Cathy Kelly 3-Book Collection 2: The House on Willow Street, The Honey Queen, Christmas Magic, plus bonus short story: The Perfect Holiday. Cathy KellyЧитать онлайн книгу.
Mara; she could knit a lovely, lacy scarf for her, a small present that would be sitting on her bed when she arrived. She was happy that Mara was coming, but now that her arrival was imminent, Danae was feeling a little anxious. She wasn’t used to living with anyone for any length of time and Mara hadn’t said how long she’d stay. Probably not for long, Danae decided. She’d be off looking for work somewhere – Dublin, London or Australia: that’s where the young people were going. No need to worry, really.
A scarf would be a nice gift for her. Mara adored clothes. The girl was a veritable magpie when it came to all that vintage stuff. Things Danae used to call second-hand, back in the day. She had bought plenty of second-hand clothes herself over the years. There had been a time when all her clothes came from the Lifeboat Shop round the corner from her and Antonio’s flat, ekeing out the few pennies to keep herself dressed so that nobody would know she had so little money in her purse.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ said Sandra again, reaching out and touching Danae, as if she could sense her pain.
Danae jumped. She wasn’t used to being touched. Quickly, she pulled herself out of the past.
‘Gosh, yes,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll make a scarf, a couple of scarves. My sister-in-law, Elsie, might like one too. Although maybe in a different colour. Do you have any soft lilac shades?’
As she watched Sandra pack the wool into a bag, Danae thought how small her Christmas list was: something for her brother, Morris, a gift for Elsie, something for Stephen, their son, and for Mara, and then a gift for Belle. That was it: that was her circle of friends and family. Without them, she’d have nobody. Morris and Elsie were so lovely to her, always asking her to stay with them in their pretty house in Dublin for Christmas, but Danae had never gone. She had her hens and Lady to take care of, she explained, making sure to let them know she was grateful for the invitation and that she considered it an honour to be asked. Truthfully, she’d have loved to spend Christmas with them, but she always found it such a sad time of year and she didn’t want to inflict her sadness on them.
Christmas was a time of extremes, she felt. If you were happy in your life, the world reflected that back to you and you felt only happiness and joy in the festive season. If your life was lonely and sad, then you felt it ten-fold, because all around you were smiling people, while you stood there in your sadness, not a part of it all, feeling like the loneliest person on the planet.
Belle usually asked her to the hotel for Christmas dinner, but Danae had gone a couple of times and found it an uncomfortable experience: she was too used to remaining on the outside of things to get into the madcap camaraderie of the hotel’s holiday dinner. There were silly hats, crackers, charades, and at least one person commandeering the microphone to sing what would turn out to be a mournful song about the old days. Then Danae would feel as though she was going to cry, and she’d leave, wishing she’d stayed home in front of the fire with Lady.
‘There we are, all packed up,’ said Sandra cheerfully. ‘I hope we’ll see you for the turning on of the Christmas lights the first Wednesday in December.’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Danae, when in fact she was sure. She wouldn’t go.
She left the knitting shop with her purchases in her bag. There was only one more thing on her Saturday-morning agenda, and that was to drop into the Avalon Hotel and Spa to meet up with Belle. They’d become friends many years ago when both of them were new to the town. In those days some of the older folk had looked upon newcomers as blow-ins who wouldn’t properly be part of Avalon until they’d been there at least thirty years.
‘We’re nearly there,’ Belle used to joke, ‘eighteen and counting. Another ten and they won’t call us newcomers any more.’
After a time, though, it ceased to bother her. ‘I don’t really care what the aul ones think, do you?’ she’d said to Danae recently. And Danae had laughed.
‘You know full well I don’t care what anyone thinks,’ she said. ‘They all think I’m mad anyway.’
‘Oh, that’s for sure,’ Belle had replied, ‘you’re the hermit lady who runs the post office and lives up high at the end of Willow Street. Sure, you have to be mad. No husband, no child – I was going to say “no chick nor child” but I’d be wrong there. Goodness knows, you’ve enough chickens.’
Danae had felt a stab in her heart when Belle said it. ‘No, plenty of chickens,’ she’d replied bravely.
She loved that Belle said what other people were afraid to say. Nobody else would voice the thought in her presence, though she was sure they all considered her odd, living way up there with only her animals for company.
Saturday mornings the two of them would share a quiet cup of tea and a scone in Belle’s office. They’d chat about their week and Belle would usually try to persuade Danae to come out somewhere over the weekend.
If it was a trip to the cinema or a meal out, just the two of them, Danae would generally agree to it. But she didn’t like anything that involved going out with other people. In the early days, Belle had thought it was because she was shy. ‘How can a shy person run the post office?’ she’d demanded. Belle liked to get to the bottom of every mystery.
‘I’m not shy,’ Danae had said. ‘I like my own company, that’s all. I’m not good in crowds. I don’t like lots of friends.’
‘I love loads of friends,’ Belle had said. ‘Friends are what keep you going, Danae. When poor Harold died, I’d have gone mad if it wasn’t for my friends telling me it was all right to be angry with him for leaving me. Telling me it was all right to want to spend days in my nightie, staring at the television, eating biscuits like there was no tomorrow. Friends get you through stuff like that. How can you say you don’t need friends?’
‘I didn’t say I don’t need friends,’ Danae had said, a little sadly. Harold sounded so lovely: no wonder Belle missed him. ‘I said I’m not good with lots of people.’
It had taken eighteen years, but Belle had got the hint. Now the pair of them went out perhaps once a month to the cinema and then to dinner afterwards. Belle had given up trying to make Danae meet new people. When Danae had told her the whole story – well, most of it – she’d understood why her quiet, dark-eyed friend was happiest on her own.
‘Well,’ said Belle, when they were sitting down in her office with tea and beautiful scones in front of them, ‘what’s the gossip? Any wild excitement in the post office this week?’
‘Nothing really,’ said Danae. ‘I told you Mara’s coming to visit in a few days?’
‘Yes, that’s great,’ said Belle, who was truly delighted. She’d only met Mara a few times, but she thought it would do her friend good to have someone staying.
‘And I heard that Anna Reilly passed away,’ Danae went on.
‘I heard that too,’ said Belle, who heard all that happened in Avalon within moments of it happening. ‘Poor Anna,’ she said. ‘She was a great woman – strong.’
‘True,’ said Danae. She’d both liked and been slightly nervous of Anna Reilly. Before she’d succumbed to the dementia, Anna had always struck Danae as one of the few people who might discover her secret. There had been something in the way Anna looked at her with those shrewd, blue eyes, as if to say, What’s your story? What’s your sadness? Tell me.
Danae found people like that unnerving. She didn’t want to tell anyone her secrets. She merely wanted to live in peace and forget about the past.
‘I met her daughter-in-law, Charlotte, yesterday evening,’ said Belle. ‘God love them, they’re all very upset, even though Anna had long since ceased to be of this world. Dementia really is the long goodbye, God rest her. But it’s always a shock when someone dies.’ Belle’s own eyes got misty and Danae leaned over and put a comforting hand on hers.
‘How about we go out tonight, to the cinema?’ Danae said, and Belle looked at her in astonishment.