I woke up this morning with my head on the table, fully-dressed. I had been dreaming I was on a beach. I could feel the sun warm on my face, but now I could feel my face was stuck to something. I opened my eyes and saw it was the Argos Christmas catalogue.
“Mummy, shouldn’t I be at school?” I heard a voice say.
I turned to see Rosencrantz in the kitchen doorway. He had got himself up and dressed, and it was eight o’clock. Everything came flooding back to me: Daniel was in hospital… the row with Ethel… Rosencrantz had to be at school… I had to be at school… Tracy Island… Christmas still had to be assembled.
“Shit!” I said. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”
“Mummy, you shouldn’t use those words,” he said.
“Yes, they’re only for mummies to use,” I agreed.
I grabbed my purse and my keys and drove him round to school. Luckily, I looked like all the other mothers on the school run – harassed and bedraggled, and several of them were still wearing slippers. I came back home to grab the rest of my stuff when the phone rang. It was Meryl.
“Hellllooooo Coco!” she trilled. I could hear Nat King Cole in the background singing ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’.
“Meryl, I can’t stop. I’m on my way out to work,” I said.
“This is just a quickie, Coco. I won’t keep you. I wanted to ask if you have a memory foam pillow?”
“I thought you said you were getting me and Daniel bath cubes for Christmas?”
“Yes! Of course we are. No, this is a memory foam pillow for Tony, he’s suffering terrible whiplash.”
“Did he have an accident in the hearse?”
“No, he went a bit overboard doing the funky chicken at the Rotary Club Christmas dinner and dance… If you ask me he was playing to the crowd, but the only people he comes into contact with at work are dead, so I let him have his moment in the sun.”
“Meryl, I’m late for work—” I said.
“Okay working girl, can you put Daniel on?”
I quickly told her everything that had happened.
“Oh Coco, that’s awful,” she said. “Well, look, I can help ease the burden…” I thought she was going to say that she and Tony wouldn’t be coming to stay for ten days, but instead she offered to talk to Mandy at Handy Mandy Crafts, her local craft shop.
“I could help you make Tracy Island!” she added excitedly. “Now I’ve mastered Batik and finger puppets, I’m dying for a challenge—”
“Meryl I’ve got to go,” I said.
“Righty-ho. Well, keep me in the loop about Daniel, I’ll bring that pillow for Tony, and start to brainstorm Tracy Island… byeeeee!”
* * *
I got to work at nine o’clock. Marika, God bless her, had somehow managed to take the register for my class and get them seated for assembly in an orderly fashion. She’d saved me a chair beside her at the side of the hall.
“Thank you,” I whispered as we took our seats and The Ripper appeared at the front. She smiled and handed me a tissue.
“You’ve got ‘sogra’ written on your forehead,” she murmured.
I grabbed the tissue and scrubbed at it.
“All gone?’ I whispered. She nodded. “I fell asleep on the Argos catalogue,” I added.
I didn’t get to hear her response because we all stood for the first hymn, ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’.
The rest of the day was a crazy blur. All the teachers bunged on videos for their classes to watch and we took it in turns to keep an eye on the kids whilst we tried to organise our lives. I nipped out to Debenhams and bought a pillowcase and tea towel for Rosencrantz’s Wise Man outfit. I checked the toy department, but was laughed at when I asked if they had any Tracy Islands.
I bumped into Mr Wednesday, the handsome art teacher, on one of his rare visits to the staffroom and he kindly said he would photocopy me the Blue Peter ‘make your own’ Tracy Island plans. He’s very rugged and tanned with a shock of dark hair. He smells delicious and carries a leather satchel with a selection of Koh-i-Noor pencils poking out, and I sometimes see him sharpening one with a Swiss army knife.
“Come and see me in the art room,” he grinned, his white teeth contrasting with his black stubble.
“Yes, I will,” I said, feeling rather overwhelmed by him.
* * *
At lunchtime I phoned the hospital who told me that Daniel was doing well and could probably be discharged tomorrow. I said to tell him I would visit after work. Marika had asked if I had a moment before I left, but I completely forgot and dashed off as soon as the bell went for the end of the day.
I picked up Rosencrantz from school and took him straight over to see Daniel. He was sitting up in his hospital bed and looked almost back to normal.
“Daddy!” Rosencrantz yelled and went to jump on the bed.
“No!” said Daniel, and I grabbed him quickly before he could land on his cast.
On the bedside table, I noticed there was a huge bowl of fruit, a giant ‘get well’ card and several bottles of Lucozade.
“Mum’s been here most of the day,” said Daniel. “Got me a lovely card too.”
I realised I hadn’t brought him anything. I also realised the time.
“I’m sorry, Daniel, it’s been a mad day, and we can only stay for a few minutes…”
“I’m due on stage tonight,” said Rosencrantz proudly.
“Yes. Break a leg son,” said Daniel. “I wish I could come and see you!”
“Don’t break a leg, Rosencrantz. I couldn’t cope with you both in plaster,” I said.
“Mummy, break a leg is just a figure of speech. It means good luck before a performance.”
Daniel and I laughed.
“Bye Daddy!” he yelled and gave Daniel a kiss.
“See you tomorrow, love you,” I said, pecking him on the cheek.
“Yes, Cokes, love you too,” he said.
* * *
When we got home, I assembled Rosencrantz’s Wise Man outfit and got ready for the Nativity. He looked so adorable! I got changed and then we drove over to the school. Chris and Benji were waiting for us outside and when Rosencrantz saw them he suddenly got very scared and tearful.
“Mummy, what if I forget what I have to say!” he said, the panic on his face.
“You won’t forget,” I said. “You know your lines better than anyone. And you know all theirs too!”
“Yes, Rosencrantz. Just take a deep breath and enjoy it,” said Chris.
“But what if I do forget?” asked Rosencrantz, wiping away the tears in his little eyes with the corner of his Wise Man’s tea-towel headdress.
“Then improvise,” said Benji.
“What does that mean?” asked Rosencrantz.
“You know the story so you can make up something that fits,” said Benji.
“You’ll be fine, you’re the best little actor I know,” said Chris, giving him a hug.
I took Rosencrantz round to the classroom and reluctantly left him with Miss Mears. Then we took our seats in the school hall front of the stage. It looked magical. Fairy lights and paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and the scenery on stage was an image of the mountains of Bethlehem, with a star in the sky. When Benji went off to get us all a cup of mulled wine, I asked Chris if things were okay between them.
“Yes, we made up when he came home, three times. I can think of worse things to be obsessed with than Disney... He could have wanted me to pee on him!”
A rather posh lady next to us choked into our mulled wine. Chris didn’t seem to notice and carried on,
“How are things with you? By the way, where is Ethel?”
“Good point,” I said. “I thought she’d be here…”
“Here, use my mobile phone?” offered Chris, retrieving it from his long coat and pulling up the aerial.
I dialled Ethel’s number and she answered after a few rings.
“Oo is it?”
“Ethel, it’s me. I’m at
Rosencrantz’s Nativity play. Where are you?”
“Well, as far as I remember, I’m not welcome!” she snapped and hung up. I stared at the phone in shock.
“She’s not coming,” I said to Chris. “She can hate me all she wants, but Rosencrantz wants her to be here.”
Then Benji appeared with the mulled wine and the lights dimmed so I didn’t get to say anymore.
There was a pause. Then the music began, and a spotlight came on up on a rotund little redheaded girl wearing a pillowcase and tinfoil angel wings, who began to narrate the play.
The children were all very sweet, but I think Miss Mears took it all a bit too seriously with the live Dulux dogs around the manger, and we had no idea that Mary was going to give birth to a real live baby.
“Ouch. And she did it without gas and air,” whispered Chris when the tiny girl playing Mary was presented with a very large thirteen-month-old toddler, who apparently belonged to one of the school dinner ladies.
We all gave a squeal when the Wise Men arrived.
“Rosencrantz looks the best, like a tiny Arab,” said Chris.
“Is he wearing a curtain tie-back from Debenhams? I love their living room range,” added Benji.
“Yes,” I said, welling up with pride.
And then Rosencrantz started speaking!!!
“On this special night, under a banker of stars,” he began. He took a breath… Then there was silence. Rosencrantz froze. There was a shuffling of feet and several people in the audience coughed.
“Did he mean to say ‘bank’ of stars or ‘blanket’?” I whispered.
“It should be blanket,” whispered Benji.
“Ummm,” quavered Rosencrantz, biting his lip. The silence went on.
“Where’s the bloody prompt?” I hissed.
Chris grabbed my hand. Rosencrantz looked around at the silence. His bottom lip trembled. Tears came into his eyes.
“You know your lines,” I whispered loudly, smiling and trying to catch his eye to reassure him.
“Improvise!” whispered Benji, equally loudly.
Rosencrantz tried to see past the bright lights to where we sat.
“Yes, improvise Rosencrantz!” hissed Chris.
“Sing your little song,” I said, more loudly.
Rosencrantz gulped and seemed to compose himself. He took a deep breath and said,
“I’m not a pleasant fucker, I’m a pleasant fucker’s son,
And I’m only fucking pleasant ’til the pleasant fucker comes!” he beamed and handed the Frankincense to Mary.
The next little Wise Man stepped forward grinning and started, “I’m not a pleasant fucker, I’m—”
The curtains suddenly began to whirr shut, sweeping together at speed and, in their haste, dragging over the microphones on stands at the front of the stage. There was a crashing, echoing sound and then feedback. The headmistress leapt up from her seat, and told everyone how wonderful it had been and refreshments would be served outside the hall.
Myself, Chris and Benji helped ourselves to another plastic cup of mulled wine and waited for Rosencrantz to emerge. We were given a wide berth by everyone in the hall. No one said a thing. As if what Rosencrantz had said was supposed to be in the script, and people were politely ignoring this radical bit in the story. Rosencrantz came out, still in his costume, and ran to me and cuddled my legs.
“I’m sorry Mummy, I think I got the Pheasant Plucker rhyme wrong?”
“Yes, but never mind. Maybe you should have sung your made-up song, I’m the best and wisest man, ten times better than Peter Pan,” I said.
“It was the only thing I could remember,” he said, sadly. “Did I let you down, Mummy?”
“Of course not!” I said, crouching down to hug him.
“It was scary up there, Mummy…”
I noticed we were getting haughty looks from the Headmistress. I got up to go and say something to her, but Chris grabbed my arm.
“Come on Cokes, let’s go. Your mouth will only make things worse.”
Outside on the street we said goodbye to Chris and Benji.
“We’ll try and phone you from the cruise ship,” said Chris.
Several parents walked past us and stared at Rosencrantz, the little foul-mouthed Wise Man. An elderly bloke with a kind face stopped and told us how much more interesting the Nativity had been this year, then walked off into the dark with his wife.
“What did I do?” asked Rosencrantz in wonder.
“You went down in Nativity play history Rosencrantz,” said Benji. “I’d kill for an audience to go away remembering me like that!”
Rosencrantz tilted his head up to me, peering from under his bobble hat.
“I don’t understand, Mummy? I thought I made a mistake,” he said.
“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” I said, squatting down to give him a kiss. Chris squatted down too.
“Have a fabulous Christmas, Rosencrantz,” he said. “What do you think of Scalextric? I’ve heard they are really cool…”
“What’s a Scaleytrix?” he said.
“Oh, well it’s… um, something to do with travel?”
“Electric car racing,” I said, saving Chris.
“Yeah! And I hear that Father Christmas has plenty in stock!” he added.
“No. I want Tracy Island and I’ve written to Father Christmas weeks ago. As Nan says, if you want something you have to book it well in advance. Where is Nan?”
“She, um, wasn’t feeling well,” I said.
“Shame, cos I really, really wanted her here. Just as much as I really, really want Tracy Island,” he said. “FIVE…. FOUR…. THREE…TWO… ONE. THUNDERBIRDS ARE GO!”
He went tearing off round the school car park, his gold curtain tie-back belt dragging along behind him. Benji and Chris looked at me sympathetically.
“I’m going to have to make it,” I said. “I’ve got the Art teacher, Tom Wednesday, to give me the plans.”
“Yes, Tom Wednesday,” said Chris. “Bit of a dish, Benji.”
“Ooh. What does he look like?” asked Benji.
“He’s dark and quiet. Tall. Rolls his shirt sleeves up and has lovely arms. He’s very much like the kind of man who you see in The National Geographic magazine, advertising precision watches, or steering a ship,” I said.
“Ooh, an intrepid explorer,” said Benji.
“Yes, do you think he wants to explore you? Intrepidly, Cokes?” joked Chris.
“I’m married,” I said. “And he’s… he’s… Mr Wednesday.”
“He could be Mister Any-day-of-the-week for some lucky lady,” said Chris. “He owns his own yacht, Benji!”
“Oh! You could be Tom Wednesday’s Girl Friday!” cried Benji.
“I doubt it. Right now I feel more like Gayle Tuesday…” I said.
I bade them farewell and Rosencrantz and I headed home.
When we arrived at the front door, an ambulance was parked by the kerb and a paramedic was helping Daniel out.
“Daddy!” shouted Rosencrantz.
Daniel grimaced in pain as he stepped down onto the pavement. He had a paper bag containing his things under his arm.
“I’ll leave him with you then,” said the paramedic. He got into the ambulance and drove off.
“Didn’t they give you a crutch?” I asked, as Daniel stood there in his pyjamas resting his huge cast on the kerb.
“Oh bugger, it was in the ambulance,” he said. “Where’s Mum?”
“She didn’t show up,” I said.
“That’s odd. She said she was going. Didn’t you offer to give her a lift?”
“No. She gets the bus everywhere.”
“It’s late, Coco. So she missed the Nativity?”
“Yes.”
There was a silence. He grabbed my arm and we made it slowly up the steps to the front door, his leg with the cast lurching, and our little Wise Man following with the paper bag.
When we got in, I told Rosencrantz to get ready for bed
. Daniel slumped on the sofa and we had a huge row. He thought it was my fault Ethel didn’t feel she could come to Rosencrantz’s school Nativity! Halfway through the row Daniel began to grimace.
“What is it? Do you want painkillers?” I asked.
“I’ve got a crazy itch,” he groaned, rubbing at the plaster cast.
“Do you want me to get you a knitting needle?” I asked. Then I realised I never knitted. I went through to the kitchen and grabbed a few bits of cutlery, a pencil, a ruler and the barbecue tongs. When I got back in the living room, Rosencrantz had changed into his pyjamas and was trying to help.
“What about a ruler?” suggested Rosencrantz.
“Try this,” I said, handing a rather short ruler to Daniel.
It wasn’t big enough, nor were the cutlery items. We spent an hour trying to find something to scratch Daniel’s itch, but nothing was long enough. Not even the barbecue tongs, which, with difficulty, I bent out to their full length. Then Rosencrantz went to bed and the row restarted about Ethel. He refuses to believe the woman is capable of doing wrong.
Daniel ended up sleeping downstairs on one of the Z-beds. I came upstairs, checked on Rosencrantz, and then got in bed alone.
Just before I went to sleep I remembered Mr Wednesday had something very long: the rod he uses to open the skylight in his classroom. It would fit perfectly down the side of Daniel’s plaster cast.
Tuesday 22nd December
I was late again, and Marika covered for me, again. I did have two very good reasons: an invalid husband who needed help to wash and dress, and a four-year-old son who’d said the F-word four times during a primary school Nativity play.
When I dropped Rosencrantz off, I went into school to assure the Headmistress that it was a silly mistake, that Rosencrantz didn’t even know what he was saying, and that it wasn’t the beginning of a darker pattern of behaviour.
Thank God it was the last day of term! There was such a nice atmosphere at school. The death knell of a redundancy had failed to chime, so I was now certain The Ripper had just been scaring me into handing over Tracy Island. In the morning after registration, the kids all went to the assembly hall, again, to watch films. The teachers took it in turns to nip out for a last-minute errand, a fag and a coffee, but in my case I went to find Mr Wednesday to get the plans for Tracy Island. I’d been told he was in the art room firing the jugs, fruit bowls and ashtrays made by pupils.
Coco Pinchard's Must-Have Toy Story Page 7
