by Kitty Wilson
‘Oh, wow, yes, of course it is. I’d love to.’
‘And I’m so sorry I asked you to do Christmas. I’m no expert, it didn’t occur to me that Shakespeare didn’t write lots about it.’
‘No worries. It was just a matter of tying what I could to the Christmas theme and bringing in Tudor and Jacobean Christmas ideas. I enjoyed it.’ I don’t mention I had been awake and anxious half the night .
‘Well, so did the kids. And I have another proposition for you. Shift up.’ He stands from kneeling and indicates he wants me to move along the bench for him to sit down. I try to control my breath, aware that the Tudor neckline means my bosom is heaving frenetically. The man is going to think I have some kind of sexual disorder at this rate.
‘It wasn’t just me that got caught out by the entertainer’s cancellation today. We’re part of an academy trust and all the other schools did as well. There’s six of us in total and obviously I didn’t want to say anything until I had seen you in action – I needed to be sure that you could deliver – but having seen your work today and chatting to other members of staff, I was wondering if you’d be willing to step into the breach again? Each of the schools had the same entertainer booked for a day next week as we did. That’s five days, right up until the end of term. Are you free to take those slots too? What do you think?’
This is not helping my heartbeat. This is more exciting than the thought of a filthy proposition. I have two shifts at the shop next week, but they’re lates and if I can get someone to cover me for the first hour I should make it. I’ll be shattered at the end of the week and possibly never be able to stand again, but five full day’s work, doing this. Oh yes!
‘Oh, and I’ve told them all you charge £250 a day, which they’re happy to pay because the insurance for the cancelled entertainer will cover it.’
‘Oh … wow … oh … of course.’
‘Of course?’ He doesn’t look like he is convinced.
‘Yes. Yes, of course!’ I say, my enthusiasm clear now my initial shock is waning. ‘Yes, that’s incredible.’ I want to high-five him but am too scared that the sweat patches under my arms will knock him out. Five days’ work! I knew this dress would be an investment.
So how did it go?
* * *
Oh. My. God.
* * *
Good OMG or evil bad OMG?
* * *
So good. So, so good.
* * *
I’m glad. Want to meet up and do something Christmassy?
* * *
I can’t. I think I may be dead.
* * *
Texting well for a dead person.
* * *
Dead any minute. Exhausted. But guess what, I’ve been hired for a full week for the rest of the schools within the Academy Trust.
* * *
No way. I’m so pleased. Well deserved. I knew you’d be brilliant.
* * *
Thank you.
* * *
We have to celebrate.
* * *
Can’t, told you. Practically dead and I still have my other jobs. Need to be up at half five again tomorrow. But if you’re desperate to see me, and I can tell you are, I’m spending the rest of the day tomorrow babysitting Marsha. You can come meet us at Luisa’s if you like.
* * *
I can do that. Afternoon okay? Have to do mum stuff in the morning. And boy do I have tales to tell you.
* * *
Afternoon all good. And look forward to it. x
* * *
Cool. Go die in peace. Sees ya tmrw. X
You have dancing shoes
With nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.
* * *
December Twelfth.
Rory.
‘Should she be eating that?’ I’m at Belle’s dining table surrounded by pine-tree-shaped sequins, fake snow and enough glitter to give Rudolph a stroke. All compounded by some kind of Disney Christmas sing-along playlist. Less than a week ago I would have sworn on my life this would not be how I chose to spend a weekend.
‘Probably not. Don’t eat the dough, Marsha.’ Belle winks and rolls a tiny bit of dough between her fingers and pops it in her mouth.
‘Seriously? You’re shocking.’
Marsha takes a huge wodge of the stuff and licks the length of it as she holds my eyes and smirks.
A laugh bursts from Belle and she clasps her hand over her mouth before putting on her serious face. It’s very cute. I’m aware I am not doing well at the keeping-my-distance thing. I have tried but I spent the whole of yesterday wondering how her first workshop in a school had gone. I couldn’t not reach out and find out, that would have been mean, and then before I knew it I was here.
‘To be fair, he’s right. I promised your mum I wouldn’t let you eat it again, she’s worried you’ll cease to have a working kidney after last year, and you promised me, ’member? We have a deal. It’s naughty of me to tease Rory like that. Neither of us should be eating the dough.’
‘Yes, I know. But it tastes good.’
‘No, it tastes bad. You’re just a little toad. I promise not to eat any more if you do too. Shake.’
‘Shake.’ Marsha reaches out and shakes Belle’s hand. Belle winces and pretends she’s being forced down onto the floor with the strength of it, as Marsha’s glee at her power bounces off the walls. I can’t help but join in with the laughter.
‘Plus,’ Belle says as she clambers back up from the floor, ‘no one wants your spitty lick for Christmas. Especially not after last year. You best put that there…’ Belle wiggles a finger at the bit of salt-dough in question ‘…right in the bin.’
Marsha shrugs and lobs it into the bin from where she’s sitting before turning back to model another indecipherable shape and sing ‘Frosty the Snowman’ at the top of her voice.
‘I know it’s bad but it won’t kill her. At least I hope not. I made the dough myself using cornflour and bicarb. I learnt my lesson with the salt after last year. Mind you, I used to eat bags of the real stuff. My nursery teacher used to double the salt in an attempt to stop me eating it and it still didn’t work. My mum said that, along with my insistence on dancing with my skirt over my head, it marked the start of me embarrassing her.’
‘Your mum really knows how to boost a child’s self-esteem.’
‘Oh yes, she’s the queen of it, although, in her defence, I don’t think she does it on purpose. It’s kind of a chain reaction – Dad is vile to her, she passes it on. Luisa has always said that the reason I pick duff men is because I’m scared of long-term relationships and that I’ll turn into my mother so I deliberately choose ones I know I will never commit to.’
‘Interesting. Luisa is a wise woman – do you think it’s true?’
She makes a funny shape with her mouth and shrugs her shoulders. I suspect that she probably does. She turns to Marsha. ‘Hey, our song is coming up next. You almost done?’
Marsha wodges a vast amount of glitter on to her decorations, pummels it in and then grins up at her godmother as if butter wouldn’t melt. ‘Done. Ready.’ She jumps down from her chair as Belle pushes hers back. Belle turns up the volume of her laptop that’s feeding the speakers. What fresh hell is coming?
A very jingly version of ‘Jingle Bells’ starts to play as Marsha puts her two hands up in front of her and starts to bounce around the room. Belle shoots me a grin, one chock full of mischief, and raises her hands as well.
‘Paws’ is her one-word explanation and the two of them throw themselves into pogoing around the room, screeching tunelessly about one-horse open sleighs.
‘Tigger!’ roars Marsha as she bounce-bounce-bounces.
I kind of want to join in. Me – a grown-up who has never pogoed like Tigger before in my life, probably not even when I was five! I raise a paw to see how it feels when they both have their backs to me and it feels weird. There’s no way I can propel myself off this chair and participate properly. I guess that’s okay, not every
one can do the same things, and clearly pogoing like a Tigger at Christmas is something I’m a little too buttoned-up to do.
‘That was so fun.’ Marsha flops back onto her chair when the song is over, picks up a bit of salt-dough, looks at Belle and puts it down again. ‘So fun. Phew. What are we doing next?’
‘Well, I was going to keep it as a surprise but … look out the window…’
‘It’s snowing! ‘
‘It is.’
‘You made it snow for me, you’re so clever! Can we go outside?’
‘I’m not that powerful, the snow isn’t made by me, little bear. But we’re definitely going to go outside.’ For a moment there feels like there is no one in the room but her and Marsha; the air is thick with shared camaraderie, a love crazy, strong and intense as they look at each other.
The moment breaks as Belle turns to me and smiles. ‘We’re going to Tyntesfield to sit in a horse and carriage!’ She turns her attention back to the child. ‘I couldn’t get you a sleigh but Marsha, a horse-drawn carriage does await. You up for that?’
‘Oh my gosh, yes, yes! I love horses, looooovee them.’
‘And you? Do you looooovvvvveeee horses, Rory? You’re welcome to come and join us if you can bear this much Christmas rammed into one day?’
‘Oh do come, come with us. It’s gonna be so fun. There’s gonna be a horse.’ Marsha tugs on my sleeve and is still bouncing up and down, her eyes big.
‘Do come. If you’re not busy. It’s Tyntesfield so no flashing lights, it’ll be a Victorian Christmas.’ She winks. ‘We’ll do the horse-drawn carriage thing and then we can have a quick wander around the house, what do you think?’
‘I think you’ll have me wearing a tinsel crown and raving to “Last Christmas” before the day is out.’
‘Good call. Gotta love a bit of George. Do you know “Last Christmas” is the most remixed Christmas song? I tell you what, if you’re still up for it we can drop into Lakota tonight and dance the night away.’
‘I’m a smidge too old for Lakota.’
‘Yeah, probably. I’m not though.’ And she winks at me again. Cheeky cow.
‘Horses!’ Marsha screams from the middle of the living room.
‘Yeah, okay. We’re coming. You coming?’
‘I’m coming,’ I say with a grin.
‘Can we go and see Temperance in the shop first? I like Temperance. She always stares at me really hard with this cross face on and tells me the devil comes for little girls who don’t behave and then I promise to behave and keep the devil out and she gives me treats. I’ll try and get you some mango this time, Belle. It’s easy to do because Belle says the devil doesn’t really exist so I just have to say yes, look good and get the treats.’
‘Strong work, Marsha.’
‘What’s your favourite fruit? I’ll see if I can get you one. Last time she made the sign of a cross, that’s what Belle said she was doing. I reckon if I do that and promise to keep the devil out I’ll get double treats. What do you think, Belle?’ Belle high-fives her as she finishes tying Marsha’s scarf around her neck, plonks her hat on tight and then gets herself into her coat and mittens.
‘Seriously?’ I whisper as she opens the flat door and Marsha runs down the stairs. ‘You’re encouraging her to fleece the local Christians?’
‘Yep, and next year I’ll teach her how to rob a mosque. No, of course not. I’m teaching her to stare fear in the face. Local Christian Temperance may be, but she’s terrifying, I tell you. That firm look Marsha told you about, she could flay human skin from every heathen within a five-mile radius with that stare alone. Terrifying. You wait and see. You’ll feel like falling to your knees and confessing every possible sin you’ve ever committed. Trust me. I’m just teaching Marsha life skills and not to be scared by people that threaten children with the devil coming for them. The devil is not coming for my beautiful goddaughter!’
‘Nope, nope, he’s not,’ I say. ‘He’s got his hands full with you.’
Belle.
We park at Tyntesfield and walk up to the house. The National Trust property is even more popular at this time of year and there are people everywhere.
‘It’s so busy,’ Rory says. ‘I haven’t been here for ages, probably not since I was a kid and my grandmother brought me and mum here for my mum’s birthday. A theatre company were playing and we sat in the grounds and had a picnic and I couldn’t get my head around that a house this big was just for one family to live in.’
‘That’s pretty cute. I think I’d like your mum.’
He gives me a look. ‘I think the two of you would get along. In fact, recently she has been showing some very Belle tendencies. Have I told you about House of Fraser?’
‘No, you hinted but didn’t tell the full story. Come on … spill!’
‘It’s snowing, you two – why are you taking so long?’ Marsha interrupts us.
‘She’s her mother’s daughter.’ I smirk at Rory.
‘I want to see the horses. Let’s skip! We’ll get there quickly then. Everything’s better with skipping.’ Rory doesn’t look as if he’s sure, but Marsha isn’t taking any prisoners. She grabs his hand then mine and then skips, dragging us with her. I skip whereas Rory looks uncomfortable. So I give him a look that says he doesn’t need to worry about it.
‘Hey, Marsha, look at me.’ I stop and stick my tongue out to catch snow. I may not be a parent yet but I already boss using distraction as a technique. ‘It’s melting on my tongue. It’s melting. You try it, go on.’
Marsha stops skipping and sticks her tongue out too and nods to Rory with her fiercest do-it look on, brows furrowed. Rory immediately sticks his tongue out.
‘It feels weird, doesn’t it.’ She looks up at his face, assessing whether he feels the same as she does. ‘They don’t last as long as ice-creams.’
‘I think catching snow is even more magical than ice-cream. It whispers hello on your tongue and then poof, it’s gone. Look, try again,’ Rory says, poking his tongue out a second time.
Marsha is captivated. ‘Poof, it’s gone. I’m gonna catch more and more and more.’ She runs ahead and Rory and I exchange a glance, both of us still with our tongues out. That thing about whispers was cute. He’ll make a good dad. Strong, stable, kind.
Woah, where had that come from? I hope he can’t read minds.
He waggles his tongue at me.
‘Can I put it back in my mouth now?’ is what I think he says but it’s a little distorted.
‘Probably best,’ I say, hoping he doesn’t know I’m currently having some very non-platonic thoughts. That needs to stop right now. I do not need to be harbouring a crush on Rory Walters. Not even the tiniest, weakest little flame. For a girl that avoids rejection, that would be a soul-destroying infatuation to develop. There is no way in the world this cosmopolitan, successful, kind man would be interested in my own unique brand of chaos.
He puts his tongue away and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Somehow, we’re walking close, the gap left by Marsha has closed itself and I can feel him at the side of me. His presence. It’s as if it’s a being in its own right, hard to define but there, calming, authoritative, a little bit intimidating. Part of it is just the essence of him, I think, a man very much in control, a man who can be relied upon. A man most unlike the majority I have encountered across my life. But it’s tied to his physical form too. Rory has always been tall but these days he is a grown-up, filled out, mature, looks like he can build a log cabin with his bare hands. Whoops, my mind seems to be circling back again.
When I first knew him, he was still skinny, boy-like. Although I hadn’t noticed it so much at the time. I don’t think you do when you’re young, everyone looked so grown-up back then. But I had sneakily peeked at his Facebook last night – when I say sneakily and peeked, I mean after my full-on day I got lost in a wormhole that easily spanned ten plus years and took up the majority of my evening.
I learnt a whole lot.
&nb
sp; Like how his mum’s friend, Janet, is a bit of a wild card.
Like for all of his shyness at university, as a small boy he was really fond of dressing up. His mother has no shame about uploading photos of his childhood and tagging him. I can only imagine how cringe that must be.
Like how cute he was as a teen – he was really gangly there for a bit.
I had committed the cardinal sin of liking a post of him from twelve years ago. And then hitting unlike immediately after.
I swipe a side glance; he looks heavy in thought and I’m hoping that it’s because of global poverty or something rather than him working out how to broach the subject of me liking his old pictures
‘So, last night I was thinking … um … do you remember…?’ Rory stops walking as he speaks. Oh shit, oh shit.
‘Snow is so pretty isn’t it?’ I say gesturing at the picture-perfect snowflakes gently raining down on us, as I attempt to change the conversation.
He looks at me, considering. He is always doing that. I wish I had his powers. I wish I could see into the darkest deepest recesses of his mind, work out what exactly is going on in that big brain of his. Work out exactly what he thinks of me. What he’s thinking right now. Rory is hard to read at the best of times, inscrutable. Why is he spending time with me? Can I trust him being here? What’s motivating him? Is it tied to my dad or is it me? I realise again I am doubting his friendship, doubting my ability to make friends solely on my own merit. Honestly, at what age will I stop being so insecure? Is this me for life?
‘Yes, yes, it is.’ He answers the snow question.
‘So even though you hate December…’