Page 19 of Every Christmas Eve
In her twelve-year-old mind, I imagine all she cares about at this very moment is that school’s out early and that I did indeed bring her phone charger, her iPad and the bag of clothes she packed meticulously last night with enough to last a full week, never mind a quick one-night visit up north.
As I drive with the company of Taylor Swift and my daughter singing at the top of her voice, with intermittent howls from Roly in the back seat, I want to shake myself for not thinking of this earlier.
I don’t mean this unexpected party plan.
I mean, how did I miss the joy going to Ballyheaney House brings to my daughter? Or what it brings to myself, for that matter? But then, we do live almost three hours away. I have the major issue of a veterinary business to keep going, which I already feel I’ve been neglecting, and Ava has school Monday to Friday and activities on most weekends, so it’s not like we can pack up and go on a whim very often.
‘I wish there was still a pony at Ballyheaney House,’ Ava announces as we drive across the Mary McAleese Boyne Valley bridge at the medieval town of Drogheda. I’ve alwaysfelt a rush of excitement when I cross this famous bridge, ever since I was old enough to drive rather than get the bus or a train home from boarding school. ‘Did you know, Dad, that the last pony was called Little Eve because of the day she was born? Uncle Eric said she was the most beautiful foal he’d ever seen.’
Hearing my young daughter speak with such familiarity of what went on at my family home long before she came along almost takes my breath away. She sounds so much more invested than I’ve ever noticed before. Have I really been so distracted to know she was interested?
‘Yes, Little Eve was a beautiful foal and an even more beautiful mare,’ I agree, feeling the tug of nostalgia once more. To be honest, it hasn’t really gone away since I agreed to go ahead with my sister’s crazy suggestion. Old memories have been flooding my mind like a tsunami morning, noon and night since our first phone call about it on Monday.
‘Uncle Eric says you delivered Little Eve when you were only seventeen,’ says Ava over the sound of a Taylor ballad. ‘You never told me aboutthat!’
My eyes widen as I search for a response.
‘Maybe because I do that type of thing now for a living, I never thought to,’ I say, doing my best to explain, ‘though I must admit it was very special when it happened.’
My eyes mist over at the memory. It was more than special. I do my best to focus on the road ahead as the events of yesteryear come back to me like I’m watching an old movie. It was a day I’ll remember for the rest of my life, because inthat moment I knew I was falling in love for the very first time. I also remember the grip of fear, knowing Lou and I were destined for heartache. I also knew that I’d never forget her, no matter how much I tried.
I can still smell Lou’s perfume when she turned up at the party that day. It was a clean, crisp, citrus scent, but it’s her touch I remember the most. The way her hand fitted into mine, the way she laid her head on my shoulder in the stable even before we’d kissed.
We fitted. We just fitted.
‘Is that when you decided to become a vet, Dad?’
‘Sorry?’
I turn the music down a little.
‘When you delivered the baby foal?’ she says. ‘Is that when you knew you wanted to be a vet?’
I’m very glad that Ava’s questions are getting me back on the right train of thought.
‘I think I knew I wanted to be a vet before then,’ I tell her, fully back in the moment. ‘One of my favourite things about being at home in Ballyheaney House was looking after the animals.’
She shifts in her seat. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, we had horses,’ I explain, ‘but we also had three dogs, some very cheeky ducks, some chickens, and a flock of sheep who grazed down by Lough Beg. Your grandma even had a prized peacock called Cleopatra who was poached one winter morning. It broke her heart into pieces.’
I shudder, realising I’ve just unlocked a memory about the peacock and how much my mother loved her. I don’t thinkI’d ever really seen her cry until the day Cleo was taken, and it frightened me to see her so upset.
‘Did she ever get another one?’ Ava asks me. ‘Poor Grandma. I don’t think I’ve seen a real peacock before, but I’d love to.’
‘Sadly no, she never did get another one, but Cleo left her mark on all of us,’ I reply, trying not to giggle as I recall how Cordelia used to bring the peacock into the drawing room while she studied during the school holidays. ‘She used to greet me at the very front gate when I got home from boarding school. I always wondered how she knew I’d be back, but she did.’
Ava turns down the music a little more. This could be a Christmas miracle already. I don’t think I’ve had her full attention like this for a very long time.
‘Why on earth did she call her Cleopatra?’ she laughs. ‘That’s a bit of a random name for a peacock.’
‘After Alexander the Great,’ I say, delighted with myself for remembering this all now. ‘He was a famous king of Macedonia who loved peacocks so much, he banned anyone from killing them. His sister was called Cleopatra. Mum always said she’d have loved a male peacock to name Alexander to bring more beauty to Ballyheaney.’
‘But she never got another one?’
I let out a sigh.
‘Sadly not, Ava,’ I reply, silently acknowledging how I’d been so caught up in my own life then, I’d hardly thought of looking after my mother’s interests. ‘I sometimes wish she had.’
