Joe and Dianne Through The Looking Glass

Chapter 12 - Salsa Week

Alice sat down to catch her breath and survey her handiwork. Against her better judgement she had agreed to put up the Christmas decorations in the café – she really didn't feel at all comfortable making everything look festive and sparkly while it was still November but the Christmas lights in the street were to be turned on at the weekend and it would look rather Scrooge-like if the café wasn't decked out to match by then.

It was usually a point of honour with Alice not to put up any decorations until Christmas week itself and she remembered with a smile her own children, red in the face and panting having run home from school on the last day of term begging to bring in the tree the minute they made it through the door. Back then there hadn't been many decorations to put up - just the tree, a wreath for the door, a sprig of holly tucked behind every picture and yard upon yard of home-made paper chains which Karen manufactured in her bedroom like some kind of manic festive spider spinning thread in its lair. They had always waited for Matthew to make it home before putting the final few precious ornaments on the tree, each unique decoration lovingly crafted by tiny hands in years gone by and now hung with reverence on a specially chosen bough by the same hands which grew bigger with each year that passed: Karen's hideous toilet roll angel with tatty doily wings, a bird's nest of yellow woollen hair and a grimace which spread from ear to ear competed for a prime spot alongside Robert's misshapen and grubby hand sewn felt star from which the sequins had long since parted company.

Those days were long gone of course and the last few Christmases had found Alice returning home from church on Christmas morning to an undecorated house, a microwaved turkey dinner for one and Radio 4 for company, her day punctuated by awkward, guilt ridden long distance phone calls from Karen and Robert. They had both invited her to fly out and stay of course but somehow Matthew's death had paralysed her for a time. She hadn't felt ready to celebrate, hadn't wanted to mark another year passing since he'd gone and she knew her awkward temporary presence in her children's fast paced, modern celebrations would only dampen the festive season for them. So she'd stayed at home, listening to carols on the radio and letting the shadows of happier Christmases past dance around her until the dusk fell and she'd climbed thankfully into bed and let sleep close the door on her memories. Unexpectedly, this morning Alice had rather enjoyed winding the tiny fairy lights around the windows and arranging sparkly twigs in terracotta pots, adding gingerbread stars and candy canes with an artistic flourish. By lunchtime the café's transformation was complete and Alice was feeling surprisingly festive - perhaps this Christmas she thought, things would be different. Something had shifted these last few months, a lightness seemed to have begun to creep back into her soul. The café and the book group had certainly helped her begin to feel alive again but Alice knew in her heart of heart that more than anything it was the floppy haired boy and the beautiful red head who had allowed her to reach back and remember just what it had felt like to fall in love. These last few months the memories of Matthew had come back to her in technicolour and broken free of the grey, cold dead stone in which she had encased them. She realised now that knowing she had loved and been loved so deeply in the past shouldn't keep her prisoner in the present, it should give her wings to fly while she still could. Watching those two had shown her all over again that there was still hope and possibility and light in the world and she was determined now to live the life she'd been gifted rather than wish it away.

Just as she was beginning to think there might be time to make herself a welcome cup of tea her peace was shattered by the arrival of a loud crowd of people in the café. It was only a small space and unusual for so many to arrive as a group, especially one which seemed to be made up of mostly young men - the city bars were a much more likely lunchtime hangout for the streams of high powered, testosterone fuelled gangs of men who poured out of the glass walled offices nearby on a weekday. Alice felt almost overwhelmed by the sudden influx of such a loud and confident crowd, their laughter and overlaid conversations seemed to bounce off the walls and fill the café so that Alice found it difficult at first to identify individual voices and faces until all at once her ears tuned in to a familiar accent and her eyes spotted an eye catching hair colour. Standing amongst the crowd of men so that she was almost hidden, stood the girl.