Page 22 of Every Christmas Eve
She doesn’t finish her sentence. Our eyes lock for the first time in more years than I can count right now.
She takes a step back and her hands go up to the sweet face I used to know every inch of. A face I kissed a thousand times. A face I never tired of thinking of. A face I once thought I’d look at for the rest of my life.
My voice cracks as I take in the sight of her and it hits my heart like a bullet.
‘Lou, it’s me.’
CHAPTER SIX
Lou
THEN
Christmas Eve, 23 Years Ago
My parents cooed with delight as they watched me serve up canapés to delighted guests in the blue ballroom when the next Ballyheaney party came into full swing. But no matter how much I tried to put on a brave face, my stomach was in tatters after an earlier conversation with Ben as I was putting the finishing touches to the tables.
Because he was now studying in Paris, his social circle was rippling even further while I was still at school in our home village, feeling like I lived in a puddle to his grand ocean. And no matter how much I tried to deny it, hearing of his many adventures stung me much more than they should have done.
I was jealous, and I could barely hide it.
‘Let me introduce you to Lou,’ I heard him say to Shaheer, a fellow student who had travelled from Paris for Christmaswith the Heaney family. ‘Lou, remember I told you about Shaheer? He’s going to be a haematologist when we grow up.’
‘If we grow up,’ said Shaheer, extending his hand to greet me. ‘We’re too busy having fun in France.’
‘It’s so nice to meet you,’ I replied, brushing my hair out of my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘Ben has told me all about you. He and I are good friends.’
‘Friends?’ said Ben. Shaheer looked out the window, suddenly distracted or pretending to be so.
‘Very good friends,’ I said, hoping that might sound better. I wasn’t intending to hurt him, but the word ‘friends’ seemed to have hit him hard.
‘Buddies,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Shaheer, let’s go grab a beer. It’s hardly too early, is it? I’ll see you later then, my friend.’
As much as I was still besotted with Ben, I wasn’t sure how else we could describe our relationship. I was hardly going to tell Shaheer that, despite our distance, Ben and I talked most days or at least texted, and when we did get the chance to meet up it was like thunder, lightning and stars colliding all at once.
Ben seemed to be trying to avoid me after this though, so as the ballroom filled up I focused on the job at hand by pouring fizzy wine into narrow flutes, carrying trays of glasses back and forth to the kitchen and making sure everyone had a drink, as per the rules set by Tilda Heaney.
She was the epitome of old Hollywood glamour, with her captivating presence and vintage style. Her husband wasgrumpy and aloof with most people, in comparison, while Cordelia bore no resemblance to either of them, choosing to bend every rule in the book according to Uncle Eric, who bombarded me with so much information that the Heaneys almost lost their veil of allure for me.
But Ben was definitely like something heaven-sent, a lot like his mother with his elegance and confident manner, yet he had a soft and tender side that made him even more attractive than his stunning good looks.
And now I had unintentionally offended him on the one day that meant more to us than any other.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have an extra-special treat for you today,’ said a rather tipsy Uncle Eric from the makeshift stage in the corner. ‘Please welcome, on Celtic harp, our very own Lou Doherty.’
Though I was expecting this, my heart jumped into my mouth. I took off my apron and handed it to my mother, then made my way towards Uncle Eric, whose face was red and beaming.
It was at Tilda Heaney’s request that I’d brought my harp to the party. I’d even noticed a few tears in her eyes earlier that morning as I practised on my own in the ballroom.
My legs shook like jelly as I pushed through the crowd, my head dipping down in fear of making eye contact with anyone I knew.
I wasn’t really used to performing in public, at least not out of the school assembly hall, but it was something I planned on doing more of, especially if I could make some spare cash out of it with university just around the corner.
This was not your average audience though. It was half my home village, it was the Heaneys, and mostly it was Ben Heaney, the permanent subject of my dreams.
The audience applauded as soon as I took up position, but I was still too afraid to look up, mainly in case I caught my dad crying, which was very probable. As I adjusted the microphone slightly and strummed across the strings of my harp, suddenly the room fell silent. I swallowed hard, hoping the beads of sweat that formed on my forehead weren’t visible to the naked eye.
When I dared to glance in a different direction from where my parents stood, I saw Ben giving me an enthusiastic but subtle thumbs up. Then he stretched his strong arms up to open the top part of a window, as if he’d read my mind. I smiled at him to say thank you, knowing right then I couldn’t have loved him more if I tried.
