Letter from Chicago

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Letter from Chicago
Cathy Kelly

Every woman needs her Cathy Kelly time – lose yourself with this warm and enjoyable short story perfect for a relaxing break.Elsie loves her regular letters from her sister Maisie in Chicago. Maisie emigrated to America forty-five years ago but the sisters keep in touch monthly. The letters cross the Atlantic, back and forth, filled with news about their families, their hopes, dreams and successes. Of course, it’s not quite as good as seeing each other in person, but they are happy enough with the arrangement.But when Maisie suddenly announces that her granddaughter wants to visit Elsie in Ireland, Elsie is besides herself with worry. A great deal has happened in the last forty-five years, and she may not have always reported it all accurately back to her sister. She can’t possibly bear the humiliation of being found out for having stretched the truth, but there is no way she can refuse to play host to a member of her family, is there?A funny, heartwarming and true-to-life Cathy Kelly story – tuck in and enjoy.This story also appears in Cathy’s collection of stories, Christmas Magic.

Letter From Chicago

Cathy Kelly

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers

Letter from Chicago was first published as a charity literacy novella for New Island, 2002

LETTER FROM CHICAGO. Copyright © Cathy Kelly 2011. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Cathy Kelly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2011 ISBN: 9780007444465

Version: 2017-11-21

Contents

Title Page (#ue12076db-34ad-5271-be95-b055fa8cc6e8)

Copyright

Letter from Chicago

Christmas Magic

About the Publisher

Letter from Chicago

Elsie loved her letters from Chicago. She adored the fat envelopes with their colourful American stamps. Even the postmarks looked exotic and exciting. On the first Monday in March, she was as usual the first person up in the McDonnell house. She was making a cup of tea in the kitchen when she heard the rattle of the postbox.

She put down the milk carton and went slowly into the hall to collect the mail. Elsie went everywhere slowly. She was sixty-five and suffered from arthritis. Sometimes, every part of her body ached. This morning, only her hands were sore, which was a mixed blessing. Good in that her knees weren’t hurting, but bad in that it had taken her ages to turn on the tap to fill the kettle. Tom, her son-in-law, said he’d get her a special gadget to help her turn the tap on, but Elsie had said no. She wasn’t an invalid. She didn’t want to be treated like one. Once you yielded to the arthritis, it was winning. And she didn’t want it to win, not yet.

There was only one letter on the mat. It was for her and it was from Chicago.

Smiling, she went back into the kitchen and sat at the table to read it over her tea.

From upstairs, came the sounds of activity.

Kim was begging the twins to get out of bed.

‘I won’t let you watch television late on Sunday if you can’t get up for school,’ she warned.

She said the same thing every Monday morning. She was too soft on those girls, Elsie thought.

But then, Kim was soft on everyone. Elsie had no idea how Kim managed to keep a class of eight-year-olds under control at St Mary’s Primary School.

Elsie heard Tom stomping into the bathroom. He was a big man and made as much noise as an elephant.

Next, the twins turned their CD player on. Loud music could be heard all over the house. It was all incomprehensible to Elsie. When she was alone here, she liked a bit of gentle music, something classical from Lyric FM, perhaps.

‘Turn that rubbish down!’ roared Tom at his daughters.

He had a headache, he added.

Emer roared back that it wasn’t loud at all. Just because he didn’t like Lady Gaga, didn’t mean the rest of them shouldn’t listen to her.

Satisfied that everything was normal in the McDonnell house, Elsie began to read her sister’s letter. Maisie had emigrated to America forty-five years before. And every month since, she’d written home. In the early years, the letters had been short, but these days she had time to sit and write at length, telling her sister all about the wonderful life she now had.

Elsie loved hearing about Maisie’s two children and her four grandchildren. Maisie liked to detail every proud moment in their lives, from school and college, to work successes and first homes.

In turn, Elsie wrote happily about her own three children. She had six grandchildren, two more than Maisie. Elsie was pleased about that.

Dear Elsie, today’s letter said,

I have the most amazing news for you. Charlene is going to visit you in Ireland in the last week of August. Isn’t that exciting? She wants to meet all the family. I can’t tell you how happy I am that my grand-daughter is going to visit Dublin.

I told Charlene she’d be welcome to stay with you. Her friend is going with her as they are only eighteen. I hope I did the right thing.

Elsie stopped reading and took a shaky sip of tea. She was stunned. No, it was worse than that. She was shocked, really shocked. Whatever was she going to do?

Kim McDonnell was the last person to get into the bathroom. That was the routine in their house. Tom used the bathroom first.

It was go first, he said, or never get in the door, what with two fifteen-year-old girls in the house.

He somehow managed to leave a mess behind him, no matter what Kim said. He didn’t mean to, she knew that. It was his upbringing. Tom had been born into a house with four older sisters and an adoring mother. When he’d married Kim, he had never washed up after a meal in his life. He had to be told how to use the washing machine, and he still thought you could wash black clothes with white clothes. Kim wasn’t the sort of woman to think her marriage was over because Tom was hopeless at putting towels in the basket. He was such a good man in every other way: she could cope with tidying up towels.

The twins used the bathroom after Tom. They left more towels on the floor and forgot to close the shampoo bottle properly. Toothpaste would be smeared all over the sink and smudges of sparkly eyeshadow – forbidden in school but somehow worn every day anyhow – would dust the basin.

‘Ah, Mum, don’t nag,’ they would say when she complained.

They were studying for their exams. As a teacher, Kim knew that it was important not to upset kids before big exams.

‘Young people doing exams need to have a calm home life,’ said all the experts.

Kim liked a calm home life herself, but it wasn’t easy to feel calm with two fifteen-year-olds in the house. The exams were in three months and Kim couldn’t wait for them to be over. On the first Saturday in August, the whole family were going to the beautiful beach in Brittas to stay in a mobile home for three weeks. Kim thought about relaxing in the sun and not having to go to work. She thought about nice meals on the deck outside the mobile home, time to lie on a sun lounger and read. Roll on August.

Kim had a quick shower and washed her long, dark hair, which she didn’t have time to dry. Instead, she brushed it neatly and tied it back with a band, which was pretty much all the styling it ever got. She put on a bit of lipstick and mascara, and thought of how the girls used far more make-up than she did. Tom said she didn’t need it.

‘You’re gorgeous as you are,’ he’d say, kissing her.

Tom was an awful liar, Kim thought with a smile. She wasn’t bad looking. She had big dark eyes, creamy pale skin and nice hair. But she wasn’t Julia Roberts.

People who looked like Julia Roberts didn’t have to work long hours to pay the mortgage. They didn’t worry about money or about the children doing well at school. They went to parties in big cars and bought expensive clothes. Kim buttoned up the pink blouse she had bought for twenty euros. Still, she was happy.

The twins listened to their new Lady Gaga CD and put on their make-up. The principal might not like students to wear make-up, but Emer and Laura didn’t care.

Emer closed one eye as she put on black eyeliner.

‘Mum will kill you if she sees you wearing that much,’ Laura said.

Laura was generally considered to be the more sensible twin, but it was a limited distinction.

‘She’ll get over it,’ said Emer confidently. She did the other eye. ‘Do I look like Gaga?’ she asked.

‘You’d need more than that!’ said her sister, laughing.

Emer grinned.

‘I wish we didn’t have a test in Irish today,’ Laura said. ‘I know I’ll fail.’

‘It’ll be easy,’ said Emer. She was good at Irish. She didn’t understand how Laura wasn’t good at it. Twins were supposed to be the same at everything. But then, Laura had no interest in clothes. She didn’t get excited by the thought of a sale in Top Shop. And she didn’t seem that keen on guys either. Not really, anyway. She agreed that Hugh O’Regan in the year above was handsome. But she’d never dream of chatting him up. Emer smiled at him for all she was worth every morning at assembly.

‘Girls, come down for breakfast!’ shouted their mother.

Emer sighed. She put on another bit of eyeliner for luck and blended it in till it was blackly smudgy. When she was sixteen, she was going to dye her hair blonde. She was fed up with brown hair. She fancied bright blonde, the sort of hair that exquisite women from Sweden had. Boys loved blondes. Emer thought of Hugh and smiled to herself. Perhaps she wouldn’t wait until she was sixteen.

Tom McDonnell didn’t sit at the kitchen table for breakfast. He ate a piece of toast standing up. He had a rewiring job in Rathfarnham at half nine. The traffic would be mad at this time of the morning. His mother-in-law usually gave out to him when he didn’t eat a proper breakfast. Today, she said nothing but stared into the distance. He ate his toast and wondered if she was sick.

At ten to eight, he was ready to leave the house. ‘Bye, love,’ he said to Kim and kissed her. ‘Bye, Elsie, bye, girls.’

‘Bye, Dad,’ answered the girls.

Elsie didn’t speak. She had to be sick, Tom thought. Elsie never stopped talking usually. Elsie had lived with them for two years, since she’d been widowed. She talked about the neighbours, about bingo and about her sister in America. Tom had learned not to listen. He loved Elsie, but she talked enough for four people.

He shut the front door and thought it could do with a lick of paint. The whole house could do with a lick of paint. There just weren’t enough hours in the day, Tom decided as he got into the van. McDonnell’s Electrical Services said the writing on the side. It had been a big step to set up his own business. That was five years ago. Now, he was always busy. But money was still tight. Every time he looked, the twins needed new clothes or new shoes. Kim’s car needed replacing. It would fall apart one of these days. He might buy a lottery ticket with his lunch.

‘What’s wrong, Mother?’ asked Kim when Tom was gone.

She knew that something was wrong with her mother. Elsie’s face was white under its dusting of pinky face powder. She had said no to a second cup of tea, an unheard of happening. She had stared into space for ages. Even worse, she hadn’t given out to the twins about their loud music. Rows about music made up most of the arguments in the house.

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ said Elsie. She drained the rest of her cold tea.

‘Mother,’ warned Kim, ‘I’m not blind. Please tell me what’s wrong.’

Elsie knew it was time to be honest. ‘This came this morning.’ She handed the letter to her daughter.

Kim read it carefully. Her face got grimmer with each word. ‘Aunt Maisie has a nerve!’ she said when she had finished. She was furious. There was no room in their house for two American visitors. There was no room for any visitor. They only had three bedrooms. Where did Aunt Maisie think the Americans would sleep? In the garden? On the roof with next-door’s ginger cat?

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Laura, her mouth full of muesli.

Kim’s voice was furious. ‘Your aunt Maisie in Chicago has told us that Charlene is coming to stay. In late August, and with a friend.’

‘Cool!’ said Emer. She had never met her American cousin. She wondered if Charlene would look like a movie star. American teenagers on television all looked like movie stars. They never seemed to have spots or puppy fat, and they all had long legs and tanned skin. Emer dreamed about having long, long legs and tanned skin instead of pale Irish skin.

‘Where will they sleep?’ asked Laura. She was the practical one.

‘I don’t know where they’ll sleep!’ Kim was still angry. ‘This is a small house. Why does Aunt Maisie think we have room for two guests?’

Elsie bit her lip.

‘I think that’s my fault,’ Elsie said in a small voice.

The eight o’clock news began on the radio.

‘Blast. We’re going to be late,’ said Kim crossly. She always left before the news. ‘Come on, girls, you’ll be late too if you don’t get a move on.’ Kim quickly shoved the breakfast dishes in the sink. ‘I’ll do them tonight,’ she told her mother. ‘And then you can tell me what this is all about.’

The school where she worked was very near the twins’ school, so she dropped them off every morning. Emer and Laura always fought about who sat in the front of the car. The Mini was nearly twenty years old and the back seat was uncomfortable. This morning, they didn’t discuss where they’d sit. They knew that their normally easygoing mother was in a rare temper. Laura hopped quietly in the back.

‘I bet your grandmother has been inviting Maisie’s family to stay with us for years, without telling me!’ Kim raged. ‘I don’t want them turning up here. I’ve never met them in my life! We can do without rich relatives landing here.’

The twins said nothing.

Laura wondered what it must be like for Gran to have a sister she hadn’t seen for over forty years. Gran had told her about growing up on the farm in Leitrim. She and Maisie had been the youngest in a big family. There was a year between them, so they were almost like twins.