Page 1 of Every Christmas Eve
Then
Christmas Eve, 25 Years Ago
‘We did it,’ said Ben. ‘We really did it! I think you might be magic, Lou Doherty.’
The brand-new life we’d just delivered moments before lay within touching distance, covered in a blanket to protect her from the elements. She was all long legs and wide blinking eyes, while her skin was still damp and downy and her ears twitched and flickered as she adapted to her whole new world.
A world I was now a big part of at the tender age of sixteen.
With the newborn baby foal beside us, Ben and I kneeled together in the shelter of the stable, the smell of damp hay and horses filling the air as the snow fell gently outside the open door.
It was already a Christmas Eve like no other, even if I’d no idea how this moment would end up shaping both of our lives forever.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in mywhole life before,’ I said, staring at the tiny foal, ‘or had a Christmas gift so special. That was amazing. It was like something from a movie.’
He laughed at my wide-eyed enthusiasm, but it was true. I’d never witnessed anything like it and believed I never would again.
‘We make a good team, Lou,’ he told me. ‘You handled every bit of that so calmly, so coolly. I’d have you on my side any day of the week, and twice at weekends. Same time next year?’
Even then, although I hardly knew him, Ben Heaney had a way of making me feel like I was the only girl in the world.
‘Same time next year, Ben,’ I joked in return. ‘I think we make a great team too. Thanks for making me help you out instead of running in the opposite direction like I was so tempted to.’
We sat for what felt like ages in comfortable silence as thick flakes of snow fluttered down on to the roof of Ballyheaney House in the distance, covering its sprawling lawns like a thick, white blanket.
Not far from the stable where adrenaline kept us warm and the baby foal purred under the watchful eye of her mother, the Ballyheaney House Charity Afternoon Tea was in full festive flow inside the Heaney family home, a stunning eighteenth-century house which was inspired by St Peter’s Cathedral in Rome.
But we had escaped from all the celebrations for just a little while.
‘I wonder has my mother noticed I’m gone yet,’ Benmuttered, though I knew deep down he wasn’t bothered, considering what we’d just achieved with Sally, their adored mare.
‘Maybe we should go back?’ I suggested.
‘No, it’s fine. We can relax for another few minutes,’ he told me. ‘They’re all going to be so impressed when they hear of the new arrival. And besides all of that, I’d much rather be here with you than lifting glasses from tipsy guests who tell me how handsome and grown up I am since they saw me last year.’
It was exactly the reply I’d been hoping for. With Ben by my side, I wished I could bottle up that moment and savour it forever.
It had been twelve whole months since I had last laid eyes on Ben Heaney. A shy, awkward introduction and a brief conversation with instant chemistry was as far as we’d managed at last year’s party, but I’d dreamed of him ever since.
Yet nothing could have prepared me for this incredibly special, intimate and unexpected first chance to spend one-to-one time together, so far away from everyone else.
Back inside his magnificent stately home, fine bone china cups would be clinking on matching saucers in a magnificent blue ballroom as chatter and laughter formed a symphony alongside a string quartet playing Christmas carols in the corner. Right through the centre of the room, a mouth-watering buffet was spread on a long table covered in crisp white linen, with silver candelabras circled in green holly and bright red berries foraged from the hedges close to nearby Lough Beg.
The Christmas Eve party was an annual sweet escape into a way I imagined my life could be one day. And if I’d the chance back then to travel the world or stay in that stable with him, I’d have chosen him every single time.
He was dashing, with intense green eyes and a bird’s nest of tousled dark auburn hair I longed to touch at any given opportunity. His body was lean and muscular, defined from seasons of training on and off the rugby pitch, but his most engaging feature was his tenderness, which defied his seventeen years. Most of all, to me he was a mystery, whether hidden behind the gates of Ballyheaney House, or far away at boarding school, or packed off to Europe on exchange trips throughout the summer.
To get a glimpse of any of the Heaney family was always a source of village gossip. They were different from us in so many ways, yet he and I were starting to form a bond that no one would know about for a very long time.
‘So, when do you leave for school in Dublin again?’ I asked, feeling silly for the ache in my heart I already felt for what was to come.
‘Don’t tell me you’re missing me so soon?’ he sighed. ‘You’ve got it bad. I knew it.’
I felt my cheeks flush.
‘I’m jesting,’ he continued. ‘Ah, look at your little face. I’m joking, I’m sorry.’
‘It was a very simple question,’ I reminded him, wishing the pink flush that always let me down would go away.
