Notting Hill in the Snow

by Jules Wake

  I patted her on the shoulder. ‘Thanks, Tilly. You and Leonie have really made a difference. If nothing else, it’s going to look spectacular.’

  ‘Viola, the singing sounds gorgeous and the script … it’s so funny. You’ve done a brilliant job. Seriously, the parents are going to love it.’

  I crossed my fingers. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘You know so.’

  Providing everything came together, which reminded me … ‘Oh God, do you think that sodding backdrop has turned up yet?’

  The sodding backdrop arrived in the nick of time and was just being fixed to the climbing frame as a few parents started to file into the hall. The music teacher was at the piano playing a few carols very softly.

  I crossed and stood behind her, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, continuing to play without fudging a note, ‘and that backdrop is awesome … as is the very tasty piece of hot stuff putting it up. If you can get his number, I’ll be your best friend forever.’

  I laughed. ‘I can certainly try.’

  ‘But seriously, Viola, it’s been amazing working with you. You’ve made it fun for the children, kept it simple, but it’s really come together. You should be really proud of yourself. If I weren’t playing … consider yourself hugged.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you set me off. I’m a mess this morning.’

  ‘That’s working with kids for you. Wait until the end. You’ll be sobbing. And that’s way embarrassing in front of the parents. Although most of the mums cry.’

  Parents. My heart thudded uncomfortably in my chest. Oh God, Nate would be arriving at any moment. But I’d known that. Prepared myself. It would probably be the last time I’d ever see him and I wouldn’t have to talk to him.

  I hastily looked around; more parents were starting to fill the seats in the front few rows. Thankfully no sign of Nate or Elaine. A few curious eyes looked my way and I slipped back into the classroom, calling for everyone to come through from the other classroom.

  ‘OK, guys.’ I clapped my hands together. ‘The parents are starting to arrive and they’re just through those doors, so we need to be quiet now. Just a few things to remember. You’ve all worked really hard and you’re going to be … fab …’

  ‘U … lous,’ they all chorused back at me.

  ‘Remember, chins up when you’re singing and speaking. Smile when you’re singing. Except for George; you can stay grumpy.’

  He gave me a double thumbs up.

  ‘And just enjoy yourselves. Thank you all for working so hard and it’s been lovely.’

  Bless them, they all started clapping, which made me get all emotional again. Thank God for waterproof mascara.

  The head teacher popped her head around the door. ‘All set?’ She beamed at all the children. ‘I know you’re going to be wonderful. All the mummies and daddies are here. I’m just going to say a few words and then you can start.’

  She withdrew her head and excited chatter began to rise.

  ‘Shh,’ I said. ‘Everyone needs to be quiet now.’

  The children crept through the door, the choir to the left of the stage, the cast staying behind except for George who, carrying his duvet, climbed onto the stage and lay down in the middle.

  Sarah in her Madonna blue gazed up at me with terror-stricken eyes, clutching Joseph’s hand. Behind them, Jack the armadillo paced in readiness.

  ‘OK, Mary and Joseph, off you go. Jack just behind them. Remember, speak loudly.’ God, I hoped Sarah would remember; she had a natural tendency to quietness.

  I needn’t have worried; that girl had star quality. The minute she stepped on stage, she was Mary. My heart almost burst with pride, especially when I saw – it had to be – her mother leaning forward, almost gasping with amazement.

  Joseph rapped tentatively on the door, exactly as we’d rehearsed.

  George snored. The audience giggled. George snored louder.

  Joseph knocked a little louder.

  Jack the armadillo stepped in front of him and barged open the door.

  And they were off. It took a little while for the cast and the chorus to settle down; there was a lot of neck-craning and searching as the children tried to spot their parents and a few surreptitious waves but eventually they forgot about that.

  It was gratifying that the audience laughed in all the right places and even in some of the wrong ones, especially when one of the kings presented his gift of Frankenstein. There was a near mishap when one of Cassie’s wings got caught on the edge of the manger but, with her usual quiet efficiency, Mary unhooked her and with a gentle pat sent her on her way.

  George and Grace stole the show with their comic bickering and her line, ‘And don’t you forget it,’ almost brought the house down. Although Joseph with his to ‘Affinity and Bethlehem,’ came a close second.

  I kept my concentration focused on the children and the stage, even though I knew Nate was probably somewhere in the audience. I did pretty well until the final carol. I spotted him sitting next to Zoe De Marco and, despite all my good intentions, I couldn’t stop my eyes straying towards him or the flip of my heart at the sight of those broad shoulders and the sleek dark hair. Strangely, there was no sign of Elaine. Perhaps she was sitting somewhere else.

  As the music teacher played the piano louder and gave the children a quick signal, they belted out the final verse of Hark the Herald – or Harold as it would forever be known to me – Angels. I’d baulked at any solos but one little boy had such a heavenly voice I had given him the final two lines to sing by himself to bring the show to a close. As his clear piping voice sang Glory to the newborn king I felt those bloody tears leaking out again. But then the parents were on their feet, clapping with genuine rapturous applause. I gestured to the children to all come towards the front of the stage, to take their bows as we’d practised.

  I beamed at them all and George cheekily winked at me. I rolled my eyes at him, unable to stop smiling.

  Mrs Roberts stepped on stage and it took a minute or two for the applause to die down. Those parents were really enthusiastic but I was delighted for the children; they looked so pleased with themselves, congratulating and hugging each other. From the piano the music teacher grinned at me.

  ‘Well, wasn’t that splendid? Children, you were all brilliant. And mums and dads, I’m sure you’ll agree they’ve all done brilliantly.’ She paused and there was another spontaneous round of applause. I had to give it to her, she knew how to work an audience. ‘We’d like to invite you to stay for a cup of coffee and a mince pie but, in the meantime, I have a few thank yous.

  ‘Of course I am particularly grateful to the London Metropolitan Opera Company, who very kindly loaned us the services of Miss Viola Smith as part of their primary schools outreach programme. Miss Smith plays in the orchestra and for the last few weeks she has been working with the children to put together what I’m sure you’ll all agree was a superb nativity play.’ From the edge of the stage George appeared with a huge bouquet of flowers which he presented to me.

  Oh God, the tears were back again. ‘Here you go, miss,’ he said gruffly, thrusting them at me with little ceremony, which thankfully stopped the would-be tears in their tracks.

  ‘Thanks, George.’

  He grinned at me.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to say a few words, Miss Smith?’

  Perhaps I wouldn’t! But Mrs Roberts was inviting me up onto the stage. Oh, hell!

  Once on the stage, I could see all the parents … Nate, Zoe, some other familiar faces.

  ‘Er … well …’ Nate smiled at me but his eyes were shadowed. I swallowed hard. ‘I was …’ I was about to deliver a diplomatic speech but then decided honesty was the best policy.

  ‘I have to admit, I’ve never produced a nativity play in my life before. I think it went quite well.’ The parents laughed and the children cheered. Nate’s smile widened and I saw a mixture of pride and sadness. I felt a funny wobble in m
y chest. This hurt. It hurt so much.

  I sucked in a harsh breath. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. I focused on the back of the hall. ‘It was quite daunting at first but … the children made it fun. Talented, interesting, they were brilliant to work with. You should all be very proud of your children, no matter the role they played. They all worked together so well and it’s been a joy to spend time with them.’ I turned to face them, behind me on the stage. ‘Well done, guys. You did good.’

  ‘I have a few thank yous of my own, the biggest one of which goes to Mrs Ames, the class teaching assistant, who has literally been my lifesaver. Thanks, Jo.’ I nodded at Sarah who, as primed, produced a bouquet of flowers, sadly not quite as big as mine but certainly much prettier. I’d chosen it myself that morning from Harper & Tom’s on Elgin Crescent, taking a detour especially. ‘Also my wonderful colleagues from the Opera House, Tilly Hunter and Leonie Golding. Thanks to them, we had these wonderful costumes and the incredible make-up. Can we give them a round of applause?’

  And the applause was heartfelt, although not surprising. Tilly and Leonie had raised my average little production into something special. I was so grateful to them.

  ‘I’d also like to thank the props team at the LMOC. They made our props and painted this fabulous backdrop. And that’s it; thank you all for coming. I hope you enjoyed it and had as much fun as we did putting it on.’

  I lifted my flowers in salute and stepped off the stage to a hug from Tilly and even one from Leonie.

  ‘That was fantastic,’ Tilly said.

  ‘Awesome,’ added Leonie.

  ‘It worked out OK,’ I said with a hearty sigh of relief. It was all over.

  Mrs Roberts gave some magical signal and the room went quiet.

  ‘The children will take their costumes and make-up off and join you all for mince pies and coffee.’

  *

  It took a while to round all the children up and clean off their make-up and collect up all the costumes. George was grinning from ear to ear as he stood in line. ‘My mum came. She never comes to nuffink. She got time off work.’

  ‘That’s lovely. Was she impressed?’ I asked, pulling another wet wipe out of the packet to rub off one of the twins’ moustaches.

  ‘She cried! My mum never cries. Not even when one of her old ladies dies.’

  ‘George’s mum works in a care home,’ interjected one of the other mums as she scrubbed at his rosy cheeks. ‘I bet she was really proud of you, George.’

  He went off looking a few inches taller.

  Eventually the queue had dwindled and Leonie’s clothes rail was almost full.

  I looked up, a fresh wipe in my hand, to find a rather subdued Grace in front of me, her rosy innkeeper’s wife cheeks at decided odds with her woebegone face.

  ‘Hey, Grace, what’s the matter? You were wonderful and did you hear how much everyone laughed when you delivered your line? The audience loved you. Everyone loved you.’ Even George had given her a self-conscious little hug when they’d taken their bows.

  With one of her trademark indifferent shrugs, she lifted her face for me to clean off her make-up, her mouth pinched tight. I carefully dabbed at her skin, marvelling at how soft it was. She was so small and delicate. I wanted to scoop her up in a hug, tell her everything was all right. I missed her. My wipe was fairly ineffectual against the red face-paint, so I added a dollop of make-up remover for good measure. Poor George’s cheeks were still quite stained. Grace bore my ministrations with quiet stillness, her eyes downcast, her lashes resting on her cheeks.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ I asked softly, aware that she wouldn’t want to attract any attention.

  She lifted her head to reveal suspiciously bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Oh, sweet pea, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Mummy’s not here. She didn’t come.’

  My heart went out to her. ‘Maybe she had to go to work,’ I said, sounding reasonable and sympathetic.

  ‘She promised.’ Grace’s mouth pinched tighter.

  ‘Sometimes … things happen that adults don’t anticipate, that they can’t help.’

  With another lift of her shoulders, she looked out of the window, in the same way that Nate had done in my flat. I recognised that same reluctance to share the pain, the attempt to stay detached.

  I could have killed Elaine. At least my parents had never promised; they’d been far too vague to make that much of a commitment. It still stung that they’d never come to see the nativity when I was Mary, but I hadn’t expected anything else.

  Elaine’s loss. Sadly, Grace would always remember this.

  ‘Did you like the costumes?’ I asked, looking at Grace’s striped robe in blues, purples and greens; it was a lot nicer than a belted sheet would have been. Grace brought her gaze back to focus on me.

  ‘She promised.’ Grace sniffed and then wiped a hand across her eyes. I ached to hug her. ‘But she didn’t come.’ There was a sad acceptance to her words, as if it was what she’d expected all along.

  With another Grace-like change of tack, she said, ‘Your job is nimportant, but you come when you say you’re going to.’

  Ouch. How did I get out of this one?

  ‘Mummy’s job is important too. But Daddy came, didn’t he? Did he like your performance? I bet he was really proud of you.’

  ‘Daddy likes everything,’ she said wearily, before adding with one of her random tangential changes of tack, ‘I have new boots. With flowers on them. Joules ones.’

  ‘That’s nice. Mummy bought them? You see, she’s thinking about you,’ I said, injecting a positive, upbeat note into my voice. I wanted Grace to be happy.

  ‘Yes. She’s been doing a lot of shopping. I have new clothes.’

  I wondered if Elaine had bought Grace the purple jeans she craved and whether the H&M ones I’d bought as a Christmas present would have to go back. I couldn’t remember if I’d given them to Nate or not. There was still a pile of abandoned shopping bags in my music room that I’d not looked at since that abortive visit to the house. And in the corner of my bedroom a black lace bra and matching pants tossed behind the laundry basket, too scorned to even merit being washed. I would probably never wear them again.

  I finished rubbing at her cheek; it was still a little red. ‘Sorry, Grace, that’s the best I can do. When you get home a bit of soap and water should do the trick. Or maybe some of Mummy’s make-up remover.’

  Mrs Roberts appeared and clapped her hands. ‘Is everyone ready? Follow me to the dining room. No running or silliness.’

  Despite her words, like unleashed puppies, the children rushed through the hall towards the dining room. I followed more slowly, arriving in time to see them all being reunited with their parents and grandparents amid lots of hugging and squealing. It was a touching sight, especially George throwing himself at his tiny mum, dwarfing her with his enthusiastic hug. Sarah’s mum gave me a shy teary smile as she held Sarah’s hand and came straight over.

  ‘I just wanted to say thank you. This has been –’ she glanced down at her daughter ‘– a wonderful experience for Sarah.’

  Sarah beamed at me. ‘Mum cried. I saw her.’

  Her mother and I both laughed.

  ‘They were happy tears.’ Sarah’s mum dropped a kiss on her daughter. ‘Why don’t you go and get some squash and biscuits?’ As Sarah skipped off her mum turned back to me. ‘You have no idea how much confidence having this part has given her. I had no idea she was capable of this. She’s never wanted to do anything before and she loved it.’

  ‘You’re not crying again, are you?’ asked a man coming up to take her hand. He shook his head and tutted before saying in a soft voice, ‘Although I have to admit I might have shed a couple of tears. Wonderful production and … our Sarah, what a revelation! Thank you so much.’ The two of them turned to each other and smiled. My heart contracted at the sight of them, both timid and unassuming but so united in their pride for their daughter.

  ‘Sh
e’s a little star. I hope she does some more things.’ I smiled at them as they walked away towards their daughter.

  Standing alone for a moment among the sea of children and parents, I felt a little lost and then I caught Nate’s eye over Grace’s head, buried in his stomach, her arms wrapped around his middle. Compared to the other parents in the room who were all smiles, congratulations and animated conversations, he looked stern and sad as he gazed back at me, those dark brown eyes looking both haunted and stoic at the same time.

  Oh God, there was that lump in my throat again. It hurt when I tried to smile back at him. This was too painful. I’d be glad after today that our paths wouldn’t cross again. When he dropped his head to look down at his daughter and turned away, I felt grateful and sick at the same time.

  Chapter 30

  ‘Hi Miss Smith, it’s Grove Leys School here.’

  ‘Hello,’ I said cautiously, putting my viola down into its case, my heart taking a nose-dive to my boots. I wasn’t expecting to hear from the school again … well, not for a while. Now the head had a direct line to the Opera House, I suspected that string would be tugged a time or two more. And I genuinely wouldn’t have minded, if it could be guaranteed that I wouldn’t run into any of the Williams family.

  Yesterday morning had felt like goodbye to Grace and Nate. The end of the nativity bringing with it a clean break.

  After tidying up at school, saying my farewells to the staff and children, clutching my bouquet of flowers, sniffing at the roses periodically to hide threatening tears, I’d thrown myself into Christmas preparation with manic desperation. Unable to stay in my flat, I’d carted all my presents, wrapping paper, tags and scissors to my parents’ and spent the afternoon wrapping, making shopping lists and working out cooking times for Saturday. Christmas Day was just three days away. The panicked preparation helped, almost stopping me thinking about Grace and Nate, apart from when I’d wrapped their presents, putting the stocking together for Grace and the cashmere scarf for Nate, admittedly dropping a few tears on the soft blue wool which I would give to Dad instead. I’d decided to deliver Grace’s stocking some time in the next couple of days, perhaps dumping it on the doorstep with a cowardly knock and run. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Nate again.