She remembered the bag of gifts she’d bought. There was a bar of Joy soap for Elsa—she couldn’t stretch to an actual bottle this year but the Boots’ girl had assured her the soap was a triple milled, French luxury that wouldn’t turn to sludge as it sat beside the bath. There was the usual bottle of malt whisky for Colin and, just because she wanted her presence registered under the tree where Noah was concerned today, a box of Lego. The bloody stuff cost a fortune and should come with a health warning for parents to always wear shoes once opened she’d griped, wrapping it when her son had been brushing his teeth earlier that morning.
‘Here, Noah, put these under the tree.’ He was already on his hands and knees inspecting the labels on the cheerily wrapped packages leaning against the bucket and ignored the rustle of plastic she set down next to him. He picked one up and prodded at it, a frown of concentration on his face. It was mean the way Elsa always made him wait until after lunch to open his presents. She was a stickler for her traditions and Roisin knew the drill. There would be drinks and nibbles first, followed by a lunch far too big for the four of them, then it would be back here where Noah could finally rip into his presents before doling out the rest of the gifts. Then, it would be time for a game of charades followed by coffee, served in the silver plunger which, like the fire, was reserved for special occasions, and finally a film. The Quality Street would be produced with a flourish but a beady eye would be kept on those attempting to take more than one at a time. Roisin sighed at the thought of it all. She planned on making their escape by four thirty which was the earliest they could politely do so. This would give her enough time to pack for their flight in the morning.
The thought of her mammy and sisters lifted her, she was looking forward to seeing them. It had been over two months since they’d last all been together and although she spoke to one of them every other day it wasn’t the same as being there amongst it all. So much had happened since she’d returned from that last trip to Dublin, a newly separated woman who had to somehow find a new life for herself in London. Her brain was still whirring with it all but she hadn’t looked back, not once.
Mammy of course had been insistent on meeting them at the airport and that she and Noah come to her in Howth when they arrived. The thing was, her new apartment chosen for its seaside location wasn’t O’Mara’s. The apartment on the top floor of the family guesthouse was home. Roisin wanted to be back in her old room, to join in with the bickering between Moira and Aisling. Truth be told she’d have given anything to have Mammy and Daddy back under that roof too, but time didn’t stand still and things had changed with Daddy’s passing. She didn’t blame Mammy for moving, she could understand the need for a new beginning after her life had been thrown off course.
Mammy had done the hard sell and would have given any estate agent a run for their money as she emphasised her apartment’s seaside location and stunning views. To which Rosie had replied, given the time of year the water was fit for polar bears not people, come to that it was pretty much the same in summertime too. In the end it was decided they’d stay that first night at Mammy’s and then play it by ear.
She wondered what the Christmas tree in the foyer of O’Mara’s looked like and smiled at the thought of Aisling and Bronagh, the guesthouse’s long serving receptionist, arguing over whether they should go with a silver and gold theme. Bronagh had won, Aisling had told her, adding that fair play to her it did look gorgeous albeit enormous. It couldn’t be bigger than the one she was standing here looking at though, surely? Either way she was looking forward to seeing it for herself. Yes, she thought, hugging her arms around herself, it would be nice to be back in Dublin, like putting on a pair of comfy slippers. She twiddled her toes, the fecking boots were already beginning to pinch.
To distract herself from her squished toes, Roisin did a sweep of the room, noting the tidily arranged cards on the mantle. Her eyes moved to the sideboard and she saw the Royal Doulton ballerina and the collection of porcelain Beatrix Potter figurines that normally adorned it had been put away. When Noah had been a toddler, Jemima Puddleduck and her friends had been like a magnet to him and she’d been terrified he’d break one of them. The more she’d told him not to touch the more determined he’d been to do just that. In their place was a faux gingerbread house, a red glow emanating from inside its white trimmed windows and next to it was a nativity scene, the small wooden figures, Roisin knew, having once belonged to Elsa’s mother.
‘Roisin, Merry Christmas. You’re looking well.’ Colin intruded on her inspection as he appeared in the doorway, the joviality in his tone sounding forced to her ears but she gave him ten out of ten for effort. Registering her normally staid suit-wearing ex was dressed in a navy version of his mother’s reindeer sweater she choked back a giggle. Elsa had him well and truly under the thumb. He was also wearing jeans, and not very well. He was one of those men who never looked comfortable in denim. Come to that he didn’t look comfortable in anything casual, it wasn’t
