Every Christmas Eve

Chapter TWENTY-TWO

Ben

One Day to Christmas Eve

Ballyheaney House is feeling festive and prepared. The fires are lit, the house is cosy, the trees are sparkling, but outside is a different story as the heavens have opened.

So much for the weather being on our side.

Raindrops bounce heavily off the patio area out the back, forming a flowing river that seeps on to the lawns while all five of us all stand at the long, tall windows of the ballroom, looking on with a sense of doom. Even Roly joins in. He whimpers pathetically with his front paws on the low windowsill.

‘Maybe Dad’s trying to give us a sign to say we should have let sleeping dogs lie,’

says Cordelia, sipping her tea.

‘I can almost hear him cursing us, even challenging his precious drainage system to make his point.’

None of us answers because none of us knows the answer, though we’re probably all thinking the very same.

‘The whole place is already a sodding mess outside,’

Uncle Eric moans to me. I do believe it’s the first time he has said anything to me directly since I told him Lou wouldn’t be helping us out any further. I wonder if she received my flowers yesterday. I’ve heard nothing from her as yet.

‘We’ll have a hundred dripping umbrellas in the hallway and muddy feet throughout the whole house. This is a disaster.’

Ava looks like she might cry. Mum looks like she’s frozen to the spot. I’m the picture of misery for so many reasons that I’ve almost lost count, from Ava’s upset to being separated again from Lou after everything was going so well.

Maybe we should have stayed in Dublin for Christmas after all.

‘All right, team. Get it all out of your system once and for all,’

says Cordelia, clapping her hands together.

‘Eh?’

says Uncle Eric.

‘All of your moans, groans and worries,’

she continues.

‘Spit them all out now because in thirty seconds we’re shifting this negative energy and getting back to what we do best round here.’

‘What’s that?’

asks Uncle Eric.

‘Very funny,’

she replies.

‘You know what I’m talking about. Shake off all those worries once and for all because tomorrow, on Christmas Eve, we are going to rock everyone’s socks off with the best party this village has ever seen, rain or no rain.’

I like her thinking. I’m not usually a defeatist, but I have felt the mood slipping as the afternoon rolls in and the rain dances against the windowpanes.

‘Remember the year we’d the crisp, fresh snow and sunshine,’

Mum recalls with a smile.

‘That was such a wonderful party.’

‘Or when it snowed so heavily one time, we had to clear the laneways with a snowplough,’

Uncle Eric chuckles.

‘We thought it would stop our guests, but no. Instead, it added to the fun and the atmosphere was the best I’d ever known.’

I put my hand on Ava’s shoulder. She doesn’t move away like I expected she might, which both surprises and delights me. I haven’t been able to reach her properly since Uncle Eric’s outburst in this very room the evening before last.

‘That’s the spirit,’

says Cordelia.

‘We can’t control the weather, but we can take care of everything else, so let’s go, family. Let’s get this show on the road.’

Thank heavens for my sister.

Her upbeat vibe and uplifting energy is instantly contagious, and I feel my spirits rise a little as she clicks her fingers and sways to imaginary music. She takes Ava by both hands and swirls her around.

‘OK, so it’s time to check our to-do list,’

I say, doing my best to match my sister’s evergreen glow.

‘Let’s go over it so we know exactly what needs doing before we open the doors on the big day.’

I fetch a clipboard from the table, waiting for the inevitable groan from the others. We always joked how the person with the clipboard was the person wanting to be in charge, so I lovingly pass it to my sister with a smile.

‘Ava, you’re with me in the kitchen,’

says Cordelia, running her eye down what’s left to do today.

‘Are you good at decorating pastries? I know that’s a silly question. Of course you are.’

‘I can try,’

my daughter answers quietly.

‘She is perfect for that job,’

says Mum.

‘What do you need me to do, then?’

Cordelia paces around the ballroom where chairs are stacked in corners and Dad’s makeshift stage leans against the wall.

‘Mum, we’ll need you to keep an eye out for a delivery of leaflets and goody bags from the Daffodil charity,’

says Cordelia, full of business.

‘Uncle, we’ll get cracking on these tables and chairs,’

I say to Uncle Eric, doing my best not to think too much about how Lou would be taking over if she were here, dressing the tables to perfection like only she could.

‘And we need to set the stage up too for the jazz band. If it crackles with thunder outside while we’re doing so, then Dad is definitely sending us a sign. Though he did love jazz music.’

Uncle Eric rolls up his sleeves and chuckles. Joking aside, I do think my father would have more than mixed feelings about throwing the Christmas Eve party again, but despite his griping year after year, he always managed to enjoy it when it was in full swing.

Overall, he was often overwhelmed when it came to the upkeep of Ballyheaney House, having watched his own father and grandfather develop it over the years into what it is today. Dad believed each generation had a responsibility to pass on the house in a better condition than they found it, and I promised him that Cordelia and I would do just that.

We haven’t quite figured out how yet, we haven’t discussed where we’ll find the money, but there’s so much potential.

Cordelia and Ava head off to the kitchen to decorate pastries, while Mum goes to the drawing room to relax and keep watch for the arrival of the charity leaflets and gifts. As I watch Ava set off to help her aunt, my heart bursts with pride.

‘You know I feel your mum so close to us every day, Ava,’

I told her last night at bedtime, but she barely lifted her eyes from her iPad.

‘She’s never far away. I can still hear her voice in my head, I can still see her beautiful face, and sometimes when I walk into our bedroom, I even think I can smell her perfume.’

It was the truth. As much as I feel my father’s presence here at Ballyheaney House, I often find Stephanie when I need her most.

‘I wish that would happen me too,’

said Ava, before turning away from me.

‘Nothing like that ever happens to me.’

I sat on the edge of the bed, praying to Stephanie like I always do, asking her to help me find the words to guide our daughter as best I can. At times like this, I long for the warmth of her familiar wisdom or her gentle touch to get us through. It’s like walking a tightrope, balancing my own grief for the loss of the life we’d planned, while doing my best to care for and protect our precious child.

‘It’s such a slippery slope, isn’t it,’

Cordelia said to me this morning over breakfast.

‘The poor wee mite must be so confused. One minute she wants you to find someone to live happily ever after with, but then the guilt and sadness she feels when she realises nothing is going to fill that gaping hole her mother has left tears her apart. You’re doing a great job, Ben. Don’t be hard on yourself, and don’t give up on finding love again either. You deserve to.’

But I’m not so sure any more. One minute I’m marvelling at how far Ava and I have come over the last six years since we lost Stephanie, and then, just when I feel we’re steady, a tiny remark or a careless word can remind me that we’ve still a long way to go.

‘Have I ruined everything for you?’

Uncle Eric asks me as we unstack chairs in the ballroom. He can just about manage to lift one chair at a time, reminding me of how frail he is behind his bravado.

‘I put my big size-ten feet in it with Ava, didn’t I? Not once but twice since you got here. Me and my big mouth.’

He keeps glancing out the window. I know he’s hoping that Lou will rock up any minute and declare she’s back on board, not only for the party but for all of us.

‘It wasn’t the cleverest thing to say at the time,’

I reply.

‘but it’s not your fault. Lou and I had a few heated words on Saturday night, which pushed the first domino on the whole tricky situation.’

He stops and leans on the back of a chair, clearly waiting for another ‘but’

to follow. I don’t say a word.

‘Well, that has made me feel like shit,’ he says.

‘Good,’

I jest in return.

‘So is that it, then?’

he asks me. I’m not sure what he means at first.

‘Lou has scuttled away from Ballyheaney again, and Ava is miserable, so you’re going to rush back to Dublin to get on with a lonely life there. Are you telling me we’re doing all of this for nothing?’

Now it’s my turn to stare at him and wait.

‘Hang on a minute, I’m confused,’

I tell him.

‘What do you mean, “we’re doing all of this for nothing”?’

‘This,’

he says, looking round the room.

‘Do you mean the party?’

I ask him.

‘Yes, I mean the party,’

he says.

‘If Lou isn’t here, you’re unhappy, and Ava is unhappy at the mention of her name, so we’ve done all this for nothing.’

I pause from unstacking the chairs.

‘Uncle Eric, is there something going on here that I don’t know?’

He lifts the chair and shuffles across the room to put it in its place, muttering to himself, but I can’t make out a word he is saying except for something along the lines of how he’s said far too much again.

‘I think I need to speak to my sister,’

I say, bursting out of the ballroom and walking briskly down the hallway to the kitchen.

When I reach Cordelia, she and Ava are making up some sort of dance routine while holding wooden spoons to an earworm-type Christmas song I don’t recognise at first.

‘Dad, Dad, you should see some of Cordelia’s sassy moves,’

Ava giggles.

‘She almost did the splits.’

‘Accidentally!’

says Cordelia.

‘I slipped on some cream spilled on the floor. That would have been a disaster and a half!’

‘Cordelia, can I have a word?’ I ask.

She puts down the wooden spoon slowly. Ava does the same.

‘Is something wrong, Ben?’

she says.

‘You’ve a face on you like thunder. It’s worse than the weather outside.’

I don’t want to say anything more in front of Ava.

‘Darling, can you give me and your aunty a few minutes?’

I ask my daughter.

‘Maybe you can go and check on Grandma. She’s in the drawing room.’

‘She’s probably fallen asleep waiting for the delivery,’

replies Ava before leaving us to it in the kitchen.

‘Are you going to talk about Lou again behind my back?’

My heart stops.

‘No, I’m not going to talk about Lou behind your back.’

‘Or should I say, the love of your life,’

she replies. Why do I feel like I’m being attacked by my own family at every opportunity?

‘Maybe I should tell you to go to your room for speaking to me like that?’

I say to my daughter, the pain of being at loggerheads with her almost too much to bear.

‘Look, Ava, go and check on your grandmother, please. I need to speak to Cordelia.’

‘I’m so sick of you!’

she says, storming off, while Cordelia turns her back to me, busying herself with her culinary creations. I’ll deal with Ava later. In the meantime, Cordelia doesn’t fool me. I know she’s hiding something and it’s time I got to the bottom of it.

‘Cordelia, what’s going on?’

‘Sorry?’

she says, genuinely puzzled.

‘I’ve no idea where that came from with Ava. She was dancing and singing a few minutes ago.’

‘Are you Mrs Quinn?’

I ask her.

‘Was that letter a fake, or is there such a person in real life? What have you been up to?’

‘Don’t be silly, Ben,’

she mumbles.

‘Then can you shed some light on what the hell has been happening behind my back?’

I ask her.

‘Is the whole idea of throwing this party again some sort of deliberate matchmaking ploy to get me home so I’d spend time with Lou? What have you been up to? Talk to me!’

She puts both hands on the worktop, her head bowed and her eyes closed.

‘You’re making it sound like it was done with some sort of malice in mind,’

she tells me.

‘So it was! I can’t believe it!’

‘Yes, it was all my idea, but bringing the party back was meant to be fun for us all, Ben,’

she says.

‘It was meant to be a way of getting us all back together after far too long.’

I don’t know whether to laugh or scream.

‘Oh yes, how wonderful. Let’s get the whole merry gang back together,’

I say, doing my best not to raise my voice.

‘Let’s play with people’s lives like they’re puppets on a string. This is not a game, Cordelia! Maybe now you can see how it’s not quite as simple as that, is it? Who else was in on the big plan, eh? Mum? Was Lou? Did you convince Ava? Uncle Eric certainly was, as he’s just let the cat out of the bag and it’s not the first time he’s said too much since I got here.’

She turns to face me at last.

‘No, Lou wasn’t in on it and neither was Ava,’

she tells me.

‘You’re already overthinking it, making it more about you than it was ever meant to be. I am not Mrs Quinn.’

‘Then who is?’

‘Olivia Major, but that’s totally irrelevant,’

she mutters.

‘Quinn is her married name. Before you spontaneously combust, the whole thing has very little to do with her, believe me!’

I find a chair and sit down, putting my head in my hands.

‘Is this some sort of bloody freak show?’

I ask my sister.

‘I haven’t as much as thought of Olivia Major or Olivia Quinn since I was a twenty-something lovesick kid, so why would she want to have anything to do with my life now? What’s in it for her? I don’t get it.’

Cordelia sits down across from me. Her face is flushed, though her usual vibrant tone isn’t quite dampened yet.

‘Breathe, Ben,’

she tells me, holding my gaze.

‘Let me explain before you give yourself a heart attack. I’ve told you, it wasn’t her idea. It was mine. I knew you wouldn’t agree to the party if it came from the inside, but it all fell into place once I started to look into it. I was the one who got Olivia involved. It was coincidental that she was chairperson of that events committee in the village, and her letter, which was my idea, was a minor detail overall.’

‘So you’re telling me you orchestrated this all behind my back and pretended it had come from the village?’

I reply.

‘I’m sorely disappointed in you, Cordelia. Olivia Major of all people!’

She slowly blows out a long breath.

‘This was never intended to be all about you,’

she says.

‘nor was it ever a scheme of any sort to push you and Lou back together, so please take about ten steps back in your overactive mind and breathe.’

I do my best to give her the benefit of the doubt.

‘Go on,’

I say, looking at my watch.

‘This had better be good.’

The charity lady said she’d have the goody bags delivered by four-thirty and I’ve just heard a vehicle outside.

‘I can explain,’

says Cordelia.

The doorbell rings.

‘Well, you’d better explain very quickly,’

I say to her.

She takes a deep breath.

‘With my convincing, Olivia agreed to write to Mum to see if that got the ball rolling,’

she tells me.

‘But once the letter was posted, she said she would step out of the way and leave it to me to do the rest. Which she did, over and out.’

I bite my lip. I hear Uncle Eric open the front door.

‘It was all very innocent, Ben!’

she continues.

‘We talked only briefly about the good old days, the parties here year on year. She was asking about all of us. I said how I was worried that Mum had become reclusive and that Uncle Eric was lonely too. We never talked about involving Lou if the party was a goer, but yes, I was probably secretly hoping that it might happen. I hoped it would bring some joy back to these silent walls. I’m sorry if you think I was wrong.’

I open my mouth to respond, even though the words are stuck in my throat. My mind is replaying the events of the last two weeks in fast forward. The phone call from Cordelia, the speed at which everything had happened, the way I’d fallen for it all to make Ava happy. Yet here we are, it’s potentially falling apart, and I was in the dark the whole time.

But before I can find what I want to say, I follow Cordelia’s gaze to the kitchen doorway, where Uncle Eric looks like he has won the lottery.

‘Look who I found on our doorstep almost drowning in the rain,’

he announces.

‘The First Lady of Bellaghy village herself. Mind you, Lou, you’d be forgiven if you thought we were planning a funeral or a wake rather than a Christmas party from the look on these two faces.’

‘Hi, Ben. Hi, Cordelia,’

Lou says, peeping round from behind Uncle Eric, who hasn’t yet realised he is totally blocking her way. He steps aside, his arm outstretched as if Lou is some form of royalty.

I suppose to him she is. And to me too, if truth be told. She looks exhausted under her big, hooded coat, her pale face accentuated by her damp dark hair and navy branded jumper over loose-fit jeans and trainers.

‘I’d fully intended to stay out of your way today,’

she tells us, her eyes darting around the kitchen. I’ve just realised that Cordelia and Ava’s song has been playing on repeat.

‘Feliz Navidad’, that’s what it’s called. ‘But then something changed my mind. Thank you, Ben.’

Cordelia glances from her to me then back again.

‘Why aren’t you all racing about to get everything ready?’

Lou asks.

‘The tables in the ballroom, the stage … anyhow, I’ve no doubt you’ve it all under control. Don’t mind me.’

Cordelia speaks up before I get the chance to.

‘I’m sorry, Lou,’

she says, standing up to make her point.

‘Ben has just found out that the idea for the party was instigated by me, but I made it look like it was a committee headed up by—’

‘Olivia Major, now Olivia Quinn,’

Lou interrupts.

‘I know already. I spoke to her yesterday when she unexpectedly turned up to my shop, apologised profusely and told me she’d written the letter to Tilda under your guidance. Turns out her niece, Beth, is one of my favourite customers. I think I’ll be over the shock of that alone by, say, next Christmas Eve? She’s cool. We’re all cool in that department.’

Cordelia walks towards her, helps her take off her wet coat and gives Lou a hug.

‘Well, I’m glad someone’s cool, cos Ben is still chewing wasps over it all. It might take him a bit longer to forgive me,’

she says.

‘but please know it wasn’t in any way an attempt to push you two together. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Whiskey?’

Lou laughs at the suggestion of whiskey at this time of the day, holding up instead a bag of what I assume are her famous Colombian coffee beans. I’m tempted to ask for a brandy for medicinal purposes myself.

‘How have you been?’

I ask Lou as Cordelia fixes a pot of coffee.

She smiles and shrugs in return.

‘Not bad,’

she tells me.

‘I’ve been feeling a bit like the Grinch, if truth be told, no matter how I try to shake it off. Gracie not coming over for Christmas has been difficult for me, but your gift yesterday made my day. Thank you for your words. And the flowers are stunning, even if you gave your business elsewhere.’

I pull out a chair beside me.

‘I didn’t want to make it obvious by ordering flowers from you,’

I explain, even though I know she’s joking.

‘I’m so glad you liked them.’

She sits down.

Uncle Eric muddles past us, saying something about making a start on the stage, even though I know he has no intention of any manual labour. Still, he disappears nonetheless, singing as he goes, seemingly unaware of how in his old age he has somewhat lost the filter between his brain and his mouth. In a way, I love him even more for it.

‘My God, it’s good to see you,’

I say, losing my own filter for a moment too.

Cordelia pours us a coffee.

‘I’ll just go and check on Ava,’

she says.

‘Won’t be long.’

I can hear my own heartbeat thumping in my ears when it’s just the two of us again. Lou stares at her coffee cup, then looks up at me with a smile.

‘It’s good to see you too,’ she says.

I put my hand on top of hers.

‘I’ve missed you.’

‘It’s only been a day or so since I saw you last. You’ve got it bad,’

she jokes.

‘I’m so sorry, Ben. I’m sorry for all that’s happened between us now and all that happened when we were younger. We’re not the same people any more, but there’s no denying how I long to get to know you again.’

Butterflies dance around inside of me. I lean across and lightly brush her hair from her eyes. I want to kiss her, I want to hold her and tell her how, yes, we’ve changed, but the chemistry between us has never gone away and never will.

‘I’m sorry too for the part I played in stopping us from having what we both wanted more than anything,’

I tell her.

‘Let’s draw a line under it all if we can?’

But our bubble bursts when Cordelia comes racing back into the kitchen out of breath, her cheeks reddened and panic in her eyes.

Lou and I both jump up from our seats.

My first thought is Uncle Eric or Mum. Has something happened to one of them?

‘I can’t find Ava!’

she cries.

‘What do you mean, you can’t find her?’ I shout.

My heart rate goes through the roof in an instant.

‘I’ve checked the whole house, Ben,’

says Cordelia.

‘She’s not in her room, she’s not with Mum, she’s not with Uncle Eric. It’s raining buckets out there still and she’s nowhere to be found. Ava is gone, Ben. It’s already getting dark outside. Come quick! We need to find her.’