Read Online A Gift to You by Patricia Scanlan - Free Book Online Page A

cul-de-sac. Owen’s Noblis stood proudly on his front lawn. Owen had got a new four-wheel drive for Christmas and had spent a lot of time
sitting in it making calls on his car phone. ‘He’d got it cheap because it was an end of year model,’ Bill remarked, grinning when he’d seen it.
    Izzy smiled. Her neighbour was pathetically childish, really. Maybe there was some reason for his juvenile behaviour. Maybe he’d had a terribly deprived childhood. Who knew? Who knew what
went on in people’s lives? Who knew what went on behind the façades? Look at poor Mari. Who would have believed it?
    She and Bill were lucky; they had each other and they had the children. She could hear the three of them laughing and chattering in the kitchen. Closing the curtains, Izzy straightened the
folds, switched off the light and went downstairs, where Bill took the opportunity to kiss her soundly under the mistletoe, before she went back into the snug, warm sitting room to rejoin her
friend.

The Christmas Tree
    I couldn’t make up my mind whether or not to put up a Christmas tree this year. It seemed a lot of trouble when I was going to be here on my own. Don’t get me
wrong, I’d had invites to spend Christmas with family, but did you ever just want to stay at home in your own house and sleep in your own bed?
    I could understand of course, why my son and daughter didn’t like the idea too much. When I was their age, if my own widowed eighty-year-old mother had refused
my
invite to spend
Christmas with us, I’d have been upset and worried at her being alone on Christmas Day.
    I’ve spent the last decade trotting between their houses, for the festive season. And while I love them, and my five grandchildren, and have spent many Christmases with them since my
much-loved husband, John passed away; this year, I had a yen to stay at home.
    I didn’t buy a turkey. I don’t really care for it. The only part I like is the dark meat under the legs. Instead, I bought a fillet steak to have with fried onions and fried
potatoes. A tasty dinner, with little fuss. I’d cooked a ham, though, so I’d have meat to make sandwiches for visitors.
    As I say, I’d dithered about putting up a tree. But then, when I saw the gleaming, twinkling lights in windows in the village, I was sorry I’d told my daughter not to bother.
    It came up in conversation with my new neighbour, Sarah. She and her husband, Simon, had bought the bungalow next door at the end of summer. I was worried about who would move in after old Mr
Kelly died. When I heard a young couple had bought the house, I won’t deny I was apprehensive. I wondered whether they would have loud and frequent parties, but to my relief I couldn’t
ask for nicer neighbours.
    I met Sarah at the post office, when I was collecting my pension, and complimented her on the lovely Christmas lights she had laced around the fir tree in the front garden. They’re
delightful to look at, especially when the dusk is settling. That was how we got into conversation about the Christmas tree and I told her I regretted not putting one up this year.
    Well, an hour later, there was a knock on the door and it was Simon. Now, between you and me, if I was fifty years younger, he’s exactly the type of man I’d have fallen for.
He’s the tall, broad muscular type. Like my own dear John. A manly sort of man, not like these young chaps today who have too much to say for themselves and spend half their lives sitting at
computers, with their nets and their twitts, and emails and the like.
    Simon is an electrician. He has his own company and is doing well, even in the recession. His father is a farmer and Simon helps out on the farm. He has the look of it, a real outdoors type with
a strong face and the brownest of brown eyes, with a tan that is most certainly not out of a bottle.
    ‘Mrs Kenny,’ he said, standing at my door with his thumbs hooked into his jeans, ‘Sarah told me that you can’t decide about