A Fairy Tale for Christmas

by Chrissie Manby

  ‘Do I?’ Kirsty asked for reassurance.

  ‘Yes. You do. I know you make my performance better. I feel … I feel oddly safe when you and I are on the stage together. It’s like I can forget about the audience. It’s as if we’re just in a room, you and I, having a real conversation. I don’t have to feel self-conscious.’

  ‘I hope you still feel like that when the show opens and there actually is an audience,’ Kirsty said.

  ‘I’m sure I will. Oh, Kirsty, you even make Lauren look talented. Like her flat delivery is all part of the joke. That’s a skill. To raise the whole panto rather than be content to glitter at the centre of a pile of … well, of shite, if we’re honest.’

  Kirsty laughed.

  ‘If your dad came to see you in our show he’d eat his words, I promise you.’

  ‘He’s not going to see it.’

  ‘Well that’s his loss. He’s an idiot.’

  ‘He’s my dad.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean he’s always right. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not a good actress, Kirsty. And you’re a knockout singer. When you’re doing a solo, it sends shivers right through me.’

  Ben momentarily closed his eyes, as though he could feel the shivers right then.

  ‘Don’t let anyone tell you you’re no Helen Mirren. Unless it’s to tell you you’re a cross between Marilyn Monroe and Judy Garland instead.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Monroe’s singing voice and Garland’s legs,’ Ben joked.

  Kirsty snorted. ‘I still think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’

  ‘It’s easy to say nice things to you. All I have to do is say what I see. And what I see when I look at you is a beautiful, talented woman, who combines her great talent with a generosity that touches everyone.’

  Kirsty looked down shyly.

  ‘Thea adores you. She was so pleased you agreed to come today. There’s no one she was keener to see her party dress.’

  ‘She did look lovely.’

  ‘She said she wanted to look like you.’

  ‘Oh, Ben.’

  ‘You had the Bella Vista gang in the palm of your hand and, believe me, they’re no easy crowd. When Cinderella opens, you will be the toast of the town.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Kirsty protested half-heartedly. ‘You’re making my head swell.’

  Ben continued, ‘The most important thing about you, Kirsty Watson, is that everything you do, you do from the heart.’

  Ben put a hand on his own heart as he finished his speech.

  Kirsty reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Ben looked at their hands, together on the table.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for going off on one like that. You don’t need me to flatter you. I’m sure Jon must tell you something similar every day.’

  It was on her lips to tell Ben exactly what Jon had said, about her getting a secretarial job if he got the contract in Dubai. Instead, she released Ben’s hand and sat back from the table. The invocation of Jon’s name had slightly changed the mood.

  ‘I’m stuffed,’ Kirsty said then. ‘I think I can declare my fast day well and truly blown.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Ben. He downed the last inch of his lager.

  They were the only remaining people in the restaurant. The waiting staff had not been so ungracious as to plonk the bill on the table, but they were clearing their way closer and closer. When one of the waiters put chairs up on the table right next to Kirsty and Ben’s, they took the hint. It was almost midnight.

  ‘But I don’t want to go home just yet,’ said Kirsty. ‘I feel like I need a walk after all that curry. Will you come with me?’

  ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Let’s go and look at the sea.’

  Chapter Fifty

  It was a cold night but a clear one. An almost full moon bathed the town in soft blue light. Of course, being Newbay born and bred, Ben knew the fastest way from the curry house to the sea. He led Kirsty through the oldest part of town, down small streets that she had yet to come across herself. Once upon a time, before the Victorians and their mania for sea bathing, Newbay had been a simple fishing village.

  The Victorians had known the importance of a good walk. The promenade along the main beach was generous and grand. The city council had wisely retained the old ironwork along the sea wall. Thousands were spent every year in maintenance, but it was worth it. On any given day, even in the depths of winter, the promenade welcomed visitors. But at just past midnight on a Saturday in December, it was as quiet as it ever got. The coach parties had long since gone home.

  The white fairy lights, which were strung between the lampposts all year round, had been replaced with strings in more festive colours – red and green, for the holly and the ivy. Each of the lampposts sported an illuminated Christmas decal. A fat-bellied Santa, or a triangular Christmas tree, or a reindeer. Tacky as hell, but somehow perfect at the same time. And Ben and Kirsty had it to themselves.

  They walked along the promenade for a while before Kirsty suggested, ‘Let’s go down onto the sand.’

  Ben agreed.

  The promenade was quite a bit higher than the beach itself and the steps down seemed to be a long way off, so Ben climbed over the iron railings and jumped.

  ‘You’re nuts!’ Kirsty shouted down at him.

  ‘It’s not that far,’ he said. ‘And I’ll catch you.’

  ‘If this goes wrong I’ll flatten you,’ said Kirsty as she prepared to follow him down to the sand.

  Ben made a comical show of bracing himself. In the end, he didn’t need to, because Kirsty made a far more careful descent to the sand than he had. She sat down on the sea wall first and lowered herself as though getting into a freezing cold swimming pool. Ben merely had to steady her when her feet touched the beach. She did need a fair bit of steadying though, after three pints at the Indian.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, brushing sand off her hands. She noticed how slowly Ben took his hands away once she found her balance.

  The beach was deserted. The moon glittered on the ink-black sea and on the wet sand, spreading stars at their feet as they walked. The tide was high but the sea was calm. The waves made hardly a sound as they inched their way onto the shore and slipped away again with barely a whisper.

  ‘I love it out here,’ said Kirsty.

  ‘Me too. It really puts things into perspective, doesn’t it, standing by the edge of the sea? It reminds us how small we are.’

  ‘I like that feeling,’ said Kirsty. ‘That sense of wonder.’

  ‘Yes. It’s comforting somehow, to think that the moon and the sea have always been here and will still be here long after we’ve gone,’ said Ben.

  ‘Deep,’ said Kirsty. It came out strangely. Like half a hiccup.

  Ben couldn’t help laughing. It was a hiccup. Kirsty had polished off at least one more beer than she could manage.

  ‘Are you taking the mickey out of me?’ Kirsty asked.

  She gave him a playful shove then ran off away from him. Ben gave chase along the water’s edge. Kirsty ran as far as the pier before she had to stop. It wasn’t the distance but the difficulty of running in the sand that did for her. She doubled over and rested her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. Then she straightened up and leaned against one of the pier’s painted wooden struts. Her chest heaved as she recovered from the exertion. And she was still hiccupping.

  Ben was a little way behind her, having somehow managed an embarrassing trip in the sand along the way, but eventually he caught up with her and, to Kirsty’s astonishment, leaned against her as he found his own breath.

  After a moment or two, Ben righted himself. But he was still standing very close. Their faces were inches apart. Ben reached for Kirsty’s hands. Kirsty let him take them. His fingers were warm. The way they were standing reminded her of the last scene of the pantomime, when Prince Charming takes Cinderella’s hands before he falls to his knees and prop
oses to her, having realised she is his beloved princess. It was wrong and yet Kirsty couldn’t remember when something last seemed quite so right.

  Kirsty felt her heart rate beginning to rise up again as they just stood there, looking into each other’s faces, silently questioning each other on the wisdom of what they both felt sure they were about to do.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  ‘Sad!’

  From the shadows beneath the pier came the sound of laughter and Kirsty and Ben suddenly realised they were not alone on the beach after all. A trio of teenagers were hiding out there, swigging cider straight from a two-litre bottle.

  ‘Get a room!’ shouted one of the witty youngsters.

  That moment of exquisite beautiful tension in which Kirsty and Ben had been held as if in a dream was abruptly broken. They moved apart again. Out of kissing distance. Out of danger.

  ‘That’s told us,’ said Ben.

  ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here,’ said Kirsty.

  Ben continued to hold Kirsty’s hand as they waded their way back through the dry sand to the steps but it wasn’t the same. In the shadow of the pier, something magical had almost happened. Now they were back in the real world and Ben was just trying to make sure Kirsty didn’t fall flat on her face.

  When they got to the sea wall, Ben let Kirsty go ahead of him up the steps.

  ‘It’s later than I thought,’ he said when he joined her on the promenade. ‘I should get back so that Mum can go to bed.’

  Kirsty agreed.

  ‘Let’s find a taxi.’

  They didn’t join hands again. They walked in silence to the taxi rank outside Chillings, the department store that had once been the glamorous place to be seen shopping but which was now just rather old-fashioned. Most people drove to the big John Lewis in the development just out of town. The dummies in the window at Chillings hadn’t been changed since the eighties. They had stiff plastic hairdos and thick painted make-up. They provided a spooky audience as Ben and Kirsty waited for a taxi to come.

  Though it was a Saturday night, there were no cars to be seen for what felt like ages. Coming out of the Indian restaurant, high on lager and flirtatious conversation, Kirsty had not felt the cold but now she pulled her coat more tightly around her. Ben, who was wearing just a jacket, stamped his feet and blew on his fingers. If things had been different, they could have huddled together for warmth. That was out of the question now.

  They didn’t say much while they waited. Kirsty kept forming sentences in her mind but never letting them get as far as her lips. Ben must know as well as she did that this was a crucial moment. They way they handled it would set the tone for everything that followed. Should Kirsty admit that she’d been excited when she thought that Ben might kiss her? Should she laugh it off? Pretend it never happened? They couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.

  ‘Ben, I’m … On the beach. Just then.’ Why couldn’t she get the words out?

  Ben looked at her, as if willing her to finish her sentence the right way. His eyes were soft.

  ‘I shouldn’t have … It’s Jon … I’m in a relationship and the show … I …’

  A quick smile flickered on Ben’s face. The sort of smile you give when someone tells you that you weren’t lucky this time. Your numbers didn’t come up.

  A taxi came.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ said Ben and Kirsty, wracked with guilt, was sure he meant that thank goodness they would not have to be together much longer. Then he added, ‘It’s getting really cold.’

  ‘It is,’ Kirsty agreed.

  Settling into the back seat, she rubbed her hands together to bring the feeling back to her fingers. Ben looked out of his window. She looked out of hers.

  Ben had the taxi driver drop Kirsty off first, though it would have made sense to do things the other way round.

  ‘Tell your mum thank you for the restaurant voucher,’ said Kirsty.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And I’ll see you at the theatre in a couple of days.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben. ‘Sleep well.’

  ‘I think I will after all that food.’

  ‘Me too.’

  They were back to pretending it had never happened. That nearly kiss. It was for the best.

  Kirsty waved him off then went inside.

  It was the first time Kirsty had spent a night in the Newbay flat by herself. She had never before let herself in to find the place so quiet and dark. So lonely. As she moved from the hallway to the kitchen, she turned on all the lights to cheer herself up. She checked her phone. Still nothing from Jon, but she sent him a message, feeling guilty as she did so.

  ‘Hope you’ve had a lovely day. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow! Have been missing you!’

  The exclamation marks made it seem more true.

  Because it is true, Kirsty told herself. I’m missing Jon. Of course I am. I can’t wait for him to come back to Newbay. But …

  In the bathroom mirror, she saw that her face was flushed. She’d had too much to drink. Since meeting Jon, she’d been much more careful when it came to drinking alcohol. Not because he didn’t like to see her drunk but because – as he never failed to remind to – drinking wine was like drinking pure sugar. It was because she had been so good recently that three pints of lager had left her pretty much smashed. Ben had been tipsy too. That was why that silly moment under the bridge occurred. Just alcohol. Drink talking. It was the beer and the moonlight. Thank goodness they’d been interrupted. If they’d kissed … If Jon had found out … What might have happened to the show?

  While Kirsty was brushing her teeth, her phone pinged to let her know she had a message. By the time she got to it, she had two. The first one was from Ben.

  ‘Thank you for making the party go with a swing today. Everyone had a wonderful time.’

  The second text was from Jon. ‘Great interview. Think I’ve got it. Still out celebrating with Des. Will be getting later train back tomorrow.’

  Kirsty re-read both texts but responded only to Jon’s.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The following day – Sunday – Kirsty woke with a throbbing headache. She had only herself to blame. All that beer! Kirsty was glad Jon wasn’t there to see her first thing. If he thought she was borderline disgusting on a normal morning, then goodness knows what he would have made of her in this state with her boozy curry breath.

  That said, Kirsty guessed Jon was waking up with a sore head too. She wished she could picture where. She didn’t know the friends he had stayed with overnight. They were people he knew from university. She had yet to meet them, though Jon was always promising she would.

  Kirsty was not only feeling ill, she was feeling guilty. As she replayed the previous day’s events, Kirsty found plenty of moments to make her groan with embarrassment. Not just the moment under the pier. Everything that had gone on before then. The way she and Ben had gazed into each other’s eyes while singing ‘All I Want For Christmas’. Her conversation with April, who had suggested the chemistry was obvious. The fact that Ben had obviously had the same lecture. The confidences they had shared. It made Kirsty cringe.

  Kirsty made herself some tea and sat down at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. What was Ben doing right then? Was he nursing the mother of all headaches as well? What might have happened if those teenagers hadn’t been hanging out under the pier?

  Kirsty decided she mustn’t think about it. She was in a relationship with Jon. A serious relationship. The only reason she was in Newbay at all was because she wanted to be with Jon Manley. She shouldn’t even have thought about flirting with Ben. If things hadn’t been quite so wonderful with Jon lately, it was only because he was stressed about the pantomime. The pantomime she had put into jeopardy by even thinking about kissing her co-star.

  A text from Jon at around eleven o’clock confirmed that he too had started the day slowly and in need in several aspirin. There was no way he could make the train he had planned to catch but he hoped
he would make the one which left Paddington just after four, putting him back in Newbay by seven-thirty or so.

  It was later than she had expected or hoped, but Kirsty resolved to make the most of the time she had left to herself by making amends. Having completely wrecked what was supposed to be a fast day on Saturday, she would kick things off by being really strict with herself on the food front. No breakfast for a start. Not that she actually felt like eating anything.

  The bedroom was a tip. She had upended half the drawers and emptied the wardrobe when changing from her dress into something suitable for Christmas tree decorating. She had made yet more mess undressing when she got in from her midnight walk on the beach. Kirsty put everything back where it was supposed to be. Then she got out the vacuum cleaner and removed all evidence of sand from the carpets. Jon would be especially unimpressed to see that Kirsty had walked sand into almost every room in the flat. When they first moved in, the landlord had impressed upon them that the carpets were brand new and he expected them to be in exactly the same condition at the end of the lease. For that reason, Jon had imposed a strict ‘shoes off at the front door’ rule, which also applied to any visitors.

  Kirsty’s heart sank as she tried and failed to get a particularly stubborn mark out of the bedroom carpet. She ended up moving the rug to cover it, hoping that Jon wouldn’t notice.

  As Kirsty wasn’t intending to allow herself any lunch, there was no need to stop for it. Instead, to distract herself from her increasing hangover, Kirsty went down to the city centre. It was probably guilt that made her spend more money than she could afford on Jon’s Christmas presents. She braved Chillings to get a bottle of his favourite aftershave and a real cashmere jumper. Not one of the cheap ones you get in most department stores at Christmas time, which are really more long-haired rabbit than cashmere. She bought Jon a proper Scottish cashmere sweater, for almost two hundred pounds. The kind that’s meant to last a lifetime. Like love.

  It made her feel better to think of Jon opening the parcel on Christmas Day and wrapping himself in the embodiment of her feelings. Though she had a brief slump again as she considered the fact that if he had nailed the Dubai job, he wouldn’t need a sweater, come mid-January. In his text, he’d said that the interview went well.