Edd helped Meg into the black ice-skating boots, which were tight against her calves and around her ankles.
‘Ouchy!’ she said as he pulled at the long laces, looping them into double bows.
‘They need to be snug to protect you,’ Edd explained. He grinned up at her as he squatted on the floor, expertly lacing the boots as she sat perched on the edge of a chair, resting first one foot and then the other on his knee.
‘I get that, but surely it’s a fine line between doing their job and cutting off my circulation?’ She winced.
‘Ha ha!’
‘Not that it matters, as you’re not going to let me fall,’ she reminded him.
‘That’s right.’ He ran his hand up her calf, stopping at the back of her knee and only because they were surrounded by people. Meg felt a surge of warmth radiating from his touch. She couldn’t wait to get him alone later. This desire was entirely new to her.
Edd took both of Meg’s hands and helped her into a standing position from the chair. She swayed and he laughed. ‘Meg, you are stationary on carpet and already you are wobbling – this is going to be fun!’
‘I told you I’d be rubbish!’ she countered. Taking hesitant steps, she tried to get used to walking on the thin metal bars of her boot. She felt tall, shaky and vulnerable as she gripped both of Edd’s hands, tightly. He, however, seemed more than proficient as he walked backwards towards the ice, keeping his focus on her at all times.
Meg closed her eyes and swallowed as she trod with caution out on to the rink for the first time. She felt her feet slip on the unfamiliar surface. Her bottom jutted out backwards as she leant forwards, trying to find her balance.
‘That’s it, you are doing real good!’ he encouraged, in just the way she sometimes talked to Lucas. ‘Good work! Keep going.’
Edd moved from his position in front of her to her side, never letting go of her hand and arm. He stepped slowly, fluidly, repositioning himself with one arm around her waist, gripping her close against his body, and with the other holding her bent arm inside his. Slowly, slowly, he guided her across the ice.
‘Don’t let go of me!’ Meg squealed, unnerved by those who zipped by at speed, making her feel even more useless as she teetered on the ice like a newborn fawn.
‘I won’t. Just relax.’ He laughed.
‘Relax? I’m going to hit the deck and if I go, I’m taking you with me.’
They both giggled. Meg’s lapse of concentration caused her to tilt forward and then back, as though the ground were moving beneath her, before she came to rest in an upright position. ‘Oh God! I’m as bad as soggy-bottom man!’
Edd laughed even harder and managed to push her towards the side barrier, which she eagerly grabbed with both hands. Sniggering, they both slipped and slid where they stood.
‘I can’t do this!’ she sighed, her breath leaving a smoke trail that lingered in the chill Manhattan air.
‘There’s no such thing as can’t. You can do anything if you put your mind to it. It’s all about a positive mental attitude.’ He tapped the side of his head with two fingers.
Meg groaned. ‘I wish you’d tell that to my two left feet, who don’t seem to be listening to my positive mental attitude!’ She looked up, enjoying the sight of the couples, families and friends that whizzed around in pairs or individually, shrieking and chatting as they glided. It was wonderful to be part of it.
For the first time, Meg noticed a beautiful gold statue that sat on a plinth high above the edge of the rink. ‘Wow! Who’s that?’ She shielded her eyes to better study the glistening, muscular man who seemed to be falling or leaping with his arms spread and his legs scissoring to the side of him.
Edd stood behind her, making a little cage in which to keep her safe, his arms braced against the barrier, with Meg nestling against him inside. ‘That’s Prometheus. He stole fire from Olympus and gave it to mankind. The gods weren’t happy so they punished him by chaining him to a rock where he was pecked at by an eagle until eventually he was freed by Hercules.’
‘Fancy,’ Meg said. ‘I thought he looked a bit like a goalie!’
‘A goalie?’ Edd laughed. ‘Is there no educating you?’
‘Apparently not! First I eat too much, now I can’t skate and to top it all, I can’t tell the difference between the bloke that brought fire to earth and Peter Schmeichel. What do you see in me?’ Meg turned to face him. She was trying to sound cheeky, but there was more than a grain of truth in her statement. She winced as Piers’ words jumped into her mind. ‘I told them you’re an orphan – thought that would be easier than mentioning the whole being in care thing.’
Edd looked into her face, his expression serious now. ‘Ah, well, that’s an easy question to answer. I see my future, Meg.’
‘Really?’ Her voice was small.
‘Really,’ he confirmed, flicking his auburn fringe from his eyes.
‘And what does that future look like?’ She hardly dared ask.
‘I don’t know where or how, but I know I don’t want to be away from you. I don’t want to let you go.’ His expression was sincere as he bent and pulled her towards him.
Meg looked over his shoulder, taking in the tall buildings all lit up against the darkening winter sky and the Christmas tree throwing its brilliance out like a beacon of hope. As she stared, she noticed something else – it was snowing!
‘Oh, Edd!’ She just stopped herself from jumping up and down on the spot, remembering she was in skates and on an ice rink. ‘It’s beautiful!’ Meg flung her arms wide and, tipping her head back, shouted at the sky, ‘I’m in New York! And it’s snowing!’
Edd lifted her by the waist and held her up against him as he ventured back on to the rink. He moved slowly, taking long strides as he sashayed across the ice.
Flakes of snow settled on their eyelashes and stuck to their hair. Meg looked at the man who held her, unable to quell the emotion that flooded her eyes and caught in her throat. ‘I feel like Anna,’ she whispered, as she pictured the two lovers atop Guy’s magical cake in its snow globe on Curzon Street.
As they wandered arm in arm along Fifth Avenue, aching after their session on the ice, the two looked skywards, hypnotised by the fast-falling flakes of snow. The snow showed little sign of settling as it hit the ground, quickly becoming grey paste underfoot. The tyres of passing traffic seemed to stick slightly on the sludgy ice and the dirty gloop coating the pavement sent up a small arc of slush with each step. A policeman had donned a high-visibility vest, and a balaclava beneath his hat and he stood in the middle of the road, directing the traffic with a whistle stuck in his mouth.
Meg beamed. Not even the inclement weather could wipe the smile from her face. She had glided over the ice in the arms of a handsome man and she had seen seahorses – it had been the most wonderful day she could have imagined. If Lucas had been there too, it would have been perfect.
‘Shall we go and get a hot drink?’ she said as they passed an A-board advertising Digby’s on West 52nd Street, where apparently you could pick up the finest artisan sandwiches and homemade soup.
‘You cannot be hungry!’ Edd said, wide-eyed, recalling her lunch.
‘No, more chilly than hungry.’ She shivered. ‘I thought it might be nice to go inside somewhere warm.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s not much further to where a fine cup of tea awaits you.’ Edd quickened his pace.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I want you to meet someone.’ He spoke while looking ahead, not acknowledging her concerned expression.
‘Oh! I’m not very good at meeting people. Who is it?’ She tried to hide the nervous quake to her voice.
‘You’ll see in five minutes.’ He squeezed her hand as he slipped it inside his.
Meg ran her fingers through her hair, which had become rather ratty at the ends, and wished that she had put lipstick in her pocket. If she was off to meet one of his mates, she wanted to look her very best. They made their way past the beautifu
l mannequins in Tommy Hilfiger and ogled the shining grandeur of Tiffany’s, where an armed security guard eyed her with suspicion as she dabbed her sticky fingers at the window display, ridiculing the exorbitant cost. They giggled, breaking into a trot as they left the crowds behind.
‘Here we are! The Plaza!’ Edd announced. ‘Everyone should have tea at the Plaza when they come to New York.’ He shielded his eyes and looked up at the elegant façade. ‘I love this place, its beautiful Renaissance symmetry. It’s two hundred and fifty feet tall and there are nineteen storeys.’ He pointed upwards. ‘I came here in 2007, dragged some of my college buddies along for the hundredth anniversary celebrations. They had this amazing fireworks display. It was awesome – at least I thought so!’
Meg liked his enthusiasm for the building; he was clearly in the right job. She suspected that designing and constructing something that made a bold statement might be more his sort of thing than dealing with electrical jobs in a refit on Bleecker Street. She blinked through the snow flurry, trying to get a better look at the famous hotel with its enviable views over both Fifth Avenue and Central Park.
‘This looks very posh, are you sure they’ll let me in?’ She brushed the snow from her tights.
Edd looked her up and down. ‘I don’t know. Don’t speak or ask for bacon cheese fries and we should be fine.’
She lightly punched his arm and tutted. ‘Is this where they came in The Great Gatsby?’
Edd nodded. ‘Yes. And Home Alone.’
‘Hey, Home Alone, that old classic!’ She laughed.
‘I know, right? It was in The Great Gatsby because F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife used to hang out here all the time. Just think, lots of famous people have stood right where you are now. Truman Capote, Frank Sinatra, royalty.’
Meg stepped through the doors and it was like walking back in time. The marble lobby was opulent. Chandeliers hung like clusters of diamonds, sending rainbows of light across the pale, glossy surroundings. Oversized potted palms towered above overstuffed gold-brocade sofas, their coordinating cushions positioned just so. A magnificent cream marble staircase twisted away into the distance. Meg had an urge to run up the steps, her fingertips trailing over the wrought-iron railings, to see what sumptuous rooms nestled overhead.
‘Come on.’ Edd patted the damp snow from his shoulders and ruffled his hair as he reached for her hand.
‘Do you come here a lot?’ Meg asked.
Edd shook his head. ‘I’ve only been inside once before and that was to meet the senior partners for a drink, just after I joined the firm. I always thought I’d love to come in and spend some time here. Maybe on a cold winter’s day when I needed a warm drink after skating…’
‘And here we are!’ She beamed, childishly delighted that she would be part of his association with this place and not Flavia. But it felt churlish to enjoy such unnecessary point-scoring and she decided to try and feel sorry for Flavia instead of envious. After all, she had the prize, this beautiful, beautiful man.
Edd walked ahead, straightening his coat and stopping at a lectern to confirm their reservation. The mustachioed, white-gloved host of the Palm Court restaurant gave a small bow and with his hand outstretched steered them to the middle of the room. Couples and small groups were already nibbling on crustless sandwiches and biting into plump, warm scones that arrived in small baskets, hidden inside tightly wrapped white cotton cloths, like dough babies. Conversation hovered in the air like tinkling piano music, all trills and whispers.
Meg let her eyes wander over the ornate furnishings. The marble floor gleamed where it skirted the intricately patterned silk carpet and the tables dripped with fine linen, sparkling crystal and silver cutlery. Vast palms were dotted throughout, their enormous fronds fanning out above the diners. An elaborate display of Christmassy-looking red and green flowers on an oval stand was mirrored by smaller posies on each table, each bound with coordinating tartan ribbon, finished in a bow. Waiting staff wearing stiff white aprons and formal expressions glided across the floor in soft-soled shoes, delivering shiny silver teapots and dainty sugar bowls with tongs perched on the side. Others balanced three-tiered cake stands of delicate white china rimmed with a single line of pure gold.
Meg looked up and gasped. The ceiling was the most beautiful backlit stained glass, like a 1920s atrium ballroom. It was stunning.
‘It’s something else, isn’t it?’ Edd stared up at it too.
‘The whole place is lovely!’ Meg said. ‘Very grand.’ It had quite a different atmosphere to afternoon tea at a Plum Patisserie, where smoky jazz was likely to be playing, the daily specials were always hand-scrawled on blackboards, and ladies who lunched would periodically break into loud, relaxed laughter.
She beamed at Edd, reaching for his hand.
He nodded at her, a little nervously. ‘I wanted you to remember it.’
‘I won’t forget any of it, Edd. Today has been magic, all of it. I feel like I’m in a fairy tale and I don’t want it to end.’
He smiled at her and took a deep breath. ‘Meg—’
‘No!’ She placed a finger on his lips. ‘I need to say this…’ She coughed. ‘I didn’t think it would happen to me, but it has. I submit!’
‘Meg, I—’ Edd moved her finger and raised his palm to interrupt her.
‘No. Please let me finish.’ Meg raised her voice to make sure he heard every word over the chink of spoons against china and the polite chatter of the ladies in between nibbles of miniature sandwiches and sips of tea. ‘In the short time I’ve known you, I feel like my socks have been knocked off and you’ve certainly got my knickers in a spin. You were right, we have had a lot of sex, but I want more. A lot more, in fact, as soon as we get back to my room this evening…’
Meg reached up to kiss him, but Edd placed his hand on her shoulder and with a little force turned her to face the woman who was sitting no more than two feet behind her. A woman whose teacup visibly shook in the saucer.
Edd stepped forward and gulped. ‘Meg, this is my mom.’
Meg felt the colour drain from her face as she silently prayed that Edd’s mother was deaf. Judging from her tight-lipped expression and the two red spots on her cheeks, this seemed unlikely.
Meg moved cautiously forward, raking her hair and tucking it behind her ears as though a smarter fringe might help Edd’s mother form a more favourable opinion of her. The woman was neat, bird-like and diminutive and nothing about her other than her fiery hair colour and the splash of freckles across her nose suggested she had produced the statuesque Edd. Meg put her in her early sixties. She was slim but had the furrowed brow and pale eyes of someone much older – or someone who had lived with heartache. Meg already knew which. She looked smart, in a round-necked taupe sweater with the Peter Pan collar of a pale blue shirt poking from beneath. Her hair was short and cut in quite a masculine style, which her elfin features and dainty demeanour more than balanced out. She wore little make-up apart from a coat of mascara on her pale lashes and no jewellery other than the thin gold wedding band on her left hand.
‘Mom, this is Meg.’
‘Hello, Meg.’ She had an Irish accent that Meg had not expected. ‘I’m Brenda.’
‘Oh! You’re Irish,’ Meg observed, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
Brenda’s expression remained tight, but the chance to chat about Ireland was irresistible. ‘Yes. I came here in 1974 from Blarney, County Cork. I only intended to stay for six months and I’m still here forty years later. What a waste of a return ticket that was.’ She tutted, as though this fact still irritated her.
Meg loved her accent and lilting tone: soft New York with an Irish undercurrent that transformed ‘i’ into ‘oi’ and made her ‘t’s sound closer to ‘d’s. ‘Blarney as in the Blarney Stone?’ she asked as she took up a seat opposite Brenda.
‘That’s the one. Have you been?’ Brenda leant forward.
‘No,’ Meg confessed, ‘but I’ve heard of it.’
‘Oh.’ Bren
da sounded more than a little disappointed. ‘My mammy used to say I hadn’t just kissed the thing, I’d swallowed it whole! I like to talk a lot.’ Brenda tutted again. ‘But there are worse traits, I’m sure. I had to explain about the Blarney Stone to Fl—’
‘Mom!’ Edd raised his voice, interrupting his mother mid flow. ‘We don’t need to hear tales of the Old Country.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Brenda rolled her eyes mockingly.
‘Do you ever go back?’ Meg tried to imagine living this far from Pru and Milly, her family.
Brenda sipped her tea and shook her head. ‘No, not for a long while. My life is here and Ireland is so far away – and very expensive to reach.’ She whispered the last bit as though this were a secret.
‘She doesn’t need to go back,’ Edd said. ‘There’s a steady stream of relatives that come to stay, most of whom I have never heard of until they fly in and take up residence in her spare room. I thought Blarney was a small place, but it can’t be because we’ve had at least a thousand people to visit.’ He raised his eyebrows.
Brenda’s face came alive for the first time as she bantered with her son and her voice took on a different tone altogether. ‘You’re wicked! You should be glad your cousins and sons of cousins and neighbours want to travel all the way here just to say hello.’
‘I am glad, Mom. I just wonder if they’d be so keen if we lived in, say, eastern Utah?’
Brenda slapped his hand and smiled, clearly delighted by his words and humour. ‘What difference does it make to you anyway, Edward Odhran Kelly? Sure you’re never home, with your swanky flat that costs you an arm and a leg and doesn’t even have a hook for you to place a wet coat on when you come in of a night! I don’t understand how something can cost so much money and have so little space and storage. You couldn’t even get a cat in that bathroom, let alone swing it!’
‘I told you, Mum, it’s all about living in the right district.’
Brenda waved her hand dismissively. She turned her attention back to Meg. ‘I don’t need to leave the state – people come to me! I’ve got seven relatives coming over for Christmas.’
Christmas for One: No Greater Love Page 11
