Page 37 of Every Christmas Eve
‘Ben, of course I don’t mind. You take no time for yourself these days,’ she whispers. ‘Let me take over for as long as you’re here. Ava and I have a movie lined up and a chocolate feast to discover in the pantry, so go and chill out for as long as you need to. We won’t wait up. I only wish you could do this more often.’
I go to the sitting room where Roly is keeping company right by the fire, but that changes as soon as he senses his lead in my hands.
‘See you soon, Uncle Eric,’ I say, wondering when his days of a pint in a local bar at Christmas ended, how we never knew it would be the last, and how I didn’t savour it more. ‘We’ll have a chat about the horse racing when I get back.’
‘Go and see who you can see,’ he says without taking his eyes off the 24-hour news channel. ‘You’re still a young man, you know, Ben. This Christmas is going to be a good one for us all. And the whole world is your oyster.’
The sound of low conversations and the smell of old ale meets me the moment I step inside Doc’s Bar in my home village. It’s a tiny, one-roomed pub with TV screens on the wall, but with its square brown tables, chequered upholstery and a crackling fire in the corner, it oozes old-worldly charm. A modest Christmas tree lit up in blue sits by the end of the bar, and long icicle-style lights hang from the roof, and while I could never claim to be a regular, the atmosphere greets me like an old friend.
Doc’s Bar is full of memories of days gone by, no matter which way I look.
It reminds me of my dad sneaking in for a bet on the horses while sitting me down on a bar stool with a bag of Tayto crisps and a bottle of Coca-Cola with a straw.
It reminds me of my first proper pint of beer, still feeling like an impostor at the legal age of eighteen, a place where Lou and I downed tools from the manic party preparations and toasted our success.
It reminds me of long, fun-filled evenings with her playing cards by the fire, feeling very grown up as we shared a bottle of wine and our traditional bag of peanuts, when in reality we were only students trying to save a few bob to get us through the next semester.
‘Mr Heaney, welcome home,’ the barman says when I order a pint of Guinness. I glance at the clock on the wall behind the bar. It’s already gone five minutes after eight o’clock. She isn’t here.
Even though she didn’t reply to my text message earlier, a tiny part of me still hoped that she might show up. I’d pictured her sitting by the fire here, a glass of red for old time’s sake on the table and that wondrous smile of hers that lights me up every time.
But no. She isn’t here. And I know by now that she isn’t coming.
I make some small talk with the barman, who admires my dog then asks how I’ve been coping. He recounts where he was and what he was doing when he heard of Stephanie’s passing.
‘The whole village was in shock for you,’ he tells me, a genuine sadness in his eyes. ‘My brother lost his wife when she was far too young too, so I’ve a bit of an idea what you’ve been going through.’
He asks how expensive it is to live so close to Dublin, and if I’d ever dream of moving back up north where the cost of living is still quite high in parts but nowhere near what it is down there. Then he grabs my attention on a whole new level when he tells of how the whole village is full of craic about us bringing the big party back to Ballyheaney House.
‘My own mother has her outfit picked out already,’ says a younger man by my side. ‘She’s bought tickets for herself and her sister.’
‘We’re going as a family for the first time this year,’ his buddy tells me. ‘Our twins turned sixteen this year, so they’re of an age to join us. It’s hard to believe it’s been twenty years since the last one.’
I watch the dark ruby liquid cascade from the tap, foaming up in a creamy, rich layer. I lick my lips in anticipation.
‘I think you’ve just made it feel very real,’ I tell him, doing my best to ignore the lurch in my stomach at the thought of it all.
‘I’m telling ye. There’s a real buzz, Mr Heaney,’ he says while the punters propping up the bar nod in agreement. ‘And what a great charity cause too. Fair play to you all. Will you get it ready in time, do you think? That’s what some are wondering. Ye know, short notice and all that?’
I shiver at the thought of the task that lies ahead.
We used to have a perfect team in place to get the houseready for the party, but now it’s just me, my twelve-year-old daughter and my sister who lives in a different country. There’s not much point relying on Mum and Uncle Eric, though I know they’ll do their best. Now that I’ve stepped out of our bubble, the enormity of what we’ve taken on almost overwhelms me when I hear this from the horse’s mouth.
People are excited. People are buying tickets. But people are worried we’re doing it all at very short notice.
So am I.
‘I do love a challenge,’ I reply to the barman, who nods in agreement. ‘And it’s a good excuse to get out of my own head for a while, I suppose. I’ll take my pint down by the fire if that’s OK?’
‘Best spot in the house,’ he tells me, though that I already know. ‘I’ll bring it down to you once it settles.’
He does exactly that, allowing me to zone out from the banter at the bar while Roly cosies up on the floor. My to-do list runs like a freight train through my mind, causing a tight pain across my chest. I breathe steadily, then I lift the glass to my lips, allowing the cold taste of home to soothe my busy mind.
I’m hypnotised by the smooth, familiar taste as well as the heat of the fire. Everything begins to slow down at last. My shoulders drop. Roly is already snoring by my feet.
‘I did my best to ignore your invitation, but I never could ignore you, Ben Heaney,’ an all-too-familiar voice says from my right. My heart leaps. ‘Now move over and let me in by the fire where I always sat. We’ve got a party to plan, and fast.’
I look up to see her standing there, her cheeks pink from the cold and her eyes fixed on mine with that wondrous smile that shows off her dimples. The sight of her has never failed to melt my heart.
