by Mandy Baggot
‘Hello, Mr and Mrs Dar, I’m Miss Parker, we met at the start of the school year.’ She held out her hand and the two parents took it in turn to shake it.
‘Hello, Miss Parker,’ Ahmer greeted. ‘I hear you are in charge of the Christmas show this year.’
‘Yes,’ Emily said. ‘Yes, I am. And thank you, for your kind sponsorship.’
‘You are very welcome. I’m putting together a number of advertisements for you to write into the play. Just around one hundred words each. That should manage to get the message across.’
Oh hell. Advertisements to work into a script she didn’t have. One hundred words each. He had to be kidding, didn’t he? ‘Great,’ Emily answered. ‘That’s wonderful. Now, before I talk to you about Rashid’s fantastic project, I wonder if I could speak to you about something else.’
‘Rashid isn’t struggling at all, is he?’ This question was from Mrs Dar.
‘No,’ Emily answered. ‘No, nothing like that.’
‘Because, if he is struggling, we can increase the amount of time he spends studying at home. Currently we have a two hour a night regime that increases to three hours on the weekends,’ Ahmer continued.
Two hours a night. Three hours at the weekend. At primary school! It was all Emily could do not to shudder. She looked at Rashid. He didn’t now look like the ultra-confident, show-off-verging-on-bully he portrayed for the majority of his school life. He looked anxious, wide-eyed, frightened even… Was this shoplifting something more than a boy acting out to impress his contemporaries? Was there some deeper significance she had missed?
‘Well, I…’ She really didn’t know what to say. Rashid was looking at her almost pleadingly. His big, dark eyes welling up like the forming tears were a river set to burst its banks. There was definitely something more here. ‘I just wanted to say that Rashid is progressing really, really well in all subjects. He perhaps just needs to work on his relationships with his classmates.’ She could feel the scrutiny of the Dars. ‘I mean, two hours a night of study is quite intensive for a ten-year-old. Perhaps spending a little more time after school with his friends might help.’
‘Are you saying he’s not a team-player?’ Ahmer queried.
‘No… I… Rashid works well in a group as well as on his own.’
‘He will have plenty of time to waste with his friends when he’s finished medical school,’ Mrs Dar added.
Medical school. He was ten! Emily looked at Rashid then. ‘So, you want to be a doctor, Rashid?’
He nodded, reluctant, the sign of agreement not meeting the rest of his expression.
‘Of course he does,’ Ahmer said proudly. ‘I wanted to be a doctor myself, but I took on the family restaurants. Not Rashid though. He’s going to take a better path. Help people.’
A loud rumbling noise distracted Emily from the Dars and, looking to the hall doors, she saw the Jackson family entering the room. Despite Jayden’s insistence that his dad wouldn’t be coming today, there was Mr Jackson, bumping into tables, red-faced and looking like he had spent his whole day in the pub Jayden had recreated so accurately.
‘Excuse me,’ Emily said, smiling at the Dars. ‘I will be back.’
Thirty-Four
‘I know it’s you,’ Jayden whispered to Ray, a grin on his face. Ray had been intrigued to find out Jayden’s ‘What Christmas Means to Me’ sculpture was of the infamous Riches Tower and the local pub, the Rose & Crown. All the children’s work was exceptional in different ways. It was definitely a cut above anything he had ever made at school. In his day they had made simple cards with glitter and glue and pom-poms made from wool. He remembered his mum helping him with the pom-poms. They’d cut cardboard out of the back of cereal packets that were still on the go and loose Shreddies had escaped all over the kitchen floor. They had laughed that afternoon. Laughed and laughed together… until Ray saw that Soot’s cage door was open and the gerbil wasn’t inside. They’d found him, under the sofa, but he’d passed away not long after that.
‘Of course you know it’s me,’ Ray answered in pure Father Christmas tones, not giving up his role. ‘I’m the man in red! Saint Nicholas! Kris Kringle! I live in the North Pole!’
‘You’re Ray Stone,’ Jayden said quietly.
There was no fooling this kid. Did he carry on keeping up the pretence to him or come clean? Ray had a feeling, if he admitted it, he would be putting Emily in employment jeopardy again and, looking around the hall, there didn’t seem to be a cupboard she could shove him in this time. Not that he could see much of the room around the literal wonderland of Christmas decorations coating every corner…
‘I’m sorry, who?’ Ray asked, all surprised. He put his hands to his belt buckle and gave a hearty chuckle. ‘I’ve never heard of this Ray Stone. He doesn’t sound very special to me. Anyway, young man, tell me, have you been good this year? What would you like for Christmas?’
Jayden gave a shrug then. ‘Dunno.’
‘Dunno?’ Santa Ray repeated. ‘But you must know what you would like.’
‘My mum and dad don’t have much money.’
A little piece of his heart melted. What was wrong with him? Dressed up in a beard and a red trouser-suit, talking about toy workshops and getting emotional about families who didn’t have much. He had been part of a family who didn’t have much. That hadn’t stopped him having wishes and dreams. He was still wishing and dreaming now, having wasted most of the financial achievements he’d been given already. But at ten years old, he didn’t want Jayden to think that life meant nothing, that he couldn’t hope…
‘Well, young man,’ Ray stated. ‘You are talking to Santa now. And it’s Santa who brings the presents on Christmas morning.’
Jayden let out a laugh. ‘I’m not a baby.’
‘Would you like a rocking horse?’ Ray offered.
‘No,’ Jayden said, still laughing.
‘An Arsenal football strip?’
‘I support Leyton Orient.’
‘Oh dear,’ Ray joked.
‘Hey! They’re good! In the football league now thanks to Justin Edinburgh!’
‘Come on, young Jayden, there must be something you want to ask Santa for.’
Jayden hesitated for a moment. ‘Well, there is one thing,’ the boy began. ‘It’s sort of for me, but it’s sort of for Miss Parker.’
‘I see,’ Ray replied, trying hard to keep his Santa voice together. It was starting to make his throat sore and that was the very last thing he needed.
‘Her boyfriend died and she was really really sad and she had to be away from school for ages.’ He sniffed. ‘She’s my teacher this year and she’s really the only teacher that listens to me, so I don’t want her to go away again.’
Ray swallowed… to soothe his throat… definitely not to quell the sentimentality. ‘I see.’ He had definitely lost all the Father Christmas bravado now.
‘You see that man over there?’ Jayden said, pointing. ‘The one in the chef’s outfit.’
Ray saw Jayden was picking out Jonah. Emily’s friend was handing out food to the parents while Allan was pouring lemonade into plastic cups. It seemed to be on a pour one, down one himself cycle.
‘I do,’ Ray replied.
‘Well, he comes here a lot to meet Miss Parker, but I don’t think they’re together, like boyfriend and girlfriend, because, well, she’s still a bit sad sometimes, when she thinks we’re not noticing. And I think if he was her new boyfriend, she wouldn’t still be sad.’
‘What are you telling me here, Jayden?’ Ray cleared his throat and put on Santa tones again. ‘I mean… what are you asking of Santa, young man?’
‘Maybe Santa could help them get together. If Miss Parker had a new boyfriend, then she would be happy and then she won’t leave Stretton Park.’
Ray took a breath. Wow. And he thought Jayden was likely to ask for the latest video game or the actual Nintendo Switch to play it on. ‘Listen, I don’t know if that is something even Santa can achieve,’ Ray admit
ted.
‘Well, have you got a girlfriend?’ Jayden asked.
‘What?!’ Ray exclaimed, hand on his chest, eyes wide in shock, beard slipping a little. ‘It is a well-known fact that I am married. Very happily married… to Mrs Claus who is, right now, making preparations for the big, festive day where we will eat turkey and stuffing and all the healthy Christmas vegetables… with the reindeer and the elves and…’
‘Alright, Jayden?’
Ray stopped talking and looked to the man who had approached the table, his fingertips seeming to be needed to anchor himself to the edge of it to abate the swaying. This was behaviour Ray recognised immediately. The voice was slightly too loud, the stance wasn’t steady, the eyes were heavy-lidded. The man was Ray’s height, with dark hair, surprisingly clean-shaven, his complexion a little mottled. Ray also knew the expression on his face. He had seen it so many times, in the mirror of the gents’ toilets in his own reflection and, in the past, on the face of his mother.
‘Hello,’ Jayden replied, instantly on edge, stepping away a bit until his back was at the wall.
‘Show us what you’ve made then, Jayden.’ This question came from a tiny woman Ray hadn’t even noticed. She was standing next to the tall man, light-coloured hair swept back into a high ponytail, wearing jeans and a heavy knit black jumper.
‘Is this the tower?’ the man asked with a deep laugh, hands going to the clay sculpture. He surely wasn’t going to touch it, was he? The man looked hardly capable of standing, let alone being in control of a precious piece of artwork.
‘Whoa, there,’ Ray said quickly, stepping into the man’s space and blocking his waving arms aimed at Jayden’s tableau. ‘Santa suggests that you don’t touch this most delicate piece of sculpture that could one day be auctioned for thousands of pounds.’
‘Did you touch me?’ the man questioned, his eyes narrowing at Ray.
So, this guy was far gone. He was going to treat every course of intervention as an attack.
‘Nev, leave it,’ the woman begged. ‘Jayden, love, tell me all about what you’ve made. I like the tower and… is that the pub?’
‘Yeah,’ Jayden answered sheepishly.
‘Let’s have a look,’ the man stated, side-stepping Ray and banging into the table, shocking the sculpture, which wobbled precariously.
A flashback of another table came to mind. The aftermath of dinner with the plates and bowls stacked up, a painting almost tumbling to the floor…
‘Listen, I think you should really step away from the table before you break something,’ Ray warned the man.
Immediately, the man got up close and personal to Ray’s padded exterior, glaring at him. ‘The only thing that’s gonna get broken around here, Santa, is you. If you don’t get out of my way.’
‘Oh, hello! Mr and Mrs Jackson!’ It was Emily, gliding in effortlessly with her cheery demeanour, somehow straightaway able to take hold of the man’s hand and shake it pleasantly and inch herself in between them despite the lack of space to do exactly that. She smiled at the woman too and shook her hand, instantly calming the intensity.
‘It’s so wonderful to see you again. Jayden’s worked so hard on his sculpture over the past few weeks. I really think it shows wonderful attention to detail.’
‘It’s Riches Tower and the pub,’ Mrs Jackson stated. ‘Other kids have made churches and Christmas dinners.’
‘Well,’ Jayden countered, ‘Felix has just got fish and Alice’s isn’t even about Christmas.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Emily answered. ‘They’re all so unique, aren’t they? I love how Jayden has made so much effort getting the detailing of the windows of the tower just right.’
‘You do, do you?’ Mr Jackson said. ‘You love this?’
Ray’s hackles were already up underneath his loveable Santa exterior. He didn’t like Jayden’s father at all. He was hard. He was bitter. It might be the alcohol. It might not. But what it definitely was was a father showing up his son in the same way Ray’s mother had showed up him as much as he loathed to recall it. Cornering the bottle stall at the school fête. Forgetting to make him lunch. Puking in public…
‘Yes,’ Emily said. ‘I do. Jayden has worked very hard on this representation. He’s a very hard-working boy all round.’
Ray knew he shouldn’t say anything. Staying quiet, just being a visual festive aid was what he told Emily he was going to do, but he couldn’t help himself. ‘I think he’s depicted you extremely well.’
He knew his words would get Mr Jackson’s attention, that the man’s eyes would then train on the model and the figure, drunk outside the pub, a tankard in his hand. A reflection of how his son saw him. Maybe this man needed to see himself through the eyes of Jayden.
‘This is me?’ Mr Jackson asked Jayden, pointing a meaty finger at the angry man made out of modelling clay.
‘Jayden said you’re wearing your favourite shirt,’ Emily said quickly. ‘The one with the stripes you like to wear at Christmas.’
‘D’you think this is funny?’ Mr Jackson had both large hands on the table now, leaning across it, and the model, leering at Jayden.
‘Nev, calm down,’ Mrs Jackson said, putting a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘It’s actually quite a good likeness. He’s got your hair just right.’
Mr Jackson turned on his wife then. ‘So, you think this is funny too, do you?’
‘Listen,’ Emily said. ‘Why don’t we go and get a cup of lemonade and some nibbles?’
‘You dragged me here,’ Mr Jackson carried on, pointing a finger at his wife. ‘I didn’t want to come. Why would I want to come to this?’ His voice was getting louder and louder now, drawing attention from the rest of the people in the room.
‘I didn’t want you to come,’ Jayden’s voice burst out. ‘Because I knew you’d be like this!’
‘You little shit!’ Mr Jackson yelled.
Jayden’s father threw a fist towards his son and Ray lost it. How dare he go to hit his son! How dare he come to this school and spoil an afternoon everyone was enjoying! One second Ray was there, blocking Mr Jackson from reaching Jayden, the next he was aiming his own punch at the parent. But then, momentarily, the red mist lifted, and he caught sight of Emily in his peripheral vision. Her face was a picture of shock and concern. He couldn’t put this afternoon in jeopardy for her. She was already so fraught. Quickly, he dropped his fist and instead grabbed the aggressor’s arm, gripping his wrist tight. And then Ray did something he hadn’t done since school. He dramatically ripped the skin both ways, as hard as he could, giving Mr Jackson the fiercest of Chinese burns.
Jayden’s father let out a hideous yelp of agony until Ray eventually let him go, pushing him away from the group.
‘Santa! Santa!’ Felix shouted, twirling round and round in a frenzy.
‘Miss Parker!’ Alice called. ‘Is Jayden’s dad going to die?’
Thirty-Five
Crowland Terrace, Canonbury, Islington
‘And I still don’t know what you’re doing here.’
Jonah was holding Ray’s hand underneath the tap in Emily’s kitchen. It seemed he had grabbed Mr Jackson hard enough to inflict an injury to himself. His finger joints were red and a little puffy. He was still wearing the Santa suit, but minus the beard now he was away from the school and didn’t need disguising. Although he had considering hanging on to the outfit for avoiding the press the next time they were stalking him.
Emily had barrelled him out of the hall, and the situation, before he had even had time to process what had actually happened. He shouldn’t have reacted like that, but what was the alternative? See Jayden get hit by his father? What then? What course of action was there after that? A boy would have been hurt and emotionally traumatised. Far better for him to take the rap, despite the shit he was in already. Besides, no one knew it was him. Except Emily… and Jayden… and now Jonah and Allan. OK, so, Father Christmas giving a parent a Chinese burn at a primary school wasn’t the best thing that cou
ld have happened, but it was preferably to the world finding out Ray Stone had assaulted someone. And he hadn’t answered Jonah’s question.
‘I thought you were very gallant,’ Allan said. He was leaning against the worktop in the tiny space, pulling apart a clementine and popping segments into this mouth. ‘That man was an animal. And did you smell him? He didn’t just smell like he’d been to the pub. He smelled like Guinness had distilled him for thirty-odd years.’
‘I don’t know what Emily’s going to do,’ Jonah admitted. ‘She’s been trying for forever to impress her boss so she can get the Deputy Head position and now this!’
‘Ow!’ Ray grimaced as Jonah pressed down on his hand. ‘Watch it. I’ve got to play the piano and the guitar you know.’
‘Is it broken, Jonah?’ Two L’s asked.
‘It’s not broken,’ Ray said immediately. It might have been broken if he’d actually hit the guy like he’d wanted to. But he could move everything independently. It was just sore and a bit swollen. The likelihood was it would be worse tomorrow but, after that, hopefully it would start to loosen up a bit.
‘Unlike Mr Jackson’s wrist,’ Jonah remarked.
‘His wrist isn’t broken!’ Allan exclaimed. ‘Is it?’
‘Listen,’ Ray said, taking back ownership of his hand and turning off the cold tap. ‘I get this situation is unusual, but, believe me, I was there to help Emily. She asked me to be there, to play the piano and help her with this show she’s got going on.’
‘And the reason that she said for me to “take you home” and “home” appears to be her flat?’ Jonah queried. ‘What’s that about?’
‘We were hoping she would get another housemate,’ Allan piped up.
‘You’ve read the papers, right? Looked through Twitter? I’m a bit down on my luck right now. I needed a place to stay. Emily needed her central heating fixed.’ Ray spread out his arms. ‘Perfect temperature now.’
‘And a good solution,’ Allan said positively. ‘For both of you. Helping each other in your hour of need, so to speak.’