays,’ she said warmly, feeling kindly towards him again.

  ‘Will do, and the same to you,’ he said, and turned to get back in the car. She took hold of her case and began to move towards the entrance when she heard him call her name.

  ‘Alison!’

  ‘Yes?’ She turned to look back at him. He had a serious, intent look on his face that surprised her. ‘Could you just give me five minutes in the car? I . . . I need to talk to you about something,’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Sure,’ she agreed, flabbergasted. What on earth was he going to say to her? What did he need to talk about? He hefted the case into the rear of the car and she climbed back in.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ She came straight out with it, turning to face him.