“Dale?”
“I think one of my favourites must be the year Dad dressed up as Santa and got stuck on the roof.”
“I remember that one!” Lucie giggled. “You had to get the fire brigade out, didn’t you?”
Hank frowned. “It was not at all funny.”
“It was afterwards, Hank. You were clinging to the chimney for dear life.” Glenda patted her husband’s arm.
“I don’t like heights.” Hank shrugged.
“Well, why did you go up there, Dad?”
“I wanted to convince you boys that Santa was real.”
“But it didn’t work, did it?” Dale asked.
“Nope. I climbed out of the attic window and it shut on me so I couldn’t get back in. The roof tiles were frosty and I realized that I could have a nasty fall. It wasn’t my best decision ever. Your poor mother was downstairs trying to keep you lot from seeing me climbing up there.”
“The plan was that once he was up there, I’d take you boys into the garden and we could wave at Santa.”
“But instead, Santa was clinging to the chimney and shouting for help!” Dale chuckled heartily.
“Yes, we’ve had some good times, haven’t we?” Glenda took her husband’s hand, her love for him etched on her face. “You two have plenty of these ahead too. You’re going to be so happy.”
A lump caught in Lucie’s throat. She had no doubt that Dale would make a good husband… for someone, anyway.
“Lucie? Do you have a good story?” Glenda placed her empty mug on the table.
Lucie paused. “I’ll tell you when we get back from New York. I have a feeling this is going to be a good one, and that Dale and I will have some tales to tell.” She reached out and slipped her hand into Dale’s, and was filled with warmth when he squeezed her fingers.
“It will be, Luce. I promise.”
* * *
The day of the school play arrived, and with it an unexpected flurry of snow. As a result, the school telephone lines and email inboxes were jammed from seven am. It was decided that the school should remain open, dependent upon how the morning panned out. Staff members were encouraged to maintain a sense of calm and order, as apparently the weather forecast for the rest of the day was ‘uncertain’: forecaster-speak for ‘there might be more snow but we don’t have a clue how much or where it’s going to fall.’
Lucie did her best to settle the pupils as they divested themselves of hats, scarves, gloves and wellington boots, but spirits were high and with Christmas just over a week away, not much was going to soothe the savage pack that is a group of year three children when Santa will soon be visiting.
By ten-thirty, the pupils had changed into costumes and were waiting to be called to the hall. Beyond the old-fashioned windows the day was dark, so all the internal lights were on. It gave the room a false golden glow, and the clear reflections in the windows made the classroom appear twice its actual size.
Lucie was fitting a cotton-wool beard onto one of the three kings when the head teacher entered the classroom. The children immediately stood up and Mrs McMahon waved at them distractedly to sit back down. She beckoned to Lucie and Mrs Hughes to follow her to the door, which they did carefully, both aware that this would have roused the suspicions of the pupils, had they not been otherwise occupied.
“Ladies, the forecast does not look good. Apparently a snowstorm is making its way down to us and will be here by early afternoon. We have enough time to get the play done, but then the children will have to go home.” She looked crestfallen, as if the weather had deliberately set out to destroy the end of term for her school. She had a tendency to take things like this personally, which Lucie found a bit ridiculous, but then everyone had their foibles. “I’m not sure if we’ll be back before Friday, so let’s do our utmost to ensure that this morning’s production runs smoothly. At least then we can send the children off for the holidays with a positive conclusion.”
“Of course,” Lucie agreed.
Mrs Hughes frowned. “But I need to think about my own children too. They’re in school and they’ll be sent home if it’s that bad. I’ve no one there for them.”
“I know that, Dawn, but I’ve checked and the secondary schools won’t be closing until after lunch so the free school meals children still get to eat. So you have until then.”
Dawn nodded but she still looked worried.
“I don’t need to rush off, so you go as soon as we’re done, Dawn, and I’ll stay and help tidy up.”
“Thank you, Lucie. That’s so kind of you. It’s just with Billy having had the flu recently, and my mother not being well enough to drive, I can’t risk him having to walk home. Christmas will be ruined if he gets sick too.”
Lucie understood Dawn’s maternal concerns, but the Christmas bit rankled her. People were so strange with their festive obsessions. No one could get ill or die at Christmas otherwise it would all be ruined! Well, Christmas had been ruined for her a long time ago and she’d survived. She shook herself. Stop being so miserable! Christmas is probably great when you have your own kids.
They put the finishing touches to costumes, rescued a sheep who’d managed to get herself locked in the toilet and had to be calmed down with a cup of hot chocolate, then guided the children down to the main hall, all the time shushing and gesturing at them to be quiet. It was like a game of whack-a-mole, though: as soon as one child was settled, another further along started giggling and Lucie had to bite her lip to stop herself grinning, which they would likely take as encouragement.
From outside the doors to the main hall, they heard Mrs McMahon addressing the parents, giving them the usual spiel about how she’d seen a lot of plays in her twenty-plus years of teaching, but this had to be one of the best yet. She said this every year, but it still made Lucie smile. It meant so much to the children, and she loved seeing their happy expressions when they were praised by their head teacher. In their youthful innocence, they fully believed everything she said.
Then the hall fell quiet.
The only sounds were the sniffs and coughs of the children behind her.
They were like coiled springs in a mattress, lined up in pairs, ready to burst into the hall to sing and dance and repeat their lines. To celebrate life, love and the excitement of knowing that Christmas was just around the corner.
A note rang out from inside the hall.
Then another.
And another.
The hall doors opened with a creak and the children crept in.
Silent night… Holy night… All is calm…
For all that Lucie hated Christmas, hearing this song from the mouths of innocents made goosebumps rise on her arms and the tiny hairs on her neck stand on end.
She followed the children in and supervised as they took their places on the benches in front of the stage. As they sang the rest of the ancient hymn, one she’d sung herself as a child and one her mother had loved, she had to swallow hard against the emotion lodged in her throat.
The play went well. It was, Lucie admitted to herself, the best one yet. The school had decided to go with a traditional nativity this year, but elements of other religions were incorporated to reflect the multi-cultural catchment area. As always, there were wonderful moments, where the talented actors played their parts well, as well as a few hiccups, as could only be expected when so many young children were trying to remember both their lines and where to be and when. Mary – Chetana Singh – stole the show in her beautiful blue and gold sari. She was cool, calm and collected, even when Liam Waters, playing Joseph, dropped the baby Jesus. The baby happened to be one of those real life dolls that actually had a small penis – as was revealed when Joseph went to pick the doll up and only grabbed the corner of the swaddling. This caused the audience to gasp, which was followed by a ripple of laughter, making Joseph turn away in embarrassment.
Lucie sat facing the children, close enough to prompt them if they forgot their lines and to offer reassuring smiles to the ne
rvous ones. Or, in the case of Charlie Samuels, to frown and wag a finger when he kept trying to knock the crown off one of the three kings sitting in front of him. She feigned ignorance at the usual nose-picking and waving from the infant children, and tried not to giggle at the response from the audience when the little donkey turned out to be a labrador. His mother hadn’t been able to find a donkey costume, so had opted for what she thought most closely resembled one.
Lucie had to suppress a smile at one point when little Jacob’s waving became particularly fervent. A woman had come into the hall late, creeping along the side of the audience until she found a seat. Jacob’s eyes lit up and a grin spread across his face. Lucie turned to see what had caused his excitement and there, with his mother in the second row, was an older woman who Lucie guessed must be his nan. Perhaps she’d declined the invitation from her grandson at first but then changed her mind. Lucie was glad for Jacob; it would mean so much to him.
As she turned back to the stage, the scents, the songs, the atmosphere and the sense of magic in the air conjured a vivid memory of her own days as a pupil at St. Mary’s. She pictured her mother sat there in the crowd, her pretty face etched with pride as she smiled and waved at Lucie. And Lucie had been proud too; proud of her attractive mother, of the woman who tucked her in at night and read her stories, who sang and danced with her to ABBA songs, who brushed and plaited her hair better than anyone else could have done. Her mother had loved Christmas. And back then, Lucie had loved it too. The emotion was so positive, so vibrant and so joyous, that she held it close and vowed to return to it later.
As the children sang their final song, We Wish You a Merry Christmas, Lucie turned to the windows high up in the hall walls. Snow was falling heavily now. In the corner of the hall, the large tree twinkled with lights. She could smell pine and people and sweaty feet – some of the pupils had removed their shoes to get into character – and the buzz of anticipation was palpable.
She thought of Dale’s face when she’d told him she loved the tree he’d bought for her, and of the hotel they’d be staying in that overlooked Central Park, and how excited Dale had been about that fact.
Something inside her shifted.
Just a fraction.
She had to take a deep breath.
And it was okay.
Christmas was coming, and for the first time in a long time, Lucie Quigley wasn’t completely filled with dread.
* * *
Snow fell for the next two days and school was cancelled. Then, as often happens with British weather, it stopped snowing and the pure white flakes turned to grey mush in the gutters and on pavements. From a winter wonderland, Tonbridge became a wet, sludgy mess.
Lucie and Dale were heading to see his parents before they left for New York, in order to deliver gifts and cards. With everything that had been going on, Lucie hadn’t seen Glenda and Hank since they’d been to the Christmas market, and she was rather anxious. Lucie knew that maintaining her fake relationship with Dale in front of them would be increasingly difficult, especially without the distractions that the market stalls had offered.
“Stop worrying now,” Dale said as they pulled up in front of his parents’ house. “Just act natural.”
“‘Act natural?’ How do I do that while creating a convincing charade? ‘Natural’ means us just being friends, Dale.”
He turned in his seat to her and took her hand. “Lucie, it’s only for an hour or so. Just make sure that when you look at me, you smile and imagine I’m someone you fancy.”
“Someone I fancy?”
“Yes, you know… like Chris Hemsworth, Ryan Gosling, whoever.” He grinned.
“And who will you be imagining when you look at me?”
His expression changed, the laughter left his eyes and something more serious settled there.
“Dale?”
“Come on, let’s get inside.” He opened his door and got out.
“Dale! Tell me now. I want to know who you’ll be picturing. At least tell me that.” She gave a small laugh but for some reason her stomach had knotted.
Dale leaned back into the van and held Lucie’s gaze. “That’s for me to know. Now come on, or my mother’ll wear a hole in the carpet by the window, wondering what we’re doing out here.”
He slammed the door and Lucie was left alone in the silent van, watching as he walked around the front and came to open her door. As she slipped out of her seat and turned around the lift the gift bag out of the footwell, she released a deep breath. She didn’t know why whoever Dale might be thinking of should matter to her. But it did. Because she knew she wouldn’t be picturing Chris or Ryan – or any other celebrity, for that matter. She wouldn’t need to, when she had Dale by her side.
“Hello, Lucie!” Glenda enveloped her in a hug.
“Hi, Glenda. How have you been?”
“Busy with Christmas preparations, you know. But we’ve missed you!” Glenda released Lucie and met her eyes. “How was the end of term?”
“Well, the last two days were called off because of the snow, but the play on Wednesday was fabulous. The children did such a good job, and it was so much fun.”
“I used to love the Christmas plays. Such emotional times, watching my boys in their little costumes, fidgeting and waving when they spotted me. I do miss those times.”
“Did you go to see your grandchildren’s plays?”
Glenda shook her head. “The tickets were limited, so Helen’s mother went. My turn next year, apparently.” She paused and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I need some more grandchildren now, so I have more school events to attend.” She smiled to show she was teasing, but Lucie had to avert her eyes.
“Now, now, Glenda! One step at a time, eh? Lucie and Dale need some time as a couple before they add to the Treharne family. Isn’t that right, son?” Hank patted Dale on the back and was rewarded with a grateful smile from his son.
“Yes, Dad. We certainly do need some time. It’s way too soon for babies and all that, Mum.” Dale slid an arm around Lucie’s shoulders and she leant against him, grateful for the support.
“But you’ll make such beautiful children when you do.” Glenda clapped her hands together and stared at her son and Lucie. “Beautiful, with your combined genes. Right, ignore me! I’m just a sentimental old fool. I’ll make some tea.” She left the hall, and Hank followed her.
“This is really difficult,” she whispered.
“I know. I’m sorry. She’s just over the moon about us.”
“But baby talk? Already?”
“I’m really sorry. I can’t help how she is. I know she’s a bit overbearing at times but it’s only because she cares about you, Luce. She cares about you a lot.”
“I know.” And it was true, she thought, as she hung her coat on the banister then followed Dale into the kitchen. It almost made her wish that she and Dale actually were an item. Because then she would be feeling happy and hopeful, rather than cruel and deceitful. If she really was Dale’s girlfriend, all this would be so nice, even being teased about having children and becoming a proper part of Dale’s family. They were a warm and friendly bunch and had always made Lucie feel so welcome.
In the kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked cakes greeted her and she licked her lips. Glenda had always enjoyed baking, and her husband, sons and visitors all appreciated her offerings in the kitchen. Lucie was no exception.
“Lucie, I’ve made mince pies but I know you hate them, so I baked some gingerbread especially for you.”
“Wow! Thank you.” Lucie eyed the delights cooling on a wire rack. The aromas of ginger and cinnamon permeated the air and made her mouth water.
They sat around the kitchen island. Glenda placed a pot of tea in the middle, then four small bone china plates with festive red and green napkins. As Hank poured the tea, they helped themselves to mince pies and biscuits and Lucie munched away, listening to Dale telling his parents about the garden he was planning for his renovation. It sounded
incredibly complicated to Lucie, as he discussed the wood he would use for the decking and which shrubs he’d be planting to create wind-screening and privacy. He even had an area of the garden reserved for herbs, which made Glenda clap her hands, as she knew she’d have access to them too.
Lucie finished her gingerbread and dusted off her hands with her napkin. The kitchen was warm and homely. The radio was on low in the corner and a choir sang carols, their pure voices ringing out, the echoes created by the cathedral’s high ceilings creating a haunting clarity. Goosebumps rose on Lucie’s arms.
Outside, drizzle was falling, drifting sideways and melting what remained of the snow. The Treharnes’ back garden was neat and tidy, a rectangular lawn surrounded by pruned rosebushes and hardy shrubs. At the far end of the garden stood a row of emerald green thujas, planted by Dale to provide privacy from the house behind his parents’. The garden was as familiar to Lucie as the back of her hand, because she’d spent hours and hours out there with Dale and his family. Parties, barbecues, sunbathing, snowball fights; they had all happened out there. It was even where Lucie and Dale had shared their first kiss, when she was eighteen and he was just twenty. The kiss that had led to something more. She could picture it clearly now, although it was a memory she often suppressed.
They’d been to a concert in Hyde Park with friends, out in the sunshine and the balmy breeze all day long. Their noses were sunburnt and they were hot and exhausted after a day filled with excitement. They’d drunk too much cider, danced like fools and enjoyed just being young and alive.
Dale’s parents had been away on holiday in Italy. Lucie hadn’t wanted the day to end, so Dale had suggested she come home with him for some more cider and music. The friends they’d been with had left them at the station, but Lucie and Dale hadn’t minded. They’d been high on life, and were still singing the songs they’d enjoyed that day.
Outside, as they’d opened cans of Strongbow and lain on the grass, staring up the orange and plum streaked sky, something had changed between them. The years of friendship had fallen away, and as their eyes had met they’d kissed; furiously, excitedly, drunkenly. But passionately. Their discovery of each other hadn’t been hindered by awkwardness or fear of parental interruption. Dale’s younger brother Thomas had been away with friends, his older brother Ieuan long ago moved out.
A Very Merry Manhattan Christmas Page 10
