Saving Christmas in the Little Irish Village (The Little Irish Village #5)

Chapter 31

31

‘You can’t beat the smell of a real tree,’ Tom said, placing the box of decorations down and breathing in the tree’s scent like a hungry man smelling a much-anticipated meal before digging in.

Hannah had to agree with him as the rich camphor fragrance of Christmas washed over her.

‘I suppose you want to know how I got on this morning?’ Tom asked, reading Hannah’s mind as he opened the box and looked up at her.

‘I figured you’d have already let me know if you’d anything worth telling me.’

‘I didn’t have you pegged as a Debbie Downer.’

Hannah bit the inside of her cheek, picking up a shiny red bauble from amongst the decorating treasures before shrugging.

‘That’s not the right attitude. Try being a Positive Pauline.’

Hannah snorted, startling them both, but was unapologetic. ‘I’ve never heard that before, and I’m not in the mood to be a Positive Pauline.’ She remembered her plan to head to the famine cottage with Tom to tell him Nan’s story, but now it seemed pointless.

‘Have you not?’

‘No. I think you made it up.’

Tom grinned, giving nothing away, but something in his smile said he knew something she didn’t, and Hannah felt a glimmer of optimism.

‘OK, if I try to be a Positive Pauline, will you tell me how you got on and stop grinning like an eejit?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Tell me!’ Hannah demanded. ‘Or I’ll hit you with this bauble!’ She swung it menacingly.

Tom raised his hands in mock defence. ‘All right, all right. I think I sowed the seed that it would be prudent to look for another site.’

Hannah gasped, not quite believing what she’d heard. ‘How?’

‘By telling a little porky about having struck animosity like this over a project I was overseeing in a small community once before, which turned into a nightmare. I said roadblocks had got in the way from start to finish, which saw costs balloon, and that it was a miracle it was ever completed.’

Hannah gaped at Tom.

‘Come on then – say it.’

‘Thank you! That’s amazing. Oh my God, wait until I tell Dylan.’ Hannah’s despondency vanished.

‘Who’s Dylan?’

‘Oh, I, erm, I work with him. He knows what it means to me to stop the sale of the land and famine cottage. He wanted to help, actually.’

‘Right.’ A shadow crossed Tom’s face, and his tone lost its jokiness. ‘Remember I said I’d sown the seed. It’s not a done deal yet. Maybe hold off on saying anything to your nan, too. I’d hate for her to be disappointed if I’m wrong.’

‘OK.’ It would be hard to keep quiet, but she’d no wish to get Kitty’s hopes up only to have to crush them.

‘And that’s not what I wanted you to say. I want to hear you admit you misjudged me.’

Hannah squirmed because he was right, and she felt her cheeks pinken as she apologised. ‘I’m sorry, Tom. You’re right.’

‘I’m right! Can I get that in writing?’ The jokiness was back.

‘Don’t push it.’

They grinned at each other.

‘That tree won’t decorate itself,’ Liam called over as he pulled a pint, breaking the spell.

‘He’s got a point,’ Tom said.

‘I’d still like to tell you that story about the cottage,’ Hannah said before they got stuck in. It was even more critical to tell him of her nan’s connection with it now. She wanted Tom to understand how much his stepping up for them meant.

‘And I’d like to hear it. We could go there once we’ve finished the tree?’

‘Grand.’

‘Is there a theme you like to go for?’ Tom turned his attention back to the fir. ‘I saw a tree in a shop window decorated with only silver ornaments. It looked really effective.’

‘We don’t subscribe to themes at the Shamrock. The rule of thumb is to hang as much bling as possible.’

‘I like that rule of thumb.’ Tom pushed up the sleeves of his sweater.

Hannah was tickled watching him delve into the decorations with the excitement of a child being told he was off to Disneyland. He had enough Christmas spirit for both of them.

Tom caught her smiling at him and looked a little sheepish. ‘I know I’m behaving like a big kid. It’s just I’ve never decorated a Christmas tree before.’

‘What, never?’

Tom rubbed his chin. ‘Maybe that was why I was keen to work on the Greenhouse project, because of the Christmas tree farm.’ He gave her a rueful half-smile. ‘My dad and I didn’t really do Christmas, and I never saw the point when I moved into my flat. It’s only me. I bought a miniature sparkly Argos tree before they closed in Ireland. I put it on the coffee table, but that’s as far as I go.’

“How come?’ It was incomprehensible in Hannah’s world not to ‘do’ Christmas, and her face must have mirrored her thoughts. Even her divey house-share in Cork had a tree. Well, it was more a spindly, twiggy thing one of her housemates had dragged home and another had decorated with empty cans. Still and all, it was a nod to Christmas.

‘My mam was killed in a car accident three days before Christmas when I was small.’

Hannah’s jaw went slack. She hadn’t seen that coming. ‘I’m sorry, Tom.’ It was the second time in under ten minutes she’d said those two words to him, but this time, they were laced with sadness for the motherless boy he’d been. She wanted to reach out to him.

His eyes were fixed on the tree. ‘I don’t remember her, and what does feel familiar is probably down to photographs. You know how sometimes you can’t be sure if something is an actual memory or something you’ve been told or seen in a picture?’

Hannah nodded.

‘Besides, I didn’t know anything different. It was only ever my dad and I, and he didn’t see that there was much to celebrate at that time of the year. He never moved on from what happened.’ He rocked on his heels. ‘I don’t mean forget. You don’t forget, but he got stuck in his grief. I always got packed off to my gran’s on Christmas Eve, came home on Boxing Day, leaving him to drink himself silly.’ Tom’s gaze was blank. ‘He was in the right profession.’

Hannah recalled him saying his father was a publican, and she didn’t know what to say, not wanting to echo her apology. On occasion, she took her family, with their bickering and banter but mostly love, for granted. However, right then, the feeling of being fortunate to be a Kelly was overpowering. She was lucky, and she knew it. Without thinking, Hannah acted on her earlier instinct, reaching out and gently touching Tom’s face.

Time stood still, and then, realising what she was doing, Hannah let her hand drop to her side. She’d overstepped big time, and stooping down to hide her flushed face, she began rifling through the various curios in the box as though she’d never seen any of them before.

Tom immediately busied himself, too, attaching a miniature elf to the tree. After a full second, he said, ‘It sounds more Dickensian than it was. Gran made sure to give me a good day, but the tree was always up when I came to stay.’

Hannah settled on a gingerbread man with a red Santa hat and straightened, looping it over a spiky bough while avoiding eye contact. Then, realising the tinsel was still wrapped around her neck, she unwound it to drape a purple shimmer around the tree. ‘Do you still go to your gran’s for Christmas?’

‘She died a few years ago now, and my dad’s a lost cause.’

He didn’t elaborate on how he’d spent the Christmases since his grandmother had been gone. Hannah’s picture of him sitting alone in his Dublin apartment eating a microwaved dinner in front of the TV with a paper crown on was filled with sadness.

‘I usually go to a mate’s. His mam puts on a feast.’

The illusion was shattered, but Hannah’s words – ‘Why don’t you spend Christmas with us this year?’ – were already blurting forth, leaving them both blinking at one another in surprise.

‘What about your mam and dad?’

‘They’re firm believers in the more the merrier.’ It was out there now; she’d invited him. There was no retracting it. ‘They’ – she cleared her throat – ‘what I mean is, we’d love to have you.’

‘Your nan, too?’

When Kitty heard what Tom had done for them, she’d be grand, and Hannah nodded. She desperately wanted him to accept.

‘I’d like that. If you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure.’