A Gift to You (7 page)

‘Oh, indeed you will,’ Izzy laughed.

‘Oh, good. I’ve brought them a few presents and I’ve a bottle of brandy for yourself and Bill.’

‘Mari, you shouldn’t have!’ Izzy exclaimed. Her friend was terribly generous and knowing that she wouldn’t come empty handed, Izzy had wrapped up a hardback copy of
best-selling author – Philippa Gregory’s brand-new novel that her Aunt Patti had given her. She’d been dying to read it herself but she knew that Mari, who was an avid reader,
would thoroughly enjoy it and a brand new hardback book was a decent present to give her old friend.

‘I suppose I won’t recognize the children.’ Mari sipped her wine appreciatively. ‘Jessica was only a baby the last time I was home.’

‘She’s well and truly a little girl now, marauding all over the place and up to all kinds of mischief,’ Izzy grinned. Mari had no children but she always took an interest in
Rachel, Keith and Jessica and always brought them something on her trips home from Dubai.

‘Will I serve up our lunch now?’ Izzy cocked an eyebrow at the other woman.

‘Why not, if it’s OK with you? I haven’t eaten all morning and I feel a bit peckish,’ Mari agreed.

‘Go on in to the dining room and sit down and I’ll bring in the soup,’ Izzy instructed. She had set the dining table with the good silverware and crystal and her best linen
tablecloth and napkins. And she had a lovely centrepiece on the table made up of holly and ivy, that she and Bill had picked in the woods. She lit the candles and served the soup and garlic bread
and the pair of them sat down to a good natter.

Although Mari had said she was peckish she didn’t do justice to the meal and Izzy was terribly perturbed that perhaps she hadn’t liked the dish. Her friend always ate like a horse
and never put on an ounce, unlike Izzy who only had to look at a cream cake to put on weight.

‘Was it OK? Maybe it was a bit rich? ‘Izzy said apologetically.

‘No, no! It was fine. Really!’ Mari assured her. ‘I just wasn’t as hungry as I thought.’

They had their coffee in at the fire, chatting about inconsequential things and somehow, Izzy, listening to tales of the glamorous life in the Emirates, just couldn’t bring herself to tell
Mari that Bill was unemployed.

He and the children arrived home around six and they were full of excitement about their jaunt on the Dart and their trip to the cinema and McDonald’s. ‘It’s lovely and warm in
here,’ Keith said appreciatively, and Izzy, being extra sensitive on the day that was in it, prayed that her son would keep his mouth shut and say nothing else. She didn’t want her
affluent friend thinking that the house wasn’t always this warm.

When Mari produced their presents, there was as much excitement as when Santa’s gifts had been discovered on Christmas morning. Mari was in her element as they all vied for hugs and kisses
before Bill took the three of them out to the kitchen to get some hot, nourishing soup into them. Rachel, en route to the kitchen, sighed, and said wistfully, ‘I wish it was Christmas every
day of the year so we could
always
have this gorgeous food.’ Izzy nearly died. Her face actually flamed as she stood waiting for her child to say something like she was sick of beans
and mince and fish fingers, but she said nothing else and followed her sister and brother.

‘Turkey and ham and Christmas pud always seems so exotic when you’re a child, doesn’t it?’ Mari remarked innocently, quite unaware of her friend’s angst.

‘Hmm . . .’ agreed Izzy distractedly. God only knew what the children were going to come out with next to land her in it. She should have been honest with Mari at the beginning and
told her about Bill being unemployed. There was no shame in it. It could happen to anyone, but it would look a bit odd to go suddenly blurting it out now, especially when she had led Mari to
believe that everything was normal in the Reynolds’ household. She was going to be on tenterhooks for the rest of the evening. She must excuse herself for a minute and grab Bill and tell him
to say nothing about being unemployed. She’d tell him she’d explain later. He’d probably be annoyed with her and feel that she was ashamed of him. By trying to keep up a
façade she’d made a right mess of things, she thought miserably.

‘They’re just gorgeous, Izzy. You’re so lucky,’ Mari said, enviously, interrupting her friend’s musings.

‘I know that,’ Izzy agreed, carefully folding up the expensive wrapping paper and mentally reflecting that it would come in handy next year.

‘Mammy, I did wee wee all by myself Jessica appeared at the door with her dress caught up in her little panties.

‘You’re a good girl!’ her mother exclaimed. ‘Come here until I tuck in your vest.’ Jessica cuddled in against her as Izzy adjusted her clothing.

‘There’s lobely soft toilet woll in the bathwoom, it’s nice and soft on my bum bum,’ Jessica announced, staring at Mari.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
Izzy thought in mortification. Next, she’ll be saying we’re poor people or something. Heart scalded, flustered, she told her daughter to go back out
to the kitchen to finish her soup. Jessica wrapped her little arms around her neck. ‘I lobe you, Mammy. The next time, will you come to the pictures?’

‘Of course I will, lovey.’ Izzy hugged the little girl to her before she went trotting out to the kitchen.

‘She’s so beautiful,’ Mari said, and her voice sounded terribly sad. Izzy caught her friend’s gaze and to her dismay saw that Mari’s eyes were bright with
tears.

‘God! What’s wrong, Mari?’ Izzy exclaimed, closing the door and rushing over to her side. ‘What is it? Tell me what’s wrong.’ She put her arms around her
friend as Mari began to cry.

‘Brett and me, we’re finished. He’s been having an affair with this American bimbo half his age and now she’s pregnant and he wants a divorce. He wouldn’t let me
come off the Pill, he kept saying to wait another year and then another and now this tart’s pregnant and it’s fine by him. I hate him, the bastard,’ Mari sobbed. ‘I
didn’t want to tell you, I was just too ashamed.’

Izzy couldn’t believe her ears. What a shit Brett was. She knew Mari had always wanted children.

‘You’ve nothing to be ashamed about,’ she said outraged, ‘He’s the skunk. I can’t believe he did this to you. He’s not worthy of you, Mari. Don’t
you
dare
feel ashamed.’

Mari lifted her head from Izzy’s’ neck. ‘I don’t know why
I
feel this way.
I
did nothing to be ashamed about. It’s just . . . Oh, you know what I
mean, Izzy, my poor mother will be mortified. The first divorce in the family. What will the relations say?’ she hiccupped.

‘Don’t mind the relations or anyone. It’s your life and your business,’ Izzy snorted.

‘I’ve been on my own for months. I just couldn’t tell you. Can you understand?’ Mari managed a wry smile.

‘I understand
exactly
,’ Izzy said slowly. ‘Actually, Mari, I’ve been keeping something from you as well.’ She met her friend’s tear-stained gaze.
‘Bill’s been out of work for over fourteen months and it’s a bit of a struggle. Like you, I just couldn’t bring myself to say it out straight. I wanted to keep up
appearances. I’m sorry it was just silly pride,’ she admitted ruefully.

‘Oh, Lord. That’s awful for you and Bill,’ Mari exclaimed. ‘You should have told me!’

‘I know, and you should have told
me
!’

‘He’ll get another job,’ Mari soothed. ‘And at least the pair of you are as crazy about each other as ever. You can spot that a mile off. God. You can face anything when
you’re together. I was so gutted when I found out about Brett and that . . . that pea-brained, simpering idiot who’s got her claws into him. The thing that hurt most of all is that
she’s pregnant. Every time I suggested trying for a baby he said to wait another year. He didn’t want his cushy lifestyle disrupted by crying babies. I’ll probably never have a
child of my own now.’ Her voice wobbled and she burst into tears again.

‘Of course you will; you’ll meet someone new. You’re still a relatively young woman,’ Izzy reassured her, shocked by what she had just heard. Her own circumstances might
not be the best but they were a hell of a lot better than Mari’s. No wonder the poor girl couldn’t eat her lunch. No wonder she’d seemed so on edge for the afternoon.

‘I haven’t told the family yet. Mum will have a fit.’

‘She’ll get over it.’ Izzy assured her.

‘It’s such a relief to tell someone, Izzy,’ Mari confessed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘It’s been so hard being at home trying to pretend
everything’s normal. I told them Brett couldn’t come home because of work commitments. A bit feeble, I know, but no one’s questioned it. It’s bloody hard trying to keep up
the façade.’

‘Of course it’s been hard, Mari, but you’ve got to tell them. You can’t go around keeping that to yourself. You’d crack up. And I know your family –
they’ll be very supportive; it’s amazing how kind people are when the chips are down. I know,’ she added wryly.

‘Oh, Izzy, what idiots we’ve been, trying to put on brave faces. If we can’t tell each other our problems, then who can we tell?’ Mari said.

‘
Exactly!
’ Izzy agreed. ‘Now, look, why don’t you phone home and tell them you’re staying the night and we’ll open the brandy you brought and
we’ll have Brandy Alexanders and have a really good natter about things.’

‘Oh, Izzy, that would be
lovely
,’ Mari said, sighing, beginning to feel better already.

‘I’ll just run up an put the heat on in the spare bedroom, and fish out some towels and a nightdress for you.’ Izzy patted her on the shoulder.

‘Now don’t go to any trouble,’ Mari remonstrated.

‘It’s no trouble for an old pal,’ Izzy said firmly.

She turned on the radiator and laid a clean, long-sleeved nightdress on Mari’s bed. That would keep her snug, she thought, and she’d put the electric blanket on later. To hell with
the electricity bill for once. Mari was undergoing a bad enough trauma without spending the night shivering.

Izzy stood at the bedroom window, staring out into the night. A sliver of new moon hid behind a wisp of cloud. The lights of the Christmas trees in her neighbour’s window spilled out into
the darkness, adding festive illumination to the cul-de-sac. Owen’s Noblis stood proudly on his front lawn. Owen had got a new four-wheel drive for Christmas and had spent a lot of time
sitting in it making calls on his car phone. ‘He’d got it cheap because it was an end of year model,’ Bill remarked, grinning when he’d seen it.

Izzy smiled. Her neighbour was pathetically childish, really. Maybe there was some reason for his juvenile behaviour. Maybe he’d had a terribly deprived childhood. Who knew? Who knew what
went on in people’s lives? Who knew what went on behind the façades? Look at poor Mari. Who would have believed it?

She and Bill were lucky; they had each other and they had the children. She could hear the three of them laughing and chattering in the kitchen. Closing the curtains, Izzy straightened the
folds, switched off the light and went downstairs, where Bill took the opportunity to kiss her soundly under the mistletoe, before she went back into the snug, warm sitting room to rejoin her
friend.

I couldn’t make up my mind whether or not to put up a Christmas tree this year. It seemed a lot of trouble when I was going to be here on my own. Don’t get me
wrong, I’d had invites to spend Christmas with family, but did you ever just want to stay at home in your own house and sleep in your own bed?

I could understand of course, why my son and daughter didn’t like the idea too much. When I was their age, if my own widowed eighty-year-old mother had refused
my
invite to spend
Christmas with us, I’d have been upset and worried at her being alone on Christmas Day.

I’ve spent the last decade trotting between their houses, for the festive season. And while I love them, and my five grandchildren, and have spent many Christmases with them since my
much-loved husband, John passed away; this year, I had a yen to stay at home.

I didn’t buy a turkey. I don’t really care for it. The only part I like is the dark meat under the legs. Instead, I bought a fillet steak to have with fried onions and fried
potatoes. A tasty dinner, with little fuss. I’d cooked a ham, though, so I’d have meat to make sandwiches for visitors.

As I say, I’d dithered about putting up a tree. But then, when I saw the gleaming, twinkling lights in windows in the village, I was sorry I’d told my daughter not to bother.

It came up in conversation with my new neighbour, Sarah. She and her husband, Simon, had bought the bungalow next door at the end of summer. I was worried about who would move in after old Mr
Kelly died. When I heard a young couple had bought the house, I won’t deny I was apprehensive. I wondered whether they would have loud and frequent parties, but to my relief I couldn’t
ask for nicer neighbours.

I met Sarah at the post office, when I was collecting my pension, and complimented her on the lovely Christmas lights she had laced around the fir tree in the front garden. They’re
delightful to look at, especially when the dusk is settling. That was how we got into conversation about the Christmas tree and I told her I regretted not putting one up this year.

Well, an hour later, there was a knock on the door and it was Simon. Now, between you and me, if I was fifty years younger, he’s exactly the type of man I’d have fallen for.
He’s the tall, broad muscular type. Like my own dear John. A manly sort of man, not like these young chaps today who have too much to say for themselves and spend half their lives sitting at
computers, with their nets and their twitts, and emails and the like.

Simon is an electrician. He has his own company and is doing well, even in the recession. His father is a farmer and Simon helps out on the farm. He has the look of it, a real outdoors type with
a strong face and the brownest of brown eyes, with a tan that is most certainly not out of a bottle.

‘Mrs Kenny,’ he said, standing at my door with his thumbs hooked into his jeans, ‘Sarah told me that you can’t decide about your Christmas tree. If I can be of any use at
all, I’d be delighted to help out.’