Page 7 of Every Christmas Eve
‘Wouldn’t that be crazy seeing him again after all these years,’ says Mum. ‘Your old sparring partner, Lou! You used to live for your days at Ballyheaney House. Wasn’t it so incredibly sad what happened to Ben’s poor—’
‘Mum, please stop,’ I say, finally showing my face from behind the coffee machine.
My mother’s mouth drops open.
‘You two were never that serious, though?’ she says.
‘No,’ I mumble. ‘No, we weren’t serious at all.’
I feel bad for lying and for cutting her off mid-sentence, but I can’t disguise my fears as the past comes back to haunt me all over again. Serious? We were very serious until it all came crashing down, but Mum and Nana don’t know the half of it. I couldn’t bear to talk about it for a very long time.
But now, all I can see with such clarity and beauty, and all I can feel from the deep clench of my gut, is the face of the man I loved more than anyone I’ve ever known.
He was the man who broke my heart the worst. The man I really did think I’d marry one day, in so much more than just a young girl’s dream. The man who said he’d never marry another, and that he’d wait for me, even if it took forever.
I knew deep down that by moving back here our paths might cross again one day, but I’d blanked it out as highly unlikely and carried on with setting up my new home andmy new business, saying I’d cross that bridge if or when I came to it.
And now the bridge is being built as we speak.
The highly unlikely is sounding quite likely, and with even a whisper of it happening, I already want to run away back to New York and never show my face around here again.
CHAPTER TWO
Ben
‘It’s OK, sweetheart. You can cry it all out. Take your time. I’m right here.’
I sit on the edge of my daughter’s double bed, doing my best not to show how with every tear she sheds, Ava’s heartbreak is quietly killing me inside. There are photos of yesteryear strewn across her duvet and pillow while she clutches a framed favourite in her hands, her fingernails painted a deep shade of pink just like her mother used to do for her every Christmas when she was very little.
Fairy lights hang around her headboard, a bookshelf which needs reorganising reminds me of how fast she is growing up, and a miniature lit-up tree sits on her bedside locker – a last-minute addition at her request as she battles to embrace December and all it brings.
It’s been six years since we lost Stephanie, yet since the turn of December and as Christmas comes closer, it’s like the reality of not having her mother is suffocating Ava all over again. There’s very little I can do, except to stay close to her when she wants me, and step back when she needs some space.
I’d been warned about this from other parents in a similar situation to mine, especially as Ava is an only child, with no siblings to lean on. I was told it would come in waves, but that after a while those waves would get lower and the time between them would increase. That is happening for sure, but today it’s time for another wave to hit the shore, and we’ll have to go with it until it passes again.
‘I just get so angry sometimes, Dad,’ she sniffles, clasping a wet tissue now in her fist. I offer the palm of my hand. She passes me the tissue and I hand her a fresh one in a routine that has become all too familiar. ‘Freya said something in school about her mum taking her into Dublin city to see the lights tonight and do some Christmas shopping. They’re having a girly day. It totally set me off. Like, why did she have to die, Daddy? Why did my mum have to die?’
I picture the happy families who will make their way into the city this month for some festive treats and Christmas shopping under the sparkle and shine of all the decorations lighting up the night sky. I can already hear the buskers as they stand on Grafton Street, their hands bright red with the cold and their warm breath filling the air as they belt out ‘Fairytale of New York’ on every corner. I can smell the street food, the sticky chocolate, the crêpes sizzling on hot griddles and the swirls of cream that melt before you take your first bite.
I can hear the children’s laughter. I can hear the arguments too. All part of the hustle and bustle that makes some of us love Christmas and others dread it.
‘Life can be so unbelievably cruel, baby,’ I whisper to my only child, pushing her thick auburn hair out of her eyes. ‘I so wish I could take all your pain away, Ava, I really do. And I know it’s not the same, but I’d love to take you to Dublin to see the Christmas lights. We could go up this evening if you want to? I’m not the best at shopping, but we could …’
She glances at me, a look of both pity and disgust on her scrunched-up face.
‘Dad, thanks but …’
‘OK, look, erm … forget I even said that. How about we take Roly out for a run on the beach at Sandycove with our torches?’ I suggest instead, wide-eyed with a sliver of hope that this might be a goer. ‘We can wrap up warm and watch him run riot on the sand until he tires himself out like he always does?’
‘I dunno,’ she mutters, twisting the tissue in her hands. ‘I’m not sure I’m in the mood for a beach walk.’
‘We could get fish and chips on the way home?’ I suggest, doing my best to think of what we could do on what’s essentially a school night. ‘And eat in the car down by the pier before homework? Roly would love some fish and chips, I’m sure.’
Our golden retriever bounds into the bedroom at the sound of his own name. I’ll swear that dog has super senses I’ll never quite understand.
‘Thanks, Dad, but I think I’m going to just have a lie-down for now and watch some animal YouTube videos to take my mind off things,’ she tells me, gathering up the photos beforeour dog destroys them. ‘Will you put these away, please? Sometimes her pictures make me happy. Sometimes, like now, they make me sad.’
‘Sure,’ I tell her, as a million questions flood my mind on grief and how it all works. Ava was so young when Steph died. My biggest worry at the time was whether she’d even remember her mother, and after the shock of the first few months it seemed like my biggest worry might be coming true as our daughter readjusted her sails and appeared to be adapting much quicker than I was. But since she went to big school last year, it’s like the old wounds have opened all over again. I’d hoped last December was a one-off, but here we are once more. So this year I’m going to do something about it. I can’t just stand by and watch as she goes to pieces in the run-up to Christmas.
