Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
NOAH
FAO Schwartz was decked out for the holiday season and was full of families bouncing with excitement, shiny-faced with anticipation. The store’s famous toy-soldier staff, one of the star attractions, were busy showcasing and demonstrating many of the toys on display.
‘It’s very different to when I was a kid,’ I murmured to Evie, trying to take in the hubbub around us.
There were Build-A-Bear booths, Lego-building workshops, a Brio train experience, elves blowing bubbles and a Barbie and Ken styling station.
Children swarmed around us, darting about like silverfish, high voices exclaiming at each new discovery.
‘This is a bit scary,’ said Evie, staring around her, as wide-eyed as the children. ‘There are so many small people in here.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Alicia, who’d come along to film us, because there was no way, talented as she was, that Evie could film us and play the piano with her feet at the same time. Alicia stepped back in alarm as three pre-schoolers weaved around her.
‘They’re just children,’ I said, laughing at the pair of them, remembering Christmas Day with my nephews last year and their innocent joy upon finding that Santa had visited and delivered their presents down the chimney.
‘Don’t you remember Christmas as a child?
The magic of waking up on Christmas morning. Finding presents under the tree.’
Evie looked at me and suddenly her smile was brilliant. ‘Do you know what. I’d forgotten.’
I could almost see the memories filtering back.
‘Before my mum was ill,’ she paused for a moment before allowing the moment to pass.
I realised it defined so much of her life and I wondered when it had stopped her being properly present in it.
‘When my dad was still with us. Christmas morning was always special.’ Her eyes looked a little haunted.
‘I always had a stocking from my Dad.’ Although she tried to laugh, it emerged as a sad huff.
‘It was always full of random stuff that he’d collected throughout the year.
’ She looked over at the display of toys opposite, and her mouth curved in amusement.
‘Honestly, so random. Plasters with Disney characters. A compass from the previous year’s cracker.
Liquorice allsorts, because he knew I loved them.
Socks with puffins, which we’d seen in a gift shop one Easter.
A pencil sharpener from a museum visit. A harmonica.
Fridge magnets from holidays. A pack of patterned tissues.
Sugar lumps.’ She smiled at me. ‘He was inventive, I’ll give him that. My stocking was always an adventure.’
‘Reminds me of someone,’ I said.
‘Yeah, maybe you’re right.’ She stared at me. ‘I don’t think about him that often. After he died, Mum didn’t like talking about him.’
‘Did he have any family?’
‘Only very distant relatives. When Mum was dying it seemed insensitive to ask her.’ I felt Evie’s loss, there was no one cheerleading for her. I realised just how damn lucky I was with my family and how much I owed my success to them and their unflagging support.
‘Are you two coming?’ asked Alicia, bustling over.
‘Sorry,’ said Evie, and like chastened children we followed her through the throng to the second floor where the famous piano had been reinstated after the original store had been relocated to the site at the Rockefeller Center.
There were already plenty of children running up and down the keys, creating an ear-splitting cacophony of clashing notes. I wondered how the staff bore it, all day, every day.
Evie handed her phone over to Alicia, who’d brought along a professional-looking tripod, which helped us to encourage the children to let us have a turn on the piano.
‘Ready?’ asked Evie as the pair of us lined up.
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ I said, glancing down at my hand, where all the notes were written. That sharpie Carol had lent me had come into its own today.
‘On three,’ Evie said, and Alicia nodded.
‘Okay. One, two, three.’
On Alicia’s cue we both jumped onto the white plastic keys. Evie clicked her fingers to keep the rhythm going and keep us to time while Alicia filmed us.
Nerves and unfamiliarity got the better of me and I muffed the second lot of notes.
‘Sorry,’ I said to Evie.
‘No problem.’ She pulled a face. ‘It feels very different to bits of paper on the floor.’
‘True.’
‘Start again,’ said Alicia. It had seemed so much simpler in the privacy of the ballroom, without an avid audience. It hadn’t taken long for a crowd to gather around us.
On our second take, a couple of kids decided to join in – only they weren’t playing any of the right notes, let alone in the right order. Evie chased them off with a fierce glare, telling them if they let us finish, they could have their turn.
‘Third time lucky,’ said Alicia cueing us up once more.
This time, it all went to plan, and I only had to look at my hand a couple of times. It was a relief to jump on the final notes and I let out a long breath. Our performance was perfect.
‘We did it,’ said Evie giving me a high-five then running up and down the keys in a discordant victory dance before throwing herself at me. I caught her and without thinking kissed her.
‘We did it,’ she crowed, linking her arms around my neck, her eyes dancing with delight. She kissed me and hugged me as the crowd began to clap.
Suddenly we both froze, realising that Alicia was still recording. We glanced over at her and she gave us a big thumbs-up and mouthed ‘Perfect.’
Evie gave me an uncertain look.
As soon as we stepped off the piano, the children rushed forward clearly inspired by our virtuoso performance as they tried to copy our moves.
‘Brilliant,’ said Alicia. ‘And I loved the kiss at the end. It looked so natural. Perfect timing. People have been rooting for some action. That was spot on.’
Oblivious to our discomfort, she began packing away the tripod.
Neither of us said a word, just shifted on the spot. We hadn’t really discussed this. Then Evie gave one of her laconic shrugs. ‘We aim to please.’
Alicia hurried off with all the footage, which she was planning to upload later that afternoon.
* * *
‘That was fun,’ said Evie, picking up her coffee and taking a long slurp. ‘I needed that.’
After our piano duet, we’d wandered around the shop before taking refuge in a tiny coffee bar just off the main drag.
‘I can’t believe the toys kids have now,’ she said, marvelling at the bags I had at my feet. ‘That Lego is so amazing.’
‘And yet they still prefer to play with the wrapping paper and the packaging,’ I said, remembering one year when my nephew, Barney, had spent most of Christmas Day climbing in and out of a big cardboard box. To be fair he was only five then. Now at twelve he had more sophisticated tastes.
Evie nodded but she had that faraway look in her eyes again.
‘So, when exactly did you last celebrate Christmas?’ I asked.
‘The year my mum died.’ She shrugged and I wanted to grab her shoulders and tell her to stop it. It was her way of pretending things didn’t bother her.
‘That’s your tell,’ I said.
‘What?’ she narrowed her eyes.
‘When you shrug,’ I said.
She did it again. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You do it a lot.’
She froze, and I knew she’d been about to repeat the gesture, instead she lifted her chin, deliberately defiant. ‘So, what does my tell, tell you?’
‘That you’re pretending not to care about Christmas. That you pretend not care about a lot of things, but you do really.’
Her mouth firmed in a line and she stared at a point over my shoulder. Then she slumped.
‘I told you I keep busy, I work over lunchtime on Christmas Day.’
‘What about the evening? Doesn’t your godmother invite you to stay.’
‘She does, but I always tell her that I’m going to friends.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because … what’s the point? Christmas is about families, and I don’t have one. It seems pointless. And it’s never like the movies, is it?’
‘Family doesn’t have to be blood you know.
You can find your own family.’ I thought of Todd and Sophie and their plans for Christmas.
They’d invited me to join them, but I hadn’t given them an answer yet.
‘And Christmas can be anything you want it to be.
‘My neighbour and her children last year had Chinese duck and pancakes because her partner had to go and spend Christmas lunch with his elderly mother in a nursing home.’
‘That’s one way of putting a positive spin on the day, I guess,’ said Evie. ‘If it were me, we’d have a whole plate of pigs in blankets and forget the turkey. And I’d have stuffing. And roast potatoes. And no Brussels sprouts – I can’t bear them.’
‘Would you eat prime rib? That’s what my mom always cooks.’
‘Ooh, nice, but only if I could have Yorkshire puddings as well.’
‘I’m not sure I could persuade my mom to make Yorkshire puddings.’
‘So, what do you have for lunch?’ she asked.
‘We tend to have Christmas dinner rather than lunch,’ I told her, thinking of my mom’s traditional feast. ‘Usually the beef, sometimes a glazed ham, and Mom makes the most amazing mashed potato and we have green beans and carrots. For dessert, my grandma always brings her famous pecan pie, which is the best.’
‘Never had it,’ said Evie, pulling a yuck face, ‘but it’s got to be better than Christmas pudding.
That’s disgusting. My gran would always serve it when I was little and insist I try a piece, even though she doused it in brandy trying to set fire to it.
Although she did make brilliant mince pies.
I love a mince pie. That’s about the only thing I’m going to miss this year. ’
‘Why not find something different to replace them with?’ I suggested. ‘Like a cranberry muffin or pumpkin pie.’
‘Ooh, listen to you, being all positive and inventive. You sound like me.’
I laughed. ‘Christmas should be what you want it to be. You make your own traditions. You can celebrate in whatever way you want but you don’t have to avoid it.’
Evie sobered. ‘I don’t know what my Christmas would look like. I’ve deliberately avoided putting any roots down anywhere.’
‘So, you’ve got a clean slate. You can do whatever you want.’
She shrugged and then caught herself. ‘Maybe I will one day. Now, are you going to be long with that coffee? I need to go shopping and think of some gifts I can give everyone without breaking the bank – now that I don’t have a job.’
‘Want me to come with you?’ I asked.
Looking up she shook her head. ‘No, you’ll only hold me up. Besides, you’ve got your tell, too. The last thing you want to do is more shopping.’
‘I need to go and do some training. I want to be match-fit, in case my suspension is quashed in time for the Boxing Day game.’ I was still clinging onto the possibility that I might get a reprieve, although I was beginning to wonder what Christmas would look like at The Plaza. It would be very tempting to stay.