Read Coming Home for Christmas for Free Online

for her, he offered magnanimously. If she got a job on the west coast,
she’d only see him when he flew out on business every month or thereabouts. So much for their great romance, she thought in wry amusement. ‘Do that,’ she’d told him.
‘And don’t forget Melora, she’s out in LA too.’ If a job came up out there, she’d think about it if all else failed.
    Alison yawned and stretched lethargically. Usually she slept like a log, but last night she’d twisted and turned until desperation had got the better of her. She’d got out of bed and
gone to the little galley kitchen and poured herself a stiff brandy and port, hoping that turning to drink in the middle of a sleepless night wasn’t the first step to alcoholism. She’d
padded back to bed and propped herself up against the Egyptian-cotton-clad pillows she’d brought with her, flicked through the TV channels and spent an hour watching
My Super Sweet Sixteen
Party
, aghast at the obnoxious, spoilt teenagers trying to outdo their friends with lavish parties. Three of them had received cars from their parents – and not just run-of-the-mill cars:
one had got a Merc, another a Range Rover, another a Lexus. Another one had had the designer of the clothes Nicole Kidman wore for
Moulin Rouge
design a replica of a dress for her. And had
got a video message from the actress, as her impressed friends had stood with their mouths open. Alison had sat watching with
her
mouth open. What on earth was she doing watching such
rubbish? This had to be her lowest point ever. It stung to think those kids had cars she couldn’t afford to drive now. She was an unemployed thirty-two-year-old professional who’d
worked her butt off, and sixteen-year-old kids out there were swanning around in Mercs!
    It was crazy, irresponsible stuff. What sort of values did those precocious teens have? None. Wealth could be so corrupting, she’d seen that herself. Seen how people had borrowed more and
more to buy stocks and shares from banks which had been eager to lend, ignoring the fact that their clients were gambling on making a profit with loans way beyond their means. The whole pack of
cards had come tumbling down, and while she’d lost out on her job, and her bonuses and shares, at least she still had
some
values, she’d reflected, turning off the TV and
eventually falling into a restless sleep, until the sound of the gurgling waterpipes had woken her up.
    I think I’ll just lie here for a little while longer, she thought as she heard the front door close again, and her eyes drooped and she fell fast asleep, the first time ever she’d
had a lie-in on a working day during all her time in New York.
    It was after eleven when she woke, bleary-eyed and ravenously hungry. She stared around her, wondering where the hell was she, before the stomach-dropping realization hit. Alison slumped back
against her pillows and gazed around. To her right, a long narrow sash window looked out on to the grey cement wall of the building next door. She hadn’t even bothered to pull down the cream
blind, figuring that no one could see her on the first floor. A cream chest of drawers stood underneath the window. To her left was a bedside locker with a lamp and, at right angles to the locker,
a closet that would have to hold not only her clothes but also her shoes, her collection of designer handbags, accessories and sports gear. An ottoman sat at the end of her bed for her bedlinen,
and to use as extra seating. An archway led into a sitting room which had another, bigger sash window facing her bed; beneath it a small desk with a reading lamp on it. Along the wall stood some
bookshelves. A purple sofa and an armchair faced a plasma TV. A narrow hallway led to the tiny galley kitchen, bathroom and the front door which opened out on to the landing, off which were two
other studios.
    As studios went, it wasn’t bad. The sage-green walls had a soothing ambiance; the blinds and curtains were