A Miracle on Hope Street: The most heartwarming Christmas romance of 2018!. Emma Heatherington

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СКАЧАТЬ house is silent. She is not here. There is no one here, except for me now and a solitary For Sale sign that stands like a stiff flag at the bottom of the front garden. I need to move away from this house, but until I get a sale, I need to do some work.

      Twenty minutes later after a hot shower and with a very strong coffee in my hand, I squint at my computer and the list of emails that await my attention. Despite doing this job for years, every day until recently I’d always get a flutter of anticipation when I’d delve into the lives of others and contemplate which ones to publish on my blog, which to choose for the weekly news column and which to save for the once-a-week radio slot. It used to be exciting, it used to be challenging; sometimes it would be downright heartbreaking too, but it’s always something that I knew I could do so well after all these years.

      Yet today I don’t know where to start.

      I open the first one, knowing already who it is from, but I decide it’s best to have an easy start.

       Dear Ruth,

       I have a big problem and this is what it is . . .

       You’re in my dreams every night. Are you still single? Please say yes. Love M

      I lean my head on my left hand and roll my eyes. Yes, I am still single. No, I am still not interested.

      ‘M’ is my anonymous regular ego massage, my number one fan, and even though I have no idea who he (or she?) is, I know that I’ll hear from M at least once a week with a compliment on my physical appearance, my soothing voice of reason, my words of wisdom. There are a few like M who write me regularly just to give me empty faraway compliments, but if they knew how miserable I really am in real life right now they wouldn’t be so praising I’m sure.

      I click on to the next one.

       Dear Ruth,

       My new partner says it’s him or the dog – what should I do? He’s allergic to animals but I don’t want us to break up, nor do I want to give up Henry! He has been my most loyal and best friend for eight long lonely years now. Please help. Nicky

      I used to have a Henry, I smirk to myself. He wasn’t a dog though. He was a six-foot-two fireman who couldn’t remember my name the morning after. Next!

       Dear Ruth

       I never waste my time to write into silly newspaper columnists but on this occasion I can’t stop myself. Just who do you think you are, advising someone to leave his steady job to start up his own business when he has young kids and a crippling mortgage? Follow your dreams, my arse! We aren’t all rich like you in your designer clothes and fancy restaurants! You wouldn’t know an honest day’s work if it stared you in the face!

       Anonymous

      I move along and try to digest some of them but today’s inbox goes from the sublime to the ridiculous, even more than usual. The typical affair dilemmas, minor money problems and a host of unrequited love dilemmas go in one ear and out the other, as well as the normal criticisms from people like ‘Anonymous’ who have no idea of what I’m like in real life. Rich? Asset rich now that I’ve inherited this crumbling four-storey terraced townhouse that has seen better days, but which is costing me a fortune to run on my own. Hardworking? You bet I am. I worked my ass off to get where I am today and no one can ever say it was easy. I feel my skin prickle with anxiety at the ignorance of the world sometimes. Why can’t we just be nicer to each other? Is it really that difficult? No wonder I try and shut real people out when they get under my skin.

      I open one more.

       Dear Ruth,

       I’m not even sure you can help me, but I’ll give it a go and just say what I want to say to someone, to anyone who will listen. I’m married, I have a two-year-old son, we have a happy home and to the outside world I have everything, so why do I feel like there is something missing?

       Everything I do is for them and there are days when I just want to run away from it all and do something just for me. I talk to myself; I actually talk to myself because most of the time I don’t feel like my husband is listening to me. We converse, but I know my words and thoughts are going in through one ear and out the other as he is always so tired and irritable these days or else blankly scrolling through his phone! At work, I don’t seem to fit in and everyone is so busy with their own lives that I am too afraid to rock the boat and suggest a drink or a coffee or to share lunch someday.

       My husband has been made redundant and financially we don’t know if we can afford to have a Christmas at all as my wages only scrape the surface of our bills. I am so afraid, but I guess deep down, what I’m really feeling is that I’m very lonely in all this. What on earth can I do? How on earth can I get through Christmas with no money, no one to talk to and no support from anyone?

       I just feel so alone and nobody knows. Please help me.

       Yours,

       Molly Flowers

      I blink back tears as I read Molly’s words and almost choke on my attempt to reply, because I totally understand where she is in her mind right now. Isn’t it funny how we can be surrounded by people and look like we have it all, yet behind closed doors we feel like we are trapped on a desert island where no one can hear you scream? I totally understand, Molly.

      I’ll get back to those I have marked for responses later . . . But for now I close down the laptop and rub my weary eyes. Today is going to be a tough one and I just can’t face other people’s problems at the moment. In fact, I don’t know if I will ever be able to again. I used to find it so easy and now every single one I read is a chore to interpret and find the right words to say. I just can’t seem to find the words any more. I text Nora from work to see how she is coping in the office with her hangover and to gauge her mood, which could be anything from still a little tipsy from the night before and loving the world, to hungover bat out of hell who wants to die immediately. She had a lot to drink last night. Thankfully, I didn’t.

      ‘Meet me at Gloria’s for coffee and comfort food. Please I’m begging you,’ she writes back, and without even thinking twice, I pull on my jacket, scarf and boots and make my way to my favourite little corner café where I know I’ll instantly feel better as the memories of happy times gone by wrap around me like a warm, fuzzy blanket on this bitter cold day.

      Gloria’s has always been my safe haven. It’s where I used to run with my problems when my dad needed a break from teenage girls and hormones and I’d go there for some warmth and comfort, always knowing he’d be here when I’d get back with some unconditional love. Just remembering those days is enough to set me off again. This has got to stop. I need to move on.

       Molly Flowers

      Molly Flowers hadn’t had a drink in three days.

      It wasn’t that she didn’t want a drink, it was that she simply couldn’t afford a bottle of wine this week and every time she thought of how she was going to find the money for some Christmas shopping she felt a lump in her throat the size of a tennis ball and had to remind herself to breathe before a panic attack set in and ruined everyone’s day again.

      It was happening so many times СКАЧАТЬ