Chapter 1

Dolores pulled the front door closed behind her and winced as the noise broke through the frosty silence of the early December night. Her first breath released into a steamy white cloud that slowly twisted and floated away from her. She pulled her woollen hat down over her ears and carefully stepped off her front porch arms outstretched for balance, right foot pointed downwards reaching for the glistening driveway. At her age, Dolores knew she could not risk a fall on the ice and so she very carefully took her first few pointy steps down the driveway, just until she had a good enough view of the other houses on The Heights.

Peering back over her right shoulder, she could see the flash of the television in the gap of the curtains. She couldn’t see Dave from this angle but she could picture him there on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, his head pointed downwards while he peered over the top of his reading glasses at the screen – his right hand frozen above the crossword in his lap. Her multitasking husband; she scoffed at the thought.

Her breath was still steaming about her as she gently slid her foot back and forth on the ground to gauge the slippiness of the glistening surface. ‘Needs must.’ she said to herself as she tightened her scarf to insulate that exposed bit of her neck and bravely tiptoed onward to the path which glistened in the moonlight.

Dolores and Dave’s house had a fairly central position on The Heights from which Dolores could see most of her neighbour’s front gardens. The cul-de-sac of thirteen detached houses was ‘mature and well established’ as local estate agents liked to say. Fourteen houses technically if you counted 1a which had been built in the side garden of number 1 by one of the more recent arrivals to The Heights. Dolores had to erect a tree protection fence around number one’s tree while they built their investment property in their side garden. Those Kavanaghs had shown very little consideration at the time as Dolores could still recall.  

Every house had a tree on the grass verge outside, planted by the builders before they completed The Heights many years ago. As the children of the families on The Heights had grown through school, college, driving lessons, love stories, weddings and emigration, those trees had quietly been doing their own growing until almost, imperceptibly, they towered over The Heights. Casting shade on hot summer days, oozing sap onto the cars below, blossoming in outrageous pinks and whites in springtime and now, in the depths of winter, naked and exposed and waiting for some intervention from the residents of The Heights.

Of the original thirteen trees, three had been lost and replaced over the years – one had become diseased and died, another had been the victim of a Halloween wheelie bin fire and the third had met with the wrong end of a learner driver’s car – Matthew Simpson from number nine was adamant that he had hit the brake and not the accelerator that February afternoon but the tree (and every resident of The Heights) knew the truth. He’s a solicitor now; still telling his version of the truth.

Some of the houses on The Heights were still home to the original purchasers like Dolores and Dave who had raised families in them. But more and more now, the houses were being sold to younger couples and families as the original residents got older, downsized or died. Of course the property crash had a lot to answer for. There were at least four houses (including 1 and 1a) that had been scooped up by lucky purchasers when the prices were scandalously low. Ordinarily, those people would never have been able to afford to live on The Heights.

Thirteen trees, not too much to ask, Dolores pondered as she stood in the shadow of her own tree, a Rowan, adjusted her satchel and began her careful expedition into the cul-de-sac.

Chapter 2

The idea had come to Dolores the previous week when she was walking Henry through The Lawns. Usually a quiet little row of houses at that time of the evening. But on that Thursday night, there had been an unexpected amount of activity. Henry and herself enjoyed slow, leisurely walks that allowed for ample window peering while Henry considered to pee or not to pee on the verges. But as Dolores and Henry turned into the Lawns that night – it was like a street party was taking place. The residents were out in their best winter woollies, half open cardboard boxes were strewn about, men (and the odd woman) were up ladders being supported by other adults wrapping their trees with long lines of lights. Tables were set up outside one house with big catering flasks of hot chocolate (?) and children and dogs were running, scooting, cycling and footballing all over the road. There was music too. Paul McCartney was having a wonderful Christmastime right there on The Lawns. Henry and Dolores stood staring at the spectacle for a moment and then looked at each other. ‘I say we head home for now Henry and maybe a later walk this evening.’ One of Henry’s eleven recognisable words was ‘home’ so he promptly turned around and they walked the short distance back to the comparatively quiet cul-de-sac of The Heights.

After a few unsettled hours at home avoiding Dave who was clearly annoyed to have had his post dinner TV nap interrupted, Dolores and Henry headed back out. Henry was not allowed to dawdle at lamp posts that night. They reached The Lawns in record time and Dolores allowed Henry to catch his breath and lift his leg at the little rockery with the big boulder that had ‘The Lawns’ engraved into it in black script. Notions.

When Dolores didn’t immediately move on, Henry looked up at her for some indication of their next move. She was standing there beside that boulder with her mouth open and her glistening eyes reflecting the scene ahead. Ten mature trees twinkling and flashing a myriad of colours, reflecting off the damp tarmac. The pathway outside the houses; inviting and warm, with a promise of magic. Dolores and Henry slowly made their way over to the first tree. The entire trunks had been wrapped in lights and each tree had a second set which went some way to illuminate the branches overhanging the verge. In the dark, it just looked like the shape of a tree all lit up from bottom to top. There were multi-coloured lights, warm white lights, cold white, green lights all flashing or not flashing presumably as the resident had seen fit. Some trees had a mix – branch cold white not flashing, branches multi-coloured flashing.

When Henry and Dolores reached the halfway mark on the pathway they stopped. It was as though they were in the middle of a magical arch with lights flashing in a range of tempos but seemingly in sync and tapping out their own festive rhythm. The ghost of Paul McCartney floating along beside them.

‘Oh it’s gaudy’ Dolores told Henry ‘but….’ her head swivelled then up and down that wondrously lit pathway. The memory of children’s voices, barking dogs and the clanking of extending ladders tickling her ears.

‘Yes Henry, there is definitely something here.’

Chapter 3

Some research was required. It involved a trip to Woodies. How many lights would be needed to cover the trees? Were solar powered any good? Battery or power adapter? Dolores waited patiently in the christmas lights aisle until a not-too-young sales assistant appeared. ‘John’ was his name or at least the name on his badge. After thoughtfully examining the photos of the cul-de-sac and close ups of the trees, John delivered his verdict.

‘You’ll want the battery operated lights. Otherwise you’re going to be running cables up driveways and across the path and that’s a hazard. Also most people don’t have outdoor power points at the front of the house and they won’t want cables running in a front window in the winter. Forget your solar powered, totally useless in this country in the winter, or the summer for that matter. You want to do the branches too? I’d say 500 or two sets of say 300 should sort you out. Get the warm white – classy and that looks like a nice cul-de-sac. Yeah, warm white, keep it classy. You could even sync the flashing and fading to the same setting on all the trees. Gorgeous.’

John certainly painted a very attractive picture. Dolores was sold. It would be different enough to ‘The Lawns’ and just a little bit more sophisticated – more suited to ‘The Heights’.

Dolores took some photos of the boxes and bought one for herself. She was going to ask John if there would be a discount for a bulk buy but couldn’t bring herself to utter the word ‘discount’ in Woodies. She threw in some batteries and a ream of off-white A4 paper and headed home to the sound of Ella Fitzgerald peering out over a Midnight Clear.

Her son, Richard, had left his great big computer and printer in the spare room ‘in case you need to do some online shopping or you want to send some email’. Dolores powered it up and opened the word processing application.

‘Christmas at The Heights’

was the title, followed by a photo of a street in the US somewhere where all the trees donned the warm white fairy lights up into the branches. Dolores had found it on Pinterest and it was exactly the aesthetic she was going for.

‘We will be lighting up The Heights on Thursday 8^th December from 19:00 for the festive season.  Please purchase these lights in advance of Thursday’.

A picture of the box from Woodies followed.

‘Important: you must ensure that you purchase the soft warm white lights, x 500, and three batteries, lights will be set to number 6; slow fade and will be synced on the night. Refer to John in Woodies in the event of any confusion.

Music and refreshments from 19:00 (if anyone has an amp and a catering size hot drinks dispenser – please contact Dolores in number 7)

Looking forward to seeing you all, your families and pets etc. on the night.’

Dolores printed 15 copies, one for each house and one which she would post to Richard. He might just decide it would be a worthwhile trip across town with the grandchildren.

Chapter 4

Mona Kavanagh in number 1 heard the flap of the letterbox at just after 8pm and padded into the hallway to see what had been delivered at this late and dark hour. ‘Christmas at The Heights’  She scanned the page and snorted to herself at the pictures. ‘Here Kevin, wait until you see what Dolores Harrington just dropped in. That woman, I swear to God…’ and she tossed the page onto the sofa where Kevin was waiting for the VR to decide if that should have been a penalty.

The Martin’s babysitter in number 4 picked up the page from the hall where it had landed, folded it neatly and left it with a pile of other correspondence at the end of the kitchen countertop.

Elena Harris in 5 read it through and thought it sounded like a great idea. But her kids had training that night so she’d put her lights up the weekend after. She dropped the leaflet into her handbag so she’d remember to go to Woodies.

The Simpsons in number 9 would find the leaflet the following morning in the postbox and pin it to the noticeboard and then the day after that, the note about the football club AGM would be pinned on top of it.

Buster in number 11 – a sometimes friend of Henry, ate the leaflet and later vomited it out in the garden. The human Delaney’s never saw it.

Nadia in 1a filed it into the ‘to action’ section of the letter holder.

Elaine Black who was on the phone to her mother, picked it up off the floor and folded it up until she could use it as a toothpick and free that rogue piece of pork chop that had taken up residence between two of her back teeth.

And in two days time, Richard’s wife Lorraine, would leave the page with the handwritten note from his mother on Richard’s desk.

Chapter 5

Dolores peered out the living room window. It was Wednesday, a day to go. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see – a convoy of neighbours with Woodie’s bags?

Dave was in the garage getting the old foldable table down. They’d set up the drinks, mugs, and a few boxes of sweets on it. Still no amp or catering flask but maybe they’d arrive tomorrow. Young people were so last minute about everything. Richard had texted that he hoped he’d be able to make it tomorrow with the kids. Lorraine would be working but he was going to try.

Henry was trying out his new christmas bandana. ‘Very dashing.’ Dolores told him encouragingly. He was not a dog who enjoyed dressing up.

‘That table has seen better days’ Dave announced as he propped the greying table against the wall.

‘I’ll give it a scrub and I have a nice tablecloth we can drape over it’ Dolores said as she searched the cupboards. ‘Where is that big outdoor extension lead Dave? We’ll need it for the CD player. I’ll run it out the front window over the wall to the table.’

Dave rolled his eyes, put his coat back on and headed back out to the garage.

After dinner, Dolores and Henry headed out for their walk. One lap of the cul-de-sac dark and gloomy and one trip to The Lawns with its magical glow.

‘This time tomorrow Henry, wait until you see it!’ Dolores said as they made their way home.

Chapter 6

There was some match that Dave absolutely could not miss so by 18:30 on Thursday, he’d set the table up at the wall. Dolores had covered it in a very festive table cloth and plugged the CD player into the extension lead. The amp still hadn’t materialized so for now, the speakers on the old player would have to do. Two tins of Quality Street were open and a dozen mugs and beakers were arranged in a circle. A pot of hot chocolate was simmering on the stove, ready for the catering flask, whoever might bring that. Two ladders were propped up against the wall. Three pairs of scissors were in Dolores’s coat pocket ready to open those Woodies boxes. She had also purchased a few spare battery packs because you just knew that some people would buy the wrong ones or forget them all together.

At 18:50, Elena Harris drove out of her driveway and through the cul-de-sac with her two boys in the back. She stopped at Dolores’s house and rolled down the window.

‘Sorry Dolores we have training tonight but I’ve got my lights and Mark says he’ll put them up on Saturday. Enjoy!’ and she rolled on out.

A gap in the trees was not ideal but what could be done? Dolores waved them off and headed back into the house to check on the hot chocolate and try to persuade Henry to come outside in his lovely new bandana.

‘The Harris’s can’t make it, the boys have training’ Dolores said.

‘Oh, Richard phoned, says sorry but the kids are exhausted after swimming . Won’t make it.’ Dave shouted over the match commentary.

‘Oh..’ Dolores said touching her stomach as she felt something heavy drop there.

She turned the stove off and lifted Henry’s lead off its spot on the coat rack.  ‘Right so Henry, let’s get on with it.’ But Henry’s bandana was irritating him and he did not want to go out on the lead with it around his neck. He tucked his tail and headed to his bed, curling up so that Dolores couldn’t see his face.

Dolores put his lead back on the hook and headed back out to the front. Her feet felt heavier, like someone had dipped them in concrete. She pulled the door behind her and tested the ground with a quick slide of her foot. Not slippy yet. Still nobody at the table. She turned on the CD player and hit the shuffle button. Nat King Cole crooned, a little quietly, from the small speaker. The front door of the Simpsons opened and Dolores straightened up and got ready to greet the first of her neighbours. James Simpson stepped out with shopping bags in his hand. He threw them in the boot of the car and then got in and reversed down his driveway. He slowed to peer out at Dolores as he passed her. She waved, felt her cheeks redden, turned back to the table and began to rearrange the cups.

One of the Delaney girls emerged a few minutes later – around 19:15 with Buster in tow and walked out of The Heights, headphones on, staring at her phone.

Dolores started to open her box and detangle her lights.

Dave emerged from the house with a bandana-less Henry at 19:30.

‘Half time.’ He said looking around. ‘Nobody turn up?’

‘Not yet, maybe they were all watching the match.’ Dolores replied.

‘Now hold this ladder while I wrap these lights around the taller bit.’ She said.

‘Let me do it.’ Dave replied opening up the step ladder.

But Dolores was already climbing the metal wrungs.

‘Careful now’ Dave said as he handed the line up to her.

As Dolores started wrapping and winding the lights around the trunk, she looked around at the houses in the cul-de-sac. There was a terrific view from the top of the ladder. She could see into practically every front room.

There was the Aziz family in 1a playing with their new kitten, the Kavanaghs next door – looks like they were watching the match. The Martins were playing a board game on the dining room table. The Delaney’s were putting up their Christmas tree. Ha! Look at that. A bit early maybe.

‘Hurry up Dolores, the match will be starting again.’ Dave said from down below just as Paul McCartney announced that he was simply having a wonderful Christmastime.

Dolores draped the remaining bit of cable over a low branch and started down the ladder.

Dave handed the lead to Dolores and tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Nevermind’ he said.

Dolores took a quick look at her watch 19:45. The front door slammed behind Dave and she saw him arrive back to his match in the front room. The Heights were once more silent and empty. Dolores pulled Henry and they set off out of the cul-de-sac.

Every house they passed seemed to be occupied with happy families cosy and warm. Dolores looked back at the street with it’s one half-lit tree flashing maniacally at her and the tinny sound of Christmas music just about reaching her ears.

The Lawns, on the other hand, were bathed in a magical glow. Henry and Dolores meandered under an archway of multicolored fairy lights blinking, fading and flashing in no apparent pattern. Chaos, beautiful and all lit up.

Dolores started off again on the pathway but Henry had stopped dead for a sniff and wasn’t for budging. The path was slippy now and Dolores wasn’t ready for the tension on the lead. Her feet slid from under her and as she twisted to try to regain her balance, she landed with a smack on her left hip, smack to the side of her head and finally she let go of the leash and rolled onto her back on the hard icy path. A brief warmth spread across her left side and she reached down to find sticky, warm blood oozing through her trousers. ‘Ah yes, the scissors’ she said before looking up into the flashing lights above her and closing her eyes.

Chapter 7

Henry got distracted. It seems that Henry and Buster ran into each other at the junction of The Lawns and The Heights. Grace Delaney did not have the firmest hold on Buster’s lead and as she was replying to a Whatsapp with both hands, Buster easily escaped her and took off after Henry. They had enjoyed this game for many years. Henry and Buster raced along the frosty paths of The Avenue, cut through the hedges back into The Heights where they discovered an entire box of Quality Street sparkling and glinting at them on the frosty path. The wrappers slowed them down somewhat but not enough to keep from them devouring a potentially life threatening amount of chocolate.

They heard Grace before they saw her. Buster and Henry stopped their gorging to stare knowingly at each other. But Grace ran straight past them and up the Harrington’s driveway. She pounded on the door.

‘Mr. Harrington!! Mr. Harrington are you in there?’

Dave had been napping to the sound of the post-match discussion. He peered out the window at the still half decorated tree and abandoned ladder. Where was Dolores? He headed in the direction of the shouting and pounding.

‘Oh Mr. Harrington, it’s Mrs. Harrington, she fell down. She’s on The Lawns outside number 3. She’s in a coma or maybe she’s dead. Oh My God!!’.

It was the young Delaney girl. She was hysterical.

Dave had caught the gist though. Dolores was down. Had a fall. Not responsive. He was pulling his coat on and trying to calm the young girl. ‘It’s ok, you go on home now. I’ll see to Mrs. Harrington.’

As he reached the bottom of the driveway, James Simpson was passing, back from the shops. He rolled down his window.

‘Everything Ok Dave?’

‘No’ Dave said hopping in to the passenger seat beside him

‘Head for The Lawns, Dolores has had a fall’

James Simpson swung around the turning circle in the cul-de-sac and headed out of the Heights. Dave looked out at his house, his front door still open, the Delaney girl standing under the half lit tree as she stared down at the two dogs – the chocolate feast had finally caught up with them.

James pulled the car to a skiddy halt outside number 3. Dave jumped from the passenger seat and approached the still figure of his wife, flat on her back under the glow of multi-coloured flashing lights. James appeared at his side and the icy silence was broken by his panicked voice on the phone. ‘Ambulance, The Lawns, Number 3. Elderly woman. Fall. Yes. No. Dolores Harrington.’

Dave knelt down beside her on the freezing path. He cupped her cheek in his hand and gently kissed her forehead. ‘Dolores? Can you hear me?’ He removed his coat and bunched it gently under her head. Put his ear to her nose. ‘She’s breathing, I think’ he said looking up to James.

‘This is what you wanted’ he said to Dolores as he stared at the flashing arch of fairy lights above. ‘This is all you wanted.’

Chapter 8

Hip replacements have come a long way since Dave had his back in ’95. You can be out in just a few days post op. Dolores had to spend just a few more days in the hospital though as she had the added complication of blood loss and lacerations due to the scissors. Still, she would be home well in time for Christmas. Truth be told, it wasn’t all that bad. The nurses were friendly and happy to chat while they changed dressings and took readings. The food was good and she got to pick whatever she wanted to watch on the telly.

Even Richard visited frequently with the grandchildren and Dave appeared twice a day, sheepish at first and then slowly returning to his usual self. He was walking Henry every day and getting out a bit. Had bits of news from the road. The Aziz’s kitten had escaped, the whole cul-de-sac were out hunting for her. She turned up eventually in someone’s shed.  The Delaney girl had dropped over a few times, offered to walk Henry, asked after Dolores.

Dolores listened to all the news and the updates and scolded herself for feeling annoyed that the entire cul-de-sac was able to mobilize to find the Aziz Kitten but failed to show up for the tree decorating night. Honestly, if she developed some complication and had to stay put in hospital for a while longer, she would not be at all put out. She would be spiteful to mention it, she knew. So she kept her peace and let Dave, for a change, carry the conversation.

Discharge day arrived. Canula’s were removed and ID bands were cut off her wrist. Dolores had one last chat with the Nurse from Offaly, they hugged goodbye and she sat in her wheelchair waiting for Dave.

She transferred to a walking stick at the front door and gingerly made her way to the car. Dave ahead of her dragging her suitcase.

It was just after 4pm but the sun had already set. The Christmas shopping and party traffic was in full swing on the motorway as Dave and Dolores silently crossed the city back to The Heights.

‘I should have helped you. Not just on the night but before. I should have organised people. James Simpson, Tom Delaney – we should have been involved. Remember when we used to do those spring clean ups? Got all the kids involved pulling weeds and planting bulbs. And you and all the other mother’s handing out egg and onion sandwiches and club milks. They were the days. I’m so sorry Dolores.’ Dave stared ahead at the blinking red lights bubbling up on his wet windscreen. Silence. It wasn’t like her. She’d been so quiet since the fall and in the hospital. Wasn’t interested in any of the news he brought her. Didn’t ask after Henry.

Dave looked over. She was staring out the passenger window into a fellow traveller’s car.  A young family, kids in car seats. The mother handing something back to them. Windows steamy.

‘Nevermind’ She said softly. ‘Things just change I suppose.’

Chapter 9

WhatsApp was how the residents of The Heights had mobilized that day to locate the Aziz’s Kitten. It was also how they had mobilized that Friday afternoon as soon as Dave’s car was seen reversing down the driveway to go and collect Dolores from the Hospital.

–Mr. H has left the Heigths. Ladders and lights to the cul-de-sac—

Ten thumbs up emojis of various skin colours replied.

The Kavanaghs and the Blacks brought out ladders. Everyone had already opened their boxes, de-tangled their wires, inserted the correct batteries and tested their lights. Front doors swung open and residents of The Heights got busy.

The plan was to do two trees at a time and then move the ladders down to the next two and so on. John from Woodies had advised them to affix the lights with cable ties to the branches and the trunk (he had thrown those in for free along with a hefty discount that Mona Kavanagh had negotiated). Richard and his family let themselves into the Harrington house with the spare key and brought Henry out donning his festive bandana.  They set up the table and the music and the catering dispensers of coffee, tea and hot chocolate. Elena Harris laid out plates of cookies and muffins. The children ran around the cul-de-sac chasing Buster, and each other in wild abandon as the adults huddled around the trees pointing out missed branches and securing ladders on wobbly surfaces.

Dave and Dolores turned in off the main road.

‘Slow down a bit’ Dolores asked him as he passed the entrance to The Lawns. Dolores rolled down her window and he stopped the car. She peered down the street, light arch still flashing away incoherently and chaotically to the scene of her accident. Dave saw her shiver and started to roll the window up. But she wasn’t cold.

‘Wait. Do you hear that?’ he asked as he held the window open a notch. ‘Is that Paul McCartney?’.

Dolores could hear it too. She wondered if they were both experiencing some kind of PTSD flashback but Dave hadn’t been there that first night on The Lawns. He hadn’t see the activity, the fun, the party atmosphere.

He continued slowly around the bend onto The Heights and came to a complete stop.

‘Oh dear.’ Nadia Aziz said from the top of the ladder outside number 8.

‘They’re early.’

Dave and Dolores peered out the windscreen at the scene ahead. Children running all over the front gardens. Climbing on walls. Buster and Henry trying to get to the muffins on the table outside their own house. Five or six trees lit perfectly from trunk to branches with soft, warm, slowly fading fairy lights. And Paul McCartney annoyingly still ,still having a wonderful Christmastime.

Dave looked across at Dolores. ‘They must have WhatsApp’d’ he said. ‘What do you make of this?’

She turned to face him, twinkling lights reflecting in her glassy eyes.

‘I think.’ She said ‘That there is definitely something here.’