Finishing Touches (23 page)

‘Maybe we’ll just go home.’ Aileen was becoming despondent.

‘Come on!’ ordered Cassie. ‘We’re not going home until you’ve got your outfit.’

Ten minutes later Aileen was twirling around in a beautiful fringed Indian skirt with a matching shawl, over a white blouse. The rich autumnal colours of the skirt and shawl suited her auburn
hair beautifully and she looked lovely. It was an unusual outfit, but pure Aileen.

‘Thanks a million for putting up with me,’ Aileen bubbled as they left the shop, clutching her purchases to her bosom. ‘I was really starting to get desperate.’

‘So were we!’ Laura said drily, and laughed at the expression on Aileen’s face. ‘Only joking, honey!’ she teased.

‘I think we should have a quick cuppa and then go solo for half an hour,’ Cassie suggested, leading the way upstairs into Woolworth’s café.

‘They do real fat sausages in here. I think I’ll have some,’ Laura mused. It was a long time since breakfast and the cream slices earlier on had been only a snack.

‘More sausages!’ Aileen exclaimed. ‘OK, we’ll have a plate of sausage and chips between us,’ she said firmly. ‘I want you to be able to eat my fantastic
dinner!’

By four-thirty, weary but triumphant, they headed for the car-park. As well as getting all their decorations, they had managed quite a bit of Christmas shopping. The air had turned very chilly
and they could see the carol-singers’ breath as they lustily sang ‘Silent Night’ to an appreciative crowd outside Arnotts. The Christmas lights twinkled against the dusky-pink sky
and people pushed their way along the crowded street. Henry Street at Christmastime had an atmosphere all of its own and Cassie loved the hustle and bustle of it, and the women of Moore Street
singing, ‘Five for twenty the Christmas wrapping paper!’ and ‘Get your Cheeky Charlies!’

Their chanting brought back childhood memories to Cassie as she followed Aileen and Laura. When the children were small, her parents had always brought them into Dublin for a treat just before
Christmas, and even now, years later, she could still remember the great sense of awe and excitement she had felt as a child. In those days when crime was not rampant, none of the shops had
shutters on the windows. Jack and Nora would walk the length of O’Connell Street and Henry Street with five open-mouthed children in their wake, gazing through shop windows at the wondrous
displays of toys and fancy goods. The illuminated Christmas trees along O’Connell Street and the lights strung across Henry Street gave a fairytale illusion of another world. Trying to make
up one’s mind about what to ask Santa for when there was such an array of goodies to choose from was part of the excitement. John and Martin, in particular, changed their minds every shop
window they came to.

Then, on their return home, having stopped for the treat of treats, fish and chips out of Macari’s chipper, the Jordans would all sit down at the big dining-table and Nora would hand out
pens and paper. The next hour would be spent writing and rewriting the precious letters to Santa Claus. All five epistles would be ceremoniously placed in the chimney, which was especially cleaned
for the occasion. The excitement when all the letters were found to have disappeared the following morning was indescribable. If she had one wish, Cassie thought, as she gazed at the good-humoured
pandemonium around her, it was to be a child just once more and to be in Henry Street with Jack and Nora and the others on a crisp frosty night before Christmas.

‘Come on! Stop dawdling! We’ve to collect the tree,’ Aileen reminded her, pushing forward through the crowds like Queen Boadicea heading to battle.

They arrived back at the flat with the tree sticking out through both rear windows of the Mini and Laura and Cassie perched precariously on the front seat, trying to avoid the pine-needled
branches. Aileen’s dote of a tree had turned out to be a fat little bush.

An hour later, Aileen, fortifying herself with cooking sherry, serenaded them with ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ as she prepared their repast. Cassie and Laura were struggling with
the unruly little tree. Try as they might, they could not get it to stand straight in the bucket of soil. Like a dipso, it kept toppling sideways. ‘I’ll fix you!’ muttered Laura
grimly, marching out past the singing Aileen to the backyard. Locating a sturdy piece of wood, she went back in and rammed it up against the base of the tree. That did the trick.

‘That deserves a drink!’ Cassie approved, busy putting a plug on the lights.

‘Hear! Hear!’ cheered Aileen, appearing with the sherry bottle in one hand and the wine bottle in the other and a holly wreath on her head. ‘Take your pick!’

‘Aileen O’Shaughnessy, you are the limit!’ laughed Laura. The smells wafting from the kitchen were mouth-watering but Aileen just smirked as they begged to know what was for
dinner. ‘Wait and see!’ She disappeared to her domain and the girls got down to the serious business of decorating. Everything was going to plan and Laura and Cassie were thrilled with
their artistic endeavours.

Twenty minutes later a horrified shriek emanated from the kitchen and Cassie and Laura rushed in to find the frying-pan simmering under a froth of bubbles as Aileen rent the air with every curse
in her wide and varied vocabulary.

‘What did you do?’ the girls shrieked in unison.

‘I thought it was the drum of salt!’ wailed Aileen, ‘and it was the washing-up liquid! My beautiful dinner is ruined!’

Cassie caught Laura’s gaze. They stared at each other and then they were laughing, laughing until the tears ran down their cheeks, clutching their sides as they howled with mirth at the
sight of Aileen aghast in front of her bubbling frying-pan.

‘It’s not funny!’ Aileen shrieked in outrage. ‘The chicken is ruined!’ This only made the other pair laugh louder. ‘Well, you can starve then!’ she
retorted, beginning to laugh in spite of herself.

‘That’s the best laugh I’ve ever had,’ gasped Cassie, wiping her eyes five minutes later. ‘This is one of your star turns, O’Shaughnessy.’

‘Glad you enjoyed it,’ giggled the now-recovered Aileen. ‘We’ll have to use the rent money to buy dinner!’

By ten-thirty, the flat was decorated to their satisfaction, the windows with snow and red tape – Cassie’s idea – the tree a masterpiece of twinkling lights, sparkling balls
and glittering tinsel. Holly adorned the pictures and a huge spray of mistletoe hung from the lightshade. They had wrapped the Christmas presents they had bought and these lay under the tree,
artistically arranged by Cassie, who was good at such things. She had wrapped the bucket holding the tree in silver foil and it caught the reflection of the lights in a shimmer. A small crib was
placed on top of the television.

Sitting in the firelight, with just the glow of the fairy lights to illuminate the room, the girls tucked into the fish and chips that Aileen had fetched for them. Another bottle of wine helped
to ease the trauma of the ruined dinner and they were thoroughly enjoying their evening at home together.

Lifting her glass, Cassie smiled at her two best friends. ‘To our first Christmas in the flat and to many more to come!’

‘Happy Christmas,’ smiled Laura, lifting her glass.

‘And many happy returns,’ grinned Aileen, as she clinked her glass with theirs.

Cassie and Aileen had gone to bed but Laura was busy writing her Christmas cards. Sitting on the floor in front of the still-red fire, she gazed around the decorated room with
pleasure. She hadn’t wanted to go to bed; it was too nice sitting in the gentle glow of the Christmas tree lights. The difference the decorations made to the room! It had been a real treat
for her to decorate the room today. In fact the whole day had been a treat. Laura wasn’t used to such a fuss being made about Christmas.

At home they didn’t bother much about decorating. Oh they got a turkey and pudding, but most of the day was spent in front of the TV and the only decorations were a few bits of holly and
whatever cards the family received. Peter didn’t believe in decorating Christmas trees.

At home as the days got nearer Christmas, things would get tenser and tenser. Her elder brother would be arriving home drunk every evening. Her maternal grandmother would be coming to stay for
Christmas as usual, and Peter would be making nasty remarks about being lumped with his mother-in-law yet again, and Laura’s mother would become pale and pinched-looking as the tension
mounted and she longed for the whole awful carry-on to be over as quickly as possible.

For as long as she could remember, Laura had hated Christmas. There had always been rows. Rows between her mother and father, rows between her grandmother and father, and then, when her brother
had started drinking, rows with him. This year she was spending only Christmas Day at home and then she was coming back to the peace of this little flat on St Stephen’s Day. Cassie and Aileen
were both spending Christmas and St Stephen’s Day in Port Mahon, so she would be the only one here. But she didn’t care. She just couldn’t cope with home any longer. It was so
wearying and soul-destroying hearing the same old arguments and then listening to her mother moaning bitterly about it all.

How many times had Laura told her to put her foot down and demand to be treated with respect? How many times had she told her to tell one of her sisters to take her grandmother for a change? How
many times had she told her to kick her brother out of the house and make him stand on his own two feet? He might think twice about coming home paralytic with drink and puking all over the place if
he had to clean up after himself and take responsibility for his actions.

Every year Anne Quinn gave out about her husband, mother and son making Christmas a misery for her and every year Laura told her to do something about it. This year, she had even suggested that
her mother spend Christmas in the flat with her and to hell with the other three. Laura thought it was the perfect solution. It would really give the others something to think about and perhaps
finally make them realize that Anne was no longer prepared to be a doormat. But her mother had refused the offer.

‘I couldn’t do that,’ Anne responded limply. ‘It wouldn’t be fair – and besides, what would people say?’

‘Who cares what they say? And why wouldn’t it be fair?’ Laura retorted vehemently, feeling so angry with her mother she wanted to shake her. ‘Is it fair the way
you’re treated year after year? For God’s sake, Ma, stand up for yourself and make them respect you.’

Anne just shrugged her shoulders listlessly. ‘Sure, they take no notice anyway of anything I say or do or want,’ was invariably the defeatist response.

If her mother would only make some small move in the right direction Laura would give her every encouragement but that whiny, resigned acceptance of her lot infuriated her so much she frequently
had to bite her tongue when listening to her mother’s complaints.

Well, she’d go home on Christmas Day and that would be her duty done and then she’d get the hell out of that pathetic household and come back to Dublin and the lovely new life she
was carving out for herself.

Laura stared into the glowing embers. She
was
creating a new life for herself, and very nice it was too. She thoroughly enjoyed university life, being part of the student body,
participating in debates, joining the different societies, drinking gallons of coffee in the huge cafeteria while arguing points of law with her classmates, studying in the huge library with
hundreds of others, all bonded by the common desire to get their exams and make their mark on the world. Campus life was a joy to Laura, unlike some of her peers who found the place vast, soulless
and lonely. Life at UCD was what you made of it and Laura Quinn was making the very best of it.

As well as her academic life, she had her working life. In order to make ends meet with her grant she always had to have part-time jobs. Still, it was all going to plan. If only she could secure
a really good degree! That was all she cared about at the moment. A good degree would mean a good job, and a good job would mean security and independence. They were her top priorities.

Setting her alarm for the crack of dawn, Laura snuggled down in her cosy bed and fell asleep.

Aileen tossed and turned, unable to go to sleep. In spite of her bedsocks her feet were freezing and she was very loath to get up and reheat her hot-water bottle. Cassie slept
like a baby in the other bed. And so she might, thought Aileen enviously. Cassie deserved to sleep soundly. She wasn’t making a bags of her life like her best friend was.

Aileen sighed deeply. Today had been a good day, a great day actually, apart from the ruined dinner. But that had only added to the fun. The other pair had roared laughing although Aileen was
raging with herself. She had really wanted to cook them a nice dinner. She didn’t do much cooking, not even when it was her turn on the rota. She would far prefer to hoover or polish and it
often ended up that she did Laura’s chores for her while Laura did her cooking.

Living in the flat with the girls was a joy, all she had ever thought it would be. It was such a relief to get away from Port Mahon and her clinging, demanding mother. Her poor sister, Judy, was
really feeling the brunt of it now and Aileen had warned her to make the break when her time came. Honestly, mothers could be such a problem sometimes. It wasn’t that she didn’t love
Angela; of course she did. And she had a lot for which to be grateful to her. But Angela overdid the poor helpless widow and Aileen had got weary of it. Even if Cassie and Laura hadn’t come
to live in Dublin, Aileen would have come on her own. Her mother had tried so much to smother her when she was growing up that she had felt utterly trapped. At least now she could live some sort of
a life of her own.

Come the New Year she was going to have to do something about that life, she decided restlessly. She was going to have to do something about her job, number one.

Aileen found her job stultifyingly boring. Every morning she signed in at nine, went to her dingy little cubbyhole and began to arrange the invoices and receipts that were brought across from
the main office. There were hundreds . . . thousands of them – pink forms, green forms, white forms, duplicates, triplicates. These were filed downstairs in the huge brown-and-cream
windowless room where she spent half her time. At eleven she had a fifteen-minute tea-break with the cleaner, Mrs Hardy. If it weren’t for Mrs Hardy she would have gone completely mad.