Snowflakes Over Bay Tree Terrace (Willowbury)

by Fay Keenan

  A rare set of virtues for a politician, she thought, amused.

  ‘Thanks again,’ Florence replied. ‘See you around.’

  As Charlie waved, Florence tried to remember how far she’d got in the play she was teaching before she made it back to her classroom. Doubtless, Year Eight would try every trick in the book to distract her from Shakespeare, so she’d have to try extra hard to keep them with her.

  Just as she got to the door of her classroom, she remembered, with a lurch, exactly where they’d left off last lesson. Surely, she thought, someone up there was conspiring against her today. Putting all stray thoughts of the last time she’d been working on Shakespeare firmly out of her mind, she took a deep breath and prepared to enthuse her class about the Bard.

  48

  Sam looked around the classroom where he was going to be giving his talk to the group of Year Ten students and felt his stomach disappear. Unaccustomed to nerves when he was actually doing his job, the thought of talking about it to a bunch of students was a terrifying prospect. That Josie was the one there helping him to set up added to his feelings of unsettlement, as the last time he’d seen her was at the village shop, after which he’d tried, so disastrously, to talk to Florence. The fact that she was doing a great job of multitasking, setting up a laptop and a projector whilst simultaneously lecturing him on his love life, added to his anxiety.

  ‘Look, when are you just going to admit it to yourself, and to Florence? You’re crazy about her. You have been since the moment you locked eyes on your doorstep on her first day at work.’ Josie kept fiddling with the data projector and her laptop as she spoke, neither of which was communicating with the other. In exasperation, she pulled out the cables, switched both off and rebooted them, all the while with half an eye on the clock, waiting for the students to begin entering the classroom.

  ‘I don’t really think this is the moment to be having this conversation, when I’m just about to face your Year Ten students and give them a careers talk,’ Sam muttered. ‘Can’t we talk about this later? Or never?’

  ‘Time, as I’m sure you’re well aware, isn’t something we have a great deal of in this job,’ Josie said briskly, breathing a sigh of relief as the projector finally connected to the laptop, and Sam’s slide presentation appeared on the large white screen on the wall. ‘So, you’ll understand the need to be direct occasionally.’ She turned away from the laptop and looked Sam squarely in the face. ‘When are you going to stop being such a twat about what happened between you and Florence and apologise to her, and then tell her that you love her?’

  Sam could feel the headache that had begun as a dull thump that morning when he woke up beginning to crush his brow. He’d carried the tension with him for weeks, ever since he’d cooled it with Florence, and it was banging away with a vengeance now. ‘It’s not as simple as that.’ The certainty of last night, when Aidan had made it all sound so easy, had drained away as the dawn had broken, and now all of Sam’s old doubts and fears about levelling with Florence had crept back into his mind with a vengeance.

  ‘Why not? You live right next door to her, for heaven’s sake. All you have to do is jump over the wall and knock on her front door. Seems straightforward enough to me.’

  ‘Been there, tried that,’ Sam said wearily. ‘And from what Aidan told me last night, I was acting on completely the wrong information, anyway, no thanks to you, him and Tom. She didn’t listen to me yesterday, and I doubt she’ll have changed her mind now.’

  ‘She got the wrong end of the stick yesterday,’ Josie said, and Sam was sure he saw a most uncharacteristically sheepish look pass over her features. ‘And I’m sorry for my part in that. We all thought we were doing you a favour by interfering, just like with Beatrice and Benedick, when actually, we probably made it worse.’

  ‘No kidding,’ Sam said, raising a wry eyebrow.

  ‘But really, what we did doesn’t matter,’ Josie said hurriedly. ‘You’re both crap at communicating. You need to sit down and actually talk for a change. After all, as far as she’s concerned, Florence thinks you’re a commitment-phobe with a martyr complex. You need to show her otherwise.’

  ‘You don’t mince your words, do you?’ Sam gave a short laugh.

  ‘Being a teacher, I generally have to be direct,’ Josie replied briskly. ‘It tends to spill over into my social life, too. But you have to admit…’ she trailed off hopefully.

  Sam sighed. ‘Yes, OK. You’re right, Josie, I’ve been a complete twat, and thrown away probably the best, most stable, most wonderful person in my life, because I was too terrified to commit to her. Why should she even give me the time of day any more?’ He balled his fists in frustration and began to pace the front of the classroom.

  Josie, seemingly aware that putting Sam off his stride just before he addressed Year Ten wasn’t exactly a great idea, glanced at the clock again. ‘Look, Sam, I know you’re afraid of hurting her, and yourself again, but she’s stronger than you give her credit for. And the worst thing she’ll do is tell you where to go, don’t you think? She’s pretty much done that already. You’ve got nothing to lose by giving it one more shot. And if the worst comes to the worst, you can always put up a taller wall between your houses, right?’

  ‘Look,’ Sam stopped pacing. ‘Just let me get through this presentation first, OK? The thought of cocking up in front of a bunch of teenagers is frightening enough right now. Once this is over, I promise I’ll think about sorting things out with Florence so we’re not in this weird stalemate.’

  ‘Good enough for now,’ Josie said, as the first students filed through the door. ‘Oh, and Sam?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Best do up your flies. You don’t want to be laughed off stage before you even begin.’

  Cursing as he realised Josie wasn’t joking, by the time he’d made himself respectable, she was already welcoming in the front row. Tugging down the panels of his jacket, he prepared to face an audience far tougher than any he’d ever faced in the Royal Navy.

  49

  Time seemed to have slowed down by torturous proportions for the last lesson of the day. Usually, Florence loved teaching Shakespeare; the words just seemed to fly off the page, the characters coming so wonderfully to life the more years she did it. But not this afternoon. Her Year Eight class was restless, desperate to be out of the classroom and heading home to tea, unrestricted mobile phone use and games consoles. The last thing anyone wanted was to be ploughing through a play that, typically, right at that moment had reached its achingly romantic climax.

  ‘OK,’ Florence said wearily. ‘Jack, why don’t you be Benedick for this scene, and Rosie, you be Beatrice.’

  ‘Do I have to, Miss?’ Rosie grumbled. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘You don’t have to understand every word,’ Florence replied automatically. Over the years she’d got used to this familiar refrain from her students. ‘It’s about trying to feel it. Try to get a sense of the emotion of the moment. Beatrice and Benedick have both suddenly realised that they can’t imagine life without each other. That all this time they’ve been dancing around their feelings, neither of them willing to commit, to back down, and now, after all of the tragedy and the heartache, they’re both finally able to communicate how much they really do love each other.’

  ‘Whoa, Miss, you really do like this stuff, don’t you?’ Kyle, the cheeky chap in the front row grinned at her.

  ‘You could say that,’ Florence replied drily. She looked back at Rosie. ‘Give it a go, my lovely. If you get stuck, we can do a switcheroo and someone else can read.’

  Thus encouraged, Rosie took a deep breath, but before she could start, another voice emanated from the back of the room, by the door to the classroom.

  ‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?’

  Florence’s knees started to tremble as she gripped her annotated copy of the play tightly. Immediately, she could feel a blush spreading across her cheeks, and a flare of someth
ing that should be anger, irritation, but instead felt like adrenaline laced with relief, of coming home.

  Voice betraying only the vaguest sense of these swimming emotions, she read the next line, eyes still steadfastly on the copy of the play in front of her. ‘As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you, but believe me not, and yet I lie not. I confess nothing nor I deny nothing.’

  Florence could sense, rather than see, the movement of the interloper in her classroom, by the creak of boots on the tiles and the stir of the air as thirty curious faces turned away from her and in the visitor’s direction. Her eyes stayed fixed on the copy of the text in her hands, using it as an anchor as the classroom seemed to shift around her.

  ’By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.’ His voice was low, and had the vaguest semblance of a tremor as he continued his ascent up the aisle between the tables.

  ‘Do not swear and eat it,’ Florence replied, not really needing the copy of the play to read from, but holding it in her hands in an effort not to lose control in front of a class of increasingly agog Year 8 students.

  ‘I will swear by it that you love me, and I will make him eat it that says I love not you.’

  Florence shook her head, remembering the moment onstage in the priory’s performance area when she and Sam had performed Josie’s version of this very scene, also in front of an increasingly entranced audience.

  ‘Will you not eat your word?’ She was whispering now, trying to stop the tears from spilling over.

  ‘I protest I love thee.’ Sam’s voice was trembling, and Florence could hear that he, too, seemed to be having trouble containing his emotions in front of this rapt crowd of students.

  Florence started as Sam stopped right in front of her. She could see his highly polished boots and the bottom of his trousers, which, incongruously, were the same trousers he’d worn onstage, his naval dress trousers. She dropped the copy of the script, and it bounced off one of Sam’s boots and lay, splayed open, off to the side.

  ‘Why, then, God forgive me.’ She watched a tear fall onto her hands, which were still held as if they had the book between them.

  ‘What offence, sweet Beatrice?’

  Florence shook her head, then jumped as one of Sam’s hands closed over hers. Shaken from her momentum by the act, she stumbled and blanked on the words. ‘I… I’m sorry… I can’t …’

  ‘Then let me.’ Sam raised his other hand and brushed her tears away. ‘I don’t think this lot will mind too much if we swap a line or two.’ He drew a deep breath, and Florence could feel his hand trembling against her cheek where it still rested.

  ‘I was about to protest I loved you,’ Sam said softly. ‘I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.’

  ‘Oh Sam…’ Florence whispered. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’ She reached up a hand to his face, and as she did so, looked up for the first time. The classroom was so silent; you could have heard a pin drop. Sam’s eyes were filled with such tenderness that Florence’s tears spilled over again.

  ‘I’ve missed you too,’ Sam replied. His eyes flickered from Florence’s eyes to her trembling mouth and back again. ‘And I mean it. I love you. More than anything. I’m not afraid of it any more. I don’t think, really, that I ever was. I’ve never felt afraid when I’ve been with you.’ He slid an arm around her waist, and, mindful of his audience, he dipped his head and gave her a very light, very gentle kiss.

  A chorus of oohs and ahhs, interspersed with the odd self-conscious giggle, met this action, and, encouraged, Sam wrapped his arms around her and gave her a huge hug, as the room exploded into raucous cheers.

  ‘Whoo! Get in, Miss!’ came a voice from the front row, but Florence was past noticing.

  Eventually, they broke apart again, and as they turned to face the class who had become their impromptu audience, Florence’s jaw dropped as she saw none other than Josie standing in the doorway of the classroom.

  ‘Well, I couldn’t let him get away without telling you how he really feels,’ she said drily. ‘Especially while he’s wearing such a wonderful uniform!’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Florence said. ‘Even if, thanks to you and this lot, I’m never going to live this down.’

  ‘We won’t say a word, Miss,’ fibbed Kyle happily. ‘After all, you were only teaching us the play, weren’t you? You’re always going on about how it’s meant to be seen and heard, not read.’

  Josie wandered up the aisle and glanced at the remainder of the PowerPoint presentation on Florence’s laptop. ‘Go on, get lost,’ she said, looking at the two of them in amusement. ‘It’s nearly home time anyway. I’ll finish off with this lot.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Florence asked.

  Josie grinned. ‘To be honest, I think you’ve probably lost your audience now.’

  It was ten minutes to the bell, and Florence definitely felt as though she needed some fresh air. She reached out and squeezed Josie’s hand. ‘You’re a star, thank you.’

  ‘No worries. Get out of here,’ Josie replied. ‘But remember you’ve got double Year Seven in the morning, so no flying off into the sunset just yet.’

  ‘We won’t.’ As Sam slipped his arm around her again, and the catcalls and wolf whistles surrounded them once again, Florence wondered if she’d ever be able to face 8E2 again.

  50

  ‘So, what really changed your mind?’ Florence asked as, a little while later, they were ensconced behind a table in The Travellers’ Rest, sipping a glass of something to fortify them both.

  ‘Aidan did, finally,’ Sam said. ‘He told me what a twat he thought I was being. Although, to be honest, I’d kind of worked it out by then already. I just didn’t quite know how to tell you. Or if you’d even listen to me.’

  ‘No, I’m not buying that for one minute,’ Florence said. ‘He’s been telling you for weeks that he thinks you made a mistake, and I know for a fact you’ve not listened to him at all.’

  ‘How?’

  Florence smiled. ‘He and Tom visited me a couple of times during your evening shifts. They made it their mission to get us back together pretty much since we stalled. But they were getting more and more pissed off that none of their pep talks seemed to be working with either of us. I wasn’t going to push you, and I was still stubborn enough to believe that you were going to up and leave, and you’d just closed down and wouldn’t discuss it, so we were at a standoff. They’d basically given us up as a lost cause.’

  Sam started. ‘Do you know they’re… together, then?’

  ‘Yes,’ Florence grinned. ‘They told me a couple of weeks ago.’ She paused, looking at Sam speculatively. ‘Aidan was quite nervous about levelling with you, though. He wasn’t sure how you’d take it.’

  ‘It was a bit of a surprise,’ Sam admitted. ‘I felt like a complete idiot for thinking I knew him so well and not realising that he was gay.’ He waved away Florence’s attempt to reassure him. ‘No, it’s OK – he made it clear that it was up to him to tell me, at a time of his choosing. I still can’t quite believe I missed something so important about him, but at the end of the day, he’s my brother, not my other half. He’s entitled to keep his private life private.’

  ‘Unlike you and I, it seems,’ Florence said wryly. Thanks to Josie and Tom’s interventions, and now Sam’s declaration of love in front of her Year 8 students, she felt as though her entire love life had gone public.

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ Sam said, smiling broadly. ‘But something, or rather someone, told me that I had to take matters into my own hands a bit more dramatically, if I was ever going to convince you I was serious about committing to you.’

  ‘Was that someone Josie by any chance?’

  ‘How did you guess?’ Sam squeezed Florence’s hand, where it lay on the tabletop.

  ‘Well, I think you’ve proved that now, in front of thirty witnesses!’ The warmth of Sam’s hand over hers was both reassuring and wonderfully distracting.


  ‘Are you OK about all this?’ Sam asked, seeing the somewhat harried look that crossed Florence’s face at the memory of falling apart in front of her Year Eight class. ‘I mean… it was a spur-of-the moment thing. I didn’t mean to put you under pressure in such a public way.’

  In response, Florence leaned across the table and planted a gentle, wine-infused kiss onto Sam’s lips. ‘Please don’t ever worry about that. You were, as ever, in exactly the right place at the right time.’

  Epilogue

  The Following Christmas

  ‘Right, I think that’s everything.’ Sam looked around what used to be his bedroom and smiled. He’d enjoyed living with Aidan, but it was definitely time to move on. As he double-checked the ensuite bathroom, he reflected that Aidan didn’t exactly have far to walk to return anything he found, anyway.

  Moving in with Florence had been a gradual, organic process that had taken most of the year; mostly because Florence was still finishing the renovations to her house, but somewhat because Sam was still coming to terms with not quite being the port of call he had been for the past two years for Aidan. It was when Aidan himself had started making more definite noises about setting up a permanent home with Tom at Number 1 Bay Tree Terrace that Sam had finally made the decision to move to Number 2.

  Sam had to admit that it was strange not to be Aidan’s go-to any more; and in some ways he had felt jealous that Tom had fitted in so easily to Aidan’s life. But he acknowledged that Tom understood the rise and fall of life with Aidan, and he couldn’t help feeling a release of pressure as he felt a little freer to pursue his own life, especially the one that he was now tentatively starting to build with Florence.

  As he headed down the stairs, he checked the pocket of his jacket for the ring he’d bought a couple of months ago. Now, having spent so much more time with Florence, he finally felt secure enough to give it to her, should she wish to take it. He felt as though he’d got to know her well enough over the past year to take a chance on the style; he’d chosen a simple platinum band inset with a single, respectably sized diamond.