An Unexpected Christmas Turn

I shot a glance across the open office. Mac and Donna were laughing as our boss made a fool of herself trying to act out some undecipherable charade from an enigmatic film. I was hopeless at remembering film titles. Our office Christmas party was in full swing. Pathetic. Throwing money away on useless gifts no one ever wanted in the first place. Wasting food on already over-nourished individuals, who should be going on a diet instead.  

Why couldn’t people be generous and cheerful the rest of the year, why did they have to wait for Christmas? I shrugged and swung my legs off the desk, grabbed my jacket from the seat back and headed towards the lifts.  

‘Hey, Josh? Are you scuttling away as usual? What’s wrong with you man, come and have some fun. It’s Christmas!’  

I lifted my arm and gifted Mac the finger without breaking pace.  

‘Merry fucking Christmas Mac.’  

I didn’t bother waiting for the lift, I couldn’t face another comment related to Christmas. I took the stairwell and jogged down six floors to the lobby area.  

I burst into the lobby. Henry, the concierge of our office building, was deep in conversation with a young woman. I was glad of the distraction, not wishing to exchange one more Christmas good wish. It would just make me feel like a hypocrite. But before I could push through the revolving doors I was called back.  

‘Mr Cyberth.’  

I groaned.  

‘Sorry to bother you, but this lady is asking about someone, and I’m not sure quite what to say.’  

Thank goodness, saved by a stranger.  

I turned back and smiled at Henry and the young woman, whom I now noticed was quite tall and slim — too slim.  

 I could also do with a few extra pounds, but you won’t catch me putting on weight at Christmas.  

‘Miss … what did you say your name was again?’ said Henry.  

His tone was curt. We exchanged glances and I raised an eyebrow at him.  

‘I’m sorry, I think I’m being rather tiresome, and this kind man has been very patient with me.’ She lowered her eyes and looked towards the revolving doors. ‘I’ll just leave, I’ve probably made a mistake, though I was positive this was the right address. I had Robson & Robson on Firth Street written down.’ She pulled out a small rectangular well-worn leather booklet and tapped it gently in the palm of her hand.  

Who has an agenda these days? Scrutinising the young woman, I noticed she had no make-up. I couldn’t see the colour of her eyes, as she had not yet looked at me. Her coat was well-used but smart and of decent quality, her shoes sensible and hair tied up neatly in a loose ponytail.  

I inwardly nodded my approval. These days all the young women were competing for who could flaunt the most outrageous outfits. I was glad I didn’t have to deal with an emancipated daughter of my own — what a horror that would be.  

Thank God I never married.  

I turned to Henry. He looked flustered. This was not like him, so I nodded to reassure him ‘Let me see if I can be of any help.’   

She looked up and for the first time our eyes met. Hers were not particularly striking but there was something in them, something that made me wonder if I had not met this young woman before.  

‘You’re not from around here, are you?’  

‘Oh no, I’m not from Boston. I only came for the day. I’m looking for …’  

‘Yes, well the person you are looking for is not here, so you must have the wrong address,’ interrupted Henry.  

I shot a side glance at him and frowned this time. What was wrong with the man this evening? Where was his Christmas spirit?  

‘Who are you looking for exactly?’   

She examined her hands and shook her head slightly.  

‘Lamberth, I’m not sure if it’s the right name. But I am fairly sure he works in an attorney’s office and …’  

The name rang a bell. Henry raised an eyebrow and looked at his watch. He glanced at the clock on the wall just behind his desk and back at his watch.  

17:57, nearly time to pack up for the day and for the week. That explained his impatience.  

‘Henry, why don’t you go off now; I’ll let Miss … out?’  

Henry swept behind his desk and grabbed his few belongings, throwing on his winter coat, which I recognised was one of my old ones I had given him for his birthday a few years back and was already heading for the door. He turned around just as he was about to push the door, and I waved him on.  

‘I know, I know, pull the latch system down before I leave. You go home.’ Before he could add any fatuous Christmas cheer words I turned to the young woman.  

‘Lamberth ... Holly Lamberth.’ She offered her hand, and I took it into mine as if it were made of porcelain. It felt so young and fragile in my calloused grasp.  

Holly, what an appropriate name for the season. I had a brief flashback to the days of my youth. My brother and I had cycled four hundred miles along the southwest coast of France with just a tent, two sleeping bags and an extra pair of underpants.  

Holly’s face came back into focus. She was staring at me with wide grey eyes. It was the first time I had really noticed them. They were unusual yet they reminded me of something. It was not so much the colour, they seemed to be set in sadness.  

Although I hate Christmas and all the hypocrisy that goes with it. I’m a softy. For no apparent reason, I felt sorry for her.  

‘Lamberth? Let me think. Is he a relative? I mean, the name… I don’t know anyone in my office at any rate, with that name. Henry would be the one to know, he’s been here for years. If he couldn’t help you then I probably can’t.’  

‘He is…at least I think he could be my father.’ This admission came out in one breathless statement. She looked at her hands again, this time to hide the brimming tears.  

I shuffled on the spot and drove my hands deep into my pockets. I glanced at the hall clock again. 18:03. I wasn’t due to my mother’s horrific Christmas Eve’s dinner until half past seven, and I would rather defer than be early. My brother and his perfectly sensible wife would be there with my two nephews, whose names I always forgot. My mother’s pride. The perfect family stereotype. This was something her older son would never grant her. I found myself wishing some accident would happen to save me from having to endure the evening with them. That was unlikely, but I could do something to divert my thoughts for the next hour and cheer up a poor soul. Christmas or not. I am warm-hearted after all.  

‘There, there Miss Lamberth, can I get you a coffee? Our office’s favourite coffee corner shop is just across the street.’ I smiled briefly in what I hoped was an earnest way, I didn’t want her to think I was hitting on her. I was twice her age, but that had never stopped any man or woman.  

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and looked up, her smooth brow crinkled, and she grinned. ‘That’s very nice of you, but surely you’re heading off for some Christmas dinner, and I don’t want to be a bother.’  

I waved away the thought. ‘My mother’s Christmas dinner is hours away, and if I’m late, then all the better. But what about you? Don’t you have plans for this Christmas Eve?’  

Again, that pain in those grey eyes. ‘I hate Christmas Eve, always have.’  

‘Me too! Isn’t everyone pathetic at this time of year? Utmost consumerism, spending money on useless presents, there are too many ...’  

‘Or not enough,’ she interrupted.  

I tilted my head at her comment ladened with resentment.  

‘It’s my birthday today. I always got one ‘bigger’ present for both Christmas and my birthday. I couldn’t help but feel I had been cheated.  

I paused. She had a point. She had undoubtedly more reasons to hate Christmas than I. What a rip-off.  

‘Ok, then let me offer you a coffee for your birthday… unless you have to rush off to celebrate with your friends?’  

‘I have no friends to celebrate with, well, not here anyway. I’m staying at an Airbnb close by and I’ll be off tomorrow early, back to New York.’  

‘That settles it, let’s go and celebrate your birthday with a coffee special, and you can tell me why you think your father… or at least this Lamberth person may be hiding in our building.’  

She let out a small laugh, instantly raising my spirits, and we headed for the doors into the frosty night.  

As I pushed the door to Harvey’s and let Holly step in before me, the blends of multiple roasted coffee beans enveloped us with aromas of toasted nuts, cocoa, and vanilla. I loved this place, the comforting smells and atmosphere never failed to have a calming effect. Harvey was the best host; reserved, discreet yet always available. I rarely dropped by after office hours for my usual hazelnut oat milk latte, so Harvey came over. He nodded as we sat down at the small table overlooking the street. The traffic and bustling pavement had picked up its rhythm in a frenzy to get to wherever everyone was heading on this Christmas Eve.  

‘The usual for you?’ I nodded in reply. ‘What will it be for the young lady?’  

Was it me or had his tone been reproachful?  

‘I’ll take a hazelnut latte with oat milk,’ Holly said, smiling at Harvey, ‘that’s if you have oat milk?’  

Harvey lifted his eyebrows at me, and I shrugged.  

‘Yes, we sure have that.’ He left. Harvey was a man of few words, that’s why I liked coming to this place.  

‘You’re not having coffee?’ Holly tilted her head slightly. My brother had the same habit when he wanted to ask me a personal question, usually about why I was still aimlessly lonely and couldn’t keep a relationship going for longer than two months. It made Holly look even younger and more vulnerable. She had that innocence that I had only seen in very few young people. I had felt like that at her age. A simple soul in search of adventure, travelling to learn about foreign lands as far as my meagre earnings took me. I no longer had much time nowadays, little time for fun stuff and no time for serious relationships.  

‘Oh, Harvey and I go way back. I come here every day. He knows my tastes better than I do.’  

 A cosy silence fell between us as we watched a man wave his arms frantically at a taxi, just outside our office building. I chuckled, recognising Mac, who usually drove to the office. Too much drink today for him. Holly chuckled too. ‘He does look desperate, doesn’t he? Everyone does this time of year. You’d think that they would plan better, wouldn’t you?’  

I studied the young woman sitting across from me more closely. I was starting to like her more and more. This troubled me. Had it been a bad idea to invite her for coffee after all?  

‘What’s wrong? Have I said anything to offend you? I’m sorry. I’m a bit of a cynic when it comes to Christmas, plus… you know… the present rip-off.’ She smiled, tilting her head again. That quirk of hers was endearing.  

‘No, of course not. I totally agree, in fact, I hate Christmas for all the same reasons. But let’s drink up to your birthday and forget about Christmas. Here’s Harvey with our coffees.’  

Harvey set down our identical steaming glass mugs, nodding to us. Without a word, he turned and left, but before he got to the counter he came back. Turning to Holly, he pointed to the self-service counter. ‘I’m afraid I’ve cleared the sugar and sprinklers for the evening. If you need anything it’s over there.’  

‘That’ll be fine. I don’t take sugar with my coffee.’  

Harvey nodded, lifting his eyebrows at me again and left.  

‘So, tell me why is it you think this Mr Lamberth … is in our building and why, if you don’t mind my asking, do you think he’s your father?’  

‘I thought my father was dead until two weeks ago when I found some documents in my mother’s personal belongings…’   

She looked through the window across the street. This time she did not chuckle or smile at Mac, who was still busy waving at passing cabs.  

‘My mother died a month ago…’  

‘I’m…sorry…’ I felt guilty now because all I wanted was to get out of Harvey’s, even my mother’s place would have been a better place than this café.  

She turned and faced me, again with that tilt in her head. ‘It’s fine, really. My mother and I were like strangers. We hadn’t seen each other for over six years, since I left for New York to work as a young editor for Naste Condor. My mother had a drinking problem, and it ended up killing her. She lied to me all these years and I’ll never forgive her for that.’  

The statement was harsh even to my standards. It reminded me of my relationship with my mother. Cold, edgy, and remote. Since my father passed away, she had become even more venomous. He had been the umpire.  

‘I get it, my mother and I don’t have the best relationship either. In fact, we hardly have one at all.’ I shrugged.  

‘She told me my father had died in Iraq, apparently, he was posted there in 2003 at the beginning of the war and was among the first casualties. This was before I was born, so I have no memory of him.’  

‘How do you know it was a lie then? ‘What did you find in those documents?’ My curiosity was getting the better of me. My brother had been posted in Iraq that year too, I had gotten away with it as I had already joined the attorney firm, Falkner & Falkner, as a newly qualified lawyer. My brother had been one of the lucky ones and had made it back unscathed, ironically, thanks to my father, who had died that same year of a heart attack.  

‘I found a few letters to a friend. Writing to tell her that her boyfriend’s brother had gone to Iraq, and she hoped that her boyfriend wouldn’t.’  

I shivered, although the heat was verging on oppressive. I had only sipped the froth from my coffee. My throat was dry. I took another sip.  

‘In one letter she wrote that he was safe and working in an attorney’s office in Washington…’  

I interrupted her. ‘Do you know the name of the firm?’  

‘I’m not sure, something like Fal... & Something. You know they always have that ampersand bit.’  

I was sweating now. I had no more questions, so she went on.  

‘Later I found a letter in which she confessed to her friend that she was pregnant and that she had no intention of telling him because he wasn’t her boyfriend at all. It had been a one-night stand and … basically, I was an accident.’ Holly screwed the handkerchief she was holding into a tight ball and plucked at it.  

‘You mean she never told him?’  

‘No, she obviously couldn’t care less about him. I mean a one-night stand…’  

‘So how did you find this address?’  

‘From my mother’s friend, who tracked him down and was going to reveal my mother’s secret, but then never did. It wasn’t her business to reveal. But when my mother died, her friend sent me a letter with what she had found.’  

It came to me like water rushing from an exploding dam. Lamberth. I had worked for an attorney named Lamberth in Washington for many years before moving to Boston. It was obviously a coincidence. But the guy’s brother? Iraq?  

‘I still don’t get it…how did you end up here?’  

‘When I phoned the number my mother’s friend had given me, I found out that his name wasn’t Lamberth at all but the name of a company. It’s the only name I have, and I was hoping his name was Lamberth after all. They told me that two of the attorneys who had worked there were now at this address. That was all the info they could provide.’  

‘What did you say your mother’s name was?’  

‘Angela Hemmings’  

‘You wouldn’t have a photo of her, would you?  

‘Actually, I do, or rather I have an old one her friend sent me with the letter.’ She pulled a creased envelope out from her handbag and slipped out a tired-looking polaroid shot.  

With trembling hands, I studied the old photo. Two young women were smiling into the camera, their cheeks glued together. The shot had obviously been taken as a selfie; the perspective was slightly distorted. There was little doubt. I recognised one of the two women.  

I had been pretty drunk on the eve of the Spring break party at Tom’s. But I remembered waking up in one of the upstairs bedrooms the next morning with a splitting headache. The girl lying next to me had crashed out after our passionate encounter and was still asleep.  

It had been all too easy to don my jeans, slip into my shoes, and creep out unnoticed.