by Jodi Taylor
Somewhere, a signal was given. Colin brought the (probably not) Bach to a graceful conclusion. There was silence for a minute, and then the Angel Gabriel appeared, very dramatically, out of the gloom. Supplanted she may have been, but Fiona Braithwaite was obviously determined to wring every last moment of drama from her performance.
She wore the obligatory white sheet and a tinsel halo. How much more difficult must it be to kit out nativity plays in these days of patterned duvet covers? And dishwashers. No more tea towels for those eastern headdresses. As compensation for not being chosen to be Mary, her beautiful golden wings had been designed by Russell, cut out by me, and glued by her mother, during a cosy afternoon in her kitchen. Dramatically lit from beneath, she stood on her straw bale and extended her arms. I felt the usual shiver run through me.
‘And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.’
‘Nothing changes,’ grumbled a man behind me. His wife shushed him.
‘And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee out of the city of Nazareth into Judea unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem. To be taxed with Mary, his espoused wife, being great with child.’
She paused for a moment, the echoes of her voice dying away, and here they came.
Joseph led the way, stumping determinedly up the aisle, with his shepherd’s crook (borrowed from the Braithwaites). He wore an old brown dressing gown, tied with a sash. Behind him came the Virgin Mary, resplendent in a blue velvet robe that had obviously cost a fortune. Impractical long sleeves trailed on the ground and a white veil framed her face. Her hands were clasped and her eyes raised piously heavenwards. She caught sight of Fiona, dramatically lit on her bale, and a small expression of annoyance flickered over her face. I heard a faint snort from the other side of the aisle.
I felt like snorting myself and my efforts at decorum caused a sudden cramping pain which I forgot about immediately, because here came our girl, tip-tapping alongside a poker-faced Andrew, in her smart tartan dog-coat and very fetching blue bow. Not, probably a realistic look for a first-century donkey, but giving the congregation the full benefit of her saintly expression and huge dark eyes. Her little hooves clattered softly on the stone floor.
‘Aaaaaawwwww,’ said the congregation en masse. I could hear at least two kids demanding a donkey for Christmas.
There was a slightly awkward moment when she paused to investigate the wreaths hanging from the end of each pew, but since they mostly consisted of substantial amounts of holly, she lost interest. I could not relax, however. The Baby Jesus might still be in peril.
The organ started up and we sang ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ as they arrived at the stable and with some fuss, they got themselves into position. The Angel Gabriel, from her dominant position on the straw bale, smirked down at the kneeling Virgin Mary who glared back again. Joseph, sensibly, kept his head down.
To my own surprise, I found myself suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, fighting back tears and swallowing huge lumps in my throat. I found a tissue, sniffed, and made myself concentrate. The Angel Gabriel was speaking again.
‘And so it was, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.’
Mr Wivenhoe had wisely sidestepped the whole ‘room at the inn’ issue. Apparently, years ago, while taking part in his own nativity play, a young Russell had thrown the whole afternoon into confusion by flinging open the door and inviting them all inside. ‘There’s plenty of room at the inn.’ The young Andrew, in his role as second innkeeper and anxious to adhere to the plot, had attempted to push them all back out again. There had been Words.
We dutifully sang ‘Away in a Manger’ and with a certain amount of groping under the straw, the small bundle signifying the Baby Jesus was held high, rather in the manner of The Lion King, and then ceremonially laid in the manger. Marilyn watched all this with huge interest. I held my breath but Andrew was there to intervene. No kids would be traumatised by seeing Baby Jesus eaten at birth.
‘And there were in the same country, shepherds abiding in their fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night.’
I spared a thought for Russell and Martin, searching for their own flocks out there in the snow. Surely they should be back by now. Surely I would return to Frogmorton to find Russell sprawled in front of the range with a beer in one hand and a bacon sandwich in the other, full of inventive excuses for his non-appearance. Please. Let that happen.
Under cover of looking around the church, I kept craning my neck to see if Russell was maybe standing at the back. On the other side of the aisle, I could see Monica doing the same. In this quiet church, the wind sounded very loud.
‘And lo – the angel of the Lord came upon them and the glory of the Lord shone about them and they were sore afraid.’
Cue the spotlight on three dramatically cowering shepherds and a very unimpressed and very fat sheep.
We sang ‘While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night’, as the three shepherds heaved themselves to their feet and appeared in the stable. Marilyn immediately abandoned her scrutiny of the Baby Jesus and fixed the sheep with an expression of deep professional rivalry. The sheep ignored her and tried to lie down. There was a small wrestling match between the sheep and the shepherds, one of whom was Martin’s son and who was looking extremely anxious.
I wished that Russell was here. He would have enjoyed this so much. As would Thomas. And today, neither of them was present. I folded my arms over my stomach and leaned forward to ease the cramp. It didn’t help at all.
‘Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem, behold, there came three wise men from the East. And lo – the star which they saw in the East went before them.’
And here came the Wise Men, beautifully attired in their mothers’ curtains and a vast amount of Christmas tinsel, all clutching their meticulously painted tea caddies. Before them, carefully watching where he put his feet, walked young Charlie Kessler, grinning from ear to ear. Charlie went to the special school on the other side of Rushford and this was his first nativity play ever. He was obviously enjoying every moment. And he had a line to say, as well. According to his mother, he had been practising solidly for the last two weeks. He beamed with pride and excitement and waved madly to his family, all of whom beamed and waved right back. Charlie was portraying The Star, and as such, carried a long pole with a beautiful golden star (Russell again) dangling from the end.
The congregation sang ‘We Three Kings’ as they slowly approached the stable.
That sheep was making a lot of noise. I saw Andrew lean over to look. Marilyn also, was struggling to climb over the straw bales to see what was going on.
One of the shepherds, Martin’s son, said doubtfully, ‘Um, Mr Checkland …?’
Oh God. The sheep was dying. Our nativity play was to be presided over by a dead sheep. Surely this could not be happening …
Andrew handed Marilyn’s lead to Charlie. ‘Here you go, Charlie. You’re in charge of the donkey for a moment. Hold tight now,’
Charlie nearly burst. This was easily the most exciting day of his life.
The sheep really was making an awful lot of noise, completely upstaging the Virgin Mary who, with commendable dedication to her part, still knelt in prayer but was looking extremely cross about it. Marilyn was craning her neck like a giraffe. Charlie leaned over to have a look and gasped with excitement.
‘Hey, Mum! Guess what’s just fallen out of this sheep’s bottom!’
Even Mary opened her eyes at that, screamed ‘Eeeew!’, and scrambled to get away, abandoning Baby Jesus to his fate. I saw Fiona Braithwaite and her mother exchange glances and then look away again. Monica looked particularly pleased with herself. I wondered just who had selected this particular sheep for this p
articular performance.
All around us, the children in the audience were fighting their way into the aisle for a better view. One little girl, her thumb in her mouth, crept slowly towards the stable. Other children followed suit. Without a word being spoken, they seated themselves cross-legged on the stone floor, eyes and mouths wide with wonder. It struck me that next year, Mr Wivenhoe was going to have to incorporate the Cirque du Soleil at the very least, to better this year’s effort.
Andrew performed a few basic tasks, mercifully hidden behind a straw bale, and then announced, ‘No cause for alarm, anyone. It’s a boy. Mother and child doing well,’ and kicked loose straw over the messy bits.
‘Aaaaawwww,’ said the congregation and I could hear at least two children demanding a newborn lamb for Christmas.
We took a moment for everyone to have a good look, and then there was silence for a moment because everyone seemed to have lost the thread.
‘Well,’ said Mr Wivenhoe, appearing unnervingly out of the darkness to get us all back on track. ‘Wasn’t that exciting, everyone? Now, where had we got to? Oh yes. It’s time for Mary and Jesus to depart for Egypt and we shall sing ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’. Everyone’s favourite. When you’re ready, Colin.’
The opening chords echoed through the church, joyful and jubilant, but something was wrong. All the light and excitement had disappeared from Charlie’s face. Stricken, he looked up at Andrew, tried to say something, failed miserably, sat down on a bale, and burst into tears. Marilyn surged forwards but even this wasn’t enough to calm him. Andrew stepped over the bale and sat down beside him. ‘What’s the matter, Charlie?’
Whatever it was, it was serious. He was heartbroken. Inconsolable. Shaking with sobs. Andrew patted him on the shoulder. ‘Tell me, Charlie. Maybe I can fix it.’
Around us, no one was singing. The organ petered out, uncertainly. Mr Wivenhoe appeared again and somewhat creakily crouched beside him. ‘Charlie, my dear boy. Whatever is the matter?’
He wiped his nose on his sleeve. Already, his mother was bustling towards him.
His face was blotchy with tears. ‘You forgot me. You forgot what I was supposed to say.’
‘Oh, my goodness me,’ said Mr Wivenhoe, in horror. ‘So I did. Whatever was I thinking? My dear Charlie, I am so sorry. But I think we can put this right.’
He stood up. ‘Your attention please, everyone. Charlie has a very important announcement to make.’
He stepped back. Andrew helped Charlie up onto the bale and handed him his pole. The golden star dangled bravely above his head. He took a deep breath, trembling with excitement and nerves.
I saw his mouth open but no words came. My heart went out to him.
Marilyn pushed her head forward and nibbled gently at his tunic.
He took another huge breath and closed his eyes.
‘BeholdIamtheStaroftheEast!’
There was a moment’s silence and then thunderous applause echoed throughout the church.
I clapped as hard as everyone else. My face was wet with tears. And not just my face. And not with tears. Why was I all wet? Oh no! Not now!
I leaned forwards to try and ease the pain.
‘Mrs Checkland?’ said Sharon, in sudden concern.
‘Shh!’ I said. ‘I’m fine. Just a twinge. It will pass in a minute.’
Behind me, the door opened and a sudden draught swirled through the church, making the candles flicker. He was here. Russell was back. Of course he was. He’d only been bringing sheep down off the moor, not invading a small country. How stupid was I? And if I tried to tell him how worried I’d been, he’d just laugh at my pregnancy nerves.
I peered around. Not Russell. Tanya stood quietly at the back of the church. She’d made it back from Germany, despite the weather. A small miracle in itself. How happy Andrew would be. Then I lost sight of her as she slipped into a pew. Had he seen her?
No. He was chatting quietly to Charlie Kessler. The two of them sat side by side on their straw bale. Marilyn was investigating Charlie’s pockets, just in case either of them had missed anything edible. I wondered if Tanya was watching Andrew and thinking, as I was, what a great dad he would make. Not for the first time, I wondered what sort of father Russell would turn out to be. Too late to worry about that now.
And at last it was time for the final hymn. Colin had another go at the opening chords of ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ and everyone got to their feet. Except me. I concentrated on a knot in the pew in front of me. The pain was swift and strong. I leaned forward again. Mrs Crisp sat beside me.
‘Just breathe deeply, Mrs Checkland. In a few minutes, we can bring the car round and take you home.’
I nodded. Around me, voices swelled in song. Everyone likes ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’. It was the final hymn and everyone was giving it all they’d got.
In the stable, Mary and Joseph gathered up the mercifully uneaten Baby Jesus and departed for Egypt with Andrew and Marilyn and Charlie, who refused to be parted from his new friend. No one seemed to mind. The shepherds and wise men followed on behind. The sheep stayed put. I rather envied her.
Mr Wivenhoe said a few words, none of which I heard and after the blessing, the congregation filed out. We sat and waited for everyone to leave.
The wind sounded very loud in the suddenly silent church. I began to shiver. Was Russell still out in this? Where was he? I suddenly remembered the old superstition that for every new arrival in a family, another member must depart. Suppose Russell was making room for this new child?
Strangely, when I mentioned this theory, no one seemed inclined to take it very seriously.
‘Please try and stay calm, Mrs Checkland,’ said Sharon, her own voice wobbling and so I made a massive effort not to panic. Which didn’t mean I stopped worrying on the inside. I was shivering – with cold, with fear, with shock – and trying desperately not to cry, because surely all this was too early, when, suddenly, over the various smells of church, candles and agitated sheep, there it was. At long last, there it was, bringing back the memories of safety, security, and a big golden horse whose eyes were soft with love.
I smelled warm ginger biscuits.
And then Tanya was here.
‘You will sit back, Jenny, and breathe slowly. That is good. Has anyone thought to time the contractions? Sharon, you will do so. Kevin, please ask Andrew to join us. And I am not at all surprised at having to ask this, but where is Russell?’
No response. She sighed, heavily.
‘Kevin, can you please take Marilyn home?’
‘Yes,’ said Kevin thankfully making himself scarce, because this was Women’s Work.
I smiled to myself. This was Thomas’s doing. If he couldn’t come – he sent. And here was Tanya, miraculously appearing out of the East, taking charge and effortlessly organising us feckless Checklands back into line.
The next ten minutes were a bit of a blur – everything was lost in the business of getting me to the car so we could drive the couple of hundred yards back to Frogmorton. The snow was coming down heavily now. And if it was heavy here, how bad must it be up on the moor? Half way home, we overtook Marilyn and Kevin, making their way homewards. The two of them were dancing in the snow, jumping in and out of snowdrifts, kicking great heaps of it at each other. Having the time of their lives. Kevin waved as we went past. Marilyn looked a picture in her beloved tartan dog-coat. I had a horrible feeling she wouldn’t be parting with it until at least July and possibly not even then.
I’m not going into the details, but our daughter was born an hour or so later, at Frogmorton, in a proper bed, delivered by a tunic-wearing vet; his girlfriend; the forensic accountant, and Mrs Crisp – whose role apparently consisted of boiling up vast reservoirs of water. I have no idea what she did with it all afterwards.
After it was all over, and I had stared and stared at our daughter until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, I lay back and slipped in and out of sleep. The sounds of bleating sheep, clattering hoove
s, and voices in the yard all swirled together in the winds of my dream, and when I opened my eyes, Russell was standing at the foot of the bed.
It took a second or two to register. I blinked and forgave him instantly because he’d obviously had a rough afternoon, too. He still had snow in his hair. His eyes were shadowed with anxiety, and he looked completely worn out. He smelled very strongly of sheep and horse.
I reached out my hand. ‘Got lost, did you?’
He didn’t move. ‘I promised I’d be here. I’m sorry. Are you angry?’
I leaned over and lifted the baby out of her cradle. ‘Of course not. Come and see.’
He sat very carefully on the bed, squashing neither me nor the baby. I felt my fears subside. He was going to be a great father. Unconventional, maybe. And definitely noisy. But no child of his would ever be lost or alone or afraid or ignored.
He tucked my hair behind my ears. ‘I don’t know, Jenny, I leave you alone for one afternoon and look what you get up to. I was thinking of trotting off to London next month for that exhibition at the Tate Modern and now I’m worried I’ll get back to find you’ve had triplets.’
I ignored him. He was just putting off the moment. ‘Do you want to hold her?’
‘Should I …? She’s very small … I don’t want to …’
‘Yes, just support her head.’
‘Like this?’
She looked smaller than ever in Russell’s arms.
Astonishingly, he said nothing. I think, for once, he couldn’t find the words. He smoothed her little tuft of hair with one finger. She opened her eyes wide at him and waved her little fists. He touched her face, gently outlining her features. She stared up at him. The room was completely silent, just the gentle spatter of snow on the window panes. He stroked her tiny hand. She unclenched her fist and took a good grip on his finger. He made a slight sound.
‘I think she likes you,’ I said, offering him the opportunity to say, ‘Of course she likes me. Everyone likes me. I’m very likeable’ and, astonishingly, he didn’t. He didn’t say anything.
