 she s not there by alan crossan he s the last see to him and then it s over is there anything else for you sir he holds a finger to his lips then continues talking to the phone clamped to his ear just getting served i won t be long now with his free hand he fumbles for change and slams it on the counter without a word he grabs the bag and heads for the exit there s a beep as the automatic doors usher him out into the street thank you sir i say to his back alone in the shop it s past closing time but i m in no rush i ve places to go but nowhere i want to be i lock the till take my coat from behind the pharmacy door and tour the aisles i inspect the shampoo bottles shaving foam and razors the packets of paracetemol contact lens solution and athlete s foot cream everything is where it should be the new parttime girl has done a good job she ll be home by now getting ready for her party with her hair straihteners and her glass of white wine she ll be making her plans wanting to look just right for someone i m past all that i turn off the lights and lock up won t be back for a few days it s started to snow a thin layer of white on the pavement snowflakes fall illuminated by coloured lights weaved through the leafless limbs of trees perhaps they ll be right about a white christmas after all at my doorway i peel a glove off with my teeth the light above flickers and dies bloody factor it will be the new year now inside i bang my boots on the steps to kick off the snow the noise echoes up the staircase and back again i answer with hello nothing up to the penthouse suite as mum used to call it i open the door and stoop for the mail flyers for takeaways a gas bill the local paper and an envelope with a handwritten address my spine cracks as i straighten up i pad my stockingsoled feet along our my faded carpet towards the kitchen i fill the kettle and spread out the paper on the work surface standing in the dark reading by streetlight reflected on snow i wait for the kettle to boil there s nothing much in the paper there never is thieves steal main street xmas baubles accompanied by a photo of a councillor standing arms folded by a bare tree there s a voucher for a free gregg s sausage roll  a christmas gift for all our readers i pick up the envelope a london postmark addressed to the mcguigan family it looks strange written down like that i can t think of anyone i know in london it s a christmas card a robin sitting on a branch with christmas wishes in corner it s really him i have to read it again just to be sure peter thomson what did he expect after all these years middleaged nostalgia maybe i m daft seeing more than is there he does say it would be nice to catch up with us all but then especially jane the idea was enough to know that he had thought of me perhaps even no that was enough and yet especially i take a pair of scissors to the newspaper and cut around the voucher the rest goes in the bin on top of the junk mail and empty soup tins i place the card and voucher on the mantelpiece beside mum s china i finish my tea and rinse the mug in the sink i walk to the bigger bedroom to change their room even now it feels like an intrusion same floral wallpaper duvet and curtains i never got around to redecorating an old woman stares back at me from the dressing table mirror as i brush my hair i take a lipstick from mum s makeup box and draw on the glass the silver turns a deep red but she still looks her age you can t hide the crow s feet dressed to go out again i make my way back to the close past the thomson s door and down the stairs outside its heavier now virgin snow cracks under my boots as i leave my mark on the blank street when i arrive she s sitting in front of the tv eyes closed and chin slumped against her chest paper chains droop from the ceiling and a fake fir tree slopes half dressed in the corner fat women in blue overalls and santa hats sip cups of coffee ignoring moans from the grey chairdwellers of the tv circle i tut the blue women don t hear i pull up a chair and sit at a right angle to her hi margaret how are you feeling today she lifts her head and looks at me only briefly before her gaze moves to the back of the room a smile slowly forms amongst the wrinkles and grey whiskers around her mouth but the eyes are blank oh hello eh jane just finished work for christmas thought i d pop in that s nice when s christmas tomorrow margaret oh but i haven t got any presents for anyone that s ok but my daughter it s all fine margaret i m telling you not to worry she ll be so upset if santa doesn t come i look out the window and see the lights of cars circling the roundabout i imagine the people in those cars driving home to their bright warm houses with presents in the boot and their families waiting for them it feels like a memory beyond the roundabout the chapel is lit up in preparation for midnight mass the congregation will sing the carols we used to the family huddled around one hymn book it was always so cold in that chapel stealing glances at peter a few rows in front a young beatle with his boots his haircut and roll neck sweater how i hoped he would notice me i was pretty then do you remember your old neighbours the thomsons she frowns i can almost hear the rusty gears clank then the smile again the thomsons yes of course they lived across the landing good pals i know my memories no what it was but still she laughs and just for a moment she s back peter mary and young peter a lovely family she says mary and i were in the maternity at the same time when i had jane we always said those two would get married one day that s right i remember you saying that saying what what you just said you and mary she sighs and leans her head against the high back of the chair the remembering taking its toll i reach behind to plump the pillows that are keeping her upright i saw my mother earlier doing the rounds she whispers i don t think it would have been her margaret no one comes to see her well i m here i hold her hand in mine it doesn t shake like it used to when she was the responsible adult and i was fixing her first drink before the walk to school maybe she s forgotten that too we sit in silence watching jimmy stewart run down a snowfilled american main street after a while i lean over and kiss her forehead she shrinks away as though it s a slap merry christmas mum i get up to go i turn back only once but she s not looking jimmy stewart hugs his wife his daughter in his arms and his friends singing auld lang syne she stares through the tv i think of dad under soil and snow mum in her way no longer here i think of the cold empty flat and the card on the mantelpiece what would peter think of me now what would he find if he showed up at the door not the girl he left behind the kohllined girl with her plans for the art school and the sketches she never showed portraits of children with his eyes he won t find her now downstairs in the entrance hall i squirt alcohol solution into my palms and rub them together i push the release button the door clicks and i m out in the cold it has started to rain crisp snow has turned to slush taking the footprints and the white christmas with it issue 3 alan crossan 