Page 6 of Every Christmas Eve
She lets out a deep sigh.
‘The punchline is that Mrs Quinn from the Christmas Fayre committee has written a pleading letter to Tilda Heaney.’
She pauses for effect, knowing our mouths have now dropped to the floor, including Master Campbell’s.
‘Tilda Heaney?’ asks Mum, puzzled. ‘Why on earth would she write to Tilda Heaney?’
Nana can’t help but smile at the look on our faces now she’s got the reaction she expected.
‘She has written to ask the Heaney family to help raise spirits within our community this year by bringing back …’
‘No,’ I whisper.
‘The Christmas Eve Charity Afternoon Tea Party at Ballyheaney House.’
‘You’re joking!’ says Mum.
‘I’m not,’ Nana replies.
My stomach goes to my throat. I grip the small counter, feeling faint. I might be sick. My eyes glaze over.
‘Can you believe it?’ Nana continues, her voice now shrill in my ear. ‘I mean, talk about setting yourself up for a fall! Christmas Eve Afternoon Tea with the Heaneys! As if that’s what we need, and as if that family would ever dream of bringing it back. Sure, there’s only Tilda and eccentric old Eric left. Well, I know I won’t be going, that’s for sure.’
I glance at my mother, who seems to have drifted off to another planet. She certainly isn’t on the same one I’m on right now.
‘Gosh … wow!’ she says at last, clasping her hands together. ‘I think that would be just what we all need. Oh, I can’t help but picture it all. Their home is so beautiful. This is wonderful news! A party at Ballyheaney House on Christmas Eve is something to look forward to.’
‘I totally agree, Liz,’ says Master Campbell, who is rubbing his hands and grinning, but I don’t respond. I can’t. And I’m glad that none of them have noticed how my cheeks are burning, or how beads of sweat are forming on my forehead as I look around for a place to hide.
I fear I might be sick.
‘Wonderful? Why exactly?’ exclaims Nana.
‘Wonderful and exciting and everything else along those lines,’ says Mum with glee as she dances around the florist’s with a tea towel as her partner. ‘Oh, those really were thegood old days in this village, right up until it all came to a very abrupt ending with no reason, rhyme or explanation.’
Master Campbell clears his throat. ‘Wasn’t it because Mr Heaney died?’ he suggests.
‘He was a dead weight for years before that,’ says Nana Molly.
‘Nana!’ I cry. As much as I’m in a state of shock, there’s no need for that. ‘Mr Heaney died years after the last Christmas Eve party, so it was nothing to do with him.’
I’m glad they don’t quiz me any further, knowing I probably have inside information from those days.
‘Ah, the exquisite live music,’ continues Mum. ‘The fairy lights on the trees, the delicious food in the blue ballroom, like a banquet. The fashion sense of Tilda Heaney and her gorgeous family. The glitz and the glamour … not to mention the money raised for charity. I can see it all happening! I can feel it already! Am I there yet? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
Master Campbell pipes up from behind his coffee cup. ‘I wonder would the son and daughter come home for it if it did happen?’ he ponders.
I fear I might choke.
‘Now, wouldn’t that be something else?’ says Mum. ‘Our Lou and Ben had quite a thing back in the day.’
I raise my eyebrows.
‘He hasn’t been seen much in this village for ages,’ Master Campbell continues. ‘And his sister lives in Spain, I believe? Or is it Portugal? I often wonder about them both. It would be a fine homecoming for them too.’
‘Do you think they would?’ I ask, unable to hide the tremor in my voice. ‘Do you think they’d come back?’
My legs are playing a blinder by still managing to hold me up now the conversation has got this far.
