Page 54 of One Day at a Time

‘Well, we – the three of us – thought we’d help you figure out some of the things you’ve got ahead of you,’ Jessie began. ‘We were going to wait until tomorrow, but we reckon you need a bit of cheering up right now.’

Alyssa climbed off the floor, as Val and Jessie clambered up from their seats.

Alyssa held her hand out. ‘Come with us.’

‘Have you got a cake in the kitchen?’ Maddie got her hopesup. ‘Because if you have, I’ll love you forever.’ It wouldn’t solve her long list of problems, but it would make her feel better for the next five minutes.

‘Nope, it’s better than that.’ Alyssa went behind her, as Val and Jessie led the way through into the hall, past a Christmas tree so large it took up almost the entire space, around the motion-sensor penguins that sang ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’ every time someone passed them, and up the stairs.

‘Over the last couple of weeks, we’ve been getting some work done in our Dee’s old room while you were at the salon,’ Val said, and Maddie gasped. In the years since Dee died, Val had let many of the waifs and strays she’d taken in stay in that bedroom, but it had always remained exactly as it was when eighteen-year-old Dee had moved out to go to university.

Now, as Val turned around outside the closed door of Dee’s room, Maddie saw that her blue mascaraed lashes were brimming with tears. As were Jessie’s. And Alyssa’s. Oh no, what was in there?

Val opened the door, stepped back, and beckoned to Maddie to enter. She took a couple of steps forward and…

It was the same room, but so different. It had been a teenager’s hideout, with Take That and Spice Girls posters on the walls. But now those walls were pale shades of mint and cream. There was an oak cot in the corner, with an animal mobile stretched over the teddy bear sheets and a little padded sleepsuit hanging from the top rail. On the other wall, there was a white wardrobe, doors open, so that she could see at least a dozen little outfits hanging above piles of babygrows on the bottom shelf. There were packets of newborn nappies on the changing table next to it, with blankets and fresh white towels and baby wipes stacked in the baby bath underneath. And in the corner was a beautiful pram, with a car seat attached to it. It was the perfect newbornnursery and every single thing she needed, all the decisions she’d put off making, all the items she’d been saving for, were all already there.

‘This is our Christmas pressie to you and the baby, from all of us,’ Alyssa said, her arm around Maddie’s shoulders now. ‘Because the thing is, you and the baby don’t need to do this alone. Not when you’ve got all of us.’

This was the most wonderful, most special, most absolutely spectacular thing anyone had ever done for her and Maddie didn’t know what to say. That’s when the baby decided to speak for her, by delivering a feeling that was brand new. A pain. A tightness. A heart-thudding cramp.

Maddie yelped, doubled over and reached for something to steady her. Her hands grabbed the top of the cot as she buckled forward.

‘I love you all so much,’ she panted. ‘And I can’t thank you enough. But I think… something… is happening.’

27

ORLA

‘Merry Christmas to you, merry Christmas to you, merry Christmas, dear Orla… Merry Christmas to you!’

‘How many of those Buck’s Fizz have you had, given that you just sang a Christmas song to the tune of “Happy Birthday”?’ Orla asked Yvie, laughing as she took in the intoxicating aromas of Carlo’s Café, the warmth of the roaring fire on the far wall, the festive Italian tune that was playing over the speakers, and Yvie’s bloodshot eyes, which Orla knew were a result of coming off night shift at 8a.m. this morning and then coming straight here to help with preparations for the café’s annual Christmas Day friends and family lunch.

Orla had been so happy to be invited, and that’s why she’d overruled Kyle’s request that they have a lazy day at home, just the two of them. ‘There will be plenty of time for that when we have the baby and we’re too overbearing and overprotective to leave her with babysitters,’ Orla had told him, only half in jest. ‘And besides, it’ll be nice to get dressed up and have a lunch that I didn’t destroy with my cooking.’

He had to give that to her. When the universe was creatingOrla, cooking was one of the skills that had been left out in favour of tolerance, compassion, empathy and a desire to care for people when they were sick. Oh, and an addiction to trash reality shows, but she preferred to keep that one quiet. It’s probably why she’d spent the last few months looking for drama where there was none, because other than cooking, she’d also discovered that she was woefully inept at spying, trusting her husband and accepting when she was wrong. The night that she’d roped in Yvie, Keli and Emmy to track down the phone that she’d planted in Kyle’s van had given her a rude awakening. They’d followed the signal all the way to the South Side, her heart thudding harder with every mile that they’d travelled. When they’d finally turned into the street that the phone’s location was showing, she’d started to worry that her baby would be wondering what the hell was going on, because her heart rate must have sounded like the drums on a steel band.

‘It’s just down here on the left,’ Keli had said, guiding them in. Emmy had kept her eyes on the road, and Yvie was scanning the area from side to side like a one-woman periscope.

‘There’s his van, behind that truck,’ Orla had gasped, even though she’d fully expected it to be there. There were houses on both sides of them, and they’d crawled along, sending her brain into overdrive. Houses. Was one of them Demi’s home? Was that where he was? Was the affair still going on? Had he been lying the whole time? Had her instincts been correct?

Still crawling. Still crawling. They’d passed the truck, reached Kyle’s van, swerved around it, got full line of sight to their left – and that’s when they’d seen that there was no house there. At least, not a fully built one. It was a large piece of land, with the early stages of a house construction in the centre, and even though darkness had fallen, they were using floodlights to allow a whole team of brickies to work on building up the walls. Andright in the centre of it all was Kyle, hard hat on, high-visibility jacket beaming bright, his face serious as he consulted something on the clipboard that was in his hands.

‘Drive on,’ she’d blurted, ducking so that he wouldn’t see her. ‘Drive, drive, drive.’

Emmy had floored it like a getaway driver after a bank job – although their speed was swiftly quelled by a sign reminding them they were in a 20 mph limit zone. At which point, they’d carried on like tortoises escaping a bank job.

‘Well, now we know,’ Yvie had said, and Orla recognised the relief in her voice because it matched her own. He wasn’t cheating. He was being faithful to her. Everything was going to be okay. She just needed to get over herself, stop worrying and rebuild her trust in him and her optimism for the future, and that’s what she’d done every day since then. The fates were back in charge, working in her favour again, and she was rekindling her confidence that all was going to be grand. Today, this Christmas party, with all her friends and her handsome husband, was a great way to celebrate that.

Yvie ushered them in, showed them to their table for eight, saying, ‘It’s for our work gang and their partners, although it’s a lottery who Keli will bring,’ before going back to the door to greet the next guest.

‘I’ll just nip to the bar and get a couple of drinks,’ Kyle said, just as Keli chose that moment to slip into the seat across the table. Orla was now on week two of her maternity leave, and with the Christmas chaos, she hadn’t seen any of her pals for several days now.

‘Merry Christmas!’ Keli said, leaning across the table to give Orla a hug.

‘Merry Christmas to you too. Did you bring anyone?’

Keli shook her head. ‘Nope, it’s the new independent me. I’mnot dating anyone else unless they come with three separate references, a clean STD bill, full criminal record check and a letter from their last partner documenting all their red flags. My resolution for next year is no more issues with men. Talking of which, I need to apologise to your friend, Maddie, because I think I might have caused a problem for her.’