Notting Hill in the Snow

by Jules Wake

  At last the first of the classroom doors opened and with that the air was filled with the joyous shrieks of children hurling themselves through the doorways into the first snowfall of the year.

  ‘Snow!’ The high-pitched delight was squealed over and over as the children tumbled out in a colourful moving mass of hats and scarves, coloured wellies and ski jackets.

  ‘It’s snowing!’

  ‘Let’s build a snowman.’

  ‘Snowball fight.’

  Several children charged off to the field, their feet kicking up through the heavy blanket already covering the playground. I spotted Grace straight away in her pink caterpillar coat and her blue wellies as she limped towards me, doing a passable impression of John Wayne.

  ‘Sweetie, what’s the matter?’

  Her big eyes brimming with tears, she looked up at me. ‘My wellies are too small.’

  ‘Oh, sweet pea, I’m so sorry. I just took them from the cupboard.’

  How stupid. Little girls’ feet grew quickly. The boots had probably been there for at least a year.

  ‘Are they really tight? What about if we took your thick socks off?’

  She blinked and nodded.

  ‘Come here.’ I picked her up and waded through the snow back to the classroom. She was too heavy to carry all the way home.

  Her teacher looked up.

  ‘Sorry, can we just do a bit of jiggery-pokery here? Grace’s wellies are too tight.’

  ‘I did wonder when she staggered off, but I was too late to catch her. Grace, you should have said something.’

  Grace lifted her shoulders in resignation.

  ‘It’s all right, I think they’ll be OK if we do some sock swapping.’

  It took some tugging to get her wellies off. Then I took mine off.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Grace as I pushed up her grey trousers.

  ‘You have to wear some socks, otherwise your feet will get very cold. Lucky for us, I’ve got two pairs on.’

  I quickly whipped off Nate’s nice thin wool socks, which were still warm, and put them on Grace’s narrow feet and slipped her socks into my pocket.

  When she put her wellies back on, she managed to get her foot all the way in.

  ‘How’s that?’ I asked, looking at her dubious face.

  ‘My toes are at the very, very end.’ She stood up and took a few exploratory steps. ‘They’re a bit scrunched but I can walk.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  With a determined nod, she picked up her school bag.

  I quickly shoved my feet back into Elaine’s super toasty snow boots and decided that we’d walk back as quickly as possible. In those thin socks, cashmere or not, her feet would soon get cold.

  At first Grace was diverted by the falling snow on the way home, sticking her tongue out and catching snowflakes in her outstretched hands, but before long I could tell by her pinched face that she was getting cold. It was a good twenty-minute walk home and we still had another fifteen minutes. When we passed one of the many charity shops in the area, I pulled on her hand, doubling back, and stopped outside.

  ‘Let’s have a quick look in here.’ At the worst it would be a brief reprieve for her cold feet and we might just find a second-hand pair of boots.

  Grace followed me in, her nose wrinkling slightly at the usual charity shop mothball and stale smell.

  There was a large selection of children’s shoes and, to my delight, there were several pairs of snow boots. You do get a better quality of charity shop in Notting Hill. I picked up a pair of boots that looked approximately the right size, given I was no expert.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know what size feet you have?’

  ‘Thirteen.’

  ‘That’s brilliant.’

  The size on the bottom was a European size. Thirty-four. I had no idea how that would translate. I was a size six, which was a thirty-nine.

  ‘Svetlana took me to get new shoes in September. And in her country that’s thirty-two.’

  I grinned at Grace and held up my hand for a high five. Good old Svetlana.

  ‘These are probably going to be a little bit big … but with your welly socks they might be just right.’

  Grace eyed them dubiously. They weren’t in the first flush of youth. They were navy with criss-cross laces up the front, holding in slightly scrappy sheepskin.

  ‘Try them on,’ I encouraged. ‘They’ll be lovely and toasty.’

  With a small crimp to her mouth she sat down on the floor and I tugged off the too tight wellies, Nate’s outsize socks peeling off with them to reveal her narrow pink-white piebald feet, the ends of her big toes glowing red. Despite the angry colour, when I touched them they were like ice. Taking them in my hands, I gave them a quick rub.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart. Quick, put these on.’ I pulled the welly socks from my pocket and we each put one on.

  Her face was still unsure when she slid her feet into the boots. But then she clomped a few steps in them, stamping her feet a little.

  ‘How do those feel?’

  She hesitated.

  ‘Are they OK?’

  She frowned and looked down at them.

  ‘I know they’re not very pretty but they’ll keep your feet nice and toasty.’

  ‘They’re not too tight,’ she conceded.

  ‘Great.’

  I picked up her smart but redundant Joules wellies and went to the cash desk with her trailing disconsolately behind me like Eeyore.

  ‘We’ll take these,’ I said, pointing to Grace’s feet and handing over the price tag I’d peeled from one of the soles.

  ‘Perfect for today,’ said the older woman. ‘Would you like a bag for your welly boots?’

  ‘That would be great, thank you.’

  ‘Aren’t you lucky? Mummy buying you new boots,’ she said to Grace, who scowled and didn’t respond but as we left the shop I heard her mutter.

  ‘They’re not new.’

  I kept quiet, still unsettled by how I’d felt when the shopkeeper had called me Mummy, disconcerted by that sudden squeeze to my heart and the odd tears that pricked my eyes.

  Five minutes later, as we walked down the street, I could tell Grace was feeling much more cheerful; her hand was swinging in mine and she was back to trying to eat the snowflakes and laughing when they landed on her eyelashes. I, on the other hand, was still feeling a little disorientated.

  ‘I think we need hot chocolate with marshmallows,’ I said as we shook the snow from our clothes before stepping inside the house, waving the carrier bag with the wellies and the recently purchased supplies from Tesco Metro. And I really needed to get on and do that online shop. Nate had left me a credit card to set up an account and do a food shop.

  ‘Can we?’ Grace bobbed up and down as she wriggled her way out of her coat and kicked off her boots. There were small puddles of water already forming on the beautiful bleach wood floor, which immediately sent me rushing to the kitchen to get a couple of cloths.

  We took all the wet things downstairs to hang in the utility room just off the kitchen. It was always toasty in there with its Bosch washing machine, dryer, big steam generator iron, trouser press, steam cleaner and every other domestic appliance you could possibly imagine.

  Once I’d made the hot chocolate with squirty cream and marshmallows, and bunged some potatoes in the oven, I managed to light the small squat wood-burner that sat in the corner of the snug. We sat there sipping hot chocolate, toasting our toes in front of the open door of the wood-burner, watching the snow billowing down like feathers set loose in a pillow fight. Grace had nestled into me on the sofa, making little purring noises.

  ‘You’ve got cream on your nose,’ I said, laughing and dabbing at it. ‘Enjoying that?’

  ‘It’s awesome,’ said Grace, picking a marshmallow out with her fingers and popping it into her mouth. ‘Yummy, yummy, yummy. When I’m big I’m going to have this every day.’

  ‘I think you’d soon get sick of it,’ I teas
ed.

  She shook her head violently, her hair whipping through the cream.

  ‘Watch it,’ I said. ‘Hang on.’ I wiped the strands quickly with my fingers, looked at my sticky hands and then, with Grace’s wide-eyed gaze on me, shrugged and wiped them on my jeans.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  ‘Shh, don’t tell anyone,’ I whispered. ‘It’s all right, I do the washing.’

  With a smile, she took another sip and wriggled closer to me.

  Unable to help myself, I lifted my arm and put it around her and she snuggled in, her small warm body a barely-there weight against me.

  Together we sat in silence, the flames in the wood-burner snap, crackle and popping, casting a warm golden glow across our outstretched legs. Outside, the white of the snow contrasted sharply with the shadows of the patio, a thick quilt pillowed on top of the bistro table and the three chairs.

  ‘We could build a snowman,’ I said, burying my nose in the soft, sweet smell of Grace’s hair and then moving sharply when she sat up straighter. ‘Just a small one.’ There wasn’t that much room in the tiny patio garden; it would be tight. ‘Maybe a snowdog or a snowcat.’

  ‘Can we? Really? An Olaf.’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve only just thawed out. Let’s wait until after tea. I don’t have to go to work tonight, so I don’t have to rush off anywhere.’

  She snuggled back into me. ‘This is nice. I like hot chocolate. I like the snow. And I like you.’

  I dropped a kiss on top of her head. ‘And I like you.’

  We lapsed into silence and it was so warm and cosy that I could feel Grace’s head start to droop. I rescued her drink and let her doze against me, thinking it was so lovely and warm I’d just close my eyes for a moment too.

  Chapter 16

  Something woke me, a log collapsing in the grate, and I realised that Nate was home and sitting opposite in the armchair, toasting his toes, watching Grace sleeping against me.

  ‘Evening,’ he said softly.

  ‘Oh, God,’ I whispered. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s only five. I left the office early. Didn’t fancy my chances on public transport if I left it any longer.’

  Beyond him, it was dark outside now and the snow fell thickly, just as fast as ever.

  ‘Sorry, I only meant to shut my eyes for a minute but it was so cosy. Poor Grace is shattered.’

  ‘Yes, it’s been a long term. She’s ready for the holidays. It’s a struggle to wake her up in the mornings.’

  I nodded. I had no knowledge of such things and for a minute I felt like the outsider again. I looked down at Grace’s relaxed face, the fine white skin, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. Asleep, she looked even more small and defenceless. I probably shouldn’t have encouraged her to snuggle in, but it had seemed the right thing to do. Now I felt guilty. I wasn’t going to be around for ever and I didn’t want Nate thinking the wrong thing.

  ‘Sorry …’ I indicated the sleeping child with a tilt of my head ‘… this probably isn’t appropriate – we were both warm and sleepy.’

  ‘You both looked so peaceful, a pair of Sleeping Beauties. I couldn’t bear to wake you, although I’m worried about Grace not sleeping at bedtime.’

  ‘She could have another five minutes. Why don’t you take over while I make dinner?’

  I wriggled free, not wanting to leave the warm cocoon of the sofa. Grace murmured a gentle sleepy protest but Nate was standing in front of me, ready to take my place. As I laboured to my feet rather inelegantly, he took my arm, hauling me upright, but somehow he’d misjudged the distance and when I rose to my feet my chest came to rest against his and we stood there, our noses almost touching, warily gazing at each other. His eyes widened and I stared at the tiny chocolate flecks in them. My breath caught in my throat as I heard his hitch, a quick, sharp inhalation that made my heart jump. Tiny black bristles like coal dust dotted his chin. Between us there was a flare of awareness. Fast and fleeting, like a firework going up and fizzing into the sky. The pulse in his throat quickened and I felt hollow with sudden longing.

  Look away, look away. But it was impossible. It was one of those moments when you’re so aware of the other person but it feels as if neither of you can move or do anything in case it’s the wrong move. I resisted the terrible urge to step forward, lay my lips on his, give in and kiss him. I could be making a terrible mistake. Misreading the signs. He’d already laid it on the line. This was nothing more than a burst of sexual attraction. He was a good-looking man and I was in very close proximity.

  There was almost pain on his face, strain in his eyes as his hands grasped my forearms to hold me up. His eyes narrowed, roving across my face as if checking out all of my features, inventorying them one by one until they rested on my lips.

  He lifted a hand and with one finger brushed my lower lip so slowly it was as if he were mapping every tiny line. I pressed a tiny kiss onto his finger, so small it was less of a kiss and more of a press, a whisper of skin against skin. The small, intimate touch lit my nerve endings, as everything in my body went on knife-edge red alert.

  ‘Viola …’ He whispered my name, the hoarse sound like sandpaper on my heart. His hand dropped to his side. He didn’t want this, was fighting it.

  Move damn it, move. I was sandwiched between him and the sofa with nowhere to go and still he held my eyes, his haunted with a mixture of longing and guilt. It was almost a relief when he closed his, severing the connection. With a gentle push I pressed at his chest and mercifully he stepped back.

  ‘I’d better get on with dinner,’ I said brightly. ‘Sausage and mash and baked beans for those that want them.’ I glanced down at Grace. ‘Special request.’

  There was a small silence, punctuated by the hiss of the wood in the log-burner.

  ‘Thanks, Viola, I don’t know what we’d do without you at the moment.’ His voice held that same hint of strain I’d seen on his face.

  I patted him on the arm, a deliberate matey physical touch, to make it clear that the last few minutes were over and done and forgotten.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. Could he hear the false breeziness? ‘I enjoy Grace’s company and I like cooking.’

  ‘I’m sorry … about …’

  ‘Nate, forget it –’ brisk, don’t-blame-yourself no-nonsense in my voice ‘– I’d just woken up, I was half asleep. Now, sit down with Grace for a moment while I get on.’

  I scooted around him and into the kitchen area, following the smell of baking potatoes. Scoop out the middles and mix them with a dash of butter and a touch of milk. Think about food, not about what just happened. Put the sausages in the oven, bake them, so I can make gravy with the sticky sweet residue in the baking tray. Had I just kissed his finger? Gravy. Yes, make some gravy. The touch of my lips had been instinctive. Of the moment.

  I clattered about in the kitchen, putting the radio on. Be normal. Get on with things. Just make tea before you head for home. Home. The thought of trudging back to my empty flat in the snow was suddenly deeply depressing. Normally a night in at home was such a novelty I revelled in it. Lying full length on my sofa reading a book with the television on in the background, a whole evening to myself, with a bottle of wine and a carpet picnic of Marks & Spencer treats, because I’d be too lazy to cook for one. Now it just sounded a little sad.

  It wasn’t long before the sausages were sizzling and I heard Grace’s voice chirping away telling Nate all about her day and the snow. I laid the table with a smile, listening to her repeating things I’d said verbatim.

  ‘Tea’s ready,’ I called with a small hum of satisfaction as I heard Grace scrambling to her feet.

  ‘Sausages! Baking beans.’ She came running into the kitchen. ‘I’m starvacious.’

  ‘Starvacious. That’s a very good word,’ I said with a grin.

  ‘It means I’m really, really hungry.’ She patted her tiny stomach, dancing around my feet as I tried to pour the hot gravy into an equally hot grav
y boat.

  ‘Careful, now go sit down,’ I said, putting the pan down and waving my oven-gloved hands at her, wanting her out of the way of the hot pans. I probably should have told her to go and wash her hands. It seemed to be one of those peculiar naggy things that adults made a point of telling children to do but never did themselves.

  The sleep seemed to have done Grace the power of good and she was like a small all-action dynamo again, playing with her cutlery and chattering away nineteen-to-the-dozen. Her happiness glowed and it made my heart sing. It was wonderful to see her like this rather than the subdued little girl she so often was at home. Maybe being at home reminded her too much of her mum.

  ‘Grace, calm down,’ said Nate. ‘You’re full of beans this evening.’

  ‘Baking beans,’ she said gleefully, holding up a forkful and losing a few on the table.

  ‘You’re making a mess,’ he said with a shake of his head.

  ‘Sorry, Daddy. Can we go out in the snow? Can we build a snowman? Viola can help.’

  For a fraction of a second I hesitated and glanced at Nate, wondering if he’d rather I pushed off after the earlier brief awkwardness but, to my relief, he grinned.

  ‘I’m hoping she will. I think it’s going to be a big job.’

  ‘OK,’ I said doubtfully, looking out of the windows at the tiny patio area, but there was no way I was going to rain on Grace’s parade. Surely there wasn’t room for all three of us out there. By the time we’d stood on the snow there wouldn’t be enough to build a snow hobbit let alone a man.

  Grace and Nate shot each other a look that I couldn’t interpret and then they both smiled with such smug expressions, looking so alike that I burst out laughing.

  ‘You two look as if you’re up to something. The first person who tries to put snow down my neck will not get fed for a week,’ I threatened.