One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story) (33 page)

‘
I
can smell burning
,’ Angel remarked, padding into the kitchen dressed in a fluffy cat onesie.

‘No burning here, just golden brown waffles.’ Hayley served the food onto a plate. ‘Grab them while they’re hot.’

Hayley watched Angel eye the charred offerings like they were offensive. ‘What?! Black is the new golden brown. Everybody’s doing it.’

‘Where’s Uncle Dean?’ Angel asked, climbing up onto a bar stool and pulling the orange juice carton towards her.

‘Work. He had to go early. He said something about it being a big day. That could mean something crucial about the Globe or it could mean he’s going to his favourite restaurant for lunch.’ Hayley slipped onto the stool next to Angel. ‘Eat up.’

‘Could we phone Michel?’ Angel asked.

Hayley stiffened. She’d called Michel half a dozen times the night before and left messages. There had only been endless ringing and the bleep of the answerphone. It was up to her to try and make it right. She’d apologised over and over, she’d tearfully begged and told him how much Angel wanted this until she’d run out of words.

‘Listen, I think we should just give him a minute to get used to things. I mean, before yesterday he didn’t know about you, Angel.’

‘I know but he was really nice and …’

‘Hey, I promise we’ll call him tomorrow, OK? Besides, I need your help today. I’ve got a million phone calls to make about the fundraiser and emails to chase up and I need to meet with Cynthia.’

Hayley stopped talking. She had promised Angel two things on this holiday, one was she would find her father and the other was to spend quality time with her. She’d found the man but he’d run off, she’d wasted her time with a billionaire and she’d got a job. She was scoring so badly on every count. She swallowed down a mouthful of overdone waffle. What was running through Angel’s overactive mind right now? She’d wished for her father for months and now they’d found him he’d run out on them. She wanted to hold her daughter close, shut all the doors to this harsh side of life and protect her from everything and everyone. It had worked for so many years. This was her fault. She had invited in this heartache.

She smiled at Angel. ‘Listen, I promise, if I get all the things on my list done by this afternoon, we’ll go skating at the Rockefeller Centre.’

‘Yay!’ Angel exclaimed. ‘And can we get a Hillary Clinton bobble head? I promised I’d bring one back for Jessica.’

‘I’m scared that those even exist.’ Hayley smiled through a mouthful of waffle.

The intercom buzzed and Hayley slipped down off her stool. Had she ordered something for the fundraiser to be delivered here? She needed to get her list in order. She’d drawn butterflies all over her writing last night plus an idea for a dress she was never going to get to make.

‘Hello,’ she answered.

‘Hayley?’

Michel
. Her heart jolted and immediately her eyes went to Angel who had juice drizzling down her chin.

‘Yes … I’m here …’ She swallowed.

‘About last night, I …’

‘Sshh, la la la la la, it’s OK, don’t speak any more. I’m coming down.’ She shut the intercom off before Michel could say anything else. The last thing she wanted was for Angel to know how he had bolted from the flat like his clothes were on fire.

She saw Angel open her mouth to speak but she pointed, warning her not to. ‘Wipe your face. I’ll be back.’

It was just nerves this time. Oliver’s heart was pounding hard as he pumped the stress ball in his hand. He felt sick and clammy. He couldn’t concentrate.

‘Do you want me to get Delaney to draft something for the press?’ Clara asked.

He hadn’t heard what she’d said. What were they talking about now? Had they moved on from Peter Lamont?

‘I’m sorry, Clara. What were we discussing?’

‘All this stuff with Andrew and Peter is getting to you, isn’t it? How could it not? I just can’t believe it of Peter. His poor wife and the children.’

‘What I told you about that, Clara, it goes no further.’ Oliver let out a sigh, his chest burning. ‘Peter has been fired for leaking confidential information to a competitor, nothing else. His private life stays that way, for Andrew Regis too. This whole thing is already killing my mother.’

‘How
is
she?’

‘Throwing herself into the McArthur Foundation fundraiser. I don’t think it’s fully hit her yet.’

He put his hand to the knot of his tie and loosened it a little. Was it hot in here? Outside the windows he could see the snow was falling again. What was Hayley doing right now? Was she with his mother organising the fundraiser he couldn’t be part of or was she with Michel? The last thought stung. He cared about her, really cared about her, but he had to let her go. Whatever this guy turned out to be, Oliver could almost guarantee he didn’t have a life-limiting condition going on.

‘And what about you, Oliver?’

‘Dean Walker has been made head of department. He was in charge of the Globe anyway so it makes sense …’

‘You haven’t answered the question.’

‘I think that’s the boss’s prerogative.’

The sentence was out of his mouth before he’d thought about it. Clara didn’t deserve his sarcasm. She had been there for him, sucking everything up, since his father died. She’d been unfailing in her support no matter how badly he’d treated her.

‘I’m sorry, Clara.’ He sat back, the leather chair reclining. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘I know you’re the boss, Oliver, but I worry for you.’ Her hands went to the necklace at her throat.

‘I know you do.’ He nodded, reaching for the baseball stress ball again. ‘And I’ve decided to take a little time out.’

‘You have?’

He nodded. ‘Once this scandal has been dealt with, once the Globe is launched, I’m going to take a minute, do some things I haven’t done for a while.’

‘Like what?’

He smiled. ‘I don’t know. Not make plans for one thing. Maybe take a vacation.’

Clara smiled. ‘And Lois? Will she be someplace in these not-making-plans plans?’

‘No,’ he responded, squeezing the ball tight. ‘I’ve burned my bridges there.’ He sighed. ‘And it’s no more than I deserve.’

Michel’s dark hair was covered in snow and Hayley was sure the faded denim jacket he was wearing was the same one he’d worn ten years ago. His eyes were ringed by dark circles, hinting at a lack of sleep the night before. She was almost pleased. How many sleepless nights had she endured when she’d found out she was pregnant, then the sleepless nights with a crying baby. She swallowed. Single parenthood had been her choice. The noise of the city going on around them – cars, bikes, Santas with handbells – all faded away as if knowing the importance of this moment.

‘I am sorry,’ he started, his blue eyes meeting hers.

She didn’t know how to respond to the statement. What was he sorry for? Leaving? The things he’d said?

‘No, Michel, I’m sorry. I should have done everything differently. I realise that.’ She sighed. ‘But I can’t go back.’

‘I know,’ he whispered.

‘What do you want to do?’ Hayley asked, bluntly.

‘I would like to meet my daughter,’ he replied, the sentence wrapped with emotion.

Hayley nodded, the enormity of it all hitting her with a vengeance.

Michel shook his head, flakes of snow scattering. ‘I do not know what I am supposed to do.’

‘Listen, I’m not asking you to marry me and fly to England. All she wants is to meet you, to know who you are. Anything else is going to take time.’

He put his hands in his hair. ‘This is life-changing.’

Hayley nodded. ‘I know.’ She let out a breath. ‘But Angel, she’s the brightest thing in my life. She’s clever, exceptionally so, and she’s funny and she makes me laugh a hundred times a day … and she has your eyes, Michel.’

There were tears in those eyes now as he nodded his head. Maybe she hadn’t been wrong about this man after all.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

She wanted this so badly for Angel. It didn’t have to be formal, nothing set in stone or permanent plans for the future, it just had to be a beginning, a chance for Angel to know her father.

She led the way up the stairs to Dean’s apartment, Michel following and her heart beating like an enthusiastic little drummer boy. Pausing at the top of the staircase, Hayley took a breath then pushed open the door that led to the kitchen.

And there Angel was. Cleaned face, eyes expectant, the hood of her cat onesie pulled over her head so the ears stood upright. She marched past Hayley and held her hand out to Michel.

‘It’s very nice to meet you again,’ she said. ‘Mum says you have “busy” hair, but I like it.’

Michel laughed, his eyes crinkling up, his mouth open in genuine amusement at Angel’s comment. Hayley remembered that expression and her body warmed in response. She carried on watching as Michel took hold of his daughter’s hand and gave it a small shake. ‘It is very nice to meet you too.’

‘I’m glad you came back,’ Angel continued, her eyes fixed on Michel.

‘Me too,’ he responded, his voice coated with emotion.

‘My friend at school wants me to bring home random things from New York.’ She reached for her sketchbook on the breakfast bar and pulled it into her arms. ‘We need to finish that picture.’

‘I’m not sure you need me to finish it. You are an excellent artist,’ Michel said.

‘Well, Mum can only draw dresses and stuff, so I guess I must get it from you.’ She smiled, holding out a pencil to him.

Hayley’s heart swelled as Michel accepted the pencil. It was a start.

H
ayley had been making
phone calls all morning to organise the McArthur Foundation fundraiser whilst keeping one eye on Michel and Angel. They’d drawn quietly for half an hour or so, Angel looking up from her pad every now and then, blinking like she couldn’t believe Michel was real. Hayley had also seen Michel doing exactly the same thing. When he looked at his daughter it was as if he were gazing at an object of wonder, something beautiful he couldn’t quite believe was so close, something he didn’t quite understand yet. And now, as it neared lunchtime, they were going ice skating. Angel had thrown that out there with all the finesse of someone who was used to getting their own way and, as Michel had shown no obvious signs of wanting to leave, Hayley felt duty-bound to give in.

‘What do you think?’ Hayley asked, twirling around in the kitchen. ‘Ice skating chic or ice skating chic?’

‘Those aren’t gloves,’ Angel remarked, staring at Hayley’s hands covered by long woollen sleeves.

‘No, I gave you my gloves. These are hand-warming couture.’ She stretched them out for Angel to see.

‘They look like sleeves off a jumper.’

‘Ha! But the people of New York won’t know that. They will think, “ooo look at that fashionista wearing hand-warming couture”.’

‘Are you OK with doing this?’ Michel asked her.

‘Of course,’ Hayley said. ‘I’ve got my hand-warming couture which is going to stop me getting my fingers sliced off. I’m all good.’

‘Thank you,’ Michel whispered as Angel focussed on buttoning up her coat.

‘What for?’

‘For this second chance,’ he said. ‘I behaved so badly last night and …’

‘See that girl over there?’ Hayley interrupted. ‘She hasn’t stopped smiling since you walked in here this morning.’ She laid a hand on Michel’s arm. ‘That’s all I want.’

He nodded as if he understood.

‘OK then,’ Hayley said, addressing Angel. ‘Let’s get this over with … I mean … let’s go and have some fun.’

‘Have you skated before?’ Angel asked, holding onto the side of the ice rink, her feet as still as she could keep them.

‘Of course,’ Michel answered, turning his body and expertly moving backwards like a winter Olympian.

Hayley hadn’t even taken a step onto the ice yet. This small patch of white in the middle of the brick, steel and chrome of the surrounding buildings was almost surreal. As was the giant tree towering over them like a triffid and the gilt statue of some old god surrounded by a waterfall.

‘It’s Prometheus,’ Angel said, looking at Hayley.

‘Is that another word for freezing?’ Hayley asked, her teeth chattering together.

‘No, it’s the name of the statue you were looking at. Prometheus. He’s a Greek god and this one is actually made of bronze, not gold.’

‘Angel, you are coming to skate?’ Michel called, beckoning her.

‘Go on,’ Hayley said, still not making any moves. ‘Go and skate.’

‘Reason 23 why Christmas is better in New York, ice skating next to a Greek god,’ Angel said, slowly removing her fingers from the edge of the ice rink.

‘Yup, pretty cool. So, off you go,’ Hayley urged.

Angel stared at her, unmoving. ‘You’re going to wait until my back’s turned and then you’re going to sneak off to the café.’

‘How very dare you! As if I would!’

Her daughter knew her far too well. The skates were already pinching her toes.

‘Come on!’ Michel shouted. ‘We come here to skate!’

Hayley pulled a face. ‘I don’t remember him being this bossy.’

‘Come on, Mum. I’ll hold your hand,’ Angel said, gingerly moving on the ice, her hand held out to Hayley.

‘I’m not sure ice skating is going to be me,’ she said, putting one foot in front of the other but pausing before the ice.

‘I’m not sure green vegetables are really me but you still make me eat them. Come on!’

Angel pulled her forwards and, before she could do anything to stop herself, she was on the ice, her feet slipping and sliding away from her like a newborn fawn.

‘Angel! Don’t you let me go!’

‘Stop pulling on me! You’ll stretch my new coat,’ Angel screamed.

‘I can’t stand still!’

‘It’s ice skating, you’re not supposed to stand still!’

‘This is all wrong. It’s unnatural I tell you!’

With her arms flailing and her legs kicking, Hayley screamed as Michel took her arm and she grabbed him with both hands in desperation.

‘Whose idea was this?’ she exclaimed, her fingers digging into his coat as he held her up.

‘Angel wanted to come,’ Michel reminded her.

‘The child is evil,’ Hayley said, narrowing her eyes at her daughter.

‘Come on,’ Michel said. ‘I will help you.’ He skated backwards, letting her hold onto his arms.

‘Wait for me!’ Angel shouted, trying to follow them without falling.

O
liver had followed them
. He’d left Clara and the office behind with the sole intention of … what? What had he really been thinking when he left Drummond Global and headed for Dean Walker’s apartment? He wanted to see Hayley again. Why? To torture himself? To remind him what he’d had for a short time? What he’d let go? What he’d given up on? Or did he really want to do something he’d never done before?

He watched them from the sidelines. To any onlooker they would appear to be the perfect family. A couple, the man helping his partner, their child trying to keep up with them. Maybe they could be in time. Perhaps that was what Fate had in store for Hayley. Was this his final visual message to leave well alone?

He let a breath go, watching it thicken in the air. He could leave, right now, and she’d never know he’d been here. With Michel and the McArthur Foundation fundraiser she already had so much going on in her life. It wasn’t fair to burden her with something else. What they’d had had been fun, exciting. She didn’t need what he would bring to the table. It was selfish to tell her, wasn’t it? It would be for his benefit. To prove he
could
tell someone? That wasn’t fair.

He watched her, letting go of Michel and trying to move of her own accord. Hair poking out from under a red woollen hat, some crazy jumper sleeves over her sweater, knees bent inwards. She was smiling. She was happy. He should go.

And then it happened, their eyes connected. Across the ice, skaters circling around the rink between their locked vision. His mouth dried up, along with his resolve. He couldn’t look away.

I
t was Oliver
. Standing on the edge of the rink, looking back at her. Her stomach contracted, she wobbled on her skates and before she could right herself her bottom met the ice with a bang.

‘Mum, are you all right?’ Angel skated up to her, now moving like a professional.

‘Yes, I’m fine. This part is well padded.’ She flicked her legs, shifting her feet to try and get traction. ‘Get me up.’

Angel bent double, taking Hayley’s hands in hers and straining to shift her.

‘Hurry up, Angel.’ Her heart was racing. Oliver was here, at the ice-skating rink? Why? What was he doing here? Was he here to see her? She needed to find out. Despite everything, her body was urging her to get off the ice and go to him. She looked again, across the ice, twisting her head to reconnect with him. He wasn’t there.

‘I can’t move you! You’re too heavy!’ Angel screamed. ‘It’s all the fizzy wine!’

‘Let me help you,’ Michel said, appearing beside them with a stop on the ice that Robin Cousins would have been proud of.

‘No, it’s too late.’ Hayley began to unlace her boots. ‘These are coming off.’

‘What? You cannot do this,’ Michel told her.

‘Mum! What are you doing?’

‘I … just … I need to run.’ She wrenched the boot from her left foot. ‘I can’t run in these. I can’t even skate in these.’ She pulled at the second boot. ‘Hold onto them for me.’

She thrust the blades at Michel and started sprinting in her socks across the ice rink, much to the amusement of the other skaters.

Her heart was driving the blood around her body as the freezing surface beneath her feet scalded her soles. She ran like she was treading on broken glass, hopping off the rink and scouring the onlookers for Oliver.

‘Oliver!’ she called, seeking out anything familiar that would lead to him. His dark coat, the tawny colour of his hair, his stance, the shape of his shoulders. She skidded past a woman carrying a tray of coffee and mince pies, her eyes metres ahead, picking off strangers, frantic to find him. And then she saw him, walking briskly towards the exit. She injected more pace into her run.

‘Oliver Drummond! Don’t you leave!’ she yelled at the top of her voice. ‘Stop right there!’

It was like someone had hit a pause button on life. Everything halted. Chatter stopped, the sound of Michael Bublé quietened, people turned to look at her and the only sounds still audible were the blades of the skaters on the ice.

She was breathing hard as she watched him stop. Then he turned around, his eyes finding hers through the crowd. She stepped on, quickly closing the gap between them as everyone around went back to what they were doing.

She looked up at him, suddenly filled with nervousness. She wet her lips.

‘So, you thought you’d come here and show off your silky skating skills huh?’ She forced a nervous smile.

‘I’ve been kept amused for the past ten minutes by yours,’ he stated.

‘I aim to please. It’s all deliberate. It’s a new genre of ice dance, a bit like body-popping,’ she replied, putting an arm out then letting her forearm dangle from the elbow.

He nodded and the atmosphere cooled. She didn’t know what to say but she had to say something. And not something verging on the ridiculous. Something real. She didn’t want things to be how they were between them.

‘Michel’s here,’ she stated.

‘I saw,’ he replied. ‘I’m glad.’

‘What you did, finding him I mean, it was such a wonderful thing and …’

He shook his head. ‘You don’t need to thank me.’

She watched him swallow, agitation in his stance.

‘I was never completely honest with you, Hayley.’

She frowned then. ‘You weren’t?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

‘O-K.’

‘I’m not sure I really want to be honest now but … I feel I owe it you.’ He smiled. ‘Do you want to get a coffee?’ He looked down at her feet. ‘And maybe your shoes?’