One Christmas Star

by Mandy Baggot

  She struck out, thumping him hard on the shoulder. ‘Don’t fucking ask me that?! What else did you expect me to do? Where else could I possibly be after you do this to me?!’

  ‘Leyland, can we get a couple of coffees?’ Ray called. Right at that moment, a security officer barrelled through the door looking like he was in some sort of pursuit of the interloper and Ray hurried to wave him back before Ida noticed. Ida didn’t deal with figures of authority particularly well. In this state, Ida didn’t deal with anyone particularly well.

  ‘Coffee!’ Ida exploded. ‘You think you can fob me off with coffee? Or those macarons and that bitch Deborah?! I always hated her. I don’t trust her. I’ve never trusted her. She never listens to me. No one ever listens to me!’

  ‘Hey, Ida, it’s OK,’ Ray said. ‘Calm down.’ Ordinarily, before everything, he would have held her, put a steadying hand to each shoulder, try to get her to focus, look into his eyes and take deep breaths. But he shouldn’t now. Couldn’t. Instead he just put his hands out and up, palms vertical and flat like he might be expecting a double high-five. He wasn’t. He was expecting much worse.

  ‘Don’t tell me to calm down! How could you?! How could you!’

  ‘Shall we sit down?’ He looked over the room, seeking out the safest place for them to settle. The huge Christmas tree dominated the space in this more intimate of the three studios and the bright white icicles hanging from it looked like they could be sharp. All at once came a memory of a large piece of broken glass…

  There were no chairs in here, only stools, one behind the drum kit and two others on the large oriental rug sat behind microphones.

  ‘Who is she?!’ Ida screamed. ‘Who is this woman you’re with?!’ She rifled through the large bag on her shoulder, hands scrabbling, her whole body trembling.

  Ray’s heart jolted. What was Ida talking about? Then, striking out again, her phone was thrust into his sightline, a photo displayed on the screen. He looked at the image of him and Emily, sitting at the piano at Clean Martini. People were stood up applauding, they were under the spotlight, sitting so close on the piano stool… He began to remember exactly how he had felt at that moment. Full of heat. Filled with pride in Emily. Beautiful Emily. He hurriedly regrouped and gave Ida a smile.

  ‘Is this what’s getting you so upset?’ Ray asked. ‘A photo of me with someone I plucked from the audience?’ Where had she even got the photo from? Was this making small column inches somewhere? Or had Ida been there that night? No, he didn’t believe that. If Ida had been there that night, she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from making a scene at the bar, like she was making a scene now.

  ‘Someone you plucked from the audience?’ Ida’s voice had thankfully dropped a degree of unhinged. He was saying the right things. He just needed to keep that up.

  ‘Yes, Ida, I used to work there, remember? They asked me to play something festive for them. This girl… this woman… she just came right up with me,’ he explained. ‘I think she was the daughter of the owner or something, I don’t know, we just played a song and everyone liked it and… that’s it.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Ida repeated. Her shoulders were rolling forward now, the anger dying down, the dangerous, ugly force diminishing before his eyes. But he knew from experience that could change in an instant.

  ‘Who took this photo?’ Ray asked as Ida dropped the phone away from his view.

  ‘I… no one…’ Ida stopped talking, then fixed him with a stare. ‘So, you don’t know her? You don’t know this woman at all?’

  Ray shook his head. ‘No, Ida. I don’t even know her name.’ What was he saying? If he fed her too many untruths and she found out he was lying later then who knew what would happen?

  ‘Have you thought about what I said?’ Ida asked, her voice sweet now, heading towards calm. She reached out and began running her hands over the sleeves of his shirt, cupping his biceps and moving her body closer. She might be petite but there was strength there.

  ‘Ida,’ Ray said, stepping back out of reach. He had to make his point loud and clear now. ‘This is never going to work. Ida, we tried. It didn’t happen. And you know I can’t do it anymore. You know why.’ He had to be firm. Straight-talking but not angry or harsh. Simply stating the facts to make her realise – again – that there was no going back.

  ‘I know you say that, Ray, but we have worked through things before, haven’t we? You know we have. And things were good before, weren’t they? They can be good again, I know they can.’ She was moving closer to him again using that expression she had always used to try to make him see her how he had first seen her when they’d met. Except he really didn’t see her like that anymore. He hadn’t seen her that way for a long time. How could he?

  ‘Ida, I have to work right now,’ he told her. He spread his arms wide, to distract her as well as to highlight the setting they were in. The music studio, the large, black, glossy piano, the other instruments and the small group of people watching them from behind the glass.

  ‘You’re making new music,’ Ida said, twirling around in a dance.

  Ray watched her, immediately perturbed. He knew he hadn’t seen her for a while before all this press attention, but she looked as manic now as she had ever been. Perhaps he needed to do more. But it was hard. And he definitely didn’t want her to come to depend on him again.

  ‘I was always your muse, wasn’t I?’ Ida said, laughing as she danced across the wooden floor. ‘I could be your muse again. I would sit, really really quietly, listening and I could give you inspiration for new songs that everyone will love.’ She smiled, wide, unnatural. ‘They can be about us.’

  ‘Ida, have you spoken to your mother recently?’ He had to ask, despite knowing it was usually awkward territory. Ida wasn’t his responsibility. Her mother should be stepping up. He knew Victoria probably didn’t know the extent of Ida’s issues but maybe it was time she did.

  Ida immediately snapped to attention, her expression changing from joyful to wretched as she rounded on him. ‘Why would you ask that? Why would I have spoken to that woman? She’s far, far away in Leeds living her perfect little suburban life without me. Don’t you remember? Don’t you listen to me either now? Just like all the rest!’ She was biting her mouth now, her bottom teeth grazing the flesh on her lower lip.

  ‘Why not give her a call?’ Ray suggested as casually as he was able. He used a faint shuffled sidestep to the right, kind of like a move a sheepdog would make, to try to corral Ida towards the door.

  ‘Why not give her a call,’ Ida mimicked, her face screwed up again. Another mask. A mask he’d seen often.

  ‘Ida, please,’ Ray said. ‘You need someone. You need…’ He so desperately wanted to say the word ‘help’, but he knew that wasn’t the best word for this situation.

  ‘I need you, Ray. I’ve only ever needed you.’ She stepped towards him quickly, arms open. For a moment she again looked so weak and vulnerable. He didn’t want her to be living this life. He wanted her to be happy. Truly happy. But it was impossible for him to achieve. Because Ida wasn’t at that stage yet. She needed to reach acceptance of what had gone before, and her turning up at the studio, knowing he was going to be here, holding a photo of him and Emily at Clean Martini, were not signs that acceptance was even close.

  ‘Ida, you need to go now,’ Ray said as kindly as he could. He raised his head a fraction, caught the eye of the security guard who was looking through the small glass panel of the door. ‘I don’t have that long left of my studio time today and you know how it is. I always overrun and…’

  Ray didn’t even see it coming. Before he could say another word, before he even had a chance to think another thought, or take another step, Ida had snapped her fist out and punched him square on the jaw. The pain was instant, and his reaction was too. He did nothing. He stood his ground. He watched her eyes, dark, rage-filled, then in a matter of milliseconds the tide turned, the regret, the pain and sadness.

  The security
guard was already through the door and Ray knew there was nothing left for him to do right now.

  ‘Ray, I… didn’t mean that. I don’t know why I did that. You know I don’t know why I did that. It’s OK. It’s OK. It will be OK, won’t it? Won’t it, Ray?’

  The security man took hold of Ida’s arm and she tried desperately to pull it back, flapping her limbs like that frightened, damaged bird from her painting. Ray wanted to tell the guy to be gentle, but he couldn’t show any affection to her now. Not now. It was all far too late…

  ‘Ray! Don’t let them take me away!’ Ida shouted as she was marched to the exit. ‘Ray! I love you! I still love you! Even after everything! I love you, Ray! Ray, you know I love you, don’t you? Ray!’

  He closed his eyes, fingertips on his sore jaw, unable to watch another second. Time was rewinding in his mind. He was somewhere else, somewhere darker, somewhere he thought he might never escape from…

  ‘Ray, are you OK?’ Leyland asked, appearing at the door.

  He opened his eyes and took a breath, his throat tightening. ‘Yeah,’ he answered, voice ragged.

  ‘Listen, Ray, we all saw what happened in here.’

  ‘Nothing happened in here,’ Ray said quickly.

  ‘She’s the one in the media, isn’t she?’ Leyland continued. ‘Talking to the press.’

  ‘Ley, listen to me, please,’ Ray begged. ‘Nothing happened in here, OK? Just leave it. Please, just leave it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Let’s break for a coffee,’ Ray said. ‘I’ll go out and get coffee.’

  ‘Sam can get the coffees,’ Leyland replied. ‘You come and have a seat. We can listen back to…’

  Ray was already shrugging his shoulders into his coat. He really needed some air.

  Forty-Eight

  Crowland Terrace, Canonbury, Islington

  Emily hit the glockenspiel with force and closed her eyes. She was sitting on the roof terrace under one of the patio heaters, coat on, hat on, but enjoying the strong winter sunshine that was currently warming up the outside space. Was that the right note? She hit play on Spotify and listened again to the chorus of ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham. That song had been a suggestion for her show from Allan and Jonah as they walked around Hyde Park earlier. In fact, when the two guys had both said the song title in unison, they had shared a look of togetherness that had warmed Emily’s heart. She was so happy her best friend had found someone he was truly connected with in every way. And it really wasn’t that show of deep affection that had sent her scurrying to one of her favourite vintage boutiques after she’d left the happy couple.

  The amber dress had spoken to her through the window. It had been pinned to a coffee-coloured mannequin in the front display, it’s light gauzy material completely inappropriate for the current London temperatures, but the shade had reminded her of Ray’s eyes. Before she had time to dwell on the significance of that, her boots were on the steps to the entrance and she was pushing at the door. It was knee-length, cut on the bias and it was as if it had been fashioned for her and her alone. Looking in the mirror she had turned one way and then the other, and felt like a princess. It was totally her style, not elaborate, simple in its structure, pure, gentle elegance…

  She hit another note on the glockenspiel and cringed. That definitely didn’t sound right. Were her children going to be able to play along to this? Granted, they were all more talented with the instrument than she was…

  ‘What are you doing? Is it a pigeon deterrent?’

  Emily grabbed her chest, the stick she was holding jabbing the skin. ‘Gosh, Ray, I didn’t hear you.’

  ‘I got that,’ he replied. ‘You were making noise.’

  ‘Music,’ Emily interrupted. ‘Don’t turn into my mother and slate my abilities.’

  ‘I apologise,’ Ray replied. ‘You’re absolutely right.’ He sat down next to her and instantly she was back to last night and the slightly more intimate setting – stars above, fairy lights, rolling around on the floor…

  ‘What are you working on?’ he asked her, picking up the piece of paper she was making notes on. ‘“Last Christmas”?’

  ‘It was Jonah and Allan’s idea, but a good one I think. The children definitely know this song. I’m just trying to come up with some new words and the notes for a glockenspiel instrumental.’

  ‘What have you got so far?’ Ray asked, holding the notepaper in the space between them.

  ‘I think I’ve got a couple of lines nailed,’ Emily answered.

  ‘Sing it to me,’ Ray told her.

  ‘Oh… well… I…’ Why was she hesitating again? Maybe because although she had sung to him plenty of times, the other times had been mainly lyrics of his creation and none of those times had been after kissing him like they were the uplifting finale of a Lifetime movie…

  Ray picked up her phone and she watched him move the cursor on the app back to the beginning of the song. The opening bars began to play and Emily cleared her throat in preparation, before starting to sing.

  ‘Last Christmas. You let me cook. Then on Boxing Day. I read a book.’

  Emily stopped singing and smiled, her cheeks blushing. ‘That’s all I’ve got at the moment.’

  ‘O–K,’ Ray replied.

  ‘Gosh, it’s rubbish, isn’t it? I mean it’s supposed to mean something and it doesn’t mean anything and I don’t know where to go from “cook” or “book” and then it’s got to have at least three mentions of God according to Susan and I tried to go from “book” to “the Bible”, but it doesn’t rhyme and I can’t make it rhyme or fit with the song.’ Emily let out a screech of annoyance and put her head in her hands.

  ‘More God lines,’ Ray said, nodding.

  ‘And more meaning. And super-funny. But nothing rude. My children have to know what they’re singing about… but it’s OK to throw a few jokes the parents will get in there. I’ve done that in the script.’ And the play was almost complete. She very nearly had a whole performance based around a modern-day version of the Nativity incorporating some of the suggestions her Year Six pupils had made. She still hadn’t quite worked out what Rashid and Frema were going to do. She didn’t want to offend anyone and these days that was a near-on impossible task. Frema had ideas of a dual costume, one side representing the Jewish faith, the other Christianity. When the girl had pitched that idea, high on her ‘What Christmas Means to Me’ competition win, she had turned one way, then the other, first speaking Hebrew, then transforming seamlessly into a vicar…

  ‘OK,’ Ray said, moving the cursor on her phone again.

  The intro played and then Ray started to sing.

  ‘Last Christmas. You… gave me some myrrh. But on Boxing Day, you gave it to her.’ He tapped his fingers to his head as the music continued. ‘This year. To not break my heart. I’ll give it to… Baby Jesus.’

  Emily’s mouth dropped open. ‘How do you do that? Seriously, how? I’ve been sitting here for over an hour now and I came up with “book” and “cook”.’

  Ray smiled. ‘Shall I write the words down?’

  ‘Yes,’ Emily said, passing him a pen. ‘Yes please.’

  The music was carrying on. George Michael crooning away and those jingling bells speaking of sleighs and snow rides. It was so easy to imagine sitting underneath a fleecy blanket with Ray, dashing through the snow while his lips worked over hers… She shook her head and spoke quickly. ‘How was your time in the studio?’

  ‘It was good,’ Ray said, nodding. ‘We laid down two whole tracks. The record is really starting to shape up.’

  *

  Ray tried to concentrate on writing the lyrics he had just made up as the Christmas song continued to play. He wasn’t going to tell Emily that Ida had burst into his session and rattled him so much that he hadn’t been able to carry on. He’d had three sweet coffees after the interruption, but his mood had been killed and his voice was aching no matter how much he’d tried to relax it. Dr Crichton’s warnings about carryin
g on singing had been ringing in his ears. He really did need that bath for some hot mist therapy.

  ‘Listen, Ray…’ Emily began.

  And he knew exactly what she was going to say next. She was going to try and talk about last night. Here was the moment where the only good thing that was happening in his life right now disappeared into the air like smoke from the chimney stacks he could see from here, stretching across the city.

  ‘How was your day with Jonah and Allan?’ he interrupted. He couldn’t bear to hear it. Not yet. He wanted to listen to Emily’s sweet voice, talking about her day, describing something much better than fighting in a music studio.

  ‘It was good,’ Emily answered with a smile. ‘The Hyde Park Winter Wonderland is always amazing. Every year we go there thinking we’ve seen it all and there’s always something new to surprise us or make us laugh.’ She smiled even more broadly then. ‘This year we laughed when Allan got stuck on the helter-skelter. His jeans got caught beneath the wood somehow and he was suspended there, halfway round a bend, calling out “999 denim malfunction”.’

  Ray laughed. ‘He couldn’t just say “help”?’ There was that word again.

  ‘You’ve met Allan,’ Emily said.

  ‘You’re right,’ Ray answered. ‘I’ve met Allan. I can actually hear him saying “denim malfunction”.’

  The song playing on Emily’s phone came to an end and a Bing Crosby number kicked in. Immediately it intensified the mood and Ray knew Emily was going to use this opportunity to tell him that last night was all a mistake and she had never regretted something more in her entire life.

  ‘Listen,’ he said quickly, turning a little on the wooden seating and facing her. ‘Are you…’ He paused before continuing. ‘Are you doing anything tonight?’

  ‘Well,’ Emily said. ‘I don’t have any plans to go out if that’s what you mean. I was going to try and get some more of this song worked out but…’ She clapped her hands to her face. ‘Gosh, sorry, you need the apartment for something. To invite someone over. That’s fine! Absolutely fine! I can go out. Jonah will be working, but Allan might want someone to watch re-runs of Vera with.’