Coming Home for Christmas Read online

‘Remember when I told you I was married and had no kids?’ he said flatly.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said slowly, her heart beginning to thud against her ribs. Oh God, please, please don’t let him say he’s married or seeing someone, let him be one of the good guys, Alison prayed silently.

  ‘My wife died four years ago. She was killed in a car crash by a drunken driver. We were married just over a year.’ His blue eyes were dark with the pain of loss and remembrance.

  ‘Oh JJ!’ she whispered, stunned. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to say anything. I don’t really talk about it much. It was why I came to America, to try and put it behind me. That’s why I always go home at Christmas. To see my folks and to visit the grave.’

  ‘Thanks for telling me.’ She reached out and touched his arm. She would have liked to hug him but didn’t want to seem pushy. He might not welcome it.

  ‘As I say, I don’t really talk about it, but all my friends know, of course, and I wanted to let you know the score, seeing as now you’re one of them.’ He gave a crooked little smile.

  ‘I’m glad we’re friends,’ she managed.

  ‘That’s good to know.’ He sat staring at her, his hands gripping the steering wheel, exuding an air of sadness that cut her to the quick.

  ‘Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean you can get away with bossing me around all the time.’ She swallowed, trying not to burst into tears, not knowing what to say.

  ‘Arrah, a bit of bossing will do you all the good in the world, my dear good woman.’ He smiled at her, and she knew instinctively that he had taken a step forward by telling her of his tragedy, and drawing her into his circle of friends. She felt incredibly touched that he had felt he could be so honest with her.

  ‘So when do you come home?’ she asked.

  ‘Next Wednesday. I like to spend some time with my folks – they’re getting on. I’ll be up in Dublin for a day before I go back. In fact, I fly out of Dublin. One of my sisters lives in Skerries. Her baby’s due, so she won’t be travelling to the West. Maybe we could link up for a drink?’ He looked her straight in the eye.

  ‘Is that one of the sisters that gave you the traumatic childhood?’ she said to lighten the moment and make it easier for him.

  ‘She was the worst,’ he said, the old familiar twinkle creeping back into his eyes.

  ‘I guess I better meet up with you so, so you can have a bit of therapy bossing me around, to get you back on an even keel, so to speak,’ she retorted, searching in her bag for a pen. She wrote two telephone numbers down on the back of her business card. ‘Home and cell,’ she said, handing it to him.

  ‘Right. I’ll be in touch,’ he promised, slipping it into his jeans pocket.

  ‘I better go,’ she said. ‘See you at home then.’

  ‘That will be nice. Thanks for being kind.’ He met her gaze. ‘It’s hard to move on, you know what I’m saying . . .’ he said awkwardly.

  ‘I’m sure it is, JJ. I couldn’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through. I hope it gets easier in time,’ she said gently.

  ‘It’s always hard going home. It always brings it back. A lot of the time I can put it aside here, but Christmas is difficult.’

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ she agreed as he opened the car door and removed her case again and carried it to the kerb for her.

  ‘Safe journey, Alison,’ he said quietly. ‘Enjoy your mam’s party.’

  ‘I will,’ she said. ‘Take care of yourself, JJ.’

  ‘Don’t forget to take your nap in the afternoon, Dunwoody,’ he teased, and she laughed, glad he was making an effort and showing his old spark.

  She reached up and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘My dear good man, you’re pushing your luck, get outta here before I turn really nasty.’

  He gave her a quick hug and then he was sliding his long legs into his jeep, and she felt inexplicably lonely as he beeped at her and drove away.

  What an absolute tragedy to have befallen him. Except for aunts, she’d never been touched by the loss of a close family member, and it was something she shied away from thinking about. She’d been very close to her father’s sister in particular, and had been shocked at the finality of death. She did believe in life after death, but she never wanted to be parted from her loved ones. The thought of not having her mother and dad and Olivia and her family, and Uncle Leo, was unbearable. How did JJ manage to appear so good-humoured? How did he put one foot in front of the other each day? Time had obviously eased his mourning somewhat, but even so a loss like that was not borne easily, and there had been deep pain and sorrow mirrored in his eyes when he’d spoken of his wife’s death.

  She went through the chore of checking in and going through Security, glad to have her mind occupied. His disclosure had rattled her; she couldn’t stop thinking of that look of sadness. Part of her wished he hadn’t told her. Their relationship was no longer on a level playing field. The shadow of his dead wife would hover over it, and whereas before his revelation she’d been happy enough to go with the flow of it, now she felt constrained. He’d told her he was finding it hard to move on. Was that a subtle hint that he didn’t want her getting any ideas about a future relationship? And had she been thinking in these terms – even subconsciously? Typical of her luck, Alison thought crossly, putting the thought out of her head. There was no point in going there consciously or bloody subconsciously. He’d practically told her in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship, so she’d have to deal with it and get over herself. She was putting him firmly out of her head, Alison decided. She had enough to deal with going home as it was, without added complications.

  It was a relief finally to board the big green and white airbus, and Alison’s heart lifted when she saw the familiar green shamrock and heard the soft Cork lilt of the air hostess as she welcomed her aboard. Excitement and anticipation surged through her. Soon she’d feel her mother and father’s arms around her. How wonderful that would be. How lucky she was to have them, Alison thought gratefully as she stowed her hand luggage and sank into her premium seat. She always flew with the Irish airline when she was going back to Ireland. She didn’t care who she flew with when she was going stateside. But getting on to that Aer Lingus plane was always one of the best parts of coming home.

  ‘OK, hon, I’m off. Should be back by ten. I’ll ring you when I come off the M1, and you can meet us at Mam’s.’ Olivia gave her husband a kiss, grabbed her car keys and hurried out of the house, shivering in the damp cold of the early morning. It was raining, and the windows of her small Fiesta were fogged up. She cursed as she wiped the front one, too impatient to wait for the heater to clear them. She was running late, but at least there wouldn’t be the usual rush hour on a Saturday morning. She had texted ‘Welcome Home’ to Alison’s mobile so she’d know that her sister had landed when she got the delivery-report message. The flight was on time: she’d checked the teletext and she wanted to be there when Alison came through.

  When Alison had phoned from JFK to say that she was boarding, Olivia had let on that she wouldn’t be at the airport, saying that something had come up and Michael wouldn’t be free to mind the kids so Alison would have to get a taxi. ‘No worries,’ Alison had said cheerily. ‘Can’t wait to see everyone.’

  Now that the day of the party had arrived, Olivia had stopped worrying. Today was all about their mother, she’d decided. Alison would provide an extra pair of hands after she’d had a few hours’ sleep.

  The children, of course, knew nothing of her visit or of the surprise party. It had been hard enough keeping the secret herself, she thought as she left the village and headed for the motorway. The traffic was light, and she got to the airport in good time. She had to park in the Outer Siberia that was Block C, and she heard her phone beep and knew that it was the message report that told her her sister had landed and was possibly even disembarked. Olivia drove around like a madwoman l
ooking for a parking spot and had to drive up to level three before she found one. By the time she got to Arrivals, she was panting after racing along the dank, dimly lit car parks, nearly going on her ear on a patch of oil at one stage.

  ‘Oh God, I need to get fit,’ she muttered, as she scanned the board to see that the flight had landed on time. She studied the people emerging through Customs, wondering if they were from the New York flight. The big giveaway would be the groups of women who had gone on their Christmas-shopping expedition. Some of the passengers emerging had tans, she noted, so no, perhaps not.

  She was gasping for a cup of coffee, but she was afraid to leave in case Alison came out when she was gone. More passengers came through, and then there was a lull and then one or two stragglers. Maybe she would risk running over to the coffee bar, she dithered. The doors opened again, and women pushing trolleys piled high with cases surged through. It had to be the New York flight, she guessed, as one woman, yawning her head off, struggled to keep control of her laden trolley. Olivia scanned the hordes that kept on surging forward. And then she saw a familiar auburn head, and her sister, looking a million dollars in an expensive-looking black wool coat and a lilac scarf knotted casually at her neck, appeared, not bothering to look at the group of greeters huddled at the rail, but focusing on the exit where the taxi rank was.

  Olivia, delighted to see her, forgot all her irritations and resentments towards her younger sister and called her name. Her sister didn’t hear her. ‘Alison, Alison,’ she called loudly again, and Alison looked in Olivia’s direction and then came the heartwarming moment of delighted recognition as she left her trolley in the middle of the concourse and raced into her sister’s welcoming arms.

  ‘Oh, you brat, I thought there wasn’t going to be anyone here,’ she remonstrated, as they hugged the daylights out of each other.

  ‘Ah, just wanted to give you a surprise. You look great for someone who’s just flown through the night.’ Olivia took her arm and went to rescue the trolley.

  ‘Oh Lord, I’m knackered, but I’m dying to see Mam and Dad and Michael and the girls.’ Alison sighed happily.

  ‘Well, it will be a while, I had to park in Block C. It took me as long to get parking as it did to get here.’ Olivia took charge of the trolley and led the way to the pay machines. ‘That’s a fabulous coat. I suppose it cost an arm and a leg – it looks it – and so does the bag,’ she said enviously, running her hand along the soft forearm of Alison’s coat.

  ‘Er . . . yeah, it was expensive all right,’ Alison agreed.

  ‘How wonderful to be able to buy clothes without feeling a scintilla of guilt. The nearest thing I get to a designer bag is buying a fake at the market,’ confessed Olivia, feeding a ten-euro note into the machine.

  I couldn’t even afford that at the moment. Alison scowled, feeling a surge of resentment towards her sister for making her feel guilty. Olivia was so good at pressing her guilt buttons and always had been. Did all older sisters do it, or just hers? She was sorely tempted to tell her exactly what was going on in her life, but pride held her back. Even though she felt a complete failure, she didn’t want her family to know that she was one. Not on her first day home.

  ‘I have Mam’s bracelet in my bag – it’s wrapped beautifully. I love the Tiffany colours.’ Alison swallowed her resentment and changed the subject as they eventually settled into the car after their long trudge from Arrivals.

  ‘Great, she’ll be able to wear it tonight. She has absolutely no idea,’ Olivia said, as she started up the engine, unaware of her younger sister’s angst. ‘The flowers have to be collected and arranged. And the room just needs to be decorated a little bit. I thought some wide cream candles and poinsettias would be nice.’

  ‘If we could get some holly and ivy we could twine it along the windowsills,’ Alison suggested.

  ‘Oh, thank God you’re here, you were always good at that kind of stuff,’ Olivia exclaimed. ‘I’ll send Michael out to get some, there’s a big holly bush in the church grounds, and we have ivy on the wall at the end of the garden.’

  ‘Great stuff.’ Alison yawned.

  ‘We’ll go and see Mam and Dad and have a bit of breakfast with them and then you can go and have a snooze and I’ll give you a shout around half-two – how’s that?’ Olivia proposed.

  ‘Perfect,’ said her sister. ‘Just perfect.’

  Chapter 9

  ‘Remember when it was a windy country road home?’ Alison said as Olivia indicated to come off the motorway and took the slip road to Port Ross.

  ‘It takes no time now, unless you get stuck in the rush hour,’ her sister remarked, slowing down to keep within the speed limit. She’d phoned Michael on her hands-free to tell him to meet her with the girls at Esther and Liam’s house.

  ‘I think it’s a better idea to surprise Mam at home rather than at the party, don’t you?’ Alison said thoughtfully.

  ‘Absolutely. You know Mam, she’s such a softie she’ll be in tears when she sees you and, besides, she’ll have two surprises today. You this morning and the party tonight. And, anyway, she’ll have more time to enjoy her . . . her joy, knowing that you’re here, if you know what I mean.’ Olivia whizzed past a pothole with a sudden swerve of the wheel. ‘Bloody roads,’ she muttered.

  ‘That was here the last time I was here. Melora and I were driving along and I nearly decapitated her because I never saw it.’ Alison smiled at the memory. Her friend had phoned to wish her well and to tell her that she was playing volleyball on Venice Beach and had two interviews lined up.

  ‘How is Melora?’ asked Olivia.

  ‘She’s in LA looking for a job,’ Alison said, without thinking.

  ‘She’s leaving New York? I thought she really liked it there,’ her sister said in surprise.

  ‘Oh . . . oh . . . she does, she did . . . er . . . She met a guy. You know Melora – she’s mad keen to get married,’ Alison rallied, determined to keep the news of her changed circumstances a secret.

  ‘Tell her to stay single. Believe me, you never have one second to yourself when you have a husband and children,’ Olivia retorted.

  ‘But you’re happy, aren’t you?’ Alison looked at her sister, surprised by the vehemence of her response.

  ‘I suppose I am, but it’s a bit wearing looking after my lot, holding down a job, and minding the parents and Uncle Leo. Being single has a lot going for it.’

  ‘Oh!’ murmured Alison. She felt Olivia had thrown a barb. She often told Alison that she had a charmed life, but no one had begged Olivia to get married and have children or to stay at home in Port Ross, that was her choice, thought Alison resentfully. If Olivia knew how things really were with Alison right now, she might not be so quick to whinge to her.

  ‘Ah, don’t mind me,’ Olivia said, a bit shamefaced, after a few moments of silence. ‘I’ve just been worrying about the party, wanting to be sure it will turn out OK. I’m really glad you’re here, it takes the pressure off.’

  ‘It’s only a party, and it’s only family. If things go wrong, they go wrong, and nothing’s going to go wrong, I’m sure – and if it does we’ll sort it,’ Alison said reassuringly, realizing that her older sister had been under a lot of pressure.

  ‘I know we will.’ Olivia smiled at her. ‘Frig it, whatever happens, let’s enjoy it, we’re lucky to have Mam and Dad still with us to celebrate.’

  Two minutes later they turned a bend and came on to the coast road. ‘Oh, look at the sea. Isn’t it fabulous?’ Alison rolled down her window and inhaled deep lungfuls of salty air. The waves were tumultuous, grey-green whitecaps crashing against the shore. ‘Oh, it’s good to be home,’ she exclaimed, as some of the stresses and strains of the past few weeks seemed to lift and float away far out to sea. JJ was right: she should rest and relax and go back to New York ready for action in the New Year.

  ‘I’ve an idea,’ she said impulsively as they drove through the village towards their parents’ house. ‘Why don’t I stay in the c
ar, and when you go inside I’ll ring and pretend I’m in New York – but you pick up because my Irish number will come up on Mam’s caller ID. And then I’ll knock on the door.’

  ‘Brilliant idea!’ Olivia enthused, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

  Her sister looked tired, and the lines around her mouth and eyes had deepened, Alison noted with a dart of dismay. The first telltale signs of middle age were making their appearance. There was a smattering of alarming grey hairs in her sister’s chestnut bob, and dark circles under her eyes.

  Olivia was forty now, incredible as it was, Alison reminded herself as they drove through the quiet fishing village where they’d grown up. Two women in rain macs walked into the butcher’s, and an elderly man struggled to let his umbrella down before entering Nolan’s to get his paper. A couple sat in the small coffee shop having breakfast. Otherwise, the street was deserted on that wet, windy Saturday morning. They passed the road that led to the pier where fishing boats rocked up and down on the waves and seagulls hawked and squawked, circling a small trawler that was unloading its catch. A green fishing net, caught against a bollard, flapped in the wind. The rigging in the masts of the boats jangled, making its own music, and the wood in the trawlers creaked and groaned as they rocked against the quay. It was the sound of home, thought Alison, as memories came flooding back,

  The house looked as she always remembered it: an ivy-clad dormer bungalow with neatly clipped privet, a weeping willow in the centre of the garden and polyanthus and pansies in the well-tended flowerbeds under the windows making a defiantly colourful stand against the gloomy backdrop of bad weather.

  Two cars sat on the tarmacadamed drive, and she knew the maroon Passat behind her parents’ Volkswagen was her brother-in-law’s. Olivia parked on the street. ‘Give me two minutes and then ring,’ she grinned, getting out of the car. Alison watched her hurry up the drive, the wind blowing her hood off her head. She was dying to see her parents, longing for their hugs. She waited the two minutes and rang the number.