A Very Irish Christmas Read online

  ‘Maura?’ I say disbelievingly. ‘What’s wrong with you? You look so … shattered!’

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ Maura almost cries. ‘What’s wrong with me is that I’ve got my in-laws coming for Christmas dinner in exactly two hours’ time and I’ve left my husband in charge of getting the turkey done, as well as looking after the kids, so that chances are I’ll go home to a raw, pink turkey and one of the kids with a head injury that happened when I wasn’t there. On Christmas Day.’ She’s polite enough, but almost spits out her next sentence, so her meaning is understood loud and clear.

  ‘Because you, Carole, wanted us all here working with you. Yes, that’s right, on Christmas Day. No time off for the wicked, that’s what you said.’

  ‘As long as you realize that the rest of us are all out of here in exactly one hour,’ says Greta, my floor manager, except yet again, she looks like the fast-forwarded, aged-up version of herself. ‘Except for you, Carole. You’ve volunteered to man the production box alone this evening.’

  ‘Same as she does every year,’ I hear someone muttering in the background.

  No, no, no, I think. This can’t be my future – this is awful!

  ‘Dad?’ I call out loud as my co-workers look on, like I’ve got a screw loose. ‘Dad, where are you? What happened to lovely twenty-one-year-old me? I hate this! Can’t I go back? Can’t you … beam me up, or something?’

  ‘She’s cracked up,’ says Maura. ‘After thirty years of working here, the woman has finally cracked.’

  The nightmare I seem to be stuck in is far from over though. I close my eyes. There’s that same weird whooshing sound and next thing I know, I’m back at Mum’s house. At her dining table to be exact, where there’s just me and Jess sitting dismally in front of a giant turkey that neither of us are even picking at.

  Jess looks unrecognizably older too – gone is the wild, abandoned sister who did what she liked and never cared what she looked like or what she said. Now there’s a middle-aged woman sitting in her place, thin and pale and exhausted-looking, dressed in a plain black suit. The kind of thing you’d never see Jess go around wearing, ever.

  ‘Jess?’ I stammer. ‘What’s going on? Where’s Mum? What are we doing in her house having Christmas dinner without her?’

  She looks at me like I’ve gone completely insane.

  ‘Carole? Stop asking stupid questions. You’re giving me the shivers. You know perfectly well why we’re here, so just shut up and try to eat, will you? God, this day is bad enough without you taking the mickey.’

  OK, my head is actually swimming now.

  ‘Jess,’ I say slowly, ‘I know I must sound completely mad to you, but please understand that I really don’t have a clue what we’re doing here or what’s going on. Where’s Mum for starters? Why are we in her house without her? This is weird!’

  ‘You’re the one who’s being weird,’ says Jess, playing with the food in front of her, ‘if you can’t even remember Mum’s funeral. For God’s sake, it was only a month ago.’

  ‘Mum’s WHAT?’

  ‘Calm down, Carole, will you? It’s not like I’m telling you anything you don’t already know. Mum passed away early in November. Jeez, you were here in the house with her when it happened. And we had her funeral here afterwards. Don’t tell me that’s somehow slipped your mind! Or are you that overloaded at work these days that you can’t even remember your own mother isn’t with us any more?’

  ‘Mum …’ I say slowly, trying to let it sink in. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Delayed shock,’ says Jess sagely. ‘I think that’s what’s wrong with you. That’s the only explanation for why you’re acting like a complete nut job.’

  ‘What happened to her?’ I ask, dumfounded. ‘Tell me, Jess, even though I sound insane.’

  ‘Her heart gave up the ghost in the end,’ Jess says sadly. ‘Although if you ask me, what she really died of was a broken heart. She never got over Dad’s death, you know. Couldn’t bring herself to move on, even though she was still relatively young when he passed away.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I say hotly. ‘Mum has Victor! I mean … she had Victor – her tennis doubles partner – oh come on, Jess, you remember?’ I add, clocking the blank look on her face. ‘Victor! Stinks of aftershave, oily and perma-tanned?’

  ‘Haven’t the first iota what you’re on about,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Now come on, eat up will you? There’s far too much food here for just the two of us and I think we’ll both be bringing doggy bags home with us.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait until Emma and Katie get here?’ I say.

  ‘Who did you say?’

  ‘Emma and Katie. Your daughters. In fact, where are they? They’re very late for dinner, aren’t they?’

  ‘Carole,’ says Jess slowly, ‘what in the name of arse are you talking about? Are you drunk? On drugs? Why are you talking about people who don’t exist?’

  I look back at her, horror flooding through me.

  ‘No, no, no, no,’ I say, ‘you’re married, Jess, or at least you’re separated from Useless Dave, but you’ve got two beautiful daughters and they’re the light of your life – and mine too, come to think of it …’

  ‘Do you mean Dave, who I knew from work years ago?’ Jess says. ‘The same Dave that you distinctly warned me off, and told me not to go within ten feet of? Because otherwise, I don’t have a clue who you’re talking about. Me? Married? That’s a laugh. I’m single, babes, and what’s more, so are you. Or has that slipped your mind too?’

  I feel dizzy now, physically dizzy as the enormity of what I’ve done hits home. All my meddling and interfering has left Jess alone without her gorgeous girls and when I think of Mum living out the rest of her days without anyone in her life … my heart cracks and without even realizing it, I’m crying. Big, gulpy, sobbing tears – the kind I never allow myself.

  ‘Dad …’ I keep repeating over and over again. ‘I hate this alternate reality I’m stuck in! Please, please, please, if you can hear me – get me out of here!’

  CHAPTER TEN

  This time, when I open my eyes, it’s the most bizarre thing of all. It’s twilight and dusky and I seem to be in – I do NOT believe this – a graveyard. Except it’s not just any graveyard, it’s the one where Dad is buried. I’d know it anywhere; I was the one who chose the engraving on his headstone.

  Remember Man as you go by

  As you are now, so once was I

  As I am now, so shall you be

  Prepare yourself to follow me.

  I hear a rustle beside me and jump around to see Dad, looking exactly as he did the day we buried him here. Same age, same navy blue suit, same everything.

  ‘You know, I often wish you hadn’t buried me in this suit and tie,’ he says quietly. ‘It chafes at the neck, you know. Terribly uncomfortable. Jeans and a warm jumper would have done just as well for the afterlife.’

  ‘Oh God, Dad,’ I say, slumping down to sit on the grass verge beside the grave. ‘I’m not sure how much of this I can take. It’s been the most insane evening and the last dream I had, of me and Jess all alone on Christmas Day with you gone and Mum gone too was … Dad, it was horrible!’ I start to tear up again; I can’t help myself. The whole night has been such an emotional rollercoaster from start to finish.

  ‘We’re almost done, pet,’ Dad says, scanning the horizon, as if he’s expecting someone or something to come and take him away at any moment. ‘And I know that this evening can’t have been easy for you.’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly,’ I say tearily, wiping my eyes.

  ‘But here’s the thing, Carole,’ he says, sitting down beside me. ‘You needed to see where the life you’re living now will ultimately lead you.’

  ‘You mean like the ghost of Christmas future?’

  ‘But first of all,’ he explains, ‘you needed to see where you’d come from. When you were only twenty-one and you had Jack in your life and you were … happy. There’s no
other word for it, is there?’

  ‘No,’ I sniff, ‘it’s just about the happiest I’ve ever been.’

  ‘So then, going back all those years,’ Dad goes on, ‘you chose to go off to London when you left college, and then of course you landed the job of your dreams not long afterwards.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, remembering back to when I first came to work at Sky News, all those long years ago. Again, happy days. I was being paid an absolute fortune for a job I loved so much, I’d happily have done it for free. What was not to like?

  ‘I know only too well,’ Dad says. ‘I was watching over you the whole time, from the other side. All the awards you won? I was right there beside you. When they made you executive producer on rolling news? I was there for it. And when you won an award for “factual news producer of the year”, at the BAFTA awards? Believe me, Carole love, there was no one cheering louder for you in the afterlife than your old dad. But …’

  ‘I was dreading that “but”,’ I say.

  ‘But you made a choice, didn’t you?’ he says calmly, sitting beside me like he has all the time in the world as darkness begins to fall over the graveyard.

  ‘I did?’

  ‘You know you did, Carole,’ he says, looking right at me. ‘We all make choices every single day of our lives, but the big question is, how will these impact on us in the long run? Some decisions are for the better; others, not so much.’

  ‘I chose to work hard, Dad,’ I say, puzzled as to where he’s going with this. ‘That’s what I wanted – and still want. Sort of. To an extent.’

  ‘Just listen to yourself!’ he says, with a wry little smile. ‘“To an extent?” What on earth do you mean? You’ve scaled the heights of your profession and that’s wonderful. I’m so proud of you. I boast about you all the time to my deceased pals you know, including both of your grandparents. We’re all bursting with pride about every one of your incredible achievements. But, Carole, my pet, why is none of it making you happy? If you were truly happy, it wouldn’t matter that you’re single and alone over Christmas. But you’re not happy, are you? Not really.’

  ‘I was happy when you took me back to when I was twenty-one again,’ I tell him quietly, after a long, long pause. ‘That was such a fabulous time in my life, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Carole,’ he insists gently, ‘you chose your life path then, thinking that you could only have one path or another. You thought you could either stay here in Ireland with Jack, or else take up this fabulous job opportunity in London and reach for the stars.’

  ‘I know … and I can’t regret it, Dad. Yes, I’m lonely, but work means so much to me and it always did.’

  ‘But, Carole, whoever said you could only have one or the other? The career of your dreams, or else the love of a good man, who really did care about you? Supposing I tell you that it’s actually possible to have both?’

  ‘Dad!’ I almost want to laugh. ‘You keep referring back to Jack, and yes, we loved each other and I know you really approved of him and all that. But, Dad, we were just kids back then. We were both wet behind the ears and fresh out of college. Life has moved on for both of us – Jack is married now, with a family too, I believe.’

  I remember vividly exactly where I was all those years ago, back when I was in my thirties, when I first heard the news about Jack and that awful girl Zoe, who I vaguely recalled from college days. She was blonde and swished her hair a lot, with perfect caramel skin and even teeth and that alone was enough for me.

  ‘Separated, I think you’ll find, love.’

  ‘Dad! Really?’

  ‘So why not get in touch with him again? What have you got to lose?’

  A mist seems to roll over both of us and Dad looks upwards, as if someone or something is telling him to go. Next thing he’s fading away beside me, dissolving like a Disprin as I call after him, ‘DAD! Come back … Dad!’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘Oh my God,’ I can hear my mother say, clear as crystal. ‘She’s delirious. She’s calling out for her dad now! Do you think we should ring for an ambulance?’

  ‘On Christmas Day?’ I hear Jess saying. ‘Are you mad, woman? All that’s wrong with Carole is that she got pissed drunk for about the first time in twenty-odd years. She’ll wake up with a roaring hangover, and that’ll be the worst of it. Bloody hell, she was drinking everything bar detergent from under the kitchen sink last night.’

  ‘Most unlike her,’ Mum says. ‘I really do think we should call a doctor, at the very least.’

  I open my eyes and look around me, to see their two worried faces peering back.

  ‘Mum,’ I keep saying, over and over again. ‘Mum, you’re here, you’re really here!’

  ‘Of course I’m here,’ she says. ‘Don’t I live here? Where else would I be?’

  ‘And Jess!’ I say, hauling myself up on the pillows, so I can really look at them both properly. ‘Oh, Jess, I must have been having the most horrible dream – it was awful!’

  ‘I know,’ she says, ‘you woke up shouting your head off – calling out for Dad – it was insane!’

  I take a moment to really look around the bedroom. I even pat the bedside table carefully and reach out for my phone so I can be certain. But no, I actually think that this time it’s all OK. My phone says the date: December 25th, 2017. Clear as crystal. I’m back in the present day – at least, I think I am. I check the décor around my old bedroom and it’s all as it should be.

  ‘Mum,’ I say slowly, as realization dawns. ‘Mum, you’re here … and you’re alive and you look so well and healthy and vibrant, and …’

  I can’t contain myself for a minute longer. So I hop up out of bed and go to give her a big, impulsive hug.

  ‘I had the most horrible dream that you weren’t with us any more,’ I blurt out, ‘and it was awful and you were there too, Jess – here in this house – and we’d had a funeral for you, Mum, and you died on your own and it was just the most horrendous nightmare …’

  I trail off there, and keep on hugging her, again and again, telling her I love her so much.

  ‘Well of course I love you too, Carole,’ she says, looking at me, completely baffled by my behaviour, ‘but I can’t quite understand this sudden change in you.’

  ‘You’re still a bit drunk, if you ask me,’ says Jess, as I turn my attention to her.

  ‘And, Jess!’ I say, instinctively going to give her a huge hug too. ‘Jess, quick tell me something. You have kids, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Why? Do you want one? Katie you’re welcome to – she and I are killing each other at the moment.’

  ‘So, you married Dave then … and had Emma and Katie, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh my God, you’re still pissed,’ says Jess. ‘That’s the only possible reason I can think of why you’re acting like such a total loon. Useless Dave and I are separated, as you well know and of course I had Emma and Katie. What, did a minor thing like your nieces being born slip your mind, or something?’

  According to Jess, I continue to act like a loon right the way through our family Christmas dinner around Mum’s dining table in the good front room at home. Katie and Emma are both here too and I can’t stop myself from hugging them and telling them how wonderful they are.

  ‘And, Jess,’ I keep saying, ‘how lucky are you to have these two princesses in your life? How amazing is it?’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Jess mutters into her turkey and cranberry stuffing. ‘We should get you drunk more often, Carole. You’re a totally different person.’

  ‘And you know something else?’ I chat away, beaming, absolutely beaming at my wonderful family around the table. ‘Mum, you should totally invite Victor over later on. For a family game of Charades, or Scrabble or … I don’t know … something!’

  ‘Charades?’ says Katie, all of sixteen years old and looking up at me from under her fringe. ‘Are you insane? What century are you living in, Auntie Carole? Can’t we just watch Netflix like everyone else?’
r />   ‘It doesn’t matter!’ I laugh. ‘What matters is that we’re all together as a family and I’m so happy. I’m just so happy!’

  ‘Did you really mean that about Victor?’ Mum says to me later on, when it’s just she and I in the kitchen, getting the plum pudding ready. ‘I always got the impression you never really liked him. Up till now, you’ve never had a good word to say about him.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Mum.’ I grin at her. ‘What matters is that he makes you happy and right now, that makes me feel like dancing on air!’

  *

  By the time I get into work on Christmas night, I think my work colleagues have me marked down as certifiable. I’ve come laden down with cake and champagne and before we start preparing for the six p.m. Christmas Day news round-up, I make an impromptu little speech.

  ‘Hi, everyone,’ I begin tentatively, as they all look back at me, like they’re expecting me to bark at them any moment now and growl at everyone to get back to work. ‘Look, I just want to say that I know it’s complete crap having to work, today of all days. And ordinarily I’d stand here and drone on about how the news doesn’t sleep, so therefore neither should we …’

  ‘Oh God, here she goes,’ I can hear Maura groan.

  ‘But today is different,’ I say, looking each one of my colleagues in the eye. ‘Today, I just want to say I think you’re all amazing. It’s fantastic that you’ve come into work today, especially when I know that you’ve got families you’d much rather be with. So let’s get through this news bulletin, then I want you all to go home for the night and have a magical Christmas with your nearest and dearest. Oh, but I’d very much like you all to have a glass of champagne before you leave, as well as some of my mum’s home-made Christmas cake. It’s the least I can offer you, after you’ve agreed to come in today. Then home with you all, to rest and relax, and here’s to a very Happy New Year!’