Page 33 of Every Christmas Eve
‘They arrived on time, thank you, Lou!’ she exclaims. ‘Thank goodness! Babe, are you OK?’
Danny puts the dog down on the hallway floor, thenhands me the bouquet of roses. His wife falls into his arms, and with mumbles of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’ from both of them, I tiptoe out and leave them to it. I set the flowers by the card first on the hall table and lean down for a sneaky pat of Crumb’s velvety brown head, making a mental note to ask Danny when he calls me tomorrow what type of dog she is. I’m guessing a dachshund. Oh, I’ve never seen anything as cute in my whole life. I can’t wait to tell Gracie, but there’s no way I’m mentioning it to my mother, or she’ll be ringing round to hook me up with the dog’s baby mama in the blink of an eye.
By the time I get to the car, I feel full of romance and hope for humanity, having witnessed the power that having the courage to say sorry or ‘I love you’ can bring. I turn on the ignition, in wonder of love, and then remember that Ben Heaney is back in town.
My stomach sinks. Argh, why does he still have such a hold on me?
I need distraction and fast, so I pick up my phone, hoping for something, anything, to get me through what’s looking like a very long weekend ahead. There’s only so much reading I can try to do, or box sets I can try to watch, when I know he isn’t far away. Gracie is right. I need to find some new hobbies to occupy my free time now that my business is well on its feet. I need to reconnect with some old friends to see what they’re up to after all these years. I need to startlivingagain, instead of existing to work, eat and sleep.
What I also need to do is charge my phone, but as I plugit in, the last thing I expect is to see Ben Heaney’s name at the end of a very sweet text message with an invitation that truly takes my breath away.
I grip the steering wheel, leaning forward in the front seat of the car while doing my best to concentrate on the short journey back to the village. The windscreen wipers swipe off the slush, and an oncoming driver flashes his lights to remind me to dip my headlights, but I’m doing my best under the circumstances.
I can’t stop shaking.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard. What time is it in New York? I do a quick calculation in my head. It’s just after twelve-thirty in the afternoon.
There’s no way I’m going to ask Gracie for advice of a personal nature, but I’d love to chat it through with my friend and former neighbour Michelle, who would certainly listen as I thrash out how I should reply.
Or I could ask Pete, my old running partner, who cried as I was leaving. Oh, but no, he cried because he finally admitted having a long-term crush on me, so he’s out of the question. You snooze, you lose, Pete. I’d been waiting for far too long, but he’d caught none of the hints I’d been dropping for months and months beforehand. Or I could chat to Dermot, an Irish friend I first met through my ex. He is the most kind and considerate soul and steps in to help me whenever I’m short-staffed or need an extra pair of hands at interior showcases.
Or maybe I’m overthinking it. Why do I need to discussit with anyone at all? I can make up my own mind, thank you very much.
I’m sure Ben didn’t need to think for long about each word and syllable before he sent the message which came through only a few minutes before I knocked on the Sullivans’ door. Thank goodness I didn’t check my phone before I delivered the extra-special card and flowers to Beth’s husband, or I’d really have made a mess of it. If I’d been any earlier, I probably would have, so thank goodness I was running right down to the wire.
‘That’s the butterfly effect,’ I remember my mum explaining to me not so long ago. ‘A small single action or occurrence can set off a chain of actions that have a bigger consequence.’
‘A bit like sliding doors,’ I’d replied.
‘Exactly.’
Like my mother, I’ve always found it fascinating too, and on this occasion the butterfly effect was on my side it seems, because now I’ve to make up my mind and quickly.
Do I meet Ben Heaney for a drink later this evening like he’s asked me to, or do I protect my foolish heart from shattering all over again?
My heart tells me to go, but my head says I need to keep moving on.
CHAPTER TEN
Lou
THEN
Christmas Eve, 22 Years Ago
Olivia Major first came to Ballyheaney House in the summer while I was away working as a barista in Wildwood, New Jersey, with my friends from school, before we parted ways for university.
She was a leggy, super-confident twenty-year-old socialite type, with flame-red waist-length hair, an award-winning background in showjumping and a modelling contract on the horizon around her performing arts studies in Dublin.
My first thought when I saw her mucking out the stable was one of pure awe of her beauty, but then relief when her true colours emerged from the second she uttered her first hello.
‘So, you’re the hired help,’ she sneered. ‘You don’t look like someone associated with the Heaneys, do you?’
I just laughed in her face. She had no idea.
While I only had to pop home from Belfast once the holidays came in, Ben had a bit further to travel from Paris and it seemed he’d left it later this year. But we’d already made lots of plans. Long mornings on the boardwalk down by Lough Beg, cosy evenings by the fire in the local pub, and all the fun of the Christmas Eve party, which by then was more than special to both of us.
I looked up at Uncle Eric as he stretched the string of lights along the wood panelling, his mouth tight and his eyes steely with concentration.
