Notting Hill in the Snow

by Jules Wake

  I lifted my shoulders in a quick shrug. ‘It wouldn’t be any trouble. I know my schedule.

  I’ve got one afternoon rehearsal next week, so I can’t help that day but I’m pretty clear after that. And I’ve got Thursday and Friday off this week and then The Nutcracker opens on Saturday, so you don’t need to worry about rushing home.’ I sighed with pleasure at the very thought. I might love my job but I didn’t enjoy schlepping home late at night. Coming back at that time seemed to emphasise the emptiness of a home.

  ‘That would be … well, amazing doesn’t begin to cover it. It’s been a struggle and I hate asking for help.’ He looked at me, his warm brown eyes resting on my face. ‘If I’m totally honest it would be a real relief to know that you’re here, but I can’t help feeling I’m taking advantage.’ He closed his eyes and then opened them, looking up at the ceiling, his face creasing in sudden misery. ‘I feel so guilty.’

  I didn’t answer. I got the impression he needed to talk.

  ‘I feel guilty about everything. Even considering asking you to help, but then … Grace seems to have taken to you. I spend as much time as I can with her. But I still don’t feel as if I’m doing enough.’

  Sadness washed over his face. ‘The thing I feel the most guilty about …’ he swallowed hard; I watched him punishing his Adam’s apple as he still looked up at the ceiling ‘… is not persuading Elaine to stay. For failing at our marriage.’ He rubbed a finger back and forth across his forehead. ‘A little girl needs her mother.’

  A sudden flare of anger pinched tight at my heart. The power of it shocked me. ‘No,’ I said firmly, gripping the handle of the wok, ‘she just needs love and attention.’ I ground the words out through clenched teeth. ‘You can give her those things.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He looked up at me and smiled gratefully as if I’d handed him a convenient platitude.

  ‘I’m serious,’ I said, my voice fierce as I checked the doorway to make sure Grace wasn’t back to hear. ‘Grace just needs to be loved and shown that she’s loved in her own right. Loved for who she is.’ I pursed my lips and gave him a stern look, wondering how far I dare go. ‘You can do that. You’re already doing that.’

  His brow creased as if he was trying to understand what I was saying, but I could tell he didn’t get it. It wasn’t my place to criticise his wife.

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate you saying it. I do my best … and I probably need to start with the cooking. This sort of freshly cooked food is so much healthier and better.’

  I nodded, still a little surprised by my internal anger.

  Oblivious, he looked a touch sheepish. ‘I feel like I’m taking advantage, but I’m not in a position to argue.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said a little too sharply. ‘I offered … because I can help. For Grace’s sake more than anything else.’ I paused and then said more pragmatically, ‘In which case, you need to do an online shop. I can give you a list. Have you got an account with anyone?’ I asked as Grace staggered back into the room, clutching a glass hurricane lamp nearly as big as she was.

  ‘Grace!’ Nate dashed over to relieve her of her burden and her triumphant smile waned.

  ‘I wasn’t going to drop it, Daddy. Honest.’ She pouted but I saw her lip tremble.

  ‘No, sweetheart –’ I jumped in as Nate lifted the lamp out of her hands ‘– Daddy was just worried you might hurt yourself.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her face brightened. ‘It was very heavy. But I thought it looked the nicest to go in here.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ I said. ‘Where do you want to put it?’

  ‘On the table,’ said Grace with an indignant isn’t-it-obvious lift of her eyebrows that had both Nate and I smiling. ‘And you can light it, Daddy,’ she added, as if conferring a great honour on him.

  The glow of the candle on the table softened the lighting and Nate turned off the overhead kitchen lights, leaving the gentler under-cabinet lights on. The scene was far too cosy and I had to stop myself being seduced into feeling ridiculously at home. Nate was easy company and Grace was smart, cute and in need of a permanent solution. This was temporary and I shouldn’t get too close.

  But when I sneaked a glance at Nate, he looked up at the same moment, our eyes meeting and holding for a second too long. Was it the flicker of the candlelight or did I see something in them that warranted the sudden, ridiculous lamblike skip of my heart? There was an unexpected warmth in those chocolate-brown eyes and then he gave me the gentlest of smiles that hit me straight in the chest, making my throat constrict and my skin flush with heat. Thankfully, before I made an idiot of myself, Grace put down her fork and turned to Nate, saying conversationally, ‘So when are we going to get the tree?’

  She sounded so adult and so very much like a wife I very nearly choked.

  ‘Er …’

  ‘And who’s going to decorate it?’

  ‘Er …’

  I looked from Grace to Nate.

  Nate grimaced. ‘Elaine always did it. She liked to … to do it her way.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘It means this year you and Grace can do it together, and do it your way.’

  ‘I’m not completely sure I know where all the decorations are.’ He grimaced. Grace’s worried face watched this exchange as if she were an umpire at a tennis match. ‘I guess they’re up in the attic storeroom somewhere.’

  ‘Men!’ I said, winking at her. ‘Why don’t Grace and I have a look for them tomorrow after school? And might we find an old sheet up there?’

  ‘That would be good, thank you,’ he mumbled. ‘Not sure about the sheet.’

  ‘I’ll have a look and if not you can always buy a cheap one when you do the online shop.’

  ‘That would be great.’ Nate pulled a face. ‘I don’t suppose you know where’s the best place to get a tree? I don’t even know what sort of tree to get. It was always Elaine’s department.’

  ‘Grace, your dad is officially rubbish,’ I declared before turning to him. ‘Do you ever actually walk around Notting Hill?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ he said with that cautious air of someone who knows they’re about to be caught out.

  ‘Pines and Needles. At St John’s Church, Lansdowne Crescent, just around the corner. They do the best trees. You can get Nordmann Fir or a Norway Spruce, depending on whether you want a non-drop tree or you want that lovely piney smell.’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I don’t even know what size to get.’

  I shook my head and turned to Grace, grinning as I rolled my eyes at his uselessness, relieved by his self-deprecating, teasing tone.

  ‘I saw that,’ he said. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you come with us? You sound as if you’re an expert …’ He flashed me a sudden grin. ‘I could treat you to lunch as a thank you for being chief Christmas tree consultant, if it’s not too much of an imposition.’

  ‘It’s no problem. I love Christmas tree shopping.’ I winked at Grace ‘And I wouldn’t want you ending up with a wonky one because you had a complete amateur on the case. We could go this Saturday, if you’re free.’

  ‘Please, Daddy. Please.’

  I winced a sort of apology at Nate, realising I’d put him on the spot, which I hadn’t intended to do.

  ‘OK, it’s a d …’ Now it was Nate’s turn to wince. ‘It’s a yes from me,’ amended Nate with an admirable save.

  Chapter 15

  Thankfully, Dad arrived home on Thursday on the red-eye from New York, just beating the forecast snow and walking in as I was having breakfast.

  ‘Good morning, Viola,’ he said as I was standing at the kitchen window watching the street below, eating my Weetabix. I was absolutely bushed, thanks to Mum’s obsession with Game of Thrones. She was already on season two; yet again last night she’d kept me up until gone two. I couldn’t wait to get back to my own little flat and Dad’s arrival was my signal to pack my bag. I’d drop it off on my way to the school.

  ‘Hi Dad, how was your trip?’

  ‘Good,
very good. How’s your mother? Is she feeling better?’

  ‘She’s fine, apart from developing a very unhealthy obsession with dragon princesses and an alternative medieval world which mirrors her Mastermind subject of the Wars of the Roses.’

  ‘Jolly good,’ he responded in his usual vague way, patting me on the shoulder. ‘Is she still in bed?’

  ‘Yes, sleeping off the aftermath of genocide, incest and world domination.’

  ‘Sounds like your mother.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘And what have you been up to?’

  ‘Organising a nativity as part of an outreach programme. Actually, it isn’t that different. The parents are up in arms because they don’t like that they’ve been asked to organise costumes with no notice, my leading man has gone AWOL and the angel’s mother is threatening rebellion.’

  ‘A lot of fun, then,’ observed Dad, pulling open a cupboard and shaking a jar of instant coffee. ‘I’m sure it will be wonderful. I don’t remember any of your nativity plays at school. Weren’t you Mary one year?’

  ‘Yes, I was.’ I turned my back and spooned in another mouthful of Weetabix.

  ‘Did we come to that?’ he asked, switching on the kettle. I could hear the chink, chink of him sorting through the china mugs with Goldilocks’s thoroughness before he found one he liked the look of.

  ‘No.’ I stared out of the window, stiffening, and deliberately kept my back to him.

  I’m not sure Dad even noticed as he carried on pottering. The clatter of the spoon in the mug. The click of the kettle reaching its boil. The swoosh of water poured. ‘Didn’t we? Oh, that’s a shame. Well, I’m sure you were wonderful.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  The snow started at one p.m. The radio forecast said that a heavy band of snow moving in from the east would skirt London.

  The forecast lied. By half past one as I packed away my viola, after practising for a good few hours at home with the heating cranked right up, great fluffy flakes were parachuting out of the sky in a never-ending swirling flurry sweeping past the window. I pressed my nose to the window, fascinated, watching as the snow whirled and skimmed in the air like swallows in summer. It was settling surprisingly quickly.

  I nipped outside, crunching up my basement stairs to street level, my feet leaving squeaky snow-crunched virgin footprints on the steps. There was a proper layer of snow blanketing the pavements. Wrapping myself up warm, I unearthed my festival wellies from the very back of my wardrobe and sent a hasty text to Nate.

  Snow coming down quite heavily here. Would you mind if I popped into the house to grab a pair of wellies for Grace?

  Not at all. Good thinking Batman. Thank you. He’d added a smiley face, a snowman and a snowflake emoji to his text.

  Two seconds later I received another text.

  School closing at half past two, are you able to pick Grace up then?

  It felt odd letting myself into the house, knocking the snow off my wellies at the front door before I stepped inside. My feet were absolutely freezing even though I’d put two pairs of socks on. I’d better grab spare pairs for Grace.

  However, as soon as I toed the first boot off, I realised why one of my feet was so cold. My left foot welly sock was absolutely sodden and when I picked up my welly I could see why. The plastic had split along the seam between the boot and the sole and the same thing was imminent with the other boot. They hadn’t been expensive and I hadn’t been to a festival in two years. Clearly, they’d perished through neglect at the back of my wardrobe.

  ‘Damn.’ The best option would be to wear them but protect my feet from the wet with some plastic carrier bags, but I’d need some warm, thick socks. Surely Nate wouldn’t mind me pinching a pair or two of his. I wasn’t going to fit into any of Grace’s, that was for sure.

  I sent him another quick text.

  Emergency. Please can I borrow a pair of socks? My wellies have holes in them.

  Stripping off my soggy socks, I left them on the mat and padded to the cupboard. Sure enough, there on one of the shelves was a pair of Grace-sized Joules wellies with little dogs all over them. Perfect. My eyes slid to the snow boots I’d seen the previous day. Elaine’s boots. I bet they’d be warm.

  I picked them up and then put them back down. I couldn’t. Instead I grabbed Grace’s wellies and then padded upstairs to her bedroom to find some nice thick socks for her. Of course, nestled in her drawer, were a pair of proper Joules branded welly socks, pink with little horses’ faces on them. Shame they wouldn’t fit me.

  I checked my phone. No response from Nate. But surely he wouldn’t mind. I’d asked. He could hardly say no, could he?

  Deciding that I didn’t have time to wait, I needed to get to school to pick Grace up, I pushed open the door into Nate’s room and approached the oak chest of drawers. Solid and squat, it reminded me of a sentry on duty and, given I shouldn’t really be in here, it was more than a little off-putting. But you’re not snooping, I told myself. And I’d asked permission.

  Telling myself to stop being so silly, I yanked open the first drawer, relieved to find that I’d hit the jackpot first time round. Pants and socks. Not as neat as Grace’s drawers, but I guessed that was probably Svetlana’s doing. Without having to rummage too much, I found myself a pair of hiking socks and a thin pair of fine wool ones. Perfect. My feet were so cold I hurried to sit on the end of the bed. The fine wool socks slid on like silk, they were a bit too big but deliciously soft. Probably contained cashmere. Had Elaine bought them for Nate? She seemed to have an abundance of taste and liked luxury.

  Almost as if I’d conjured her up, I looked over to an archway recessed into the wall. It had a couple of shelves which held ornamental, antique-style pill boxes and a framed wedding photo.

  Nate and Elaine were flanked in the picture by what looked like almost a dozen adorable little bridesmaids ranging in age from five to nine. The cutest age, I thought cynically. Elaine’s dress swirled around her, the heavy fabric pooled in folds at her feet and a fine full-length train drifted down behind her from an ornate fairy tiara on top of blonde, artfully arranged hair. Stray ringlets framed her classically beautiful face, with its cream and rose complexion, clear blue eyes and delicate features. She was beautiful, there was no other word for it. Absolutely flipping gorgeous and I could see where Grace got her fine features – she had the same bone structure, with high cheekbones, elegant browbones and slightly aquiline nose.

  Everything about the picture spoke class and elegance. It was obvious that this was a wedding where no expense had been spared. You could tell Elaine was a perfectionist, which was probably why she had such a successful career and had been headhunted by some swanky acquisitions and mergers firm in New York, which I’d now picked up from various comments by Nate.

  Now that my toes were thankfully starting to warm up, I left the room and ran lightly down the stairs, once again admiring how light and airy the hallway was. Even the snow-filled sky didn’t dim its brightness, although I still put a light on.

  See text from school about dropping wellies in at reception desk.

  Nate had forwarded a text from the school with instructions followed by,

  Help yourself to anything you need.

  Nate’s message swung it and I took him at his word. My wellies were well and truly knackered. There was a perfectly good pair of snow boots sitting there and my feet had only just warmed up.

  I grabbed Elaine’s snow boots and sat on the stairs to pull them on. They were a half size bigger than I was but with two pairs of Nate’s socks fitted perfectly.

  It was far easier walking along in the heavy-soled boots and as I strode along listening to the creaking, crunching underfoot I was aware of the unearthly quiet, the snow deadening the sound, and the eerie silence in the streets. The heavy flakes blurred the Christmas lights decorating hedges and shrubs along the route, turning the gardens into enchanted fairy lands. The busy traffic had slowed to a trickle and the usual noise and fumes had been replaced by the o
ccasional hiss of a car crawling along at snail’s pace, the snow slushing under the wheels. It seemed as if no one wanted to venture out.

  I hurried along, the only person in the street. There was a flat grey light to the sky and the snow was now so thick it was getting harder and harder to see beyond the end of the street. Lights were on in the houses even though it was early afternoon, creating cheery snapshots of people’s homes with their Christmas trees, strings of cards and festive decorations. Streams of tinsel here, baubles suspended on ribbons there and rows of candle holders on window sills. Christmas Day was just over two weeks away and creeping up. I needed to start getting organised. I was too late to book an online shopping slot and I had a horrible feeling I’d missed the deadline to order the turkey. The eighth of December was ringing bells – the deadline was yesterday.

  Even though the icy flakes bit into my skin, I lifted my face. It felt as if I was in my very own snow globe, with the backdrop of all the pretty houses and their festive windows. There was something magical about snow so close to Christmas. Still in a daydream, imagining carol singers at doors, the smell of mince pieces and families gathered around fireplaces hung with stockings, I turned the corner and started when I realised that there was someone right behind me.

  They were walking in the same direction but I hadn’t heard them at all. With their head bowed under a heavy dark hood, I couldn’t see their face. The realisation that someone had been there, and that the sound of their footsteps had been absorbed by the snow, creeped me out. I loitered in a gateway for a moment, studying the holly wreath on the nearest front door, waiting for them to pass, feeling a little nervous when they drew alongside. They passed without a word, head down, probably like me, headed somewhere and trying to keep the snow out of their face. I let them draw ahead, waiting for the uncomfortable thud of my pulse to settle.

  There was even a rare silence in the school playground when I arrived, with solitary figures of parents dotted about instead of in their usual gangs, as if they were too muffled up and snug inside hats and scarves to try and identify each other. Snow clung to the wool of my scarf, wrapped across my face. I’d dropped Grace’s wellies off at reception, where the poor office staff were running relays of boots and coats down to the classrooms.