Page 44 of One More Day
As Albert Einstein said: ‘A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin. What else does a man need to be happy?’ You get the drift! Call me if you need to. You’ve got this.
I laugh out loud at Niall’s words of wisdom, tailed off as usual by a quote or two.
But I know he’s right. I didn’t come here to mope.
And maybe Rose is right. Maybe trying to deny it’s Christmas is just making it harder for us both. I can’t deny that the decorations are beautiful. Rose has great talent and taste, even if I couldn’t admit that last night. I was too busy feeling maudlin after my brief encounter with my daughter so far away that I couldn’t see any joy, nor could I bear to see how the rest of the world can carry on regardless.
I do wonder why she’s here, but I’ll never cross the line to ask her. That’s the sort of thing that friends confide in one another, and if I can’t ‘do’ Christmas, I certainly can’t ‘do’ new friendships either.
Rose seems nice and I didn’t mean to offend her, but the last thing I came here for was company.
‘I’d better go shower,’ I say to Max, wondering again how I’ve come to talking to my dog as if he can hold a proper conversation. ‘But I’ll take you outside to do your morning business first. Come on then.’
Max bounds down the stairs ahead of me. I must admit the smell of cinnamon and gingerbread in the hallway is rather pleasant, and dare I say, even a little bit comforting too. It is nostalgic, a reminder of happier times with Clodagh and Rebecca.
My own childhood Christmas memories couldn’t be more different, filled with resentful silence at the table, and my parents’ drink-fuelled arguments. When Rebecca came along, I was determined her Christmases would not reflect mine. That I would embody everything good about Christmas and shine it back onto her.
Until now. Now I just want quiet and to pretend it’s simply not happening. Not without her.
I tiptoe past the living room and let Max out, hoping we don’t disturb George who in turn would wake up Rose, and I go to the kitchen expecting to see the usual carnage from Rose’s late-night mulled wine and midnight feast, but to my surprise everything is clean and tidy.
I need coffee before I hit the shower, so I put on some soft classical music whilst I flick on the kettle. As I wait for it to brew, I spot a note on the whiteboard on the fridge, which makes me smile.
At least she isn’t going to hold a grudge. That would be awkward.
‘Oh, I didn’t hear you up. Sorry. Excuse me. I just need some water.’
Rose saunters into the kitchen, pale-faced and smudgy-eyed in her fleecy pyjamas. She goes to the sink and fills a pint glass of water. I don’t speak. Neither does she. Nowthisis awkward.
I glance her way as I wait on the kettle but there is no eye contact. Should I say something? I mean, I know I set all of these rules to make sure we don’t become too familiar, but should I greet her good morning now that our paths have inevitably crossed?
I meet her eye at last on her way out. She waves a silent, sheepish hello. I wave back.
Her pale cheeks are now flushed but her exit shuffle is quickly interrupted by Max, who leaps into the kitchen with something in his mouth that makes Rose squeal.
‘That’s mine!’ she says, holding her glass of water in mid-air. ‘Max, give me that right now!’
Oh no. This has gone from awkward to mortifying at record speed.
Max has a turquoise lace bra in his mouth and is having great fun playing chase now that Rose is trying to get it off him.
‘Max! Max, put that down right away!’ I shout, knowing I may as well be talking to the wall as Max bounces from side to side, under the kitchen table, behind chairs and into any corner he can find. Anywhere to avoid our reach.
He isn’t listening, of course. He thinks I’m playing.
‘Max! Max, come here immediately!’ I try again.
‘Don’t pull it from him!’ Rose tells me. ‘That cost me a fortune!’
But just as I’d have predicted, the more I chase Max, the more he runs away from me. He bobs and coils around the kitchen as George barks beside Rose, who thankfully is now laughing at the sight of me chasing my dog with her underwear in his mouth. He makes for the kitchen door and I’ve no choice but to run around the house behind him, begging him to drop it. He leads me upstairs at lightning speed, where I eventually corner him under the bed. The bra is thankfully discarded on the bedroom floor and at last the game is over.
‘Max, you don’tdothat!’ I scold, and he has the grace to look briefly sorry for his actions. ‘You don’t take other people’s belongings!’
He buries his face in his paws as if he can’t take my scolding while I stand up and get my breath back.
‘Rose?’
I can hear her laughing to herself downstairs.
