Page 28 of Every Christmas Eve
As ‘Silent Night’ plays on my carefully selected festive playlist, I lift a bucket of twigs I plan on spraying with silver paint only to give my hands something to do.
‘Isn’t it crazy,’ I hear Nana Molly say to herself not long after Ava and Ben have said their repeated thanks and goodbyes to the sound of the bell above the door, ‘how some oldwounds are as fresh as the day they were opened. Life is strange. Wonderful and strange.’
I lean up against the storeroom door, pausing to hear if she has any more words of wisdom to share, if only to herself. And then it dawns on me.
Nana Molly has no clue what happened between Ben and me all those years ago. She paid absolutely no attention to my friendship with him back in the day. In fact, she avoided any mention of him almost deliberately, it sometimes seemed.
So what old wounds might she be talking about? Yes, life is very strange indeed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ben
As I drive away from Lou I make a promise to myself I’ll never venture back into Buds and Beans, no matter how many times I need to come back to Ballyheaney House to help get this stupid party ready.
And I will never give in to the urge to look her business up online, because that would lead me down a path I never want to be on again. Our brief conversation was enough to rip open old wounds, so why would I want to put myself, or Lou, through that all over again?
Roly barks in recognition when I follow the tarmacked driveway and turn off on to the gravelled private lane that leads to the bright white front of Ballyheaney House. It’s a sight which never fails to take my breath away, under the lighting that makes it visible right across Lough Beg and the famous Church Island. Long Georgian windows line each of its three storeys, and the steps that lead up to its huge pale grey wooden door are almost regal in their welcome.
‘Yippee, we’re here,’ says Ava, already scrambling to get out of the car.
I knowing I’m breaking the house rules already by parking by the front door.
‘Yes, yes, before you say it, I’ll move the car when I get my breath back,’ I call out when Mum reaches the top of the steps beneath the huge stone pillars that frame the entrance to our family home. ‘It’s been quite a day already. It’s good to see you, Mum.’
She looks tired and frail in her pale pink pullover and grey slacks, but she still radiates beauty in every way. I fear sometimes for her loneliness, far removed from village life and friendship when she still has so much more to give.
What does she do all day except argue over politics or what’s going on in world news with Uncle Eric? Do they keep to their own private quarters these days? Maybe this party is what she needs after all. Maybe it’s what they both need.
‘Grandma!’ Ava calls, bounding ahead of me with Roly on her trail. ‘Oh, I forgot your presents in the car. And I forgot my hot chocolate.’
‘Come in out of that sleety drizzle, both of you. We can get all that in a minute,’ she says, kissing Ava’s forehead when my daughter wraps her arms around her waist in a tight squeeze, but her eyes are on mine. ‘Never mind where you parked, my love. I’m so glad you got here safely in this weather.’
We shuffle into the huge square hallway, one after the other, and I feel a welcome blast of warmth in an instant. One of my father’s greatest legacies is how he kitted the whole house out with a heating system that always makes every room cosy, no matter how high the ceilings are and no matterwhat time of year, though I know Uncle Eric turns it off in the bigger rooms that aren’t used any more to cut back on costs.
It feels like I’ve been holding my breath since we left Lou and her grandmother only a few minutes ago, so I let out a deep sigh, which of course doesn’t go unnoticed by Mum, who is taking in my every movement with concern like she’s always done since Stephanie died.
‘What are you thinking, dear mother?’ I ask, doing my best to tease her rather than worry her. ‘Too fat? Too thin? Not enough vegetables? Or is it protein? Do I need to exercise more? Or less? Go for it.’
She stands on her tiptoes and playfully pinches my cheek.
‘Nothing wrong with your tongue, Ben Heaney, you handsome devil, she jokes. ‘Save all that craic for your Uncle Eric. You know, if he asks if I can find the horse racing again on the TV today, I swear I might be done for murder in the first degree.’
‘I bet Ava could find it for him in approximately twenty seconds.’
‘I’ve no doubt she could,’ Mum says, holding Ava close by her side. ‘But Ava and I have many other fish to fry while you two get busy.’
‘Two?’
‘You and your uncle, if you can drag him off that armchair,’ she tells me. She has got to be kidding. Uncle Eric is good at many things, but at eighty-two his DIY days are limited, or so he says. ‘We are going to have the best evening reading books in the library room or baking in the kitchen, far away from his ranting and raving in front of the TV, aren’twe, darling? When it comes to Uncle Eric, I’m having a break. It’s all over to you.’
I hold my hands up.
‘No way, José,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve far too much to be doing around here to have him holding me back, so he’s going to have to entertain himself for another while on his comfy old armchair.’
‘Is Uncle Eric’s armchair as old as he is?’ asks Ava, giggling behind her hand. She knows my uncle and his humour far too well.
‘I’m not deaf, you know,’ calls Uncle Eric, which makes us all try and stifle our laughter even more. ‘No need to gang up on me, young Ava. I’ll be quiet as a mouse if you just find my feckin’ channel.’
