A Fairy Tale for Christmas

by Chrissie Manby

  ‘We’re out of milk,’ it said.

  Chapter Ten

  Duckpool Beach was Ben’s favourite. Always had been. When he was a little boy, Judy used to take him there to feed the ducks. Until one of the ducks got a bit too brave and took an ice cream cone straight out of his hand. There were tears that day. After that, Ben refused to go anywhere near the famous waterfowl.

  Ben never trusted ducks again – still didn’t, if he was honest – but as a teenager, Ben came back to the beach with his friends. They would skive school to spend sunny afternoons sitting on the rocks, secretly drinking cider and complaining about the out-of-towners who thronged the main beach in the summer.

  Later, when he was at university, Ben would come to the beach during the holidays to be moody and intellectual, imagining himself to be especially enigmatic as he gazed out to sea while listening to emo music on his headphones. Then, in his twenties, he met Jo and brought her to see his childhood haunt. He was pleased when she told him she loved it too and took off her trainers to paddle in the waves. He had feared she might be too sophisticated for British beach life. Showing Jo Duckpool was like showing her another piece of his heart.

  Then they got married and they came to the beach together with Thea. They had Thea christened in the church that overlooked the bay one beautiful Sunday in June but it felt like her proper baptism happened afterwards when they carried her down to the water’s edge and dipped her toes in the surf. Thea squealed but she loved it at once. When she was a toddler, she would cry when it was time to go home after a day of paddling and building wonky sandcastles.

  Thea still loved Duckpool Bay and, since it was the closest beach to Grandma Judy’s house, they would often bring Buster down there. Out of season, they could let him off the lead. Buster liked nothing better than to race across the sand after a ball. Though Thea always had to be reminded not to throw the ball in the direction of the ‘sinky bits’. Or the stinky bits. Buster loved a quick roll in rotten seaweed. Or worse.

  Six years after Thea’s first dip, Ben walked to Duckpool Bay alone to cast Jo’s ashes onto the waves, just as he had promised when they talked about funeral arrangements in the weeks before her death. Though she had grown up in London – and that was where she and Ben and Thea lived until she became ill – Jo had come to love Newbay perhaps more than her own hometown. She claimed she must have been a Devon woman in a previous life. Perhaps a fisherman’s wife.

  ‘You mean a fishwife?’ Ben suggested as a tease.

  Before she got ill, Jo and Ben had often discussed how they were going to retire to Newbay and watch their grandchildren throw bread for a new generation of ducks. With that version of the future no longer possible, Ben made sure the ducks were out of the way when he committed Jo to the sea.

  And since Jo’s death, Duckpool Bay was the place Ben came when he wanted to be close to her. His memories of her first visit to the beach were so clear. She sat on a rock and turned her face to the sun, while her feet were in the surf. That was the moment when Ben knew he really loved her. That was the photograph he wished he had taken. Moments before she turned and smiled at him and told him she loved him too.

  Seeing the woman gave Ben a start. She was sitting on the rock. Jo’s rock, as he had come to think of it. She had her head tipped back to face the sun just like Jo used to, though Jo would have complained that the weather was much too cold to be hanging around by the sea that day. There wasn’t much sun to be had.

  Ben studied the woman for a moment. She was taller than Jo had been. She had blonde hair, curly, piled up in a messy bun, where Jo’s hair was dark. Her bright-yellow mac seemed to mark her out as a visitor but it was the wrong time of year for tourists. She must be local, though Ben hadn’t ever seen her before, he was sure.

  Thea drew Ben’s attention to the fact that now they were at the beach, Buster could be allowed off his lead. The terrier was full of tense energy as he waited to be set free. The second his lead was off, Buster was away at sixty miles a minute.

  ‘Come on, Buster!’ Thea called though it was she who was following him. She threw Buster’s ball.

  ‘Watch the quicksand,’ Ben reminded her. That seemed to be where she was inadvertently aiming. Ben needn’t have worried. If Thea ever managed to throw a ball more than six feet, she would throw it in a completely different direction to the one she was aiming for. This time, the ball flew out of her hand backwards. Ben had no idea how she managed it. The second time, she did a little better but her aim was still hopeless and Buster was soon haring in the direction of the woman on the rocks.

  Excited to be out in the open air and off his lead, Buster was going so fast that even once he had the ball in his mouth, he couldn’t stop. He ended up skidding to a halt about half a metre from the stranger, kicking up wet sand and surf as he did so. He made a spectacular mess, as though he were a jeep rather than a small mutt.

  ‘Hey!’ the woman cried out as she bore the brunt of a fan of salty, sandy filth.

  ‘Sugar,’ Ben muttered.

  ‘Language, Daddy,’ said Thea automatically.

  ‘I said sugar,’ he pointed out. ‘Sorry!’ He shouted to Buster’s victim. ‘Buster, come back. Come back here right now!’

  But Buster was intent on making matters worse. He refused to return to his owners. Instead, he decided he was going to make the woman his new friend and was making extremely enthusiastic overtures. Wet sandy paws all over her pale-blue jeans. Slobbering over her hands as he tried to persuade her to throw the ball for him.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Ben, racing over to put Buster on his lead.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said the woman, who was holding Buster’s tennis ball gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Really. I love dogs. Wish I had one.’

  ‘But he’s jumping up and making a mess.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Honestly. These jeans are old.’

  They weren’t. Clearly they weren’t.

  Ben went to brush the sand off the woman’s legs before realising that could only make things even more awkward. Now Buster was on the lead again, Ben pulled him out of the way and apologised some more from a distance.

  ‘He’s not normally so unbiddable. He’s ruined your trousers.’

  ‘It really doesn’t matter. They’ll wash.’

  ‘Well, if they don’t wash, you must send me the bill. I’ll buy you some new ones.’

  ‘Really, they will be fine. It’s a wet and windy day on a wet and windy beach. You’ve got to expect to get a bit mucky, haven’t you?’

  ‘We’re still sorry. Aren’t we, Buster?’

  Buster just grinned, with his pink tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.

  ‘He’s very cute,’ the woman said.

  Ben wasn’t sure why that made him blush.

  ‘What breed is he?’

  ‘Border Terrier.’

  Thea took Buster’s lead from her father and attempted her own version of disciplining the pooch.

  ‘You’re a very bad dog,’ she told him. ‘You’ve got to come when we tell you.’

  Buster’s response was to set off in pursuit of an interesting smell with such speed that he pulled Thea to her knees.

  ‘Now he’s got your jeans dirty too,’ the woman observed.

  ‘He won’t be trained. Grandma says he’s half-wolf,’ said Thea, brushing sand from her hands as Buster raced away. His lead dragged behind him gathering up seaweed and other beach detritus.

  ‘He’s just got spirit,’ said the woman.

  ‘That’s very generous,’ said Ben. ‘I think he’s a little—’

  ‘Language!’ said Thea before Ben could use any.

  ‘Monster … But you were having a quiet moment,’ Ben continued. ‘We should leave you in peace. Though … if the jeans are spoiled.’

  Ben fished out a business card from his wallet. As he did so, it struck him that while he had yet to use one in an actual business context, he had handed out at least eight to people who might be seeking
damages thanks to his mother’s crazy pooch.

  ‘Thanks,’ said the woman. ‘Ben Teesdale.’ She read his name from the card. ‘I’m Kirsty Watson.’

  Ben put out his hand to shake but Kirsty was still holding the tennis ball. He relieved her of the horrible, slobber-covered thing.

  ‘This is—’ Ben turned to introduce his daughter but she was already pursuing Buster who was in a stand-off with an angry-looking gull over god-only-knew-what.

  ‘Probably the remains of someone’s fried chicken,’ Ben sighed. ‘I’d better go and sort this out before Thea gets pecked. Thanks for being so understanding. You must let me know about the jeans.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Kirsty. ‘They’ll be fine.’

  ‘Dad!’ Thea shouted. ‘Dad! Buster’s eating a bone! Quick! Hurry! He might get it stuck in his throat.’

  ‘I’d better go,’ he said to Kirsty. ‘Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Ben sprinted in the direction of his embarrassing pet.

  Kirsty watched him for a while then turned her face back to the watery sun.

  Chapter Eleven

  On Tuesday, two days later, Ben was deep in concentration when the shop doorbell rang. He was trying to restore the data on a hard drive that had fallen foul of a stray cup of tea. He didn’t notice the sound of the bell at all. It was Thea who drew his attention to the fact that somebody had come in and was standing right in front of him, waiting to be noticed.

  Ben started a little as he realised who it was. It was Kirsty. The woman from the beach. She was taller than he remembered but maybe that was just because her big blonde hair was now piled right up on top of her head like a pineapple. She was wearing the bright-yellow raincoat again. It had been raining non-stop since Sunday afternoon. The residents of Newbay were used to seeing a lot of wet weather between September and April. Hell, it rained more often than not in May, June, July and August as well. Around her neck Kirsty wore a blue spotted scarf. Her Technicolor outfit made it look as though she had stepped from a cartoon frame into an old black and white movie. Ben’s shop seemed suddenly very dark and grey by comparison.

  ‘The jeans were ruined, weren’t they?’ said Ben.

  ‘No. It all washed out. Look. I’ve got them on.’

  In which case, why was she there?

  ‘Do you do printing?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘Of course. It says so …’

  ‘On your card. I know.’

  For the moment, Ben’s PC business was doing whatever it took to generate income.

  ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  Kirsty dug around in her handbag for a computer USB stick. ‘It needs to be done in a hurry, I’m afraid. I was going to do it at home but the printer’s run out of ink and I can’t find anywhere that stocks the cartridges. It’s only black and white.’ She continued, ‘Just a flyer. Though if you could do it on coloured paper …’

  ‘Which colour?’ Ben asked. ‘Blue? Pink? Yellow?’

  ‘It needs to be Christmassy. Any ideas?’

  ‘Green?’ Ben suggested.

  ‘Perfect.’

  Ben plugged the USB stick into the side of his desktop PC and brought up the list of files.

  ‘Which file is it?’

  He let Kirsty come round the desk to find what she needed and pretended not to notice when she accidentally clicked on a jpg which showed her in a bikini on a bright sunny beach that definitely wasn’t in Newbay.

  ‘This one,’ she said. ‘I need a couple of hundred. A5.’

  She opened the file. It was an advertisement.

  Do you love to sing and dance?

  The NEWTS are looking for children between eight and sixteen to join the chorus for their Christmas Panto, Cinderella.

  ‘The auditions are this coming Saturday,’ Kirsty said as Ben read that exact information and corrected a small typo. ‘We’re not sure we’ll get much of a turn-out so I’m doing one last push, leaving leaflets in all the local cafes and restaurants.’

  ‘So you’re a NEWT,’ Ben observed.

  ‘I am indeed. Do you know them?’

  ‘I’ve been to some of their shows.’

  ‘It’s my first season with them. First season in Newbay as it happens. I just moved here. Though I think I might have been here once or twice as a child. Did there used to be donkeys on the beach?’

  ‘There did,’ said Ben. ‘But health and safety …’ He shrugged.

  ‘Ah well,’ said Kirsty. ‘I always felt guilty about riding them. They always looked pretty fed-up to me.’

  ‘Like Eeyore,’ said Thea.

  She’d been so quiet, Ben hadn’t noticed that Thea hadn’t gone back into the storeroom.

  ‘Exactly! A.A. Milne had it right. Donkeys have such miserable faces.’

  ‘House at Pooh Corner is one of my favourite books,’ Thea continued.

  ‘Mine too,’ said Kirsty. ‘Though my absolute favourites are the Moomins.’

  ‘I like them as well!’ said Thea. ‘And the Harry Potters.’

  ‘I haven’t read those.’

  ‘You should,’ said Thea. ‘They’re the best of all.’

  Ben wondered when he had last heard Thea say so much to someone she wasn’t related to.

  The printer whirred into action. As she waited for the leaflets, Kirsty made a little circuit of Ben’s tiny shop. There wasn’t much to look at – unless you were genuinely interested in hard drives – but there was a noticeboard, onto which Ben had tacked a list of prices for various PC-related services. Thea had added a drawing of the shop with her father standing on the doorstep. She’d written ‘Good luck, Daddy’ above his head in bright-pink bubble letters.

  ‘Did you draw this?’ Kirsty asked Thea.

  Thea blushed to the roots of her hair. She hung onto the edge of the counter, swinging backwards and forwards. Finally she admitted it. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s very good. Is drawing your hobby?’

  Thea nodded. ‘One of them.’

  ‘What other things have you drawn?’

  ‘I’m designing a Christmas card,’ Thea said. She darted into the storeroom and came back with the picture of a reindeer with a big red nose she had been working on that morning.

  ‘That’s excellent,’ said Kirsty. ‘Rudolph, I presume?’

  ‘It is. I did this one as well.’

  Thea pulled another picture out of the drawer in her father’s desk to show to her new friend. It was a house. Pretty as a cottage on a biscuit tin. On the doorstep were three figures. A little girl between two adults. Her mother and father, obviously.

  ‘Oh, that’s really lovely,’ said Kirsty. ‘You should put that one up too.’

  Ben winced. Kirsty didn’t know what was written on the back of that drawing in the faintest pencil, as though the fading grey represented fading hope.

  ‘Get well soon, Mummy,’ was what it said.

  ‘Well, you are a very talented artist,’ said Kirsty. ‘What’s your name again?’

  ‘Thea.’

  ‘Hello, Thea. I’m Kirsty.’

  ‘My daddy is called Ben,’ Thea added helpfully.

  ‘I know. I’ve got his card.’

  Kirsty smiled at him again. Ben suddenly felt quite warm.

  The flyers were soon finished.

  ‘Could I leave a few here?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Perhaps you could mention it to your friends at school, Thea.’

  ‘I haven’t really got any,’ said Thea. She was heart-breakingly matter of fact.

  ‘Oh. I’m sure that’s not true,’ said Kirsty. ‘But if it really is true, then maybe you should come to the auditions yourself. You can make lots of new friends at the NEWTS. That’s what I’ve been finding out.’

  Ben expected Thea to pull a face at that, just as she had been visibly horrified by the thought of the Brownies when Judy suggested joining them. Instead, to his surprise, Thea nodded. Something about this Kirsty person seemed to have charmed her.

&nb
sp; ‘I do quite like singing,’ Thea said.

  ‘And I just know you can dance,’ said Kirsty. ‘It’s settled then. We’ll see you on Saturday. And dads are very welcome too. We’re always looking for fresh blood at the NEWTS.’

  Kirsty picked up her flyers and headed out into the rain.

  Seconds later she was back.

  ‘I can’t believe I did that,’ she said. ‘I just walked out without paying.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Ben.

  ‘But the cost of the ink and the paper … I’ve got to pay you.’

  ‘I still owe you for the jeans.’

  ‘The jeans are fine. I told you. Just tell me how much you want for the printing.’

  ‘Think of it as my contribution to the NEWTS. And maybe you can buy me a drink one day,’ he added.

  Kirsty cocked her head to one side. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  Then she left again, leaving Thea full of excitement and Ben suddenly cringing. Where had that come from? Why on earth had he mentioned a drink? She’d looked surprised.

  Moments later, it dawned on him. Of course she was surprised. As far as she knew – thanks to Thea’s drawing – Ben had a wife waiting at home. Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. Well, he hadn’t ever seen her before except for the one time in Duckpool Bay. With luck he wouldn’t see her again. Except that …

  ‘Can we do it, Dad? Can we go to the auditions? Look. They need eight to sixteen year olds. I’m eight. I could be in Cinderella.’

  Ben knew exactly where he was going to be on Saturday morning.

  Chapter Twelve

  The second rehearsal for Cinderella’s main cast took place on Wednesday evening. Everyone turned up and everyone was on time but not everyone was absolutely engaged with the business at hand.

  Whenever she wasn’t actually in a scene, Jon’s Prince Charming, Lauren, slouched back in her chair and took selfies. Having made Lauren’s acquaintance, Kirsty was now following her on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. It was astonishing how many of the photographs Lauren posted were of her own face. She had almost exactly the same expression in each one. Her chin tilted down. Eyes up to the camera. Always from her left side and never her right. She had obviously worked hard to know her best possible angle and now she had found it, she wasn’t going to be tempted into any other pose.