Читать книгу A Miracle on Hope Street: The most heartwarming Christmas romance of 2018! - Emma Heatherington, Emma Heatherington - Страница 9

‘Did I hear from someone that you’re missing tonight’s bingo?’ a familiar voice says, and I look up to see Oonagh, one of the staff here at the nursing home who looks after my darling daddy like an egg. She pulls down the covers of his freshly made bed and puts a jug of water and a clean glass on his tray.

‘Believe me, Oonagh, I’d actually rather be going to bingo night than where I have to go,’ I tell her. ‘The very thought of getting dressed up and painting on a smile when it looks like it’s going to snow pains me right now. How’s the family? Looking forward to Santa?’

Oonagh’s eyes light up at the chance to tell me about her children.

‘Well, Harry can’t decide if he wants Superman or Spiderman stuff this year. Talk about torn between two lovers,’ she says, laughing. ‘And Molly, well anything that involves music is what she’s been asking for. Where will you be spending Christmas this year, Ruth?’

I try to answer but she does it for me.

‘You do know that all our residents are welcome to have their families come here for dinner?’ she says. ‘We have volunteers who come and help with music and craic and we even have a visit from Santa which everyone loves. I’m off this year on Christmas Day but I’ve worked it before and it can be really lovely.’

I look at Dad, who has no clue of what we are saying and is still focused on the TV.

‘Ah, that does sound nice,’ I reply to Oonagh, ‘but I’m going to be cooking up a storm this year at home. We’re going to take Dad home to Beech Row for Christmas Day.’

‘Now that’s a much better idea,’ says Oonagh. ‘You’ve told me how much he loved that house and his garden.’

‘Yes, it was once a pretty special place,’ I say with a distant smile. ‘My sister, her husband and her sons are coming home for Christmas too, so I’m really looking forward to it. For the next while, for as long as we can, we’ll be having every Christmas there together, just like it used to be. Just how Dad would like it.’

We both look across at him, so innocent and childlike, watching the dancing colours on the television that make very little sense in his weary mind. Oonagh knows she has pressed a sentimental button and I try to hide the tears welling up in my eyes as I remember how Christmas used to be in the home I always returned to for the last week in December, no matter where I was in the world at the time. The house would be bursting at the seams with decorations and trees and lights as my father really did go overboard, in a way that I just know was to compensate us being a one-parent household. He always did go that extra mile to make life special for us.

‘So, tell me, what do you have on tonight then that could possibly beat bingo?’ asks Oonagh, changing the subject tactfully. ‘I always point you out in the newspaper and I tell everyone who will listen how I know you personally now, so you’re my official claim to fame.’

We both laugh.

‘It’s true!’ she says. ‘I can’t wait to see what you wear this time. Mind you, you could wear anything and still look like a movie star.’

I blush slightly. I still can’t believe that women my age have such an interest in my whereabouts and what I get to wear as part of it all. I’m not exactly a skinny supermodel, but maybe that’s why they like it. I’m perhaps an achievable version of themselves in appearance, with just more visits to the hairdressers and I get sponsored clothes for posh events.

‘It’s a screening of that new film with what’s-her-name?’ I tell Oonagh. ‘You know, the one about the mermaids? It opens tonight so they’re doing a big Press launch at the cinema on Hope Street and I said I’d go, not even thinking of the weather forecast and how mermaids really aren’t my thing.’

Oonagh lets out a genuine gasp.

‘Wow, well if our Molly heard that she’d be green with envy! It looks like a fun movie,’ she says. ‘Now, you have a good time, do you hear? And don’t be worrying about a thing. We have everything under control here, don’t we, Anthony?’

My dad reacts to the sound of his own name and Oonagh and I catch each other’s eye like proud parents whose baby has reached an early milestone. It’s funny how one moment he can seem to be taking it all in and then in a blink of an eye he’s gone again.

‘If I didn’t have to put on heels and a dress in the snow I might enjoy it even more,’ I say, trying as always to play these things down.

‘Ah, you’re a lucky duck!’ says Oonagh with a hearty laugh. ‘I’d swap with you any day. It’s a far cry from my exciting evening, I can tell you!’

‘You only think that,’ I say. ‘A roaring fire, a glass of red and cosy pyjamas is more on my mind than a film premiere in the snow!’

But Oonagh isn’t convinced.

‘Oh, I can only wish for a lifestyle like yours, Ruth Ryans,’ she muses. ‘Celebrity openings, dinner parties, photoshoots, gorgeous men dripping off your arm and your name practically up in lights in this city! You’re living every woman’s dream and you know it.’

‘That’s very kind of you to say,’ I reply to Oonagh, who will go home this evening, as she always does, to her warm, modest semi-detached house on the outskirts of the city to eat dinner and watch the news with her husband. Then she’ll see to her family’s needs like homework and some housework before some soaps on telly and an early night and back to work in the morning. I sometimes yearn for the simplicity of such a life, but I won’t deny it, I do enjoy the perks of my profile and opportunities that come my way, so I wouldn’t dare compare or complain. My career took off, my father took ill, I moved back in with him to help and my love life and any notions of ‘settling down’ took a back seat, or a side seat, should I say. I’ve definitely no shortage of opportunities, but the right one just hasn’t come my way and it’s the furthest thing from my mind right now to boot.

Oonagh leaves us eventually, still convinced I’m living the dream, no matter how much I plead my ‘heels in the snow’ side of the debate, and I fix the blanket that sits across my father’s lap.

‘I’ve an event tonight, Dad, so I won’t get to see if you win at bingo this week,’ I explain, ‘but little Owen and Ben will be here with Ally and I’m sure I’ll get a full report from her as to who won what. Remember to watch that Mabel one for cheating. You know what she’s like!’

I’m jesting of course, and he smiles and gives me a ‘thumbs-up’ sign.

‘I love you, Daddy, and I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I say, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’

His eyes crinkle at the sides and he looks past me to the television, reminding me to turn the volume back up before I leave. His words are minimal and not always easy to interpret but we have our little signals that both of us understand.

He might not be able to say too much, any more, but I hope that deep inside he still knows who I am and just how much he means to me.

‘Goodbye, Dad,’ I say once more from where I stand in the doorway but he is locked in a different part of his new routine, laughing at the cartoons on the TV, and so I leave him to it.

I walk away and, just as I always do when I leave him, my lips tighten and I fight back tears until I get to the car. And then I cry.