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A VERY IRISH CHRISTMAS
CLAUDIA CARROLL
AVON
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017
Copyright © Claudia Carroll 2017
Claudia Carroll asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record of 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.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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.
Ebook Edition © December 2017 ISBN: 9780008276416
Version: 2017-10-17
To Phoebe Morgan and all at Team Avon…with fondest love and deepest thanks, for everything.
Table of Contents
I once saw a quote that read, ‘Santa Claus has the right idea. Once a year is quite enough to visit anyone.’ It’s now the third week in December and I’m somewhat coming around to that viewpoint myself.
A Christmas party, for God’s sake. In a monumental waste of both time and their money, it transpires that my work colleagues have actually decided to organize a staff Christmas party with all the trimmings: ridiculous-looking paper hats, mince pies, the whole works.
‘I know it’s going to be the most pathetic Christmas drinks do in history,’ says Greta, my studio floor manager, laying rubbery-looking mince pies onto a few paper plates, patently unaware that the TV studio microphones are picking up on her inane chatter so I can hear loud and clear from where I’m sitting up in the production booth. ‘But we have to do this for Carole, don’t we? She’s all on her own for Christmas, same as every other year, and it’s the least we can do.’
‘Don’t tell me we all have to hang around for it?’ groans Tom, our lead cameraman.
‘Well what do you think? Course we do.’
‘Do I really have to?’
‘You’ve no choice,’ says Greta, ‘none of us do. Because if the crew don’t turn up for this, then no one else will.’
‘Oh for feck’s sake.’
‘None of us want to be there, Tom,’ Greta insists. ‘But like it or not, Carole is the boss, so we’ve no choice.’
‘And she’s really going to be on her own for the holidays? I think I’d rather be home opening a vein with a bottle of gin to hand than going to this party. It’s only lunchtime. Whoever has a Christmas party at lunchtime? This is Dublin, for God’s sake, the party capital of Europe! Christmas parties here generally start after work and can go on for days at a time. But a Christmas party for one hour in the middle of the day? It’s pitiful, that’s what it is.’
‘I know, but it was the only time I could get Carole to commit to. And even at that, she says we all have to be back at our desks by two p.m. sharp.’