It was presumptuous on his part to assume she would drop everything and have her Christmas dinner with him. How did he know she didn’t have a family who were desperate for her to be a part of their festivities? Sure, there was Fidelma and her lot expecting her. She’d spent every Christmas with her sister’s brood since Mam passed. Fidelma’s children, although now adults with children of their own, would surely miss their aunt if she weren’t there? She’d spoiled them enough over the years to warrant the title of ‘favourite aunty’.
Clio’s neatly trimmed nails, a must when one spent the majority of one’s time on a typewriter, drummed the table. She wouldn’t think about it anymore. She would tuck the card away in the top drawer of her sideboard over there and she would bin the cold toast and make some more. She’d have her breakfast and begin her day. ‘You’ve a novel you’re supposed to be writing, Clio. You’ve a deadline to make and you do not have time for Gerry Byrne to come-a-calling. You’re going to pretend you never received his card. It went missing in the post, so it did, like hundreds of letters and cards do at this time of the year. There, problem solved.’ As she pushed her seat back and stood up, she didn’t believe a word she’d just said.
Chapter 12
‘I better not see anybody I know,’ Moira grumbled, flicking her hair back over her shoulder as they elbowed their way into Easons. ‘I feel like a complete eejit next to you lot.’
‘Odds are you will then. That’s what always happens. It’s like when you nip out to Tesco’s with no make-up on and your rattiest Sunday sloth clothes and there’s your arch nemesis from the high school looking like they’re off clubbing.’ Aisling was embittered by personal experience. She pointed through the sea of faces. ‘Oh look, speaking of high school, isn’t that your old school pal, Emma, over there? You know the one who fancied herself as Ginger Spice getting around in that Union Jack T-shirt.’
‘Where?!’ Moira looked panicked as she stared around at the sea of faces.
‘I’m joking with you.’
‘Oh, feck off, Ash.’
‘You feel like an eejit, Moira, because you look like one. We all do,’ Roisin stated, keeping a tight hold of Noah’s hand. It was a mosh pit of mammies and their offspring in here. She glanced down at her son; even he looked eejitty in his crew neck, red sweater. He reminded her a little of Charlie, from their favourite Christmas film Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. His nana had presented the sweater to him this morning and combed his hair into a smooth side parting rather than leave it to stand on end like Roisin did. She’d had one of her golfing ladies, a prolific knitter, whip the cable patterned red, sweater up specially for him.
‘It itches, Mummy, do I have to wear it?’ he’d whispered in her ear.
‘What do you think?’ she replied, gesturing at his nana who was singing her heart out to Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas on the radio as she waited for her toast to pop. He’d slunk off miserably to play with Mr Nibbles. Poor love looked like it was choking him, she thought now. Mammy had insisted, in a way that brooked no argument, on them all wearing red tops and blue jeans for this, their family Christmas photo.
Red, she’d declared last night over coffee and the after dinner mints Patrick had picked up in duty free, was festive and the blue jeans added the perfect casual accompaniment. She didn’t want the photograph to look contrived. All three sisters had said, ‘Bollocks,’ in reply to this and Roisin could tell Cindy would have liked to have joined in with the sentiment but was too intimidated by Mammy to do so. Patrick had said a family photo sounded just the ticket and Roisin had heard Aisling mumble her favourite phrase where her brother was concerned, ‘brown nosey fecker,’ under her breath as she helped herself to two of the chocolate mints before stuffing them both in her mouth. Aisling always ate when she was feeling stressed.
‘We look like we’re a family band, you know like the Corrs except we’re not cool,’ Aisling said, now nibbling on the chocolate chip muesli bar she’d stashed in her handbag for emergency situations. Being forced out in public wearing matching outfits with her mammy, nephew, siblings and her brother’s girlfriend counted as such.
‘Or like we’ve stepped out of the television screen from some cheesy family sitcom,’ Roisin said. ‘We’re the Keatons from Family Ties, remember that show?’
‘Bags be Mallory,’ Aisling said through her mouthful.
Roisin ignored her. ‘Mammy always used to say, why couldn’t we be more like the Keaton family and sort our problems out without all the bickering, remember?’ She rolled her eyes at the memory.
‘I do. It was very annoying.’ Aisling sniggered as she pointed at Patrick’s back ahead of her. ‘And there’s ole Michael J. Fox over there.’ He’d had to shoot off down to Grafton Street earlier that morning with Cindy to get something suitably red for them both to wear—there was no chance of Cindy getting that chest of hers inside anything the O’Mara women owned. Although suitable was a term that could be used loosely when it came to Cindy’s choice
