Murder in the Manger

by Debbie Young

  “Sophie? Are you awake back there?”

  I jumped. “Sorry, Damian.”

  He paced backwards towards me, never taking his eye off the stage. “I’m not surprised you drifted off. It’s all too flat, too static. We need to make it more three-dimensional.”

  “What, give the audience 3D glasses?”

  “No, stupid. We’re going to have to bring the actors out into the auditorium. The audience needs to feel involved. They should feel as if they’re travelling on the donkey with Mary and Joseph, stowaways on the wise men’s camels, apprentices accompanying the shepherds.”

  “Intern to a wise man – that would be a dream job.”

  “What?” Damian gave me a withering look.

  “Do you mean audience participation? I hope we’re not in danger of veering into panto. ‘Where’s the star?’ ‘It’s behind you!’”

  “Of course not,” he said crossly. “I mean, let’s take the action off the stage and bring it down into the auditorium. We’ll have the journeys going up and down the aisle and around the perimeter of the hall to give some idea of the arduous nature of the trip and the distance involved.”

  He looked around the hall for inspiration. “This is a crap setting. It’s hard to create an atmosphere of awe and wonder surrounded by posters for barn dances and ballet lessons, and paintings of clowns by playgroup children.”

  He really didn’t have a clue about village life.

  “You have to remember, Damian, this isn’t a dedicated theatre. It’s a resource shared by the whole community. It’s used by everybody for everything, from children’s birthday parties and old people’s bingo to five-a-side football and WI.”

  “Then we need somewhere that doesn’t have all those unhelpful associations. Somewhere the audience can focus on the spell we’ll be weaving about them.”

  “What about using the church?” I said, before I was even aware I’d thought of the idea. “Just being there will put people into an appropriate frame of mind before the play even begins.”

  Damian looked thoughtful. “I haven’t been in there yet, but having seen it from the outside, I’d guess the scale and style of the architecture will offer us much greater scope than this tatty old shed.”

  I ignored that unmerited sideswipe, hoping no-one else had heard it. Damian had excellent projection.

  “We’ll have to ask the Reverend Murray when he arrives, of course,” I said, glad to be flaunting my authority for a change. “But I expect Kate will be able to OK it in the meantime, as chair of the Parochial Church Council.”

  Damian looked sceptical. “I can’t see any vicar objecting to a full house. Or to getting youngsters into church.”

  “And we’ll have God on our side,” I added cheerfully. “Which will probably cancel out the bad luck brought by children and animals.”

  Damian turned his back on me and headed back to the stage.

  23 Saint Katherine

  “Have you got Kate’s phone number, please, Hector? I want to ask her permission to stage the nativity play in the church this year.”

  “That’s rather coals to Newcastle, isn’t it?” Hector pulled his mobile phone out of his front pocket and swiped through his contacts. He scribbled her number on the back of a discarded till receipt and passed it across.

  “Precisely. That’s why we want to stage it there. In its natural habitat.”

  I picked up the shop phone and punched in the number. Kate answered so quickly she made me jump.

  “How about that for lightning reactions?” she said brightly. “I’m at my desk drowning in six months’ paperwork. Please tell me you’ve called to distract me.”

  I laughed. “I certainly have. I wanted to ask you whether we might stage our nativity play at St Bride’s, rather than the Village Hall. Damian and I thought it would offer more scope and be more effective. The Players thought when Mr Murray arrives, he wouldn’t mind, but I wanted to ask you officially in his absence.”

  Kate sounded puzzled. “Damian? Who’s Damian? I don’t think I know a Damian in the village.”

  “He’s my ex-boyfriend and a professional theatre director. He’s come to guest-direct my nativity play.”

  Kate went quiet for a moment. “I take it you’re at work just now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I come down to talk to you about it over coffee?”

  “Sure. Though I might have to break off if the shop gets busy.”

  “OK, I’ll see you shortly.”

  I returned the handset to its cradle. Hector looked up expectantly.

  “She’s on her way.”

  “I’ll take cover,” he replied, heading to the stockroom.

  “So tell me more about Damian. Is he Rex’s successor?” Kate put her hands around her coffee cup to warm them after her chilly walk to the shop. “As director of the Players, I mean.”

  “Yes, but just for this one play. He’s filling time between professional bookings in Europe.”

  She took a sip of coffee thoughtfully. “What does he look like? Have I met him?”

  I hesitated to describe him, conscious that Hector might hear me.

  “You might have seen him at the pub last week when you and Hector were having dinner there. He was playing darts with Ian’s team.”

  Kate perked up. “Ooh, yes, I remember. Tall, muscular Viking type. Strong blond good looks.”

  I tried to sound unconvinced to avoid hurting Hector’s feelings. “If you say so.”

  “And why does he want to use the church instead of the School Hall or Village Hall?”

  “He wants awe and wonder. The hall’s a bit thin on those. The church is much bigger too. We’d like to use the whole church, to give a sense of the distance travelled.”

  Kate nodded. “Plus of course it would make great use of the parallel between man’s spiritual journey from font to altar and Christ’s journey from manger to cross.”

  Just as I was starting to feel out of my depth, who should walk in but Damian? He strode straight over to our table.

  “Here’s your spare door key.”

  He leaned over, pulled open the top pocket of my shirt, and dropped the key inside. I clapped my hand to my chest to cover it, embarrassed by his over-familiar gesture. He flashed a smile at the startled Kate.

  “I realised when I got back to Carol’s that I already had a spare key anyway, so that made two. I thought you’d want the spare-spare back in case you want to give it to someone else.”

  I hoped that didn’t make me sound fast and loose.

  Kate looked from me to him and back again. “You’re not staying at Sophie’s, then?”

  “Not at the moment.” Damian beat me to replying. “I’m lodging with Carol while I help her fix up her house a bit.”

  Before I could deny his implication that he might move in with me in the future, an elderly couple entered the shop and came to stand pointedly at the counter, waiting to be served. I glanced at the stockroom door, willing Hector to emerge, but he stayed put.

  “Excuse me, Kate.”

  As I got up to do my duty, Damian took my seat, and I left the two of them chatting while I dealt with the customers. Their complex order demanded too much of my concentration to allow me to listen in on Kate and Damian’s conversation.

  Just as I finished serving, Damian got up to leave, patting me on the head as he passed the counter. At the sound of the shop door closing, Hector came out of the stockroom and sat down by Kate. Kate almost immediately got up to leave and headed out of the door. This was starting to feel like a game of musical chairs. I wondered whether she was following Damian to check he wasn’t really returning to my house.

  Despatching my customers with a substantial haul of books, I looked across to Hector, expecting him to be pleased with the high value of my sale. Instead he was glowering at me.

  “Kate told me to give you this message: ‘Yes, that’s fine, as long as he doesn’t go raping and pillaging.’ I take it that means something to you?
”

  I bit my lip.

  “It means Damian can use the church to stage the nativity play, provided I keep him under control.”

  “And can you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  24 Extras

  As Mrs Broom sat down on a chair at the side of the school hall, I felt the pressure of 200 eyes turned upon me. Well, 199 actually, because one small boy in the youngest class was sporting a corrective patch beneath his glasses. I spotted Jemima, one of the children I was giving extra English lessons to in the shop after school. She gave me a proud wave from halfway back in the hall, digging her neighbour in the ribs to claim me as her friend. To bring me luck this morning, I’d slipped on to my wrist the string friendship bracelet she’d made me.

  I took a deep breath and put on my teacher’s voice.

  “Well, children, I’m very pleased to see you all today. Damian and I have come to invite you to take part in a new kind of school Christmas play. Actually, it’s a very old kind of play – a traditional nativity play about the birth of Jesus. This year, you’re going to have an exciting opportunity to perform it in the church at Christmas. And it won’t just be you. Your teachers will be acting in it too.”

  A ripple of chatter ran through the room, with many children darting excited glances at the teachers.

  “The village drama group, the Wendlebury Players, will also be in it, and Damian, who is a professional theatre director, will be in charge. I’ve written it especially for you, so it will be a world premiere, which means it will be the first time it’s been performed anywhere in the world.”

  A boy towards the back of the hall, where the older children sat, put up his hand. “Is this instead of a pantomime, miss, or as well as?”

  “Instead of. We thought it was time for a change and a new challenge for you.”

  “Oh no, it isn’t,” heckled a wag from the top class.

  “Oh yes, it is!” cried another.

  I held my hand up for silence, as Mrs Broom had done during the Remembrance Day assembly, and found it surprisingly effective.

  “Now, before I pass you over to Damian, who will tell you about the rehearsals, does anyone have any questions?”

  I panned the room.

  A girl of about seven put her hand up.

  “Will we be doing Nativity 1, 2 or 3?”

  I cast a pleading look to Damian, who shrugged. I hadn’t heard of any sequels.

  Mrs Broom came to our rescue. “Miss Sayers has been living abroad for the last few years, children, so she won’t have seen that popular series of family films about schools doing nativity plays. Which is probably just as well.”

  The teachers chuckled behind their hands.

  “Yes, but will we be doing the one with Martin Clunes?” persisted the little girl. “That’s my favourite.”

  “Will Martin Clunes be in it?” said the girl next to her. “My mum loves Martin Clunes.”

  “No, children, you will be the stars of this show. You and your teachers and the Wendlebury Players. Any sensible questions, please?”

  I pointed to a little boy at the front who was waving his hand urgently. “Can I go to the toilet, please?” His teacher reached across to haul him up by the hand and send him off in the right direction.

  “Will there be dancing?” This was from a dainty little girl of about nine who looked like the type to be into her ballet.

  I glanced at Damian for help. He gave a slight nod.

  “There might be.”

  “And songs with actions?” queried a little boy. “We like songs with actions.”

  “And tinsel,” said another. “We always have lots of tinsel in our Christmas play. And balloons.”

  I signalled again for silence as other children called out increasingly outlandish suggestions. “Carol will be doing the costumes, and I know how much you love her Halloween outfits. So I think you can trust her to make you all look fantastic, with or without balloons. Now, Damian will tell you how it’s going to work.”

  Damian turned to me to acknowledge my introduction courteously. I was beginning to feel like a television presenter on a chat show. We could have done with a curvy couch in a garish colour.

  “OK, guys, here’s the thing.” It was immediately clear that he wasn’t a teacher, which made me feel more confident in my own authority. “If you want to take part, you’ll need to come to the Village Hall to rehearse from two till four every Saturday between now and the end of term, except for the dress rehearsal which will be in the church.” He scanned the audience for a moment to check they’d absorbed what he’d been saying.

  At the back of the hall, a tall girl put her hand up, tossing her long blonde hair.

  “Please may I be Mary?”

  A dozen more hands immediately shot up with the eagerness of the first volunteer. Damian ignored them, fixing the would-be Mary with his most winning gaze.

  “The adults will be taking the speaking parts in the play, but I can see you would make the perfect angel.”

  The little girl’s cheeks went rose-pink, and I wondered how many other girls would hatch a crush on Damian during his talk.

  A small boy towards the front waved at Damian.

  “Can I be Baby Jesus?”

  The older children laughed, and Damian gave him a conspiratorial smile, as if the boy was playing for laughs. I didn’t think he had been. “Well spotted that Jesus won’t have a speaking part. But I think you’d be a bit big to play a baby, don’t you?”

  A murmur of agreement flickered across the room. “No, you’ll be a terrific baby lamb, and everyone will think you’re adorable.”

  Sensing a vacancy in the manger department, the children were quickly forthcoming with a flurry of other suggestions.

  “You can have my baby sister.”

  “My cat Dinky would be just the right size.”

  “I’ve trained my puppy to lie down. You could use him.”

  “Have you seen my pony?”

  “Can I be a gorilla?”

  As the children’s imaginations went into overdrive, Mrs Broom stood up, both arms raised, to call them to order.

  “Now, children, let’s give Miss Sayers and Mr – er – Drammaticas a big thank you for coming to tell us about this exciting new project, and for inviting you all to be a part of it. I’m sure we’re all going to have a wonderful time. Your teachers will give you a note to take home for your families, so make sure you give it to them. It’s important to attend as many rehearsals as you can, to make the play run smoothly.”

  For the first time, I realised that with just three Saturdays before the performance, we had only six hours to turn this willing but unpredictable horde into a coordinated cast. But at least I didn’t have to worry about them learning lines.

  As Damian and I crossed the playground on our way out, the school’s morning break was just beginning, and children were charging about, full of energy, in the thin November sunshine. A girl of about seven came running across to tug at Damian’s sleeve, egged on by a gaggle of her friends.

  “Sir, my friend Milly loves you!” She ran off, giggling.

  Nearby, a boy from the top class called out after her, “She won’t get very far. Can’t you see he loves her already?” He jabbed his thumb unmistakeably at me.

  Damian laughed a little too quickly to be natural, and together we hurried towards the gate.

  25 Teachers Join In

  “To be honest, I’m glad I don’t have many lines to learn, Sophie.”

  The reception class teacher took me into her confidence before we started blocking out the moves at the first full adult rehearsal. “It would be too embarrassing if I forgot them in front of the children.”

  Ian looked surprised. “I’ve always thought teachers were natural actors, standing in front of their class all day.”

  “Yes, but it’s not as if we have to learn what we’re going to say off by heart for every lesson in advance.” She looked horrified at the thought. “Goodness knows, we
’ve got enough lesson preparation to do without that.”

  Ian refused to be deterred. “But it must help to be able to stand up in front of a roomful of potentially critical kids every day, knowing you’ve got to perform, whatever happens.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose so. But teaching’s mostly a one-woman show.”

  “Or one man,” put in the Year 6 teacher. “I’m not a drag act.”

  “And this play’s an ensemble piece,” said the reception teacher.

  “And it’s featuring children and animals,” added the Year 2 teacher.

  “Children who are playing animals,” I said quickly. “That’s not the same thing at all. We’ve only got one real live animal – Janet, the donkey.”

  “Is that better or worse?” she replied. I hoped it would be better.

  While the rest of the cast had a quick read-through of their lines, Carol and I set out chairs to mark key features of the church to which we’d only have access for the dress rehearsal. Carol was much more familiar with the layout of the church than I was.

  “I expect you’re looking forward to welcoming the Reverend Murray back again,” I said to her as we set up two long rows to delineate the central aisle. “He seems to have been much loved.”

  “Yes, and his wife.” Carol’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. I knew she must have been hoping for an unmarried vicar to fill the vacancy. Hector had once told me that it’s a truth universally acknowledged that a single vicar must be in want of a wife.

  “Take heart, Carol. You know he’s only a stop-gap till they find a permanent replacement.”

  She gave a resigned smile. “Lately it does seem that vicars are like buses in this parish. You wait ages for one, then two come at once.” The last one had only stayed a few weeks before circumstances despatched him elsewhere. “Otherwise in this parish, it feels like we’ve got no bus service at all, once you’re too old to use the school bus.”