‘Posterity, Mammy,’ Patrick corrected her.
‘And what a fine-looking family you are too in your matching tops and trousers.’ Father Christmas’s twinkly currant eyes were still firmly fastened on Cindy’s chest.
‘Aul perv, I’m not sitting on his knee,’ Moira whispered.
Maureen carried on, ‘Now then, I’ve a picture in my mind as to how I want my photograph to look.’ She hustled Santa’s helper out the way as she pulled Noah over to sit up on Father Christmas’s knee. ‘Upsy daisy, there you go, you perch yourself up there, Noah.’
Desperate to get home and get out of his sweater, Noah clambered up onto the solid red knee and began reeling off a list of things he’d like to find in his stocking on Christmas morning. Father Christmas’s eyes never budged from where they’d lodged on Cindy’s bosom as he nodded and muttered, ‘Well now, you must have been a good boy.’
‘Patrick, Cindy,’ Maureen ordered, ‘I want you two to stand behind Mr Claus on either side with your hands resting on his shoulder, like he’s an old pal. Off you go.’
Maureen kept an eagle eye on her son and his girlfriend as they arranged themselves, before huffing, ‘No, Cindy, stand up straight, shoulders back, you’re not doing a Marilyn Monroe. Cop on to yourself.’
Fair play, Roisin thought. Cindy had leaned over Father Christmas’s shoulder, pouting, and while Father Christmas was all for the Marilyn pose, it wasn’t the stuff of the family portrait. Noah was supposed to be Father Christmas’s focal point and the poor love was trying to tell him about Mr Nibbles but Cindy’s cleavage was getting in the way.
Satisfied she now had Cindy in a suitably chaste pose, Maureen pointed to Roisin, Aisling and Moira, ‘Right you three, you’re on.’
‘It’s like being in a stage musical, so it is. She’ll be telling us to break a leg next,’ Aisling muttered as she was instructed to kneel beside the chair, hands clasped and resting on her lap, Roisin was next to her.
‘Moira, you’re on the other side, same pose please.’
Moira rolled her eyes but did as she was told, while Roisin looked at her mammy wondering where she was going to sit. A thought occurred to her, ah Jaysus, she wasn’t going to perch herself on his other knee, was she?
‘And I’m going to kneel next to Moira. Patrick I might need some help getting up again.’ Maureen smiled at Santa’s helper. ‘I think that’s us.’
Roisin half expected the girl to say, ‘Thank feck for that.’ She was a professional though, and assuming her position behind the tripod she said, ‘On the count of three, say cheese. One, two, three...’
‘Cheese!’
There was a satisfying click and the family was herded from the grotto by the helper lass. They stood blinking in the bright light of the store. The photograph wouldn’t be ready to collect for another ten minutes or so, and Patrick and Cindy announced they were off to tackle the crowds and finish their Christmas shopping. Moira, Aisling and Roisin planned on doing the same, once they’d seen the photograph, and Noah was to go home with his nana, who’d another bracing pier walk with Pooh planned.
‘I’m going to have a look around while we wait,’ Roisin said, ensuring her son’s hand was held firmly by his nana before moving away from the milling mammies and children waiting to meet Father Christmas, in order to browse the book aisles. She could see a small gathering by a stand at the other end of the store and, curious, she moseyed closer as she realised a book signing was underway. A poster behind the table at which the author sat revealed it to be for the book she’d read the review of in the paper yesterday, When We Were Brave.
The author Cliona Whelan had silvered hair, pulled back in a loose bun. Stray tendrils escaped to frame her face, which was animated as she chatted to a woman around the same age as her. She had the face of a storyteller, Roisin decided, and she was what Mammy would describe as a handsome woman with inquisitive grey eyes framed by tortoiseshell glasses. She was dressed in a crisp white dress shirt with a jauntily-tied scarf in the same shade of grey as her eyes. Roisin couldn’t see what she was wearing on her bottom half as she was hidden by the table she sat at, but she was guessing it would be tailored pants. The type with little pleated nips and tucks around the waistband. Her style gave her the manner of someone direct, someone you didn’t pussyfoot around, someone used to moving in a male dominated world. She had been a journalist after all. Her pen was poised, ready to sign the book the woman she was talking to had thrust in front of her.
The queue was nothing like the one she’d just endured and it was a grand opportunity to get the gift she planned on buying for Aisling personalised, Roisin decided. She sidled up to the stand of books next to the table and took one from it, handing it to the girl who was working the till at the end of the table before joining the line.
‘Hello.’ Cliona greeted Roisin with a smile that must have been getting tired around the edges. ‘Have you a special message in mind?’ Her pen was poised over the book.
‘Hello,’ Roisin was suddenly shy. It wasn’t every day she was face to face with an author whose book was storming the charts. ‘Erm could you say, Dear Aisling—’ she went blank.
‘How about, “Dear Aisling, I hope you enjoy this book?”’
‘Grand.’
Cliona signed her sentiment with flourish and Roisin remembered her manners, thanking her and wishing her a Merry Christmas before sliding the book back in the paper bag. She put it in her bag and looking around for the others, decided the photo should be ready by now.
She found them at the main counter. The
