Walking Back to Happiness (43 page)

‘Oh, cheers. It’s just that I never know what to wear, and I don’t want to let the girls down.’ She sighed and took off her shades. Emer looked endearingly nervous, despite the fact she was wearing golden glitter on her eyelids. ‘The mums here have this cool uniform going on, sort of what you’re wearing. Well, more or less.
This
is what the mums at their last place wore and I’m used to it, but’ – she peered at Juliet’s skirt – ‘flat shoes, knee-length denim . . . why can’t I do that?’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘I’ll show you,’ said Juliet, patting Emer’s knee. ‘Don’t worry. You just need a padded gilet. The rest’ll follow.’

‘And they’re all so
well behaved
,’ Emer went on, chewing her nail.

‘We’re here!’ screeched Spike. He was the only Kelly in the car with them; Salvador, Roisin and Florrie were backstage already.

Inside the school hall, the four of them took their places in the family row. The audience was already packed, and Juliet could feel all eyes on them as they inched their way past knees and handbags. It tickled her the way Emer swung between shyness towards the other mums and their obedient offspring, and habitual head-tossing. It also tickled her the way everyone gazed at Lorcan with undisguised admiration, and then at her, with envy.

The lights went down, there was an expectant hush, and the angels started singing, and one voice carried through the mainly in-tune chorus. Only one angel was giving it the full Mariah Carey vibrato. And when the curtain rose to reveal three clouds’ worth of baby-faced angels in tinsel halos and startling holographic tunics, only one of them was doing a full jazz-hands interpretation of the song, much to the furious head-shaking of the teacher on piano.

Emer beamed and zoomed right in with the video recorder, ignoring the mutterings of ‘
X Factor
. . . television today . . .’ from the other parents.

‘If that angel doesn’t watch herself, she’s going to get kicked off of that cloud,’ murmured Lorcan right into her ear, and Juliet’s whole body tingled.

Juliet knew she hadn’t had nearly enough exposure to nativity plays, because tears were running down her face from the moment Angel Gabriel appeared in the garden. Lorcan had to pass her a tissue from the mammoth supply in Emer’s bag.

When Florrie appeared as the shepherd, carefully leading a pair of lambs, ably played by two white West Highland terriers that Juliet recognised as Jock and Aggie from the park, Lorcan himself was in tears and they sniffed in unison right through to the grand finale, in which Sal’s bass guitar was in direct competition with his sister’s improvised soprano wailing over the rest of ‘Little Donkey’.

As Mary and Joseph took their bow, Emer, Lorcan and Juliet leaped to their feet as if they were at the Royal Albert Hall. Emer let out a piercing wolf whistle, while Lorcan made a sort of rock howl that caused everyone to turn round to look at them. Juliet didn’t care. She was bursting with pride at Florrie, and Roisin, and Sal, and the rest of her adopted family. It was only when Roisin started making heavy-metal devil horns from the back of the angel chorus that she decided it might be better to whisk them out, rather than let Roisin milk the encore.

The limo driver had waited in the car park, still in his shades, and he swept the seven of them out of the car park to the clear envy of the dads trying to reverse out of the snow.

Half an hour later, they were installed in the best booth table at the Pizza Parlour on the High Street, covered in garlic butter and watching fresh snow swirl against the windows as the Christmas lights glowed outside, looping electric paper chains across the road, back and forth, red and yellow and green.

‘So, where are you having the big day?’ asked Emer, as the pizzas came.

‘My mum’s. I’m cooking.’

‘
You’re
cooking?’ said Lorcan. He raised an eyebrow, the only person who really knew about her struggles to get her enthusiasm for the kitchen back.

Juliet nodded. ‘I’ve been practising. In fact, you might find Santa has a sweet tooth this year.’

‘Good for you,’ he said quietly, and gave her a gentle kick under the table. Juliet blushed, unaware his leg was so close.

‘So when were you thinking Santa might drop round?’ Emer asked, picking daintily at a salad. ‘Only we need to get you over for a Christmas drink before we go.’

‘Go?’ Juliet’s fork froze, halfway to her mouth. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that the Kellys wouldn’t be next door for Christmas.

‘We’re going to Ireland to spend time with the family,’ Roisin informed her. ‘And then Mum and Dad are going off to New York for some
special bonding
.’ She made an ‘Ooooh’ face, which Spike copied, to Florrie’s mortification.

‘We always get New Year to ourselves somewhere special,’ said Emer. ‘I look forward to it from about 9 January. Alec uses it to earn credits for the first half of the year, so it’s amazing. This lot get to stay with their cousins out in the west. And if you think they’re bad . . .’ She rolled her eyes.

Juliet couldn’t imagine.

‘And are you going out there?’ she asked Lorcan, as casually as she could manage.

‘Haven’t decided yet,’ he said. He sliced up his pizza, then rolled it into thick chunks for easy despatch. ‘I’m keeping my options open. There’s a gig I could go to in Dublin, or an all-nighter in Cork that’s always good craic. And I’ve a mate runs a bar in Edinburgh, so I might head up that way.’

Juliet felt sad that he hadn’t even considered staying in Longhampton, but then why would he? she argued. New Year was a time for being on your own and thinking, like she would be, or being with your mates and getting hosed, like Lorcan. And if you were going out on the lash, there were a lot better places to do it than here, especially if you had contacts in roadie gangs all over the country.

‘Or there’s always here,’ said Emer, cutting her a sideways glance.

‘No, Longhampton’s shocking at New Year,’ said Juliet quickly. ‘Once you’ve seen the mayor doing “Auld Lang Syne” wrong on the town-hall balcony, you’ve seen it all. I bet New Year’s a lot more fun in Ireland than it is here.’

‘That depends on the—’ Lorcan started, but a wail from Florrie cut him off.

‘Salvador’s put ice in my hooooood!’ she wailed.

‘And you wonder why I try to get a whole week at New Year?’ Emer asked Juliet, her eyebrows raised right up into her hairline.

Roisin banged her spoon on the table. ‘Ice cream. Roisin Kelly wants ice cream!’

As they left, Roisin and Salvador bundled along with Emer, shrieking and chucking snowballs into the air. Florrie slipped her small hand into Juliet’s to walk down to where the limo was parked, and Juliet felt a tug of affection for the quiet little girl.

She looked down and smiled. Florrie smiled back, and didn’t say anything.

Juliet felt another hand take hers, a bigger hand this time.

It was Lorcan. He held it up, and held up his other, which was holding on to Spike.

‘Break dance!’ Juliet said, doing an old-school swoop along the line.

The children laughed and made the ripple go back and forth, but when they saw the limo’s lights ahead, they broke free and ran towards it.

Lorcan didn’t let go of Juliet’s hand. ‘Better keep hold of you,’ he said. ‘Slippy pavements and all that.’

Juliet didn’t contradict him. And she didn’t let go of his until they were safely at the van.

It was going to be a very long week, without the Kellys.

The snow lingered, thickening itself each night, ready to defy the forecasters the next day. It looked like it was going to stick around until Christmas, much to the delight of the Kelly children, who already had all of Led Zeppelin and Queen recreated in snowman form in the back garden.

Juliet dropped her jars and ribbon-tied parcels of sweets round one morning before her walks. When she got back, there was a small box on the doorstep, cocooned against the snow in a plastic Sainsbury’s bag.

Juliet stamped the snow off her boots and took the whole thing through to the kitchen to unpack it. It was very heavy, and she realised to her disappointment that the Kellys had gone off, en masse, going by the scribbled list of ‘please, please, please favours’, including the feeding and care of Smokey the cat and Florrie’s menagerie of small pets, along with a roll of notes to pay for it all.

The card inside the bag was a proper American-style Christmas portrait of the whole family dressed up in costumes. Salvador was a drummer drumming, Florrie was a swan a-swimming, Roisin was a maid a-dancing, Spike was a French hen, Emer was five gold rings, and a baffled Alec was a partridge in a pear tree.

Inside it read,
To our lovely neighbour and pet-sitter. Thanks for putting up with the madness. Rock ’n’ roll, the Kellys
. Everyone had signed it.

There was a bottle of Emer’s sloe gin, a bag of ludicrous handmade organic dog biscuits from Harvey Nichols and a fabulous Pucci scarf ‘so you can put some wow into bow-wow walking’.

Juliet had never worn a scarf, but she decided this was the year she’d start.

The box, though, was separate, and unwrapped. It was also very heavy.

Juliet took it out carefully and slit the Sellotape holding the top edges together. She pulled it open and took out the folded note on the top of the shredded paper.

It read:

Found this for you and the house. Have been hunting for the right size and shape for ages. You should be really proud of what you’ve done this year. I’ve never worked with such a talented builder.

May next year be full of openings and opportunities knocking on your door (get it?!).

Love from Lorcan

His surprisingly neat handwriting reminded her of his voice. She smiled at the compliments, although she wasn’t sure she deserved them; he’d been the one who’d done most of the work.

Juliet put her fingers into the shredded paper and touched something cold and metallic. Slowly, she lifted out a brass door knocker, polished and restored to a burnished sheen.

It was a beautiful thing, made of liquid curves and dappled with age. It was even nicer for being so personal. Lorcan must have spent ages cleaning it up, back into the condition the original buyers must have found it. Juliet felt her chest tighten with emotion as it warmed in her hands, releasing a sweet, musty smell of polish.

Ben would have loved this, she thought, already seeing it on the front door, shining against the new red paint. It had a ‘something old, something new’ quality to it that summed up the slow reawakening of Myrtle Villa.

It’s time to welcome people into my house, she thought. All I need on New Year’s Eve is a tall, dark handsome man with a lump of coal and some whisky.

It was a shame that the man who fitted that description was so far away.

Chapter 28

Christmas Day followed the pattern of all Christmas Days at Diane’s house, barring the previous year’s subdued gathering. When Juliet arrived at 9 a.m., she was comforted to see that the Buck’s Fizz was already separating in the glass jugs, and
Carols from King’s
was soaring magnificently in the background. Despite the early hour, the tin of Quality Street sat open on the sideboard, with seven green triangles probably removed and in Diane’s secret drawer for later.

Juliet had come with a full vanload: the trays of foil-covered food she’d prepared the night before were in the back, along with the bags of presents, all safely packed away from Minton and Hector. Both of them were sporting festive collars and had been walked around the block before breakfast to avoid any ‘giddiness’ in the face of wrapping paper.

Diane already seemed slightly tipsy on Buck’s Fizz when she opened the door, and Juliet took a step back as the blast of warm air hit her. For some reason, lost in the mists of time, her mother always turned the heating up a couple of notches of Christmas Day, which wasn’t helping her flushed cheeks.

‘Merry Christmas!’ she cooed, weaving a little bit. ‘Oh, you are a good girl,’ she added, seeing the chicken-in-a-duck-in-a-goose. ‘Your father’s been looking forward to this for weeks!’

‘Well, I hope it’s worth it,’ said Juliet. ‘I feel like I’ve been in an episode of
Animal Hospital
.’

Eric appeared behind his wife, also glowing in his Christmas shirt. It was red, with reindeers on the collar – a gift from Ian in Australia. Normally Eric only had to wear it for ten minutes for the family photo, but now they were doing video conferencing, he was stuck in it all day.

‘Merry Christmas, Dad!’ said Juliet. ‘Or should I say, Santa?’

‘Ho, ho,’ he said, deadpan. ‘Merry Christmas. Shall I take those off you?’

As Juliet and Eric ferried her cargo of food, presents and dog stuff, Juliet felt a strange mixture of emotions. It was nice to be drawn back into the familiar rituals of their family Christmas – the terrible jokes, the way her mother would try to force a salmon roulade down her at any moment, despite it being before breakfast – but there were gaps where Ben should be. He was the one who laughed at Dad’s jokes and always choked down a couple of awful prawn appetisers.

Instead it was just her. I need to make my own rituals, she told herself, filling in the ache with some positive thinking. Like the lovely pre-breakfast walk with Minton and the croissant she’d savoured this morning. That could be a start. Other people could join in if they wanted.

And Boxing Day. She could do a Boxing Day tradition – was there some tradition she could borrow? What did they do in Ireland? Lorcan would have some Guinness-based suggestion, no doubt.

The thought of Lorcan’s cheery company made her miss Emer too. It would have been nice to escape round there afterwards, to pick at their enormous spread and loosen her buttons on their big leather sofa.

Juliet’s mental slideshow abruptly shifted to the chaos that would be created by four Kelly kids, plus unlimited sugar, plus a visit from Santa, plus Emer, all her family and the drinks cabinet, and she changed her mind. Maybe her real Christmas treat was her tranquil, finished sitting room.