The woman coming back on the plane had a hope for Christmas. She hoped she would see her grandson but she didn't think it very likely.
Her son and his wife were divorced. The girl had got the little boy. He was three, and she would love to see him just for an afternoon. She had got lovely little things for him, nothing too extravagant that might look as if she were trying to buy his affection. She had spent hours in toy stores in Australia talking to other women with three-year-olds in their lives. Lucky women who would be sure of seeing the little face when the parcel was opened.
It was awkward, you see. It was her own son who had behaved so badly, deceived this young woman, cheated on her, had another girlfriend all the time apparently. So naturally, the daughter-in-law didn't feel very warm towards the family. She didn't want to bring this child to a home which still had graduation pictures of his father on the walls, a place where they still loved the man who had behaved like a rat.
And it was only natural that she should try to put as much distance between her and the unhappy past as she possibly could. The father had not even fought for access to his little boy; better really for her to start a new life without him. And without his parents, blameless as they were.
The woman would post the gifts that she had bought, of course, and she would get a stiff cold little note of thanks from her ex-daughter-in-law. She didn't think she would see her grandson's face but she would keep hoping.
The man I met casually in the electronics shop hopes that a certain horse will win a certain race. That's all he will say - not the race, not the horse. You wouldn't want to give anything away.
He was looking at a particularly flash television set which his family sort of hope they are getting for Christmas. And will they? Yes, if this horse wins.
He bit his lip. The trouble is that he had to borrow from five friends, and so you see if the horse doesn't win, we're all going to be up the creek. Like, he'll not only have no flash television; he'll have no friends.
The 16-year-old girl hopes that she's going to get a party for Christmas. That's all she wants, she told her parents: no presents, no clothes, just the house for a night and pizzas and beer. It's proving to be harder than she thought. They just don't want to leave the house for the night, and of course it would be hopeless if they were there. She has given them a choice of any night at all over the season; it wasn't as if she wanted New Year's Eve or anything special.
You see she has sort of told the girls at school that she could have the party, and it would be an awful climb-down if she couldn't, as they're all planning for it already.
It's such a small thing to want compared to what they're trying to give her, like new outfits and a really expensive watch. They must know that her friends would help her tidy up. Why can't they just give her this one night out of the 365?
There's a woman who thinks that her husband is going to take them both to a hotel for Christmas. She would love this, love it more than anything. Imagine getting your hair done early on the Thursday morning, having coffee with a few friends while delivering last-minute Christmas presents, and they would all envy her for having no preparations to be getting on with.
Then they would sit into the car and arrive in the hotel at tea-time on Christmas Eve, unpack and have a nice long bath, dinner - just the two of them relaxed and carefree - and there would be a programme of activities on the day itself. When they got back on Saturday she would be a new woman.
Why does she think he has this plan? Well this is the first year they will have none of the children at home, and there's the fact he told her not to be in hurry booking a turkey at the butchers, and of course there's the fact that he has been getting a lot of mysterious large brown paper envelopes in the post.
And why wouldn't he tell her, we wondered anxiously? Why would he not let her have all the lovely anticipation. Oh, apparently, like a lot of men he likes to surprise people.
A couple of us are nodding grimly and pessimistically. It could be that he just doesn't want her fussing on and on about the turkey. He could have a leather and rubber fetish, and the envelopes might not be hotel brochures at all but could be a special-interest type of publication. Oh ask him.
Please ask him. To hell with the surprise.
There's this woman in hospital and she has a Christmas hope that her neighbour will come to see her. They had a falling out over something very unimportant about seven years ago. It really was unimportant when it happened, but neither had apologised and so the sort of coldness that followed had raised the whole level of the row to monstrous proportions. They used to be such good friends years ago, in those days there was nothing they couldn't tell each other.
It would be so nice if she were to come into the hospital now and sit by the bed once or twice a week and have a chat without either of them ever having to refer to the seven years of silly separation. But this hope may not actually come true. The neighbour has been approached by other people asking her to visit and hold out the olive branch. But the neighbour says it would be like saying that she thought the woman in hospital was incurable and that she was just coming to say goodbye, so she thinks it would be both alarming and hypocritical.
Anyway the woman in hospital hasn't asked to see her and she might just turn away in the bed. And the woman in hospital won't ask her because she's afraid she'll say no.
