The Country Village Christmas Show

by Cathy Lake

  Sam washed his hands, then peered out of the surgery window as he dried them. Flakes of snow drifted down, swirling around like feathers on the breeze that had picked up as the day had worn on. The street lights were on, appearing like dim yellow spheres floating in the air as they battled with the elements. It would be completely dark by four at this rate and, to his knowledge, the council had yet to send out a snowplough or tractor to try to clear some of the roads.

  In spite of the conditions, they’d opened for Saturday morning because he had agreed with Miranda that they should run morning surgery just in case.

  He replied to Alyssa, telling her not to try to get to the village unless the roads were clear, and she’d confirmed that she wouldn’t. With the whole afternoon stretching out ahead of him, Sam’s thoughts turned to Clare and all the work she’d done to prepare for the show. He sent her a text to ask if she needed any help, then turned off the lights in the examination room and went through to reception.

  He pulled on his coat and hat and swapped his Crocs for wellies. He’d woken in such a good mood that morning, buoyed up by the evening he’d spent with his sister. They had spoken at length about everything that had been bothering them and promised to be open and honest going forwards, with Sam being supportive and not overprotective. He’d carried tension in his shoulders for years and after Alyssa had gone it suddenly drained out of him and he slept better than he had done since he was a child. It was an incredible feeling.

  Then he’d seen the snow and worry had crept back in. How would Alyssa get to Little Bramble? Would Clare manage to forge ahead with the show?

  He was about to turn off the lights when they flickered, plunging the room into darkness. It only lasted seconds and then the lights came back on. Thankfully, they didn’t have any in-patients at the surgery at the moment, but if they had there was a portable backup generator in case of such emergencies.

  He checked his mobile phone to see that Clare had replied, asking him to go to the village hall when he could. She said that she’d appreciate any help he could offer.

  As he locked the front door to the surgery, he smiled. Clare needed him, so he would be there. Just thinking about seeing her made his heart swell and he marched through the snow, his long legs ploughing through the drifts almost effortlessly, tilting his face upwards to catch a few flakes on his tongue. Childish perhaps, but there was always joy to be found in freshly falling snow.

  Clare couldn’t believe they’d done it, but they had. The hall was ready. The stage was set with props in the wings, the hall was warm and dry, the seats were set out in neat rows and the volunteers who had offered to cater for the event were in the kitchen adding last-minute touches to refreshments. Marcellus David was on the door behind a desk, ready to collect tickets and Kyle had performed a sound and lights check.

  Sam had arrived not long after she had replied to his text, appearing out of the snow like a knight in shining armour, but his armour had been a covering of snow. He’d dusted himself off outside, then climbed the steps and come to her side, asking what he could do to help. To her dismay, she had choked up, so he’d hugged her tightly until she could speak again. There was something so wonderful about being held in his strong arms, about knowing that he was there for her, come what may. And today it was a blizzard and freezing conditions, with forecasters now threatening more heavy snow for the next week, with odds of a white Christmas highly likely.

  A proper white Christmas! Clare hadn’t seen one of those in years and Kyle had been like a child at the news. It was amazing how simple things like that could turn a grown man into a child again and it had made her smile to see her son so excited.

  Elaine had stayed at home to get ready and to do some last-minute baking for the refreshments stand, promising to arrive in good time for the start of the show. Clare had told her mum not to worry about this, as other villagers were already sorting out the food, but in years gone by her mum and dad had made mince pies, gingerbread and mulled wine for the Christmas show, and it seemed that Elaine wanted to resurrect that tradition this year. Of course, Clare and Kyle needed to be at the hall so couldn’t help, but Father Ifans was with Elaine and had promised to help her transport the baked goods in his sledge.

  Ten minutes after six, Kyle called Clare to the front door. Elaine and Father Ifans were trudging towards the hall, pulling a large sledge behind them, laden with Tupperware and clinking with glass bottles.

  ‘Here we are!’ Elaine exclaimed. ‘Bearing delicious provisions!’

  Father Ifans started unloading it, handing bottles of wine and Tupperware containers to everyone who came to help.

  Clare took her mum’s hand to help her up the slippery steps. They had sprinkled grit on them, but the snow kept coming and as soon as a few people had climbed them, it became impacted and started to turn to ice.

  ‘I hope you’ve been all right without me this afternoon, Clare, but with it being a Christmas show, I wanted to bring something special along. Besides which, who knows what the catering team will produce.’ Her mum rolled her eyes. ‘Probably a few stale custard creams and watery coffee.’

  ‘Mum, I’m really grateful and I think it’s lovely that you’ve done this, but the volunteers have been working in the kitchen for hours, so they do deserve credit for their efforts too.’

  ‘Yes, darling, but I’ve done this before and know what to expect from some of our villagers. Also, there was something about this year, with us being together again as a family and the new hall and your incredible efforts with the show that made me want to do this. It kind of – this might seem silly – but it made me feel closer to your dad again. He would have loved to be here this evening and he’d have been so proud of you and Kyle.’

  Clare tried to blink back the tears. Her dad would have enjoyed being here and it seemed so unfair that he wasn’t, but it helped a bit that her mum was thinking of him too, that they were united in their love of him – and that was comforting.

  Unable to vocalise her feelings, she gave her mum a quick hug and nodded, feeling that Elaine understood. Before heading back inside, Clare looked at the empty spaces where the ice sculptures would have stood if the company had been able to deliver them, and swallowed a sigh of disappointment. Hopefully there would be another opportunity next year.

  In the central hall, some of the seats had already been taken by early arrivals, but there were a lot of empty seats. In the small dressing room backstage, the six acts who’d managed to get there were preparing to perform, even if to a very small crowd. Only Alyssa, Mr Spike and Amanda and Greg Patrick were missing. Concern for the latter in particular filled Clare, but she knew his daughter was visiting from London so he wouldn’t be alone this evening.

  It wouldn’t be the extravaganza that Clare had hoped for, but it would still be nice.

  As the clock was about to strike seven, Clare was standing on the doorstep, peering into the snow, hoping to see more people approaching, when everything went dark. She turned to the hall, but couldn’t see inside and the windows had turned black. She made her way down the steps carefully and out into the street to see that the entire village was in darkness.

  ‘Mum?’ Kyle had come out of the hall and was at the top of the steps. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Power cut.’ She forced the words out through gritted teeth.

  ‘What’re we going to do?’ Kyle’s voice was laced with dismay and she shook her head, then returned to the steps and ascended using the handrail to avoid sliding.

  ‘Honestly, Kyle? I have no idea.’

  And as she shuffled back inside, where the darkness was as thick as smog and the air was still, as if all the people inside were holding their breath in shock, she felt depleted. She had tried to do something good, to prove to her mum that she was capable of helping out and bringing something wonderful to fruition, but her efforts had been in vain.

  Time to pack up and go home, then lick her wounds. Although, of course, it wasn’t actually her home. She
didn’t have a home of her own anymore.

  How could she ever have thought that she could live successfully on her own, carve out a new path and live her life for herself, when she couldn’t even get this one thing right?

  Chapter 27

  ‘Candles!’

  Sam peered through the darkness trying to work out who had spoken.

  ‘We brought some on the sledge. Iolo, what did you do with them?’

  ‘Hold on, my dear . . .’

  There was a shuffling of feet, then the noise of a bag being unzipped (at least Sam hoped it was a bag), a clunk as something was placed on the floor of the hall, then suddenly, there was light. At first, it was the glow from a lighter, but it grew as a thick candle was lit, then another, until there was a row of five fat candles near the stage.

  ‘Well done, Iolo, you are such a good man. I wouldn’t have thought to bring candles.’

  Sam could see now that it was Elaine speaking and that she was standing in front of the stage with the vicar, who was grinning broadly, basking in the praise, but because the glow from the candles only reached to his nose, his eyes were dark hollows and it was quite eerie.

  Sam’s mobile buzzed in his pocket, so he pulled it out, realising that if enough of the people now at the village hall had phones, they could use the torches on them, as well as the candles, to light the stage. He read a text from Alyssa and breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t going to try to get to Little Bramble, said that as much as she wanted to be in the show and to support Clare, she wasn’t prepared to take the risk that the journey there posed.

  Light spread through the room as Elaine and Iolo picked up the candles and put them on the front of the stage. The glow didn’t reach to the back of the large room, but it created enough light to see to the doors. A small light glowed in the hallway where Marcellus had turned his phone torch on.

  A fussing from near the windows, young voices, and the sound of someone crying was interrupted by a calm and commanding voice: ‘Children, it’s fine, calm down.’ It was the primary school head teacher, Daphne Dix. She had ten of the pupils with her, along with some of their parents, but the rest of the village school choir hadn’t made it, presumably deciding it would be better to stay indoors on this snowy evening.

  Sam scanned the hall, realising with a lurch that Clare was missing. Where had she gone and when? He’d been showing people to their seats when the lights had gone out. He hurried out to Marcellus.

  ‘Have you seen Clare?’

  ‘She was outside with Kyle.’ He stroked his salt and pepper beard. ‘But she just went through to the kitchen, I think. It was dark, see.’

  He held his phone up to light the way, but Sam shook his head. ‘It’s fine, thanks, I have my own phone.’

  Sam flicked the torch back on, then followed the circle of light to the kitchen area. Kyle was there holding up a phone while Clare was looking in a cupboard.

  ‘I thought there would be some here, somewhere. Fear not, everyone! I have candles.’

  Clare appeared, her face semi-lit by Kyle’s torch, her hair messy from where she’d been peering into the cupboard. She set a box on the counter, then went to the gas hob and turned one of the rings on. She lit some candles, handing them in turn to the various people milling around in the kitchen, until there was a circle of light.

  ‘There. That’s a bit better.’ She offered a reassuring smile to everyone and Sam experienced that familiar feeling her kindness roused.

  ‘Clare?’ He approached her. ‘Anything I can do?’

  She looked at him and shook her head. ‘I think we’re OK, thanks. Best thing we can do now is get everyone safely home.’

  ‘What?’ It was Kyle, one hand holding his mobile aloft, the other on his chest. ‘We can’t just give up because of a little power cut, Mum.’

  Clare looked at her son, then back at Sam, and his heart went out to her. She didn’t want to give in, he could see that, but she wasn’t sure what else to do.

  ‘Clare.’ He beckoned. ‘Can I speak to you for a minute?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He held out his hand and she took it, then he led her into the hallway.

  ‘We have candles, food and mulled wine. We could set something up in the main hall in front of the stage and sing some carols or something. At least that way the whole evening doesn’t need to be written off.’

  She sighed and pushed a hand through her hair. The thick cardigan she’d been wearing fell open and Sam gasped because beneath it was a beautiful black sequinned dress. In the light from his phone it sparkled from Clare’s chest to just above her knees, hugging her curves and making him feel suddenly very warm.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Your dress is beautiful.’ He smiled.

  ‘Oh, I forgot I was wearing it, to be honest. I brought a thick cardigan and wore jeans and a jumper to walk over here in my wellies, but I changed about ten minutes before the lights went out. Silly, really.’

  ‘Not at all. It’s a very nice dress.’

  ‘But not with my wellies!’ She laughed, but it sounded more desperate than happy. ‘I can’t believe I forgot to bring my shoes.’

  ‘Clare, you are the cutest person I have ever met.’

  ‘Cute?’ She met his eyes, holding his gaze. ‘I’m in my forties, Sam, how can I possibly be cute?’

  ‘You are, believe me. Cute. Sweet. Intelligent. Gorgeous. Adorable. Kind. Loving. Caring. Funny. Capable. Adaptable . . . I could go on all night.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She cleared her throat. ‘You really see me like that?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘But this evening is ruined.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Come with me and you’ll see.’

  He led her back to the main room and, as they walked in, she gave a small cry of surprise. Candles burned on the stage and around the hall came the glow from lots of mobile phones. As they stood there, Kyle followed them in holding more candles, and he went around and lit them all so that soon the room was awash with a cosy glow.

  ‘There you are, Clare.’ Elaine walked up to her daughter. ‘Iolo and I will bring the food and drink through, then we can at least enjoy some refreshments before everyone heads home.’

  ‘Elaine, it doesn’t need to be the end of the evening,’ Sam said. ‘We can eat, drink and sing some carols.’

  ‘What a good idea, Sam! You’re not just a devastatingly handsome man, you also have brains.’ Elaine cupped his cheek, then gave it a gentle pat. ‘Come on, Iolo, let’s get to work.’

  The hall was filled with the sounds of glasses and mugs clinking and appreciative murmurs as people tucked into the mince pies and gingerbread that Elaine had made, along with the sandwiches and mini pizzas from the catering volunteers.

  They had cleared away the chairs and everyone now sat in a circle, the food and drink spread out in the middle so they could help themselves to whatever they wanted.

  ‘Cheers!’ Elaine held up her glass and around them everyone responded. ‘What a start to Christmas, eh?’

  Clare realised that her mum sounded a bit tipsy, but she could feel a slight buzz herself and she’d only had a few sips, so she suspected that the mulled wine had been topped up with a generous amount of brandy. It was delicious, but she’d been taking her time, aware that getting drunk would not be conducive to getting home easily in the snow.

  ‘It’s a shame that it didn’t work out as planned, little Clare – sorry, Clare – but there’s always next year.’ Marcellus smiled at Clare from the opposite side of the circle and she smiled back. Would she be here next year to help? A shy glance at Sam at her side made her hope she would be.

  ‘Perhaps . . .’

  ‘You know . . .’ Marcellus hung his head. ‘In the spirit of Christmas, and because we have a man of the cloth amongst us, I have a confession to make.’ He sighed long and low and shook his head. ‘I think this is the right time for me to get this off my chest. It’s a weight I
’ve carried for two years and I need to say the words now.’

  ‘A confession?’ Iolo sounded puzzled. ‘Whatever could you have to confess?’

  ‘Did you pull the post from Goliath too hard and rip another letter apart?’ Elaine giggled, then snorted. ‘Oops! Sorry.’

  ‘I do find that whole scenario rather amusing,’ Iolo said. ‘A modern-day David and Goliath.’

  Marcellus laughed softly. ‘How did I never make that connection myself?’

  ‘Isn’t that story a bit questionable now?’ Kyle muttered to Clare. ‘I read something about the story being interpreted wrongly because the giant was actually the injured party as he was so big and slow, and David was a very accurate warrior with a slingshot? And also, in the case here, Goliath always wins.’

  Clare smiled at her son, admiring how he thought so deeply about things. ‘I think, in this case, we can take it as a harmless comparison,’ she whispered.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Marcellus continued, his drawn-out vowels emphasised by the high ceiling of the hall and, Clare thought, by the strong wine. ‘I have a confession, but it’s not about the lovely Goliath. That dog is my nemesis, but there’s no malice in him. We just enjoy a morning battle for the post.’ His head bobbed gently. ‘But what I have to say might anger some of you, so I’m apologising now and asking for your forgiveness.