The Red Coat – An exclusive short story from Cathy Kelly

The Red CoatGETTY

One coat can tell a long story

“Points on her supermarket card,” he said triumphantly, the weekend before.

“She loves them.” Claudia – 14 – and Ella – 15 – gave each other their trademark “he’s sooo lame” look. “Jewellery,” said Claudia, who had a magpie’s eye for glittery things on Instagram.

“Shoes,” said Ella, who wondered how her mother could bear to leave the house in any of those appalling shoes she wore. When Ella was older, she decided, she’d have a wardrobe just for shoes.

“But I’ve spent my pocket money,” interrupted Jamie, crestfallen. “Shoes cost loads.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ella. The three Madigans looked at each other. “Let’s ask Dad.”

Anthony Madigan allowed himself a slice of apple pie with his lunch in the pub.

“Boss, you’re turning into a wild man,” joked Marco, second in command at Madigan’s Bespoke Kitchens and the ringleader of the pub outing.

They were celebrating landing the penthouse job that was worth a fortune to the small company.

“Pudding at lunch instead of packed sandwiches? It’ll be Châteauneuf de whatsit next.”

The team – two others, guys who had stuck with Anthony through the lean years – laughed. Anthony, who’d spent those years lying awake at night worrying about money, grinned with delight.

Now, with the big advance cheque in the bank and several new builders keen to do business with them, he still couldn’t quite believe that all the company’s hard work had paid off.

The penny pinching could stop. Seventeen years of hard work. He’d had such hopes when he’d met Lizzie then, that same year. He could remember seeing her slim figure in that red coat outside the café and he’d known then that this woman with the sparkling eyes was the woman for him.

Tonight, he couldn’t wait to tell Lizzie the good news. If he was weary juggling money in the company, Lizzie was weary of balancing the household books.

Anthony had said nothing about the prospective new deal in case it all fell through. Their marriage had suffered enough.

“Tenerife. It’s really posh… It has a separate bedroom in case either Niamh or I meet someone. Should I do sun beds before I go? I mean, they’re bad for you but it takes me ages to tan and I’m useless at fake tan…”

Lizzie Madigan sat beside Donna in the credit union office and stared grimly at her screen.

A full day of excited chattering from Donna about her holiday plans and Lizzie was ready to stuff Donna into the supply cupboard just to shut her up.

Apple PieGETTY

Apple pie instead of sandwiches can signify a tricky time

It was like listening to Ella discussing exactly how big her walk-in wardrobe would be when she was grown up.

Ella had no idea what sort of job she’d need to do to earn the money to pay for either the wardrobe or the clothes.

Which was probably good, Lizzie decided. This happy vagueness about money meant Ella hadn’t been too badly affected by the severe tightening of belts in the Madigan household over the past years.

But then Lizzie always tried so hard to make sure the three kids had whatever they needed. She was the one who wore coats till they got holes in the seams and coaxed tough cuts of meat into softness through the magic of the slow cooker.

Unfortunately, each time she finally found something everyone would eat for dinner, a few weeks would elapse before somebody would declare they hated peas or tomatoes or might die if they ever saw mince again, and it would be back to square one.

Donna was still going strong. “…so me and Niamh are going to SuperSlim tonight. I want to lose weight… I was thinking a stone?”

“Yes, absolutely,” said Lizzie absently, before having to spend the rest of the afternoon reassuring a stricken Donna that no, she was perfect, she’d look lovely in a bikini, weight loss or no weight loss. How she’d love to go gallivanting with her family on a beach.

“Dad, it’s Mother’s Day on Sunday,” said Jamie that night. “Mum would love supermarket vouchers.” “She wouldn’t, you idiot,” said Claudia crushingly.

Anthony put an arm round his son. “She loves those things, Jamie, but you can’t buy them.” “Shoes,” said Ella.

“Her shoes are hopeless. They’re like nuns’ shoes.” “A special bracelet with crystals,” urged Claudia.

“With pink stones.” “Shoes! Or a coat,” added Ella in a moment of rare practicality.

“I’d die if I had to wear something as ugly as that charity shop thing she has now.”

Anthony knew nothing about women’s clothes. But all this talk of his wife and her ugly, charity shop coat hit him like a physical punch to the solar plexus.

His Lizzie deserved a treat for Mother’s Day. A treat like nothing she’d had before.

He ruffled Jamie’s hair, put an arm around Claudia and then touched Ella on the arm – who was very against parental affection these days in case anybody saw.

“I have an idea,” he said. “We could make this the best Mother’s Day ever. Will you all help me?” His children’s eyes shone. Some sort of voucher for Mum, thought Jamie.

A beautiful red coat. Anthony’s heart filled with hope. On Mother’s Day, Lizzie woke to delighted giggles.

“We’ve made pancakes,” shrieked Jamie. “There’s presents,” said Claudia.

“No shoes, though,” said Ella. “But wait till you see it all.”

The kitchen was decorated with flowers, balloons and gifts. There was a crystal necklace with pink stones, a shopping voucher.

“For you,” warned Anthony, hugging her. Flowers. And unwrapped, hanging up, a beautiful red coat. Lizzie’s eyes brimmed.

“Look in the pocket,” whispered Anthony. Inside was a voucher for a holiday in Spain. Two weeks of sun, sea and relaxing on the beach. Lizzie enveloped her family in a group hug.

“Thank you,” she said. Anthony kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, my love.”