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 ou.
‘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 before our 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.
‘I hate this time of year so much,’
she announces.
‘And I hate that I hate it, because we used to love Christmas when she was here, didn’t we, Dad? Didn’t Mum love Christmas? Didn’t she love decorating the tree and cooking lots of nice things for us?’
I nod in agreement.
‘She did, baby,’
I say.
‘She loved it all.’
Roly whimpers in what sounds like support but is probably his way of letting us know how he’d love to be up on the soft duvet, casually tearing apart the photos Ava has taken from an old family album.
I gather up the photos, doing my best not to look too closely at the smiling faces that stare back at me. Our first Christmas as a family of three, then four when Roly came along as a puppy a couple of years later. It was Stephanie’s idea to get a dog, insisting that Ava had the love of an animal in her life the way I had back at home in Ballyheaney House when I was a boy. I wasn’t so sure back then, but now I couldn’t be more relieved that we have him to look after, because otherwise there would still be days when neither Ava nor I want to get up out of bed.
Roly, with his acrobatics that got him his name and his big dog energy, keeps us sane more than he could ever know it.
‘You sure you’ll be OK?’
I ask when I get to the bedroom door, but Ava is already tucked under the duvet, curled into a ball with the comfort of her iPad for company.
‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’
‘Everything still feels so empty here, no matter how much I try to fill the house with noise or decorations or people at this time of year,’
I explain to my business partner, Matt, when he pops by on his way home from playing a game of squash after work.
‘I know that Ava feels it too, no matter how hard we try to make it work without her mother.’
‘But you’ve both been doing so well,’
he reminds me.
‘I suppose we have,’
I reply.
‘I think we’re doing well, until something like Christmas comes along and we’re back to square one. This house is never going to feel like home again, I fear.’
Matt is usually a great listener, but he seems engrossed in my new Christmas decor as I spill out my guts to him.
‘I hear you, buddy, but this house isn’t empty. It’s modern and it’s magnificent,’
he tells me as he absorbs the elaborate gold-and-green colour scheme that embraces every room on the bottom floor of my south County Dublin home.
‘It doesn’t look empty, nor does it feel empty to me. You’ve done a pretty neat job on Christmas this year, Ben. I’m going to have to keep Vic away from here until I manage to make more of an effort at our place.’
‘What can I say, I do my best,’
I reply, wondering if he really believes I’m fully responsible for all these decorations.
‘Preparing for those parties at Ballyheaney House served me well in my youth.’
There’s a spectacular tree in the hallway by the red front door, another splendid display in the sitting room and an extra-large bushy tree sits twinkling by the floor-to-ceiling window in the dining area just off the kitchen, where we chat over a home-made smoothie.
‘I suppose that makes sense, but I didn’t know you were all that creative, Ben,’
he says.
‘I’m genuinely impressed. I mean, with our vet business, and your daughter, and the fitness regime, where did you even have the time to find your artistic streak? It’s a prize-winning display, man.’
‘I’m very much a part-time vet in our practice these days,’
I remind Matt, which makes a change from him reminding me about it since I decided to cut back my hours to a three-day week.
‘I’m a part-time vet and very much a full-time dad, but come on, surely you don’t believe I chose all of this myself?’
‘Ah!’
‘I’m good, but not that good, I’m afraid,’
I confess as a look of relief takes over Matt’s face.
‘You could have got away with that,’
he laughs.
‘Am I always this gullible?’
‘Hmm.’
I laugh.
‘I won’t answer that. No, I hired a company from the city who promised to create a festive atmosphere in your home that will fill your heart and soothe your soul. I’m not sure I got my full money’s worth on the last bit. It is pretty, though.’
Matt shrugs his shoulders.
‘It’s all very impressive to me, but I hear what you’re saying,’
he replies.
‘I don’t think companies like that can change how you feel, no matter what they promise.’
We sit for a short moment in silence, staring at the lights and the colours as I wonder why I ever thought it would make Ava feel better.
‘Ah, I dunno any more,’
I say, putting my head in my hands. I rub my face, then lean back on the kitchen chair with my hands behind my head.
‘No matter what I do, it never feels like it’s enough to make Christmas special again. Even after all these years it feels like something or someone’s missing, and that’s because she very much is missing. Steph is gone, and she isn’t coming back.’
I curse myself for how I can say her name now without feeling the sting that used to pierce my heart so badly. I hate that it’s getting easier. Part of me wants to make it all better for Ava, yet another part of me wants to wallow in the loss forever, because that’s what I feel Steph deserves even if it’s the last thing she said she wanted.
‘I’ve been thinking that maybe I should sell up and start again somewhere brand new, Matt,’
I say suddenly.
‘What do you reckon?’
Matt almost chokes on his smoothie. We’ve both been on a no-alcohol, gym-going kick for three months now and the results are showing, even if it will all no doubt go down the drain come Christmas.
‘You’re kidding, right?’
he says. Matt shakes his head and looks back at me with concern. He and his wife, Victoria, have been best friends with me and Steph right from the start, when we set up home here in south County Dublin fifteen years ago as newlyweds without a care in the world and with no idea what the future had planned for us both.
‘Ah, it’s so hard to be happy when your kid’s unhappy,’
I say, wondering if I should go upstairs and check on Ava, or leave her to scroll through her favourite videos like she said she wanted to do for a while longer.
‘I feel like we need a change or something new. Fresh energy, you know? It’s been six years and right now I’m worn out, Matt. I’m exhausted. But I promised Stephanie I wouldn’t wallow forever, nor would I let Ava do so. It’s time for us both to decide what we want in life and really go for it.’
Matt raises an eyebrow. His eyes light up.
‘You mean … do you think you’re ready to get back on the dating horse again?’
he asks me.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘I might be putting words in your mouth, but I’m right behind you if you are, mate,’
he continues.
‘The last time with the English girl, Kelly, wasn’t a complete disaster.’
‘Oh, it was a complete disaster,’
I correct him.
‘Yes, it may have been a great date which led to another and another, but in case you’ve forgotten, Kelly overheard Ava asking if I’d found her a new mother. The poor woman ran for the hills, probably back to England if the truth be told.’
But Matt has an answer for everything, it seems.
‘Ava is older now,’
he reminds me.
‘She’d handle it much better these days. We always knew it would be hard, and that it’s entirely your business when you want to try again. And at the same time, if it never happens then that’s OK too, so—’
I put my hands up to stop Matt in his tracks. He claims to know me the best out of anyone, yet the dating scene couldn’t be further from my mind.
He’s on a roll though.
‘Hey, how about the cute teacher who keeps giving you the eye at parents’
night?’
he says, his eyes dancing with excitement.
‘Or – or the blonde lady, Ciara, who brings her pet poodle into our practice at every turnaround. She so has the hots for you, Ben. Most of the time that dog is absolutely fine!’
‘Matt!’
‘Or, you know Vic has a single friend, Jenny. We always joke she’d be a perfect match for you. A bit older than you, maybe, but she’s—’
‘Matt!’
‘Or how about – yes, remember the Christmas Eve girl you told me about one night when we were both hammered on Jack Daniel’s?’
he says, his eyes dancing with excitement now.
‘The one back home up north? What’s her name again? I know you said she lives in Chicago.’
Oh God.
‘She lives in New York, actually.’
‘New York, that’s the one,’
he repeats. Jeez, I shouldn’t have encouraged this conversation by correcting him.
‘She seemed to have got under your skin big time, back in the day. You could look her up out of curiosity just to …?’
‘OK, slow down, Matty boy. Slow way down, please,’
I say quickly as my heart burns in my chest. He didn’t even have to say Lou’s name to almost knock me over. The very idea of her is enough.
‘I’m not sure why you’re bringing that up again.’
‘Still a sensitive subject?’
‘No, not really, but I told you before how I never want to … anyhow, you’re barking up the wrong tree entirely,’
I tell him swiftly.
‘I didn’t say I’m ready to date again. I’ve tried it a few times already and the last one was a car crash.’
‘Whoops, that was my fault too,’
Matt remembers.
We both laugh as we recall my blind date from hell, orchestrated with great intentions by Matt and Vic, where the lady turned up drunk and spent the entire dinner on her phone, texting her ex.
‘Someday I will get back on that good old dating horse,’
I say with a slight shudder.
‘but for now there must be more life for me and Ava to live, that’s all. Much more than this.’
Matt has the grace to look embarrassed.
‘I’m so sorry I mentioned the girl from Christmas Eve,’
he says.
‘I shouldn’t have even hinted at your past relationship with the one who must not be mentioned.’
‘It wasn’t a relationship in that way.’
I close my eyes.
‘Your love story, then.’
‘It wasn’t a … oh, for God’s sake, Matt! Why did you bring this up?’
‘Too far, sorry,’
he says.
‘OK, that’s my cue to go. I’m going to mooch out past these wonderfully expensive decorations that you don’t even appreciate, through the hallway of the house you once loved and now hate and into my car, which I’ll drive in the direction of my own home, which you know you can call at any time, and I promise I’ll never bring up such a touchy subject again.’
‘Thank you.’
It’s too late though. She’s already stuck in my mind, and Matt has no idea how hard it is for me to shake her off when that happens, even after all these years.
When Matt leaves I flick through channels. I scroll on my phone. I do my best, but I can’t relax, nor can I switch off to concentrate on what’s on the telly.
Why did he have to bring up Lou Doherty of all people? I haven’t thought of her in so long. I’ve even managed to skip thinking of her for a few Christmas Eves as the years have ticked by. So, why is the very thought of her managing to distract me so much right now?
And when I accidentally fall asleep on the couch, I see her in my dreams, which I’m not sure if I love or hate any more.
My phone rings, waking me up from my early evening slumber after what feels like just a few moments. It’s my sister, Cordelia.
‘How is my way-too-handsome, talented and wonderfully kind big brother?’
I sit up on the couch and rub my eyes.
‘OK, what do you need?’
I ask her.
‘Business advice? Relationship advice? A loan? A Christmas miracle like I do?’
‘Ouch, no. None of the above. Just a chat,’
she tells me, but I have an inkling already that she’s up to something.
‘I swear, Ben, my flat is like the bloody North Pole! Would you believe I’ve a burst pipe? Again! I’m going to ask for my deposit back when I move on from here. Like, it’s Spain for crying out loud, not the Outer Hebrides! But enough about me. How are you? How’s our girl and what’s the story with needing a Christmas miracle?’
Cordelia has lived in different European countries since she left home at eighteen, always city-hopping, job-hopping – and boyfriend-hopping too if the truth be told. I’ve never known anyone with a bee in her bonnet or itchy feet like my only sibling, but I wouldn’t change her for the world. I update her on Ava, before she launches into the very real reason she has called me this evening.
‘You’ll never believe this, but Mum got a letter from one of the locals today. Now, don’t freak out when I tell you this, but guess what?’
My stomach is a bit queasy at the sound of this. I’m in no mood for stress or worry on top of what I already have on my plate, but I’m not sure why someone from the village would feel the need to write my mother a letter unless it’s something serious.
‘Has Uncle Eric said something?’
I ask.
‘Is there trouble?’
‘No,’
she laughs.
‘It’s nothing to do with Uncle Eric. You won’t believe this, but a local committee has written asking that Mum and the Heaney family – that would be you, me and Uncle Eric, by the way – would consider bringing back the Christmas party at Ballyheaney House this year.’
‘Ha!’
I spurt out, reeling in utter shock.
‘What?’
‘Is this a joke?’
I ask her.
‘It’s nearly two weeks until Christmas, sis. Why would anyone in their right mind think we’d want to do that again? We live in different times, Cordelia. There’s no way.’
My sister is far from impressed by my reaction.
‘OK, don’t hold back on your opinion, Mr Cynical!’
she exclaims.
‘Can you at least try to think about it without snorting or laughing or dismissing it entirely, please?’
I stand up and walk around my sitting room. Then I sit back down again as I stare at the floor with a million thoughts and memories racing through my mind.
‘I think it’s absolutely ridiculous,’
I splutter, standing up now to pace the floor again.
‘It’s not just something that can be arranged at this late notice anyhow, but even if it was possible, how or why would we want to do that all over again? I can’t even imagine it. Who wrote to Mum?’
‘A president or chairperson of some sort.’
‘Who is she?’
‘I don’t know,’
says Cordelia.
‘I haven’t lived at Ballyheaney House in donkey’s years, and Mum hardly leaves the house these days unless it’s for a doctor’s appointment, so I don’t think she knows either, but it’s a legitimate request.’
‘And is this committee going to organise it?
‘No, Ben,’
she says with a sigh.
‘Don’t be silly. We would organise it. Our family, at our home. Why are you being so negative?’
Negative? Realistic, more like.
‘I don’t often say this, but catch a grip, Cordelia. The answer is no.’
‘I can do the catering,’
Cordelia continues, as if someone has lit a spark inside her. It’s like she hasn’t listened to a word I said.
‘You can help get the house ready practically and we all know you’re a great organiser, Ben. Remember Dad’s sixtieth birthday party? You and I took full charge of that, and it was epic!’
‘He hated every minute of it,’
I remind her.
‘He hated almost everything,’
she reminds me.
‘Except his walled garden. Oh, come on.’
‘No.’
‘It could be so much fun,’
she rambles on.
‘It could also be just what our family needs this year to inject some energy into Ballyheaney House as well as into our own hearts this Christmas.’
I pause and do my best not to laugh but a loud cackle escapes.
Has my sister softened suddenly? She doesn’t do hearts and feelings. She’s a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of gal who, and I mean this in the most endearing way, thinks of no one but herself as she has absolutely zero responsibility in her life.
‘Cordelia, please slow down,’
I say to her, pinching the bridge of my nose, feeling more serious about it all now.
‘You’ve got to admit this is totally unexpected and not something any of us would have dared to as much as consider after the fiasco of the last one, when Dad pulled the plug for good. A party at Ballyheaney House is not what we need this Christmas. In fact, a party at Ballyheaney House is the very last thing anyone would want this Christmas. There’s no way Ava would agree to it.’
‘I think it’s a great idea,’
my daughter says.
I swoop around to see her behind me, dressed in a padded yellow jacket and a cosy blue hat, as if she’s now ready for that walk on the beach after all.
‘Wait a minute! Have you two been in cahoots behind my back?’ I ask.
Ava shakes her head while Cordelia goes into full-throttle denial all those miles away.
‘A Christmas Eve party for charity would be so much fun,’ says Ava.
‘You think so?’
I ask her, noticing how her previously tear-filled eyes are now trimmed with mascara, which gives me a gut-thump reminder of how she’s almost a teenager.
‘Grandma has told me all about those good old days, and I’ve seen some photos too,’
she tells me.
‘I can help organise it if you’ll let me. And maybe I could help pick the charity? Say yes, Daddy, please! I dare you to be spontaneous for once in your life.’
My sister bursts out laughing.
‘It would mean us uprooting for Christmas and I’ve just spent a clean fortune on fancy decorations for this place,’
I plead, hoping that might be a start in my defence.
‘I can’t waste all that.’
‘Take them up north with you,’
suggests Cordelia.
‘They’d look magnificent in Ballyheaney House, I’m sure.’
‘And we’d need to work out a budget and see what work needs to be done to the house before we fling open the doors to the general public,’
I remind my sister, who will no doubt swan in at the eleventh hour when all the hard work has been done and declare afterwards how easy it was to get the big house ready.
‘I’d need to resurrect my DIY skills, which to be honest I’ve missed quite a lot recently.’
‘Yes!’
they both cry in unison.
‘You’re the best!’
shouts Cordelia.
‘It’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever done, wait and see.’
I shake my head, feeling very much like I’ve been pushed into something I’m not quite prepared for. I also fear that in more than one way this evening, I’ve allowed the Pandora’s Box of Lou Doherty memories to be prised open again.
Thank goodness she lives in New York now.
‘So, you’ll go to Ballyheaney this weekend then and make a start?’
says Cordelia.
‘We only have two weekends before Christmas to pull it all together.’
‘I love how you say “we” when you’re not even in the same country,’
I remind her.
‘But yes, I’ll give Mum a call and we’ll see if she’s up for giving it a go.’
I’m not sure how this has happened, but it seems I’ve agreed to organise a once legendary party at my childhood home with about two weeks to do so.
In many ways, I’m doing it to distract Ava. And I suppose it’s an excuse to get out of this empty, soulless house for the holidays.
It could be a blessing in disguise or a complete disaster. Only time will tell.