The Tea House on Mulberry Street (35 page)

She wanted to scan through some rival magazines but her hunger pangs would not go away. Her assistant was in a meeting, and so she slipped on her jacket and went out to the lift.

The delicatessen was crowded. There was a long queue at the glass counter, which was packed with exotic foods from all over the globe. New Yorkers were very hard to please when it came to food and, when they found a good place, they were prepared to wait. Clare took her place in the line.

When she came arrived back at work, her assistant waved at her from across the office.

“There’s someone to see you in your office,” she said, breathlessly. “He says he knew you a long time ago in Ireland. I told him he could wait in there. I’ll get you a couple of coffees, shall I? Give me that big sandwich. He’ll think you’re a pig. He’s very handsome, Clare. Put on some more lipstick before you go in.”

Clare didn’t have to ask who it was. She knew it was Peter.

When she opened the door, he was standing in front of the portrait, looking at it with his back to her. No longer too thin, his shoulders had filled out considerably. The black hair was gone, now greying, and shaved close to his head. But when he turned around, Clare gasped and burst into tears. The big, blue eyes were still the same. The shape of his face, the sensuous lips. She ran across the room towards him and he held out his arms to her, and they held each other for a long time.

“Is this a picture of me?” he said.

“No. But it reminded me of you.”

“Where did you get it?”

“It’s a long story,” she said, as the tears began to fall again.

“I managed to get away, after all,” he said.

“How?”

“I swapped shifts with one of the guys.”

“That was kind of him.”

“Not really. It cost me a lot of money!”

“I’m very flattered. Oh, I’m sorry I can’t stop crying! All the time we’ve wasted!”

“I thought you didn’t want me, you know. I guess rejection is very hard for young men to deal with. We’re not as tough as we look.”

“I know. I know now. So, you’re still single. My, my. Three divorces, you said.”

“Are you shocked?”

“No. I just wonder why any woman in her right mind would let you go.”

“You know why. I was in love with someone else.”

“Was it me, Peter?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still love me?”

“Yes.”

“Can we start again?”

“Yes.” He kissed her softly, on the lips. “Can I take you out to dinner, and you can tell me all about this painting?”

“I’d love that. But you must come to the party first and meet everyone. What are you doing for Christmas, by the way?”

“Nothing. I was hoping an old friend would invite me over to her place.”

“Well, consider yourself invited.”

Back in Belfast, Henry and Rose were clearing up after the Christmas Eve sale. The flower-shop was a mess, but they had done very well. The old-fashioned door-wreaths had been a great success. Henry swept up the leaves and bits of ribbon on the floor, and poured water down the sink. Rose closed the blinds and put the money in the safe.

“Thank you ever so much for helping me, Henry. I can’t believe you have nothing better to do on Christmas Eve.”

“I haven’t. Rose, you’re doing me a favour. Aurora is having a big party for The Brontë Bunch, and I’d only be in the way.”

“Well, I’m very grateful to you. You’re very good company.”

“Listen, Rose, I took the liberty of getting us a couple of tickets for the theatre. What do you think? But don’t feel obliged.”

“How lovely! Are you sure Aurora won’t mind?”

“Not a bit of her. She’ll be far too busy to miss me.”

“In that case, let’s leave the rest of this for another day.”

“We just have time for a bag of chips before curtain-up!”

They put on their coats and scarves, and walked into the city centre together. They didn’t hold hands but they walked very close together, and Henry gave Rose his gloves when it began to snow.

Chapter 46

S
ADIE
’
S
P
ERFECT
C
HRISTMAS

When Sadie woke up at seven o’clock on Christmas Day, she wondered why Arnold wasn’t in the bed next to her. She thought he must be opening his presents in the sitting-room, the big baby. He could never wait until after lunch. Then, she remembered. She hadn’t bought him any presents this year. She had given
him
to his mistress. Let Patricia Caldwell roast his potatoes for him this year. Let her see how hard it really is to look after Arnold Smith. A warm glow began to burn in Sadie’s toes and worked its way all the way up to her shiny, pink cheeks.

She yawned and stretched her arms and planned how she would spend the day. With no turkey dinner to cook and no ungrateful family to take care of, she could do whatever she wanted. The house was very peaceful. She was all alone at last. It was a good feeling.

First, she had a lie-in, listening to Christmas carols on the radio. The central heating clicked on and the house began to warm up nicely. At ten o’clock, Sadie got up and ran a hot bath for herself, using up all the hot water, and a generous dollop of bath foam. She lay back contentedly in the mounds of scented bubbles and chuckled again and again when she thought of her husband’s face when the camera-shutter clicked. Let him try to take the bungalow away from her
now
! Lying under that grasshopper, Patricia, grabbing her bosoms in a most ungentlemanly way, he was caught red-handed. As it were. There was no way he could charm his way out of the situation. Let him take her to court now, and she would post a copy of that picture to every person Arnold had ever known. To his pious boss and his stuck-up pals at the golf-club, to his jealous colleagues and his even more jealous competitors. How they would gloat over such a picture! She would put it on the Internet, on lampposts all over Belfast She would become the worst nightmare Arnold had ever dreamed of.

Then, she decided to relax. After all it was Christmas Day. She stayed in the bath until the water went cold and then she got out and dried herself on a fluffy bath towel, and painted her toenails and brushed her teeth.

At eleven o’clock, still in her dressing-gown, she cooked a delicious breakfast of bacon and wheaten bread, mushrooms and tomatoes, lightly fried in sunflower oil. Well, she was trying to eat more healthily. After three cups of tea, she got dressed and went to afternoon service at her local church, enjoying the crib scene with its yellow star glowing above the manger. She listened to the children singing ‘Silent Night’ and she thanked God for giving her precious life back to her. When people asked after her family, she told them the truth, and tried hard to keep a straight face when she saw the shock on their bug-eyed faces.

“The good Lord will give me the strength I need to get through this,” she said about twenty times that morning. “These things are sent to try us. The Lord only gives us those burdens he knows we can carry.” And so on.

Everyone hugged her and said, wasn’t Arnold a proper scoundrel? Sadie shrugged and said he was a good man really, and it was all her fault for being so old and fat and unattractive. And everyone was outraged, all over again. They promised to ignore Arnold in the street. Wasn’t pity a marvellous thing, thought Sadie.

Sadie went home and popped a ready-made meal in the oven. Chicken breasts with red wine gravy. Mashed carrots and swedes. Potato gratin. Potato croquettes. All in dainty little foil containers. Whoever said Christmas was hard work for women? Those days were gone. She covered the table in the dining-room with a jolly Christmas tablecloth, and added some red candles in various glass holders, a good wine glass and three luxury crackers. While she waited the forty-five minutes until her dinner was ready, she pulled the crackers and drank some wine and listened to the radio. She put on a paper hat, and tidied up the Christmas cards on the mantelpiece. She moved the pot of twigs out to the hall, and trailed her artificial Christmas tree in from the shed. It was a huge tree and it took her a few minutes to put it together. The oven-timer rang as she was straightening up the branches. She would decorate it after lunch.

Just then the doorbell chimed and Sadie nearly jumped out of her skin. She peeped out of the bay window. Nine of Arnold’s relations stood shivering on the doorstep like cattle waiting to be fed. One small bottle of wine and one wrapped gift between the lot of them. And that was only a box of chocolates, which they always proceeded to eat themselves. Sadie was glad she hadn’t spent hundreds of pounds on presents for them, this year. She would get herself a new wardrobe of clothes in the January sales instead.

It began to snow. Tiny, white flakes fell from the sky, sparkling in the winter sun, gathering in the corners of the window-panes. Sadie watched her in-laws from behind the curtains, hopping with cold and impatience on the doorstep. She made them wait for three whole minutes and then she answered the door.

“Sadie, my dear, let us in! We are absolutely freezing,” they cried, when she opened the door at last. Just a fraction. And she kept the chain on.

“I hope that turkey is ready. We could eat a horse. Why are the curtains closed? Where’s Arnold’s car?”

“He isn’t here. Arnold and I are no longer a couple,” said Sadie loudly, so that she wouldn’t have to repeat herself. “I will say this only once: he has gone to live with his new girlfriend, Patricia, but he says you are all to call her Patty-Pat. And I just know you’ll all adore her. She’s just your type. So talented in the domestic arts. What that woman can’t do on a kitchen table is nobody’s business. You tell her I said that. Do you hear me? In fact, that’s where you’re having your dinner today. At her place. Here’s the address.” She gave the nearest open-mouthed relative a piece of paper.

“Now, look here, what’s going on?” demanded Arnold’s brother, Tony. “Why have you chained the door? Let me in. I’m going to phone Arnold. And Jenny needs to go to the toilet.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sadie, “but this house, and its facilities, are no longer the property of the Smith clan. I never liked any of you. And you never liked me. So, let’s just end the pretence, shall we? The invitation to spend Christmas Day at this address is hereby, officially, withdrawn. There’s no turkey and there’s no trifle, and there’s no free booze. This year, I have only been shopping for one. So this is goodbye. Merry Christmas.” And she closed the door firmly and locked it, and drew the curtain, just in case they peeped in the letterbox.

Sadie thought her Christmas lunch was the best meal she had ever eaten. Not once did she have to jump up from the table to get Daisy a glass of water, or Maurice some more stuffing, or Arnold some more gravy. Or to pour endless drinks for Arnold’s alcoholic siblings, or worry that they were running out of ice-cubes. Or watch them all open their expensive gifts, and show no gratitude. It was hard to believe she had waited on them all, hand and foot, for years and years, and all the time, they were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.

She had second helpings of the mashed swede, and she had to admit, it was better than her own. There were spices in it, and everything. For dessert, she had three chocolate éclairs, a finger of Christmas cake, and a cappuccino. All shop-bought, and quite delicious. It was all over by five o’clock, and the kitchen was still spotless.

Then it was time to enjoy the evening. She went up to the attic, and carefully brought down the box of decorations. For two blissful hours, she fiddled with the tree and the lights until they were perfect, and hung up all the delicate glass baubles that were shaped like tear drops, and the fragile glass angels, and the little crystal sleighs, and the fat tinsel that caught the light so beautifully. The sky was dark and velvety when she stood back to admire her handiwork. The tree stood majestically in the middle of the bay window. It was time to bring it to life. Sadie quickly vacuumed up the leftover bits and pieces of tinsel and fluff from the carpet, and then switched on the fairy-lights. The bay window was filled with light, and outside the snow became heavier. It was perfect.

She switched on the television, and circled two soaps, three comedy specials and a movie premiere in the TV guide. For the first time in twenty years she would be able to watch something in peace and be able to hear what was being said, without the Smiths roaring at their own jokes, rowdy with drink. She wouldn’t bother to light the fire this year, either. The house was warm enough. She lit three fat, ivory-coloured church candles and set them in the grate and they looked just as good as the real thing. Finally, she laid out some nuts and chocolates in a silver dish on the coffee table, along with the rest of the wine and a big mug of tea.

She curled up on the sofa to watch several hours of programmes and forgot entirely about Arnold and Patricia, and the chaos that the horrible Smith family turning up at Patricia’s flat would have caused. The whole lot of them, standing round a tiny, glass table, waiting for Patricia to produce a lavish feast from her etched glass cupboards. They would be lucky to get a cheese sandwich in their hand, if Sadie’s suspicions were correct.