Page 40 of One More Day
As late evening comes around, every one of my fingers is red raw from twisting and bending metal coat hangers to make a Christmas wreath for the front door of Seaview Cottage.
With a mix of berried holly and bushy fern, I’ve added some gold ribbon and some battery-operated lights which twinkle and glow, making the place feel more festive already from the outside in, which is so far from what I ever intended.
Carlos called earlier, and I was glad that this time I was able to be a lot more honest with my surroundings.
‘So, Maeve and Yvonne are totally off scent. They’re happy to know you’re up north with your parents but are already planning a post-Christmas Secret Santa gathering since we didn’t have a chance to get together before,’ he chimes, as I listen to him on loudspeaker. ‘Everything is calming down at work, but I can see you’re logging in every morning, which is so unnecessary.’
‘It is for my own sanity. I’ve a fifteen-minute curfew and I’m just being nosey,’ I replied, as I fixed a new set of batteries into another string of lights.
‘And in other news,’ Carlos said, ‘I’ve a date tonight but I’m not going to bore you with the details as it will probably fall flat on its face as always. My love life is like a pancake. A gluten-free pancake for that matter – I simply have bad taste.’
‘Ah Carlos, you’re too hard on yourself,’ I told him, while secretly acknowledging he wasn’t far from the truth. No wonder we are such great friends. We are both hapless.
‘I’ll keep checking in so you’re never alone for too long,’ he told me before he headed off for lunch. ‘Text me if you’re lonely. You hear?’
‘I hear!’ I replied and pushed away the idea of my three friends huddled together over a cosy pub lunch in Dublin, where no doubt they’d be talking about how they didn’t know what to do with me any more.
Now, with a warm glass of mulled wine in my hands, I stand back to admire all my hard work this evening.
The smell of cinnamon and gingerbread fills the air from the candles in the hallway, an evergreen garland decorated with robins and tiny red and silver baubles lines the mantelpiece in the living room, and another is wound around the banister that leads upstairs.
I’ve scattered mini trees in coloured pots around the various rooms, including the kitchen, where I’ve also added a deep red tablecloth and a candelabra, which I’ve slotted candles into.
Everything feels so much more seasonal already. Although I may not be in the mood for celebration this year, decorating the house has kept me occupied. It’s an unexpected baby step forward to finding myself again, and I’m very pleased with the outcome.
‘So, George, what do you think? Do you think Santa will pay us a visit here in Donegal?’ I ask my canine companion. ‘It may be a little bit too remote, even for Santa, but we can always live in hope.’
George responds by wagging his tail. I’ve no doubt he knows exactly what I’m saying. He can always pick up when I’m feeling low or when I’m excited about something. He even knows when I need some space or when to stay out of my way on the rare occasions I’m not in the mood for cuddles.
I used to always be in the mood for Christmas too, but when I picture Christmas Day here with no presents and no fancy dinner, no family board games and no snoozing off the turkey by the fire with a belly full of pudding and a few too many glasses of wine, my heart sinks.
I plonk down on the sofa as the lights twinkle around me like tiny dancing stars and the flames in the open hearth keep up with their tune. Even though I’m delighted on the outside with all my handiwork, I still can’t seem to fix myself, nor can I change the past.
It’s like a sea of darkness, a strange stillness that reeks of anxiety and the sound of silence that deafens you from within.
I am alone and it’s suffocating me.
I lift my phone and scroll through the names I’ve collected through the years. I can’t tell my sister I’m here. She would be on the doorstep in a heartbeat demanding that I come home. And I can’t go home in case I bump into any of Michael’s friends or extended family, which would make my grief even darker. I can’t call Carlos or he’ll tell me off for not switching off and enjoying my time away.
And then I come to his number. I scroll past it and then I scroll back to it.
I’ve never had the strength to delete it. My thumb hovers over his name.
Michael.
But what would happen if I called his number now? Would it ring out when my name appeared? Would it go to his voicemail? Would I hear even just a few seconds of his warm, familiar voice just one more time?
Does anyone even have his phone still? What if some stranger has his number now? Or maybe Evelyn kept it …
Charlie’s arrival stops me from hitting ‘dial’ and finding out, which is probably a good thing.
I drop my phone onto the sofa, but a WhatsApp from Charlie makes me pick it up again quickly.
What’s with all the decorations?
Oh dear.
I thought you were here to forget Christmas like I am …
