Page 14 of Every Christmas Eve
I opened a carrier bag to unveil the burgundy blanket I’d bought in Belfast a few weeks before when Dad and I were Christmas shopping. It was warm and fleecy on the outside, with satin quilted lining. Best of all, it cradled over her back like a hug.
‘Oh wow, she really suits it,’ said Ben from where he stood in the doorway with one hand resting on the stall door, his cold breath visible in the frosty air.
‘I think so too,’ I agreed, smoothing the blanket down and patting the horse’s flank while feeling his gaze on my every move.
Little Eve snorted in approval, which made us both laugh, and when Ben walked towards me with a hunger in his eyes, I thought I may have died and gone to heaven.
We kissed on the warmth of the hay with a passion so fierce it almost frightened me, but before we could get any further, I heard the voice of Jack Heaney coming towards the stable.
Ben and I sprang apart, our cheeks flushed and our hair tossed from the brief encounter that may have been a whole lot more had we not been interrupted.
‘Ah, you beat me to it,’ said Jack when he reached the open stable door. ‘I was bringing the horses some fresh blankets, but as always, Lou, you’re one step ahead of us all round here. What would we do without you?’
‘How do you know it wasn’t my idea?’ quipped Ben, winking at me behind his father’s back.
‘Because I know my son,’ Jack guffawed. ‘Now, how about you go and change into something smarter before the guests arrive? Lou, you’ll need to brush down your clothes too. We can’t have our staff smelling like horse hay and manure.’
Our staff.
Well, that was me put firmly back in my place, eventhough Ben rolled his eyes as if to tell me not to take his father’s words too seriously.
I was more than ‘staff’ to Ben, I knew that for sure.
I was seventeen years old. I was falling in love at the speed of lightning in his presence. And I’d a strong feeling that Ben might be falling in love with me too.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lou
NOW
Fourteen Days to Christmas Eve
‘It would be great company, that’s all I’m saying, Lou. A Pomeranian is a good companion, though maybe a little bit yappy. How about a tiny little Yorkie? Oh, imagine a cute little puppy to snuggle up with you every evening.’
My mother is in one of her very persistent moods today. Subject: puppies. Theme: not taking no for an answer.
We are making up ten poinsettia centrepieces for the local Women’s Institute Christmas dinner, while debating the merits of getting me a pet of some sort so that I’m not alone in my beautiful new cottage.
‘That all sounds very tempting indeed,’ I agree, ‘but I don’t think it’s fair to have a dog when I’m at work all day, six days a week. It would break my heart to say goodbye every morning and look at its sad little face as I leave. I couldn’t do it.’
Mum rolls her eyes and hands me a lovely little gold-sprayed pot. I must admit, aside from days like this when she seems to torture her own mind with how she can make my life better, we do work quite well together when it comes to creative combinations for our customers.
‘Get a cat, then,’ she suggests, clipping a piece of gold ribbon to match our beautiful pots at lightning speed. ‘Cats are much more independent. You know, when your father passed away, I was so glad your grandmother came to stay with me. She’s so independent too, coming and going, but it’s nice to have her company as long as I let her have the remote control.’
‘Are you comparing Nana Molly to a cat?’ I tease. ‘What type of cat? I think she’d be a very elegant Persian.’
‘I was thinking more of a cranky old alley cat.’
‘Mum! You’re bad!’
‘I’m joking, but I’ve no doubt you can’t wait to tell her that and sink me right in it,’ says Mum with a smile. ‘Your father used to do it to me all the time. He’d land me in trouble with her at every opportunity, just for fun.’
We go on about our business in comfortable silence, though I can’t help but glance at her once or twice while she stays on autopilot, caught up in the quiet ache of remembering my father, who was taken from us so suddenly, far too cruelly and far too young.
‘Oh, I can’t wait to have Gracie home for a few days over Christmas,’ she whispers, slowly coming back to the present. ‘Has she booked her flight from New York yet, Lou?Imagine the four of us together at Christmas! You, me, Nana and Gracie.’
I feel a familiar knot in my stomach tug tighter and tighter with dread.
