Chapter Three

 

 

The cleaning lady was surprised to see the two of them wrapped together on a chair in the staff room. Carolyn was just as surprised to see her.

“Um, good morning,” she said, jumping up and smoothing down her shirt front as a little woman with a grey perm gawped at them both open-mouthed.

“We got locked in here last night,” Saoirse said behind her quickly. “After choir practice. We couldn’t get out.”

The woman said nothing, but stared at Carolyn’s chest. Her front buttons were open, she realised in horror, as she looked down to where the woman’s gaze had landed. She buttoned them hastily.

“We had no phones to call anyone,” Saoirse continued and Carolyn turned to look at her. Saoirse shoved the empty vodka bottle into the crisp packet. “We’ll reimburse whoever owns these.”

The woman started to laugh.

“Sure, the crowd in here will never notice a bottle gone. They’ve enough to keep them going.” She winked at Carolyn. “You want me to let ye out?”

Carolyn nodded vigorously, a laugh falling from her own mouth, joining with the cleaning woman’s laughter.

“I bet we look a sight,” Saoirse said as she tamped down her hair.

“You could say that,” the cleaning lady said. “Come on and I’ll walk you out.”

They grabbed their shoes and bags and hurried down the stairs behind the cleaning woman, Saoirse looking like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

“It’s kind of funny,” Carolyn whispered.

“It’s not funny,” Saoirse hissed. “I’m mortified.”

Her flustered expression brought on more giggles in Carolyn and she had to stop to catch her breath. Saoirse scowled at her at first, but as the seconds passed, her face softened until she was doubled over in giggles, too. They had to run to catch up with the cleaning woman at the door, their stockinged feet slapping heavily against the floor.

A couple of times Carolyn nearly went sliding on the varnished floor and her wobbles made Saoirse laugh harder.

“Wait till I tell the rest of the cleaning crew about this,” the woman said as they reached the door. She swung it open. “Not every day you come to work to find two drunkards there to greet you.”

She clasped Carolyn’s arms just before she and Saoirse exited into the dull morning outside.

“Will you tell your mam that Kathy Ryan was asking for her?”

The concern nipped at Carolyn. In all the fun with Saoirse, she’d managed to forget her mother was sick for just a few hours. That had always been part of Saoirse’s charm—she had a way of making you feel like the world was all right when you were with her.

“I will,” Carolyn said softly. She took a deep breath. “Merry Christmas to you.”

The woman patted her on the back and Carolyn walked the few feet to where Saoirse was waiting. The tarmac was cold under her feet as she moved.

“So what now?” Saoirse asked, and Carolyn wondered if she was talking about the long-term future.

“Now, we get some breakfast,” she said, deflecting the conversation. She looked at Saoirse. “That’s if you want to?”

Saoirse smiled, a warm smile that made Carolyn smile in return.

“Sounds good to me,” she said.

* * * * *

Even now, a week after they’d been locked in together, Saoirse couldn’t quite wrap her head around the fact that she and Carolyn Roche were “an item”.

She’d given up hope years ago that they would ever reconcile. For a long time, she had pined after her friend, but never in front of her father.

Actually, that wasn’t strictly true. She’d spent one day anxiously pacing the house, wondering why Carolyn was so rude to her after the Christmas break, but her dad had yelled at her to stop. She’d tried to talk to her mother about it, but all Clare had said to her was that sometimes things happen for a reason. Saoirse couldn’t exactly see any good reason why the one person she had to talk to should stop being friends with her.

So she shoved the hurt and pain deep down until it festered and fermented into hatred. It had exhausted her for years.

Now, as she sat and looked at Carolyn dance along to a band they had agreed to see, she felt so light. The weight of that hatred had been crushing her; now she felt like she might float away at any time on just a gust of wind.

“I love this song!” Carolyn yelled at her, and Saoirse grinned as Carolyn turned back to dance a little more.

They had decided to just go out together, to see where it would take them, and Saoirse liked that plan.

She grabbed Carolyn’s hand as the song stopped and squeezed.

“You’re not like anyone else in the world, you know.” She pressed the other woman’s hand to her mouth and kissed it softly. “And believe me, I’ve looked.”

Carolyn stopped and brushed a strand of hair out of Saoirse’s face.

“This feels so weird and not weird all at once, doesn’t it?”

Saoirse nodded, and Carolyn leaned in to kiss her softly. That part definitely never felt weird to Saoirse—it felt just right.

She pulled away from the kiss and over Carolyn’s shoulder, she saw someone. Lorna. From the shocked look on her friend’s face, she found it a lot weirder than Carolyn and Saoirse did.

She’d talk to Lorna tomorrow about all this. But not tonight. Tonight was just for Saoirse and Carolyn.

* * * * *

Doors opened at eight o’clock sharp, but as Carolyn drove up to the town hall at a quarter past seven on Christmas Eve, she saw a line of people starting to form outside.

Saoirse sat beside her in the passenger seat. Since they’d been locked into the school ten days before, Carolyn was loving how busily they were making up for lost time. They’d told each other all about their lives now—about the stresses and the strains and the highs and successes. Carolyn knew all about Saoirse’s family life now—not just the bits she’d guessed and heard when they were kids—and so much about everything made sense. Saoirse’s almost checked-out mother, her bullying father, and her two brothers—one nice but absent, and the other…well, the other was Tom. Carolyn had seen enough of his posturing around Kavanagh and Byrne’s to know exactly how infuriating he could be. Throw Suzanne into that package, and Carolyn suddenly understood why Saoirse looked so pissed off so often.

She hadn’t told Saoirse about the trouble her brother was in. She couldn’t do that and maintain client confidentiality. But from what Saoirse had told her, it would cause a massive ripple through the Barrett family. She didn’t think Saoirse would be too upset about Tom having a sudden fall from grace.

They had each told their friends about their new relationship. Saoirse’s friends, Saoirse reported to Carolyn, had all been quite surprised by the revelation. Lorna’s face when she saw the two of them the other night was a testament to that. Mags, ever the blunt one, had just rolled her eyes on their video chat and given an exasperated, “Dur.” Apparently she’d figured it out about forty seconds after the incident in Kelly’s pub.

“You could see the sexual tension a mile off,” she’d announced. Carolyn had laughed at that.

Carolyn turned the corner of the town hall building, past the giant Christmas tree right outside, its star bright and hopeful at the top, and pulled into a parking spot.

When Carolyn had turned off the engine, Saoirse took her hand and pressed it to her mouth with a little kiss. It was a little habit of hers, to kiss Carolyn’s hand, and Carolyn loved it.

“This is going to be a great concert,” Saoirse said. “I can feel it.”

Carolyn looked down at her free hand and brought her thumbnail up to her mouth to chew. She released it again a couple of seconds later.

“You know, I’m really sorry for being so bitchy about you getting the solo. I’ve always thought you were the most wonderful singer. I just wanted to get this one because of my mam.”

She dared to look at Saoirse, but Saoirse’s face had clouded.

“Don’t worry about it, Carolyn,” she said softly. “I understand completely.”

Carolyn took off her seatbelt and leaned forward.

“Thanks for being so graceful, Saoirse. It’s probably classier than I could have managed.”

Saoirse laughed and her face lit up, the easiness of the moment making her sometimes-anxious features soft and delicate. She was as beautiful to Carolyn, as she’d always been.

Carolyn pressed her lips to Saoirse’s and kissed her deeply, knotting her hand in Saoirse’s hair as the kiss intensified.

She suddenly remembered. “Sorry, I’m wrecking your hair after you spent an age on it.”

Saoirse shook her head, her hair messed and at angles, and smiled.

“I don’t really care,” she said before initiating another kiss.

Carolyn could almost have forgotten about the concert—she was tempted to just turn the car around and bring Saoirse back to her house instead—but she fought the urge.

Besides, her mother was going to be let out for the concert for a few hours. Carolyn’s aunt Barbara was collecting her right now. Carolyn had made sure there were two seats front row for both of them.

Since her mother couldn’t be home on Christmas Day—Carolyn would have to visit her in the morning instead—this was an evening she was going to make the most of.

She pulled out of the kiss and put her hand on the door handle.

“Come on, let’s get this show on the road.”

 

Inside the venue, it looked even better than Carolyn had been expecting. There was another giant Christmas tree to match the one outside, a big banner with the Leinster Cancer Support Service’s details on it, and red-and-green chair covers on all the seating. She could smell freshly baked mince pies and mulled wine as she entered, too.

Some of the rest of the choir were already there, with Damien running around like a headless chicken at the front of the stage.

His face brightened when he saw Carolyn and Saoirse. He hurried towards them.

“Thank God you’re here. I was worried people were going to be late. And thank you so much for filling in for Saoirse, Carolyn. I thought we were going to have a big issue when she said she wasn’t feeling well.”

Carolyn turned to Saoirse in confusion and Saoirse gave a weak cough.

“Yep, I think it’s just the touch of a cold. I’ll be fine with the rest of the choir but I wasn’t sure my voice would hold up through that solo.”

Carolyn’s mouth flopped open for the want of something appropriate to say to Saoirse, but Damien didn’t give her time to come up with something. He dragged her towards the stage and up the steps, and she craned around to see Saoirse behind her.

Saoirse just gave her a little wave and a wink and turned to join the other singers.

“So, I know you’ve been practising this a lot, so I’m sure you know exactly what to do,” Damien said to her as they bounded up the stairs, him leading the way. “But we need to go over your stage directions. At the end of the All I Want for Christmas Is You arrangement, you’re to step forward to right here”—he pointed at a spot on the stage—“and lean in to this microphone. Give it a quick test there.”

Carolyn, her head still reeling from the turn of events, did what she was told without question.

“Check, check,” she started. “Check, ch—”

Damien waved his hands.

“All right, let’s not go overboard. Get yourself together and get ready for curtain up.”

She couldn’t see Saoirse as she took her place in formation at the edge of the choir, but she hoped Saoirse knew just how grateful she was.

* * * * *

Saoirse always got a big bout of nerves right before a performance, but this was the first time she could ever remember having second-hand nerves for someone else.

Saoirse had already spotted June in the crowd—though she hadn’t recognised her immediately. The June she remembered had always carried a little bit of extra meat on her bones. These days, she was thin as a rail, her polo neck jumper loose and hanging from her frame, a blanket draped across her knees.

When she’d seen June smile up at Carolyn—and then throw a smile in Saoirse’s direction, too—that’s when Saoirse had finally realised who she was.

Saoirse was having fun with this song—a choral, glee-club-style arrangement that changed the feeling and the pace from the original Mariah version—but she knew, from her original place as the soloist, that O Holy Night was just coming up and with it, Carolyn’s time to shine.

The choir finished All I Want for Christmas, and Saoirse barely dared to breathe as Carolyn stepped away from the cluster of sopranos on the opposite side of the stage.

Saoirse could hear her heart pounding in her chest, the steady thump, thump, thump a metronome for Carolyn’s slow steps, but then Saoirse looked out to the audience. June was talking animatedly to the woman beside her, pointing up at the stage to Carolyn excitedly. Her face was full of pride, and Saoirse knew, looking at it, that she’d done the right thing.

Besides, she hadn’t won as a fair fight; the mess Carolyn had made of the rendition those six or seven practices ago had been an anomaly. She’d heard Carolyn sing it perfectly every time before and after that; her rediscovered affection for Carolyn couldn’t have fooled her musical ear if she wasn’t pitch perfect.

Carolyn stepped up to the microphone and the choir sat themselves on the benches behind them, waiting out the song that was to finish the concert. Saoirse could see that Carolyn’s hands were shaking as she reached out to hold the microphone stand. Saoirse willed her to look back and when she did, Saoirse smiled warmly at her and blew her a tiny kiss, so small anyone watching couldn’t tell.

But Carolyn could tell. She smiled back, the smile warming her face, and her hand stilled on the microphone when she turned back to the audience.

“Hi, everyone,” she said, and there was just the hint of a quiver of nerves to her voice before it steadied again. “I’d just like to dedicate this to my mother, June, who’s made a very special trip to be here tonight.”

She stepped back and then gave a small nod to the pianist in front of the stage.

The crowd was hushed and reverential as the piano started up, and Carolyn’s voice soared clean and rich to the whole room, each phrase she sang more beautiful than the last. As she reached the highest notes of the song, Saoirse’s heart swelled with pride. It was one of the most beautiful performances of that song she had ever heard—deep with emotion and sublime to hear.

Nothing happened for a couple of moments after Carolyn had finished the song, just the sound of sobbing from the front row. Saoirse couldn’t see who was crying, so she stood up to get a better vantage point. June was half-crying, half-laughing in delight, the woman beside her crying, too.

And then June started to applaud wildly, the crowd catching on a second later, the rumble of the applause crescendoing until a few started to get their feet, then a couple more, and a couple more, until most of the audience were up.

Carolyn turned to look at Saoirse; her face was wet with tears.

“Thank you,” she mouthed. “Thank you.”

* * * * *

“Are you sure you’re supposed to have mulled wine, June?” Carolyn’s aunt Barbara asked as June nodded at the waiter to keep going to fill the glass.

June raised an eyebrow.

“What’s it going to do? Kill me?” She turned back to the waiter. “I’ll have a big dollop of cream on that mince pie, too.” He put a spoonful on. “Keep going.”

Saoirse snorted with laughter, and June tipped her glass to her.

“See, at least someone around here likes my sense of humour. With these two, you’d swear it was a funeral, not a party.”

She made a spinning motion with her finger and Barbara turned June’s wheelchair around to face Saoirse. Carolyn braced herself for what might be coming next.

“And you, Miss Saoirse Barrett. Where have you been these past few years? We’ve missed seeing you around.”

“Oh, Mam, stop,” Carolyn said, but June waved the objection away.

“I’m sorry about that,” Saoirse said quietly, her cheeks reddening. “But I’ve come back now.”

June looked quickly to Carolyn and then back to Saoirse.

“So I hear,” she said, before dropping her voice down to a whisper. “And I think you two will be lovely together. There’s always been a bond between you, even when you were little girls. Don’t go away again.”

Saoirse smiled at Carolyn, who filled with happiness. She’d never been able to see herself with anyone for too long, but she could see herself with Saoirse. Her mother was right: there was just something inexplicable that made sense about her and Saoirse.

“I won’t, June,” Saoirse said, and it sounded like she meant it. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

June grabbed Saoirse’s hand and held it.

“Come see me soon.”

Saoirse gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“I will.” She looked at someone in the distance and then to Carolyn. “I have to go deal with my folks. But we’re still meeting up after Christmas on St. Stephen’s Day? Maybe we’ll go and see your mother?”

“Sounds good,” Carolyn said and sneaked a quick kiss from Saoirse. She could definitely see herself with Saoirse for a long time.

* * * * *

Saoirse always dreaded waking up on Christmas Day—more now that she had moved out of her parents’ house. She always spent Christmas Eve with them, even in her adulthood, and then spent the better part of Christmas Day elbow deep in peeling vegetables, basting the unnecessarily giant turkey, and preparing desserts three different ways, since no one could agree on what way they liked theirs.

That Christmas Eve—after she’d left the concert—had been more awful than usual. Far from being impressed with her dramatic gesture to a woman and her sick mother, her father had been lamenting the fact that Saoirse hadn’t had the solo all the way home in the car.

“All that money on singing lessons and you’re still second fiddle on the biggest concert of the year,” he said a couple of times.

“I thought it was lovely,” her mother had said, but quieted quickly when her father had launched into a fresh round of outrage.

“I told all the fellas down at the golf club that my Saoirse was going to be doing a solo. And who’s going to look like a fool on Stephen’s Day when we meet for a round? Me, that’s who.”

Saoirse had rolled her eyes. “Hardly my fault you went and told the whole town, is it?” She regretted the outburst immediately when the thunder rolled across his face.

“Clare, do you see you raised an ingrate? A cheeky little madam, like I always said she was?”

Her mother rubbed her hands together again and again, a sure sign she was getting nervous of his temper.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Saoirse backtracked. “I’m just a little tired after everything. Tell the guys I just wasn’t feeling well enough to do it.”

That had appeased him enough for a quiet journey back to the house, but it was anyone’s guess how he’d be on Christmas Day.

That was why, this morning, Saoirse had woken up with a massive knot in her stomach.

She’d showered early, put on her new outfit for the day, and done her hair and makeup so neatly and expertly that at least her appearance would be beyond reproach.

Her mother was already in the kitchen prepping the meal at nine o’clock in the morning. Her father, she guessed, would be asleep for another couple of hours.

“Good morning, Mum,” Saoirse said as she walked into the kitchen, going over to give her mother a kiss. “And a Merry Christmas!”

Her mother kept mixing dough in a big metal bowl with her hands. She seemed startled by the intrusion.

“Oh yes, dear. A very Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Saoirse walked over to put the kettle on, and she opened the fridge to get ingredients out.

“So I went ahead and bought the cranberries and apricots for that stuffing. I figured we could have a little bit to ourselves, even if nobody else wanted any.”

Her mother’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry,” Saoirse said. “I brought ingredients for a plain stuffing, too.”

Her mother’s expression softened immediately again and she went back to pulling and stretching out the dough in the bowl.

Saoirse was spooning coffee into a mug when her mother spoke out of nowhere.

“You know, I thought that concert was just lovely last night. You were all so wonderful.”

Saoirse stopped pouring water onto the instant coffee and looked at her mother. It wasn’t often she started a conversation, much less one where she was so confident in what she was saying.

“Thanks, Mum,” she said finally.

“And I thought your friend—that Roche girl whose mother is not well—she was just wonderful.” She stopped pounding at the dough and looked at Saoirse. “Will you tell her I said that?”

Saoirse nodded dumbly. It took a second for her mouth to catch up to the conversation.

“I will. Of course I will.”

Her mother started to worry the dough again slowly, but she kept talking as she worked. Saoirse abandoned her coffee on the counter so she could sit in front of the breakfast bar to give Clare her full attention.

“You know, I always liked that little girl. So funny and sure of herself. It’s a nice way for girls to be. I hope Suzanne teaches your niece to be the same.

“And her mother, June, she was always so kind to you. You were always happier when you came home from spending a day at their house.”

Saoirse waited for her mother to go on, but from somewhere upstairs, they heard a creak—maybe just a floorboard tightening. It was enough to stem her mother’s conversation again.

Saoirse gave it a few more moments until she was sure her mother wouldn’t speak again, and got up to finish making her coffee.

“Back in a minute, Mum,” she said but she knew her mother wouldn’t talk again for a while. She picked up her coffee and walked to the backdoor, pulling her phone out with one hand as she brought the coffee up to her mouth to sip with the other.

There was still a frost on the ground as she stepped out into the expansive, landscaped garden, and it crunched pleasantly under her foot as she made her way to the garden table to rest her coffee mug.

A few hardy birds were chirping in the trees, a robin landing on the bird feeder to pick at the offerings there.

Saoirse took a big breath of the thick, cold air. It filled her lungs and woke her up, the breath on exhalation white and fluffy as it met the air again.

She took out her phone.

Merry Christmas, Carolyn. Tell your mum I said so, too. xxx

She watched the robin hop off the feeder and onto the white, stone birdbath that had been there as long as she could remember. It dipped its beak in for a drink and then flew onto the grass.

The chill was starting to cut through her clothes now, so Saoirse turned to walk back inside. Her phone beeped, and she looked at the screen. Carolyn had messaged back.

Merry Christmas to you, too, Saoirse. I’m so glad to have found you again. On my way to see Mammy now. She wouldn’t stop talking about you after you left. Says I’m to bring you round to see her whenever you like. xxx

Carolyn smiled and put the phone back in her pocket. Tomorrow, when she went to see June and Carolyn, she’d count that as her Christmas Day. That was when she knew she’d only be around people who cared about her and had her best interests at heart.

She picked up her coffee mug again, grasping it between both hands. It was warm and comforting on her frost-chilled fingers.

 

She couldn’t even begin to guess how many potatoes they’d peeled by now. Her mother was still not talking much, except to ask whether something was done. They were roasting potatoes, mashing potatoes, making croquettes (no shop-bought ones for her father), and making a gratin.

They had a multitude of vegetables to make, too—mashed ones, glazed ones, boiled ones, and diced ones, of every shape, colour, and size.

About a half hour ago, Tom and Suzanne had burst into the house, loudly announcing their arrival to the hallowed halls of the Barrett House. They’d stuck their head in around the kitchen door—“I see you two are busy at it! We’ll leave you to it.”—before joining Saoirse’s father in the lounge for pre-dinner drinks.

They’d seen the kids for a just a few minutes—Simon had rushed into show them his two new yellow trucks—before Suzanne had shooed them out again.

“Nana and Auntie Saoirse are too busy for you to be bothering.”

Saoirse took her rage at that out on a bowl of mashed carrots. She should be in line for a Nobel Peace Prize with how she kept resisting the urge to kill that woman.

But in the quiet of the kitchen, with just the low hum of the oven and the buzzing of the extractor fan, Clare had started to talk again.

She was mashing butter into potatoes when it happened. She didn’t look up at Saoirse.

“You know, I saw you kissing that Roche girl last night—Carolyn, I should call her.”

Saoirse felt the colour drain from her cheeks as she tried to figure out what to say to that.

“You looked pretty happy to me,” her mother said in her whisper voice. “It’s good if she makes you happy.”

Her mother pounded the potatoes a couple more times before letting the masher drop with a clatter. She looked at Saoirse, her expression intense and searing.

“So what are you doing here with us today?” she asked angrily.

Saoirse put down the grater she’d been using to shower cheese over the gratin.

“What do you mean, Mum? I’m here to help you. I like cooking with you.”

She jumped a little at the strength of her mother’s voice when she spoke again; she’d never heard her mother speak so loudly or forcefully before.

“Well I don’t want you here, Saoirse Barrett. I want you to leave.”

Saoirse shook her head, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening, but she couldn’t figure out an answer.

Her mother wiped her hands on a tea towel and grabbed onto Saoirse’s arms. Though she was much smaller than Saoirse, her grip was strong.

“I’ve consigned myself to this prison of a marriage, to putting up with this horrible house and your father. But I don’t want that for you, you hear me? I don’t want you to make yourself miserable on Christmas Day because you want to help me.”

Saoirse stood frozen to the spot.

“But, Mum, this is too much work for you to do on your own. How are you going to get everything finished if I’m not here?”

Her mother thought hard and her voice shook on her next words. “Fuck it,” she said softly, and then louder, “Fuck it!”

If she’d never heard her mother speak loudly before, she’d certainly never heard her swear before. Saoirse stayed rooted to where she was, unable to process a response.

Her mother reached into one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out some tinfoil. She started wrapping dishes with the vigour of a mad chef.

“You bring all of this nice food over to that girl’s house and you have yourself a nice Christmas, do you hear me?”

Saoirse nodded dumbly.

“But Dad will want the gratin—”

“Fuck what your father wants!” Clare declared. “If he wants it so bad, he can try cook it for himself.”

She gave Saoirse a tight hug and leaned up on her tippy-toes to kiss her forehead.

“Now you go and enjoy yourself,” she said.

Five minutes later, after passing Trevor, Tom, and Suzanne’s confused faces in the dining room, Saoirse was sitting in her car, a big dish of gratin buckled into the passenger seat.

* * * * *

Carolyn was shoving a tiny roast chicken into the oven when she heard the doorbell ring. She looked at the clock as if that might give her some clue as to who was at the door—but there was no one due to visit her at all today.

She’d left her mother a little over an hour ago, chatty and energised from the fun the night before. Her mother had made her promise not to visit that evening and Carolyn had agreed, if only because June asked so little of her.

She clattered the oven door shut and walked to her front door. She was surprised when she opened it to see Saoirse with a stack of tinfoiled dishes; Saoirse looked almost as surprised to be standing there.

“Room for one more for dinner?” Saoirse asked, craning her head round the stack of dishes, and Carolyn laughed. She grabbed some of the dishes from the top.

“Of course. Come on in.”

Saoirse followed her into the kitchen and they put the dishes down on the counter. There were far too many for just the two of them; it would take days to eat it all.

“Tea?” Carolyn asked, and Saoirse nodded. Carolyn flicked the kettle on. “Not that I’m not delighted to have you, but what are you doing here?”

Saoirse held up her hands.

“I don’t even know. My mother kicked me out of the house and told me I was to eat dinner with you. I actually don’t know what’s happened to her.”

Carolyn quirked an eyebrow and shook her head. She wasn’t exactly dressed for guests; she’d changed into her pyjamas as soon as she’d gotten home, while Saoirse looked dressed for a catwalk in blue jeans, black knee-high boots, and a tailored white shirt.

“You’ll have to excuse the state of me,” Carolyn said apologetically.

“No need,” Saoirse said. “You look as beautiful to me as you always do.”

Carolyn brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and felt her stomach do a little tumble. Saoirse’s gaze did funny things to her.

“Oh, but I haven’t got you a present. I wasn’t sure if we were there yet.”

Saoirse shrugged.

“I haven’t got you anything either. Figured I’d pick something up before I came over tomorrow.”

Carolyn grinned and they stared at each other a few moments. On the counter, the kettle rumbled and shook as steam burst from the spout, before the button clicked off again.

“You know, there is one thing I can think of that we haven’t given each other yet,” Saoirse said in a throaty voice that sent darts of excitement straight to Carolyn’s knees.

Saoirse bent down to kiss Carolyn on the mouth, pulling at her pyjama top as she did, until it was over Carolyn’s head and on the floor.

Saoirse kissed her again and Carolyn’s skin prickled, from the desire that rippled through her and from the touch of the air on her bare skin.

“Merry Christmas, Carolyn Roche,” Saoirse said breathlessly as they broke from the kiss.

“Merry Christmas to you, Saoirse Barrett,” Carolyn replied as she took Saoirse by the hand and led her upstairs.