Notting Hill in the Snow

by Jules Wake

Nate hesitated and I could see the conflict in his eyes, torn between telling Grace what she wanted to hear and not lying to her.

  ‘It is the best snowman I’ve ever seen,’ I said. ‘Can you send me the picture?’ It would make a lovely Christmas card for Nate and Grace.

  He shot me a grateful smile.

  ‘I think we deserve champion snowman-building medals and hot chocolates,’ I said.

  Nate carried Grace back into the snug looking pink and cosy, bundled up in a grey rabbit onesie. While he’d been upstairs bathing her, I’d made us all hot chocolates and was standing by the wood-burner thawing out my extremities, hoping my damp jeans might warm through a little as I watched the glowing logs flickering black and orange.

  ‘We got a snow day,’ she said, bouncing in her dad’s arms. ‘No school tomorrow.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I had a phone call from Mrs Roberts, wanting my opinion on whether to close the school. And then, not long after that, an official text saying the school will be closed for the day. Too many teachers have to drive in; they might not have enough staff.’

  ‘No school! No school! And Daddy’s going to work from home. Will you read me a story?’ she asked, waving a book as she slithered down out of his arms and skidded over to my side, hopping up on the sofa beside me. I was surprised to see it was one of the Harry Potter books.

  ‘Not Beast Quest?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’ve read it lots of times before. I thought I’d try something new,’ she said in a prim little voice, sounding very grown-up.

  She snuggled in, deliciously warm and smelling of roses. I handed her a small mug of very milky hot chocolate and she wrinkled her nose.

  ‘No marshmallows or cream?’ she complained.

  ‘Not this close to bedtime. You’ll be too full of sugar and you won’t sleep,’ I said.

  ‘Hmph,’ she said, her mouth crumpling in disgust. ‘Daddy’s got them.’

  ‘Daddy didn’t have half a packet earlier,’ I said gently.

  ‘I think Daddy missed out,’ said Nate, poking mournfully at his marshmallows as he sat down on the sofa on the other side of Grace, propping his feet up on the coffee table towards the wood-burner. ‘I only got three.’

  ‘Never mind. We can go to the shops again tomorrow,’ said Grace, patting him on the knee.

  ‘I’m so glad I don’t have to go to work tomorrow,’ I said, looking out of the window. The snow hadn’t let up and while Nate had taken Grace upstairs I’d taken the pile of soggy, wet clothes and snow-encrusted boots into the utility room and hung all the clothes up on the old-fashioned Sheila Maid hanging above the washing machine. I wasn’t looking forward to having to walk home in this. My red wool coat was still damp even though it was hanging up next to the boiler.

  Almost as if he’d read my mind, Nate said, ‘I’m not sure you should walk home in this on your own tonight.’

  ‘It’s not far.’

  ‘It might not be but I’d rather you weren’t alone. I’d offer to walk you … but I can’t leave Grace and it would asking for trouble to get the car out in this, even if it is a four-wheel drive. I don’t trust the other idiots on the road.’

  ‘God, no. It’s fine.’

  ‘The streets will be deserted. If you fall or get into trouble … Bad people don’t stay indoors because of the snow.’

  Thanks, Nate, for reminding me of my earlier unease.

  ‘You could stay here. There’s a spare room and there are –’ he paused ‘– things you could borrow.’

  Elaine’s things.

  ‘You could have a sleepover,’ said Grace, her eyes shining.

  ‘I …’

  The thought of putting my damp coat on and tramping through the dark, deserted streets wasn’t terribly appealing and neither was going back to my flat. I was being weak-willed. I shouldn’t stay. I was starting to feel far too much at home here and ill-advised butterflies were doing a low-level fly-by in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘Please, Viola. Stay and we can build Mrs Snow in the morning. And buy more marshmallows.’

  Nate didn’t say a word, he just stared down at his hot chocolate, the ghost of a smile on his face.

  ‘And you can put me to bed,’ added Grace, blinking at me with pitiful puppy dog eyes, making me laugh at her and put her in a mock headlock.

  ‘You’re such a fraud, Grace Williams.’

  ‘I know,’ she said simply, which made me laugh even more.

  I sighed and looked at Nate, who now raised his head, an almost bland expression on his face apart from the tiny tell-tale lift of the left side of his mouth.

  ‘Thank you for the invitation Nate.’ I kept my words formal because it felt too normal to be staying. It felt right and it shouldn’t. ‘If you don’t mind I will take you up on your kind offer because I really don’t fancy walking home on my own in this weather, and my coat’s still quite damp.’

  ‘I think it’s for the best,’ he said, as if we were talking health and safety or something equally dull. ‘I’ll just go check the heating is on in the … spare bedroom and that there are some towels in the bathroom.’

  While he disappeared, I opened Grace’s pristine copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone and began to read her the first chapter.

  As good as the story was, even with my best Dursley villain voices, it wasn’t long before I felt Grace’s body relax next to mine and her head slide down my arm. Nate, sitting opposite in the armchair by the wood-burner, was reading some paperwork but had been looking up and checking how she was doing periodically. I caught his eye and he tilted his head to see her face.

  ‘Her eyes are closed,’ he mouthed.

  I nodded at him and he rose to his feet and came over to scoop Grace up into his arms. ‘Come on pumpkin, bedtime.’

  A sudden lump filled my throat as I looked at her little legs and skinny ankles dangling over his arm. She was so small and vulnerable it made my chest hurt.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she held out a hand. ‘You come too, Viola.’

  Unable to swallow for a minute, I stared at her, mute, until she gave me an unaffected sleepy smile. My heart melted right into a puddle and I rose to my feet and squeezed her hand.

  I followed Nate up the stairs to her bedroom, where the fairy lights were glowing and a small nightlight guided us in to her bed. He tucked her in and gave her a kiss.

  ‘Love you, pumpkin.’

  ‘Love you, Daddy.’ After laying a gentle hand on her forehead, he rose and stepped back and went to the door as if giving Grace and I a moment to ourselves.

  ‘Night, night, sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ I whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. I leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her cheek. ‘Sweet dreams, sweet pea.’

  ‘Night, night, Viola.’ She sighed and settled into her pillow, her hand on the cheek I’d just kissed, her eyes already closed, and whispered, ‘I love you.’

  I joined Nate at the door and together we looked at her in the small glow of the lamp before he pulled it to. I guessed this was what parents did.

  ‘She’s bushed,’ he said quietly. ‘Do you want me to show you your room?’

  Still too choked to speak, I nodded and followed him to the end of the hallway. He opened a door to a magnificent room with expensive-looking floral wallpaper with lush, exotic blooms in shades of pearl and green and billowing plump curtains in exactly the same shade of green.

  ‘Crikey, is that an Emperor-size bed or something?’ I asked, turning and spotting the biggest bed I’d ever seen.

  ‘Or something,’ said Nate dryly. ‘It took four men to get the sodding mattress up here.’

  ‘This is a beautiful room,’ I said, feeling I ought to say something complimentary, even though, despite the size of it, it felt claustrophobic, as if the walls might close in at any second. There was something decidedly creepy about the wallpaper, with its suggestive erotic undertones and dark shadows hinting at hidden voyeurs.

  �
��I hate it, always have done. Never felt comfortable in here. I think I always had a fear that one of those bloody plants would come to life one night and wrap its vines around me and squeeze me to death like a boa constrictor.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Now I’ll be having nightmares.’

  ‘Sorry. Overactive imagination. Not my usual style. I promise you the wallpaper is really quite benign. It was probably the stress of my marriage breaking up.’ It was obvious that this had been his and Elaine’s room.

  ‘The bathroom’s very nice,’ he said.

  ‘No serpents in the S-bends or spiders under the toilet seats?’

  ‘No, the bathroom is … good. I had a say in … I had a say in choosing the shower. I miss it. The best one in the house.’

  ‘Now you sound like an estate agent,’ I teased. ‘And how many showers do you have?’

  ‘Three,’ he said almost apologetically. ‘Not including the one in the nanny flat. One in each of the en suites and one in the family bathroom.

  ‘There are fresh towels in here –’ he pointed to the door to the en suite ‘– and toiletries. And a robe on the back of the door. If there’s anything else you need, have a look in the drawers. Help yourself.’

  With that he withdrew, leaving me in the overpowering jungle environment. He’d sounded matter-of-fact and practical about me borrowing things but I felt uncomfortable about wearing any items of clothing that belonged to Elaine. The snow boots had been practical emergency and something kept in a cupboard downstairs didn’t feel as intimate as something from one of her bedroom drawers. Even though I hadn’t met her I had an acute dislike of her but I couldn’t gauge how Nate felt about her. Was he heartbroken? Still in love with her? I feared he was resigned to her absence and in some kind of no-man’s-land love limbo.

  I sank onto the bed, hearing the luxurious rustle of the feather duvet with some mighty tog rating. With a heavy sigh, I surveyed the room; my jeans were damp and heavy and my legs were still cold. A hot shower seemed like heaven but the thought of putting my jeans back on afterwards miserable. Perhaps if I warmed them on the radiator while I was in the shower it might be bearable.

  Chapter 18

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ Nate looked up as I padded, wearing his socks, back into the kitchen, carrying my jeans and, hidden from view, my hurriedly washed knickers. There was a bottle of red on the kitchen island and one glass already poured with a second waiting.

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

  ‘I’d offer you some cheese but the cupboard is bare.’

  ‘Wine will do, thanks.’

  ‘Nice outfit.’ He studied the turn-ups on the oversized sweat pants I was hanging onto with one hand before pouring me a glass and handing it to me.

  I glanced down at grey fleecy sweats, which I’d been very grateful to find after my shower.

  ‘Sorry, my legs were so cold I needed to warm up. Would you mind if I shove these in the tumble dryer? I didn’t feel right borrowing Elaine’s things and these were in one of the drawers. I figured you weren’t using them.’

  ‘I’d forgotten I’d got them. They’re “designated” gardening or decorating clothes.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you garden or decorate?’ The sweatshirt I was wearing felt quite new and soft.

  Nate snorted. ‘No, it’s a euphemism for Elaine didn’t like me wearing them and we always got a man in to do any decorating, even though I don’t mind doing a bit of painting. She didn’t trust me to do it right. Although I’m happy to leave the gardening to the professionals, we pay a fee to cover the garden maintenance. I think it would take me all Saturday to mow that lawn.’

  ‘That communal garden is a lovely thing to have, though,’ I said with a touch of envy. The stairs up to pavement level was the only bit of outdoors I had access to. ‘Do you all get together in the summer and have barbecues and summer parties out there? I bet it’s great for Grace. Completely safe.’

  ‘Today’s the first time I’ve been out there in months.’ Nate looked shame-faced. ‘And Grace. I don’t think Svetlana ever went out there. And we don’t really know the other people who use the garden. I’ve hardly ever seen anyone else out there; people tend to stay close to their own patio areas, I guess.’

  ‘That’s such a shame. To have your own private space in London, people would kill for that. Although I guess it means Mr Snow won’t get vandalised any time soon.’

  ‘There is always that,’ said Nate, lifting his glass in toast. ‘To snowmen.’

  I took a sip of the meaty red wine. ‘This is nice.’

  ‘It’s a Cab Sauv I’ve been saving. As no one has to get up in the morning, it seemed the right occasion to open it.’

  I felt a ping. He’d remembered.

  ‘I forgot to tell you, you’ve created a monster. I think my mother is on series three of Game of Thrones already.’

  ‘I take it you’re not staying there any more.’

  ‘No, Dad is back. And, thanks to you again, Mum is ploughing through her Christmas shopping. Now, if you could just solve my turkey problem.’

  ‘Turkey problem?’

  ‘Yes, apparently I’ve left it too late to order the right sort from the butcher. We always use Lidgates on Holland Park Avenue and we always get a Kelly Bronze. The deadline was Monday and with everything going on, I completely forgot.’

  With a sigh, I put down my wine glass. ‘I wish it would keep snowing and everyone got snowed in.’ And I could stay here, warm and snug, without all the problems I still had to solve. And stupidly, out of nowhere, a tear welled up in my eye.

  ‘Hey.’ He came around the island and put his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. ‘I’m pretty sure Sainsbury’s, Marks & Spencer and a whole load of other people do turkeys. Come the day, is anyone going to complain?’

  ‘No, I’m being silly,’ I sniffed into his soft lambswool sweater, but he’d done that fatal thing of being nice when he should have given me some tough love and told me to pull myself together. Somehow the combination of softness, the broad chest and sympathy tipped me over the edge and, like an avalanche, all the things I’d been worrying about came flooding down, gathering pace, getting bigger and bigger.

  ‘I … I …’ It was no good, I began to cry. Proper hiccoughy sobs with unladylike sniffs and a runny nose. ‘It’s the n-nat-tiv-vity as well.’ I buried my head in his chest. ‘Parents are complaining. George, who’s playing the lead, is off school, apparently gone to Disneyland and is probably going to be snowed in in Paris for another week; I haven’t got props, the costumes are going to be rubbish and there’s no backdrop. It’s going to be a disaster. I think this is going to be the worst Christmas ever!’ I finished on a wail, drawing in a much needed breath.

  Nate rubbed my back as my sobs slowed and between sniffles I gradually managed to get control of myself again.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ he said, leading me to and settling me into the sofa. He tossed a new log on the fire and came to sit next to me.

  ‘Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate.’

  I took in a snuffly breath and looked at him, feeling as woebegone and pathetic as Grace had been the other day. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Viola, you can ask for help, you know.’ He said it in such a calm, obvious way, I pushed back all the panicky fear and actually focused on what he’d said instead of the usual quick denial that sprang to my lips.

  ‘It’s like that saying, how do you eat an elephant? One bit at a time. You’ve let everything build up, a bit like a snowball running down a hill, getting bigger and bigger.’

  We both looked outside to the snowy backdrop and I gave him a weak, sniffly smile, now a little embarrassed at letting myself go.

  ‘Sorry, I’m not normally such a wimp … It just all got on top of me. Mum. The nativity and a piece that I should have been practising every day and I haven’t. Normally, I never let anything get in the way of work. I need to practise every day. I’ve been too busy firefighting
to stop and think what I really need to do.’

  ‘You’ve got family and there’s an army of parent volunteers at the school; they can help.’

  ‘Will they? All they’ve done so far is complain.’

  ‘They’re not representative of all the parents, I promise you.’

  ‘Hmph,’ I said, not sure he was right there.

  ‘I’m a great believer in lists. Seeing things written down helps. Then you can see each thing on its own and work out a strategy to deal with each one.’ He rose and a second later returned with a notepad and pen.

  ‘Right, top of the list. Turkey or nativity?’

  ‘Nativity.’

  ‘OK and what can you do, what you can ask other people to do and what is out of your control.’

  ‘George is out of my control. If he doesn’t come back on Monday I’ll have to give his part to someone else.’

  ‘See, you’ve solved that already. What next?’

  ‘Costumes. Particularly the animals. I can see why Mrs Davies got a donkey in. I need masks or something so people know they’re cows or sheep or oxen.’ Then I sat up straighter. ‘Oh my God, I’m so stupid. Tilly and Leonie. And … why didn’t I think of this before?’

  I leaned forward and kissed Nate on the cheek. ‘You’re brilliant.’

  ‘Not sure what I’ve done, but I’ll always take a “brilliant” and a kiss.’

  I put up a hand to my suddenly burning face. ‘Oh God, sorry, that was a bit …’ It had just felt so natural and normal, I hadn’t even stopped to think.

  He took my hand and gave it a quick squeeze before putting it back in my lap. ‘I’m not complaining but … I guess we need to talk about …’ a faint flush stained his cheeks ‘… things.’

  I dropped my head. I knew what was coming. The kiss in the garden. Where did that put us now? He’d made things quite clear before. Had we just got a bit carried away outside? The magic of the snow. There was Grace to consider … and he was officially still married. And he’d told me on day one that he wasn’t in the right place for a relationship at the moment.

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you …’