Pulling up the collar of his heavy black coat against the biting December wind, Seamus McConville trudged down Royal Avenue, thronged with Christmas shoppers. Reaching the City Hall he turned towards the markets, then opened the door of his small terraced house on the corner of Bridge Street.
He took off his coat and sank wearily into the chair beside the fire. A sad look crossed his pale, pinched face as he thought of his wife Maura who died ten years ago. He gazed at the cards on the mantelpiece. By now he was used to spending Christmas alone.
Yet it still pained him to think there was nothing to look forward to, except going down to Castle Court shopping centre to see the bright, happy smiles on the children's faces when they met Santa Claus. Rising slowly to his feet he crossed into the tiny kitchen. He sliced some bread, lit the gas stove and fried some sausages, an egg and a couple of rashers. After he'd eaten he settled down with his newspaper to spend another evening alone in front of the fire.

Just then he heard a knock on the door. Opening it, he smiled when he saw the plump, round figure of Mrs. Marley who lived across the street. Without waiting to be asked in, she bustled into the kitchen.
'I just called in after Mass to see how you were,' she said, dumping a large paper bag on the table. 'There's a couple of sodas, a barmbrack and a nice wee Christmas cake I baked specially for you. Touched by her kindness, his eyes brightened. He knew she was a busybody, but her heart was in the right place. He opened his mouth to thank her, but she prattled on, 'Now you're sure you won't come over to our house for Christmas? There's only Sammy and me. You'll be more than welcome.' Seamus shook his head. 'Thanks - but no.'

She rubbed her hands briskly together, drawing in her breath sharply. 'It's a bit nippy in here, isn't it?' Her small bright grey eyes swept quickly around the room, before coming to rest on the meagre fire smoking in the grate. 'I was just thinking...' She paused for effect, drawing her thick green Aran cardigan more tightly around her shoulders. 'Wouldn't you be better off in one of those new pensioner's bungalows off the Springfield Road, instead of stuck here in this old house on your own?'

He made no reply. Putting her head to one side, she pursed her lips. 'My sister moved into one last year,' she continued. 'Says they're as warm as toast with the central heating and double glazing.' 'I'm all right here,' he replied in a calm, steady voice.
She sighed and shook her head. 'All right, have it your own way. But if you change your mind, you know where we are.'
When she'd gone he drew the curtains and switched on the light. As he set the Christmas cake in the cupboard his heart ached as he thought about the Christmases he'd loved when Maura was alive and their son Barry was a lively eight-year-old. Every December they went to Royal Avenue to do their Christmas shopping, then on to the Grand Opera House to see the pantomime.

He sighed and lit his pipe. He could never understand why Barry left Ireland when there was a secure job for him in the family drapery business in Belfast. But whenever he spoke to Barry about taking over the shop when he retired, Barry, seemed more determined to go. 'Things are different now, Dad,' Barry said. 'Nobody stays in the same job all their lives. I don't want to spend my days slaving behind a shop counter like you and Mam.' His voice was suddenly hard and cold. 'There's more to life than that'!
'But it's not only for me,' Seamus replied. 'Your Mam would've wanted it too.' For a long time Barry was silent. 'Mam's dead,' he said in a dull, flat voice. 'But I know what you're up to. You're trying to make me feel guilty. Because you're on your own now, you think I should stay here with you.' Seamus felt a sudden rush of anger. 'Then go if you want to!' he shouted. 'I won't stop you! Many's the one would jump at the chance of inheriting a good business: But then that always was your problem - too independent, too selfish!' Walking round the table, Barry faced him. 'No, I'm not. Don't you see, I just want a life of my own. I don't want everything handed to me!' Seamus clenched his fists, his face white with anger. Striding into the hall, he slammed the door behind him.

When Barry left Belfast for America Seamus received some letters with a New York address. He replied in a rather stiff formal way, until one arrived in which Barry said he was getting married. Then the letters stopped, but be usually sent a card at Christmas to say how he was.

Setting down his pipe Seamus stared into the fire. Now he felt completely alone, as if he'd never had a wife and son. The future held nothing for him.

The next day he caught the bus to the city centre. He went to Woolworths, had a cup of tea, then bought some tinsel, a small Christmas tree and a box of peppermints for Mrs. Marley. When he arrived home he set the Christmas tree in the window. He was decorating it with lights when he beard a knock on the door. Opening it, the postman handed him a large parcel. 'Merry Christmas,' he said cheerfully.' And the same to you,' Seamus replied.

He set the parcel on the table and untied the string. 'Now who would've sent these?' he murmured when he saw a red checked shirt, a tin of biscuits, a pipe and a pouch filled with tobacco. Then he spotted two envelopes. Opening one, he was surprised to find a photograph of Barry, his arm around a smiling, pretty girl with long brown hair, cradling a baby in her arms.

With trembling fingers he opened the other envelope and pulled out a Christmas card. 'Looking forward to seeing you' was written inside. 'And if you like it in America, then maybe you'll come and live with us. Love from Barry, Mary and baby Michael'.

Turning the card over, he gasped when he saw the plane ticket sellotaped on the back. Tears of happiness flooded his eyes as he slowly crossed towards the Christmas tree and switched on the lights. For a long time he stood at the window, gazing up at the stars twinkling in the dark December sky. Then a smile lit up his face. He could hardly wait to tell Mrs. Marley his good news. Imagine... Christmas in America.