‘Glamour, their website. I know! It’s real! I’m almost mainstreaming!’
‘So, ah, is it cool with you girls if I go away for a few days after Christmas?’ I’m striving for casual, but they have zero interest in my stuff. Neeve is off to some fancy hotel in Tipperary with Richie and his parents. All credit to him, he’s making great efforts to enfold her into the extended family – even if I still don’t fully trust him not to abruptly lose interest in her again in the future. Sofie and Jackson are off to a grungy-sounding house party in Connemara. And Kiara is going on a survival-style camping trip in Kerry with some other kids from her class.
Saying goodbye to Josh on 21 December is weird. ‘See you in Serbia,’ he says.
My stomach lurches. Am I making a terrible mistake?
‘No.’ He answers my unspoken question. ‘It will all be cool.’
‘But what if we don’t get on? I might be starving and happy to put up with some shithole café but you might want us to walk around for hours in the cold until we find the perfect place. Or I might snore –’
‘You do. I don’t mind. But, Sackcloth, until then I’m going to miss you so bad. I’ll be wanking for England. Can I call you? On Christmas Day?’
‘No.’
His face darkens.
‘Josh, no, seriously. It’s disrespectful to your wife,’ I say. ‘Christmas Day is for families.’
‘Which is why it’s so fucking unendurable.’
‘Stop it, Josh. Some things are sacred. Don’t ring me on that day.’
89
Sunday, 25 December, day 104
‘Mum! Get up!’ Kiara’s shaking me awake. ‘We’re opening the gifts! Happy Christmas!’
Neeve and Sofie appear at my bedroom door. ‘Come on.’
The three of them thump and giggle their way down the stairs. I put on my snowman pyjamas and reindeer slippers and follow, watching fondly as the girls fling themselves on ‘their’ heaps and begin tearing off paper.
I’ve wrapped each of them a stocking full of trinkets – leopard-print socks, stuff from Claire’s – and one ‘real’ gift.
‘Oh, Mum!’ Neeve shrieks. ‘Tom Ford sunnies!’
The frame is caramel-coloured and the glass an unusual amber shade, which works beautifully with her red-gold hair.
‘I totally, totally love them!’ She puts them on and parades around in her onesie and fluffy slippers. ‘How fabulous am I?’ she demands. ‘Totally? Or totally?’
‘Totally!’
A tin of Roses has appeared and we all dive into it, even Sofie.
‘Mum …’ Kiara has opened her ‘real’ gift, a charity donation to buy shoes for four girls in the developing world, so they can walk to school and get an education. Her eyes fill with tears.
‘Yeah, if I got that, I’d be crying too!’ Neeve calls.
‘Best gift ever!’ Kiara flings herself at me and we tumble, laughing, to the floor.
Sofie’s present is a new phone. ‘You’re great, Amy. You’re super-great!’
They’ve bought me various bits and pieces – a massage voucher, earrings, ‘And something good!’
They produce a bigger parcel from behind the couch and place it in my lap.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘A fully grown Irish Wolfhound!’ Neeve is in great form.
‘Open it and see,’ Sofie says.
And, you know, my hopes aren’t high, because even though they’re well-meaning, they don’t entirely get me. Still, they’ve gone to some sort of trouble and that’s touching in itself.
But, oh, my God, it’s beautiful. It’s a leather handbag, embroidered with a Slavic-looking peasant scene.
‘Do you like it?’ Kiara breathes.
‘I adore it.’
This triggers a flood of information from them. ‘It reminded us of those paintings you love.’
‘We saw it on Etsy.’
‘We were afraid it wouldn’t get here in time!’
‘But then it did!’
‘And when we saw it for real, we knew you’d love it!’
‘I LOVE Christmas,’ Kiara says.
‘Will we have a glass of Baileys?’ I say.
‘It’s nine thirty,’ Neeve says. ‘In the Ay Ems! Ah, go on, so!’
As I rise to go to the kitchen, there’s a noise from outside the front door. Visitors? But who? At this hour on Christmas Day?
The four of us exchange a quizzical look. Then, alarmingly, there’s the rattle of a key being inserted in the lock. Who would be letting themselves in with a key?
With another rattle, then a clatter, the front door is shoved open – and oh, my God, it’s … My eyes are seeing him, but my brain can’t process it. Thinner, tanned, with longer hair and an unfamiliar jacket, it’s Hugh.
The shock is disabling. I’m frozen in place as I watch him drag in a huge rucksack. Then the room erupts. Sofie and Kiara jump to their feet and run to him with cries of ‘Dad!’
He stretches out his arms and gathers the three of them – even Neeve lets herself be included – into him.
He locks eyes with me, gestures to his enveloping arms and mouths, ‘You?’
But I can’t move.
Sofie turns to me. ‘Did you know about this? Was it a secret surprise?’
Stiffly I move my head from side to side.
‘Come in, come in.’ They lead Hugh to the sofa. Kiara pushes me gently, so that I’m seated beside him, while they cluster on the floor.
‘Why didn’t you call?’ Kiara asks him. ‘Or text?’
‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘It is! Best Christmas gift ever!’
‘How long are you here for?’ Neeve asks. ‘When are you going back?’
He seems startled. ‘No, no, I’m not. I’m home.’
‘You are?’
‘Oh, wow, like I was hoping …’
‘Best gift ever!’
‘It’s Christmas Day,’ Kiara tells him.
‘I know.’ He gives me a how-cute-is-she smile. He seems happy. I’m stunned and mute, feeling as if I’m dreaming.
The girls clamber all over him, demanding presents.
‘I didn’t have time to get you proper Christmas presents,’ he says. ‘But I got trinkets.’
He pulls his rucksack into the living room and produces vivid batik scarves, pretty beaded bracelets and small lacquered boxes.
I see it happen, as if I’m watching a movie.
‘Hey!’ Kiara checks the time on her phone. ‘We’d better get going.’
We’re due at Mum and Pop’s for the exchange of presents. Only the grandchildren get gifts, but it’ll be lots of fun. Well, it would be, if I wasn’t in deep shock.
I hear my voice ask, ‘Neeve, can you drive Sofie and Kiara?’
‘Why can’t you?’
‘I need to stay and talk to Dad.’
‘But you are coming?’
‘In a while.’
They race upstairs, get dressed speedily, gather the bag of goodies, then depart, slamming the front door behind them.
Hugh and I are finally alone. I stare and stare at him. ‘Are you really here?’
‘Babe, I’m sorry.’ He reaches for my lifeless hands. ‘I should have texted or something. I thought it would be a surprise.’
‘But it’s a shock. You must have known it would be.’
He bites his lip in self-reproach. ‘I was so happy about coming home that that was all I could think about. I’m sorry.’ Gently, he says. ‘Can I talk to you? Can we talk?’
‘Mmm.’
‘I shouldn’t have gone. It was a bad, mad decision. It makes no sense to me now – I don’t know how it ever did. I must have been crazy. Like properly, mentally not-right. I can’t understand how it ever seemed justifiable.’ His anguish looks real. ‘Amy, I missed you so badly. I was lonely for almost every single second –’
No. ‘I saw the pictures of you and Raffie Geras. You didn’t look lonely then.’
He bows his head like a penitent. ‘That was … It didn’t last long. My heart was never in it. I’m so sorry about you seeing the picture.’
‘There must be other girls I don’t know about.’
He stays silent but looks sad. Then, ‘It was a mistake,’ he says. ‘All of it, a mistake. I felt ridiculous. Always self-conscious. I’d tell myself to enjoy being in Paradise, but it was no use without you there. I’d have patches of feeling … in the flow, and I’d think, Okay, now I’m getting the hang of it. But it never lasted.
‘Eventually I got clarity. About how much I love you. You and me, Amy, we love each other. I just, I don’t know, I couldn’t feel it for a while. But I appreciate it now, how connected we are, how lucky we are.’