Page 10 of Every Christmas Eve
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 leavesthe 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.Wewould 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.
