Page 63 of Every Christmas Eve
I open the trailer as I listen.
‘Not to worry, we’ll be ready for some food once we make our big presentation.’
‘Don’t you want to wait for your sister, if it’s such a big deal?’ asks Uncle Eric.
The thought had crossed my mind more than once, but Cordelia seems to be on her own mission today. She isn’t answering her phone, for starters.
‘This isn’t the type of thing that can wait,’ I tell my uncle. ‘And Cordelia will be just as surprised when she sees it later as she would be if she were here now. Where is she, anyhow?’
Uncle Eric scratches his head as he tries to find a peephole in the trailer.
‘Out to lunch with Lou, last I heard,’ he says. ‘Ben, if this is a pony, you know we don’t have the manpower to look after it round here. Not to mention the finances. We’re struggling enough without another mouth to feed.’
I take a moment to let what he is telling me sink in. I’vehad my head buried in the sand for too long, yet somewhere along the way I knew this was coming. I’ve had a suspicion that something was afoot, but now isn’t the time to go into the family finances. Cordelia and I will discuss it with them after Christmas.
‘We’ll sort it, Uncle, I promise. Now, it isn’t a pony,’ I reply, my brain working overtime as I think of Lou and Cordelia off somewhere together. ‘Right, let’s get this trailer opened up. Stand back, Erico! Are you ready? Ta-da!’
He stops dead and puts both hands to his face when he sees what we have in store for my mother.
‘Oh my goodness!’
He swallows. He scratches his head again. He leans in for a closer look.
‘Is that agood“oh my goodness” or aholy shit, Ben, what have you done“oh my goodness”?’ I ask him. He rubs his chin and stares into the trailer where a large cardboard box with peepholes for air sits in its centre. A trumpet-like honk makes his eyes widen. ‘Quickly, Uncle. Have I made a giant mistake?’
‘I’ve always said your biggest mistake was letting Lou Doherty go,’ Uncle Eric says. ‘But if you can’t get her back, and if this is what I think it is, then this might be the closest thing to nostalgia I’ve seen round here in a very long time.’
We are both too busy staring inside the trailer to notice Ava behind us.
‘Where did you let Lou go to, Dad?’ she asks.
I look at Uncle Eric in surprise. He can only stammer and stutter in response.
‘Ah, we’re reminiscing about old girlfriends,’ he says. ‘It’s nothing important.’
‘And oldfriend, you mean,’ I correct him quickly. ‘Lou was a great friend to us all when she worked here, especially at Christmas. That’s what he means. We were talking about parties of days gone by and Uncle Eric said—’
‘Never mind, here comes Grandma now,’ says Ava, but I know I’m in for a lot more questioning later. ‘She wants to know if you’d like duck for lunch. I said I’d ask you. Obviously, she wants to ask you herself, so here goes nothing. Will she like our present or loathe it? We’re about to find out.’
Beads of sweat form along my forehead, even though it’s still freezing cold outside, despite the brief glimmers of sunshine through the clouds. I want to shake Uncle Eric, but then he didn’t know Ava was within earshot. I must also remember that at his age he’s not quite as sharp as he once was.
I look across to the house to see Mum waving and smiling as she makes her way to the courtyard where we’re standing, guarding the back of a trailer like it contains the Crown jewels.
‘Wait!’ I call to her, realising that it’s now or never. I’d planned this so differently in my head. ‘Take your time, I mean. I’ve something very special to show you.’
She slows down, which gives me time to get everything ready a lot more quickly than I’d expected to. I open the box, careful not to make any sudden movements, just as I’d been instructed.
I hear Uncle Eric gasp. Then Ava gives me a thumbs up with a reassuring smile.
‘We’ve got your Christmas present, Grandma,’ she says gently, now my mother is closer.
‘Already?’ asks Mum. ‘But it isn’t even …’
Her words trail off while we all stand back to take in the breathtaking display as the peacock finds its feet beside us. Its striking train opens like a fan, showcasing an array of rich, shimmering hues in turquoise blue, emerald green and hints of gold and purple. Each feather is adorned with an eye-like pattern, the vibrant colours swirling into delicate, mesmerising designs.
‘Meet Alexander the Great,’ I whisper to my mother, who seems lost for words.
‘Alexander the Great,’ she repeats. ‘Oh, wow! He is beautiful!’
