Page 73 of A Miracle on Hope Street
‘Oh, and Ruth?’ she says, just as I’m about to walk away.
‘Yes?’
‘He’s a good man,’ she says, referring to Michael of course. ‘You two are good for each other. Don’t let it go too easily, if you know what I mean.’
‘I have a lot to think about,’ I whisper. ‘Goodnight, Mum. Sleep tight.’
I go back downstairs, stopping off in my own bedroom on the way past where I lift Michael’s Christmas present and bring it to him.
‘What’s your favourite Christmas carol?’ he asks when he hears me come back into the room. He stands facing the music station, giving me the perfect opportunity to slip the present behind the sofa. I don’t want to give it to him just yet.
‘ “White Christmas” by Bing Crosby,’ I say, then realise my error. ‘Okay, it’s not a carol but you know what I mean. What’s yours?’
He puts on Bing Crosby for me and then takes my hand and we dance in the living room in front of the fire.
‘ “Last Christmas” by Wham,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘If you can cheat, so can I, and I firmly believe in the cheesier the better, that’s my rule of thumb anyway. Either that, or Wizzard’s “I Wish it Could Be Christmas Every Day”. I used to play air guitar to that as a child and in my head I was onTop of the Pops. Do you even rememberTop of the Popsbeing on TV? You probably don’t, come to think of it.’
‘Hmm, just about,’ I say to him, realising that he has just given me the perfect moment to pass on his present. ‘I’ve a Christmas present for you, of course, in case you thought I’d forgotten. I suppose I should give it to you before the big day is over.’
I go over behind the sofa and lift up a bright blue electric guitar which I’ve decorated with a huge silver and gold bow.
‘You always wanted your own electric guitar for Christmas?’ I say to him. The look on his face is priceless. ‘Now, you’ve no excuses. I saw this in a secondhand shop and I couldn’t resist. What do you think?’
He stares, open-mouthed, and takes the guitar from me, strokes it and pretends to play a little, but he is lost for words.
‘Where on earth did you come from, Ruth Ryans?’ he says to me. ‘You remembered me saying I always wanted one. No one has ever got me like you do. Thank you so much. Wow.’
He sets down the guitar eventually and reaches into his pocket.
‘And this is for you,’ he says, producing a small trinket box.
‘But Michael, you’ve already given me a gift.’
‘Ssh,’ he says, pressing the box into my hands. ‘It’s just a very small token. I hope you like it.’
I open it carefully to see the most exquisite little locket on a necklace and when I open the locket, my heart skips a beat.
‘My dad!’ I say to him, my eyes burning as I look at the picture of me and my father, smiling into the camera on what I believe was my twenty-first birthday, many moons ago.
‘Gloria gave me the photo,’ he explains to me. ‘She says she took it in the café on the day of your birthday and she always meant to give it to you, so I kind of borrowed it, copied it and got the locket. I thought it was very you.’
I shake my head in disbelief. How thoughtful.
‘Ruth, you have big dreams and you should do what your heart tells you to do,’ he says to me. ‘Don’t let me, or your mum or any allegiance to this bricks and mortar hold you back from doing what you feel is best for you. I wanted to give you this so that your dad will always feel close to your heart, no matter where you choose to go in this world. He will always be with you, cheering you on. Don’t ever forget it.’
On the tip of my tongue I have words that I so want to say when I look at this beautiful man in front of me as tears glisten in my eyes. I want to tell him that I’m falling in love with him, falling for his beautiful soul and how his mind works and how we make each other feel.
I want to say it so badly but I don’t know if I’d be saying too much too soon, but I do believe that when you’ve something good to say to someone you should say it . . . or now, after our very successful dinner, you should just do it. I think of the lure of that new life that awaits me away from this city; I think of how much Michael needs to be here and part of his son’s life; I think of my mother and all the time we lost and now want to catch up on. But no matter what my future brings, as we stand here on this most delightful Christmas night with my favourite song playing in the background, my heart yearns to tell this man just what I feel and to hell with whatever comes next in this life for both of us. But then Michael speaks first, breaking my train of thought and his words catch my breath.
‘I know it might seem very soon and it goes against everything we’ve talked about this week, but I think I’m falling for you, Ruth Ryans.’
He looks right into me, just like he did on that cold night on Hope Street, as the words I was going to say still linger in my throat.
‘You just beat me to it,’ I tell him. ‘I was just about to say exactly the same thing. I think I’m falling for you too, Michael Connor.’
And then we dance again – to Wham! of course this time.
My heart is full with the joy of forgiveness; it is full with the power of healing, with the pleasure of sharing, with the strength of music, the pain of remembering and with the prosperity of new friendships.
