Page 5 of Every Christmas Eve
‘A teacher knows his pupils for life,’ he responds, delighted to have said his piece. ‘Your Gracie will come home for Christmas, just you wait and see.’
‘I only hope you’re right,’ I mumble.
It’s been six long months since I left New York and everything I’d built there within a leading interior design company, and not long after, Gracie set off for her final year at college. For months before I’d been pondering my decision to move back home to Bellaghy, the tiny Irish village I’d grown up in, but when the gorgeous Katie’s Cottage came up for sale, my mind was made up instantly.
‘Well, look who it is!’ I hear from the front door as the bell rings at the arrival of my always charming Nana Molly.‘Good afternoon, handsome Edward. Now don’t you cut a fine vision on this December day. Oh, and Lou, I simply adore your decorations. I’m glad you took my advice on the coloured lights instead of those boring plain white or gold ones. The whole place is so cosy and festive. Well done!’
Nana Molly, as usual, is like a ray of sunshine from the moment she enters the room, even on this chilly afternoon. At almost eighty, she defies her age, living her life with zest and energy – and sometimes against doctor’s orders.
Her secret? A shot of brandy every night and her daily walks around Longpoint Wood by Lough Beg.
‘Seeing you all has made my day,’ chuckles my old schoolmaster, almost dizzied at the sight of Nana Molly. My late grandfather used to joke how he felt invisible in her company. I can easily see why.
‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ Nana Molly says with a cheeky wink as she pats Master Campbell’s shoulder. ‘Once a charmer, always a charmer. We need more of that round here. Thank you, kind sir.’
I catch a fleeting glance of the former schoolmaster, whose solemn frown now suggests he might feel he has said too much, but soon he is smiling again as Nana Molly keeps everyone’s spirits up.
She lifts a mug and taps it with a long teaspoon.
‘So, I have news,’ she announces.
She makes her way behind the counter, helps herself to a coffee and pops a few pound coins into my cash box as she does so. A statement like this, especially from her, is enough to make all of us sit up and listen.
‘Is it gossip or news?’ I tease. ‘There is a difference, so be careful, darling grandmother.’
Nana Molly ponders my question for a few seconds.
‘Both,’ she replies with an almost wicked smile. ‘Oh, you’re not going to believe this. This is big news. This isverybig news.’
Master Campbell is all eyes and ears as Nana holds up one hand theatrically. She is wearing a faux-fur beige coat, a bright yellow polo-neck jumper and a pair of flared light blue jeans that belong back in the seventies, where they probably came from. A blinding, potentially awful combination, yet it suits her to a tee with her slim little figure and short, curly, dark brown dyed hair with a tinge of red.
We wait with bated breath.
‘The village Christmas Fayre will have to be cancelled this year due to venue constraints,’ she announces. ‘And the lead sponsor pulled the pin, so they’re completely screwed. With just over two weeks to go, they don’t have the time or the contacts to make it happen.’
‘Ah, now that’s a crying shame,’ says Master Campbell.
My mother, who takes off her green apron and reaches for her coat, is much less sympathetic.
‘Is that it?’ she cries. ‘Is that the news?’
Nana raises her pencilled eyebrows.
‘What do you mean,is that it?’
‘The Christmas Fayre is cancelled?’ says Mum, in mock fluster. ‘Is that it? Sure, we can go to the one in the next village, or the next, or the next. I thought it was going to be something more exciting, that’s all.’
‘Well, I hadn’tfinishedmy news,’ says Nana Molly with her hand on her hip and her lips pursed tight. ‘Honestly, it’s hard to have a conversation with you two declaring disappointment and interrupting me constantly. At least you’ve the grace to pretend to look disappointed, Master Campbell.’
My old schoolmaster shifts in his seat, doing his best not to laugh out loud.
‘I haven’t said a word!’ I plea.
‘Tell the truth, Lou. You don’t give a toss either,’ Mum says, doing her best not to give in to a fit of the giggles.
Master Campbell chuckles in his chair by the window. I’m so happy to see him smile.
‘OK, so what’s the punchline, Nana Moll?’ I ask as I dry up some cups and place them on the wooden shelf on the wall. ‘The Christmas Fayre is cancelled and …?’
