Page 32 of A Miracle on Hope Street
‘Kind of,’ I explain. ‘I’ve a few emails to go through to decide who we should invite. I mean, not like it’s all so exclusive or anything but just a short list of people who I have on the top of my mind who have told me their fears for Christmas and who might like to come along and join us on the day for dinner. I’m so keen to make a start. I’ll get stuck in straight away tonight.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. Thank you for dinner,’ he says politely. ‘I’ll make a move and leave you to it.’
The room feels cooler now. I should put more coal on the fire but since he is leaving there’ll be no point burning any more.
‘Despite our rocky start, this has been a productive start to a very positive occasion, Ruth,’ he tells me, pushing back his chair and standing up. ‘So far so good and the food was amazing. I’ll help you wash up.’
‘No, honestly, you don’t have to,’ I say to him. ‘It’s just a few plates. Leave it, please.’
‘You really are a mean cook, Ruth,’ he tells me. ‘I don’t know what I can ever add to that on Christmas Day or why you will even need me, but whoever taught you how to cook lasagne did a really great job. Thank you.’
His words hang in the air.
‘Shedid,’ I tell him, nodding towards the family picture that hangs above the mantelpiece. ‘She taught me how to make lasagne and lots of other really delicious Italian food.’
I gulp. I don’t know why I’m telling him this when I was trying so hard not to. I don’t know why I’m bringing her up at all when I never do. I deliberately never do.
‘Of course, ah, I’m so sorry,’ says Michael, walking around the table and towards the picture for a closer look. ‘Was your mother Italian, Ruth?’
‘Yes, yes, she was Italian,’ I tell him. ‘I mean, sheis. SheisItalian.’
He looks at me, puzzled.
‘She’s not dead, Michael,’ I say to him and my stomach leaps. ‘She just hasn’t been here in a very long time. A very, very long time.’
I close my eyes momentarily and when I open them he is putting on his coat.
‘You’re tired and emotional,’ he says to me, briskly. ‘You don’t need to tell me your business, Ruth. Maybe you should get some sleep.’
Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s this company, but I know I will kick myself for bringing her up and for letting my emotions run freely like this. Michael, on the other hand, seems to have switched off and is ready to go. He leans across and gives me a light, uncomfortable but polite hug goodnight and moments later I watch him walk down the steep steps and into the still of the cold, dark winter night.
He’s probably right. It’s been a long day and I really should get some sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
After a long soak in the bath, some online shopping for table decorations like candles, crackers and napkins and a huge new Nativity set, then an attempt to read a book in bed, I barely sleep, unable to get the Christmas dinner out of my mind, so I sit at my desk in my study on the third floor of the house, scrolling through email after email and choosing two lists of people – one to reply to and publish in this week’s column and another, more special, list of people to approach with an invitation to Christmas dinner.
I know my approach to these people could be taken in any way possible, so my message to them has to be very personal, very gentle and very sincere. On one hand I know that they may be glad of the invitation and accept it immediately, but equally I know that they may be highly insulted that I would even think they might want to dine out with strangers in a part of town they may not even know.
But I won’t know any of that until I extend my hand, so I make a start by sending out my first invitation. I write,
Dear Kelly,
I’m so sorry to hear you have been going through such a difficult time with your ex-boyfriend and that you are experiencing such despair at the thought of being without your little girl on Christmas Day. The pain you expressed in your letter to me is probably only half of what you are going through in real life, so thank you for taking the time and for having the courage to reach out for some advice.
I know how hard it can be for single parents to find time to make friends in a city they don’t call their own and I can understand the dread you have at being on your own at Christmas for the first time. You feel despair, heartache and loneliness at the very thought of closing the door when she leaves you at a time which is normally so happy for families and those who cherish their loved ones, as you clearly do with your beautiful daughter.
Kelly, this is not the response you were probably expecting, but I would like to try and help you a bit more than I normally would be able to. I am hosting a very special dinner on Christmas Day at my own home and I’d like to invite you to come along at 1.00 p.m. and join me and just a few other people who would otherwise be alone too (myself included). It won’t be too formal, you don’t have to bring anything, just try and wear a smile and let me look after the rest and try to get you through the day as best we can.
I’ve put my phone number on the bottom of this message so you can call me with any questions you might have, but to put it simply, you don’t have to be alone at all this year after all.
I can’t promise you it will be perfect or live up to expectations of Christmas as you know it, but I can promise you a tasty dinner, some nice company and the warmest of welcomes.
I look forward to hearing from you in your own time.
With very best wishes,
Ruth Ryans
