Notting Hill in the Snow

by Jules Wake

  I stroked the skin of his neck, not wanting to hear the inevitable words. I wanted to stay in the circle of his arms.

  ‘I can’t seem to stay away from you,’ he said, almost to himself.

  ‘I know,’ I said softly. ‘It’s the same for me.’

  We were silent for a moment.

  ‘It’s difficult with Grace … I don’t want to confuse her.’

  ‘I know,’ I repeated, touched by his ever present concern for his daughter.

  ‘But I really want to spend some time with you. On our own. Just the two of us.’ He stroked my face again, his fingers outlining my lips. ‘And not just sneaking around like this or when she’s in bed. I wish you didn’t have to go to work tonight.’

  From down the hall there was a sudden call. ‘Daddy, Daddy, where are you?’

  Nate gave me another quick kiss and a heartfelt squeeze before he let go of me.

  ‘Could you do lunch this week?’ He shot a quick glance towards the door. ‘Tuesday?’

  I nodded as he stepped back and began to turn off the bath taps, just as Grace pushed open the door.

  ‘Mmm, it smells nice in here,’ said Grace, sniffing with approval and crossing to the bath. ‘Bubbles. Can I have a bath? I finished my letter.’

  ‘This is for Viola,’ said Nate, swishing the water with his hand. ‘And a bit too hot for young ladies. Maybe you can have one later. Shall we go find an envelope for your letter and leave Viola in peace for a while? I think she deserves five minutes after all that Christmas tree decorating and practising her viola.’

  ‘OK,’ she replied with a happy smile. ‘Have a nice bath, Viola. Daddy, come see the lights on the tree; I changed them again. Just for a little while.’ She gave him a beguiling persuasive grin. ‘So my LOL dolls can have a disco dance before tea.’

  ‘Mmm –’ he lifted an eyebrow ‘– let’s see what you’ve chosen.’ He rolled his eyes at me and took her hand.

  ‘Enjoy your bath,’ he said as they left the room, his eyes warm on mine.

  I smiled back at him and when I lay in the scented water a few minutes later I allowed my mind to go back over and over his words. Tuesday felt a long way away but my skin tingled at the thought of spending time alone with Nate. I wasn’t the only one that wished I didn’t have to go to work this evening.

  Chapter 23

  ‘Here you go.’ I handed both Leonie and Tilly a script and a cast list.

  It was half past eight on Monday morning and I’d bribed them to agree to an early start at the Daily Grind with hot chocolate and one of Sally’s double chocolate chip muffins. I’d been glad of the excuse to leave Nate to take Grace to school on his own, grateful not to have to run the gamut of curious playground eyes.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Leonie groggily, sipping at her drink. She’d had the furthest to come, all two miles from Shepherd’s Bush, while Tilly only lived a few streets away. ‘Remind me again why I said yes to this.’ She narrowed her eyes and glared at Tilly.

  ‘Because –’ Tilly looked up from the page of script she was reading ‘– Viola needs our help and come on, Lee, it’s an easy win. You said yourself you’ve got a ton of costumes in storage in Essex and you’re going there this week.’

  ‘OK,’ grumbled Leonie.

  ‘Oh, this is hilarious,’ said Tilly, looking up. ‘I love the innkeeper. He’s such a grumpy sod.’

  ‘You should see George who plays him. God, I hope’s he’s back from Paris today.’

  Tilly had come to assist Leonie, who was going to take the measurements of the children playing the main parts and then those playing any secondary parts and then find some suitable costumes in the massive costume facility over in Billericay. Luckily, Alison Kreufeld had been in on Saturday evening and I’d nobbled her during the interval after I’d spoken to Tilly and Leonie and secured their agreement to help. When I’d explained that I was now doing a full nativity, she’d been impressed and also a tiny bit apologetic that the school’s expectation had been so big. That certainly wasn’t what she’d agreed with Nate’s mother-in-law. I could bet it wasn’t. I wondered how much Elaine took after her mother.

  ‘Oh, this is brilliant.’ Tilly nudged Leonie and pointed at the script, laughing. ‘Viola, you’re so clever.’

  ‘Not really. I pinched the idea from the book, Jesus’s Christmas Party. I can’t really take the credit.’

  ‘What the … You are effing joking.’ Leonie dropped the script on the table. ‘Did they have armadillos in downtown Bethlehem?’

  ‘No idea … but I had to put one in. Long story. But do you think you might be able to find a suitable costume?’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’ She screwed up her face. ‘We did that really weird opera, Kafka’s Metamorphosis. The one with all the insects. We had to build a couple of beetle carapaces. I could spray paint one of those to make them look like an armadillo’s armour.’

  ‘Whatever you can do, I’d be eternally grateful.’

  Jack had dug his heels in and refused to have any other part (and refused to come to school, until it was agreed that an armadillo was written back into the play). I’d had to write in Alan the desert rat armadillo that crossed the desert following Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem, who also disturbed the innkeeper’s sleep.

  By the time they’d both read the script, finished their muffins and hot chocolate, we had a clear plan of action.

  ‘I’ve got eleven kids to face paint, a donkey, six sheep, two oxen and two cows and an armadillo,’ said Tilly. ‘That’s easy. If you want I can do little moustaches and a bit of face shading on the kings. For your angel I can cover her in glitter and hair dust. And we’ll give your innkeeper some ruddy, apoplectic cheeks. Might as well make his wife’s match if you want. And we can put some beards on the shepherds; that’s just a bit of stippling with a sponge on their chins, two-second job.’

  ‘And’ Leonie added, ‘I know we’ve got a ton of rustic tunics because we had all those kids in the gypsy camp from the last production of Carmen. And there were bloody loads of them. So I’ll just nab all of those. And there were kids in the last production of Tales of Hoffmann wearing quite rich velvet capes; they’d be perfect for the three kings. Not sure if I’ve got a donkey costume … but I might have a grey horse from a ballet which might do.’ Leonie was scribbling notes on her script.

  ‘Thanks, guys, you might just have saved my bacon.’

  ‘Any time, lovely,’ said Tilly. ‘It’s no bother; I’m on lates next week. And I’ll get Marcus to take the car into work and he can pick up the manger that the props guys are making for you, the straw bale and the backdrop. We just need to get the measurements for them today. They say they’ve got plenty of canvas for the backdrop. And then we’re good to go.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy,’ I said.

  ‘It is now you’ve got us on board.’ Tilly’s bracelets jingled as she folded her arms and looked at me reprovingly. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t ask us before.’

  ‘I think it was a case of not being able to see the wood for the trees.’

  ‘Right, well. All sorted now. Shall we go and meet the little darlings?’

  The school was back to normal today and although there was a lot of snow on the playing field and grass verges, all the paths had been cleared and heavily salted by Mr Marsh, the cheery caretaker, who admonished Tilly, Leonie and me to, ‘Watch your step, young ladies,’ from his position as sentry at the gates that morning. He did give Tilly a second look. Her only concessions to the snow were the Native American Indian moccasin-style boots which sort of went with her bouncy vintage yellow skirt covered in bright red cherries and her faux fur hooded jacket top. She was rocking the Nanook of the North meets Caro Emerald look. Thankfully Leonie’s usual Goth look had been abandoned in favour of staying warm and dry, although her Van Helsing boots brought a raised eyebrow from the ladies in the office when we signed in.

  There was a lot of whispering, giggling and nudging from Cassie and Grace, both of whom were sit
ting in the front row when we arrived in the hall as the rest of the school were filing out following assembly. I assumed Grace’s uncharacteristic silliness was because I’d spent the weekend at her house and this was unfamiliar territory for both of us. Thankfully I spotted George straight away.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ I whispered to Tilly. ‘Our innkeeper is back from Paris.’

  I quickly introduced Tilly and Leonie to the teaching assistant who’d been helping me as the final stragglers from Year Six left the hall with their teachers.

  ‘Gosh, it’s really good of you to help,’ she gushed with star-struck enthusiasm. ‘You have such amazing jobs. Do you get to meet all those famous people? I read all about the opera singer Pietro D’Angelis last year. He’s mega, although I was really shocked when I read he’d starred in porn films.’

  ‘He was in ONE. When he was very young.’ Tilly bit the words out, her mouth pinched tight like a prune. Eek, the poor woman had managed to hit a raw nerve straight off.

  ‘We sign strict confidentiality agreements,’ said Leonie, shooting a quick look at poor Tilly. This had been the scandal last year that had almost cost her her job. ‘We’re not allowed to talk about that sort of thing.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, flustered, realising rather astutely that she’d said the wrong thing. ‘Yes. You must meet some interesting people. My sister is an actress. She says most of the things in the papers are made up anyway.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Tilly, tight-lipped.

  ‘Shall we get started?’ I asked, conscious that time was ticking on.

  I turned to face the children, who were sitting in two rows facing the front of the hall. ‘Morning, children,’ I said.

  ‘Morning, Miss Smith,’ they chorused, more loudly than usual.

  I exchanged a look with the teaching assistant and she pulled a face and said in a low voice, ‘They’re all a bit hyper after the snow day. It might take them a while to settle.’

  I looked anxiously at my watch. With less than six rehearsals to go, including the dress rehearsal, I was running out of time.

  ‘I’d like to introduce my colleagues from the Opera House. They’re going to help with the backstage bits of the nativity.

  ‘Miss Hunter is a make-up artist. So, on the day of the show, she’ll be coming to put make-up on some of you.’

  ‘Hello, everyone.’ Tilly stepped forward, her skirt bouncing slightly, and I could see all the little girls sit a little straighter with instant hero-worship.

  ‘And this is Miss Golding; she is in charge of costumes at the Opera House. She and Miss Hunter are going to take some measurements today. So I want you all to be on your best behaviour.’ They took one look at her boots – Leonie does look kind of kick-ass – and quietened.

  ‘If I can have the principals – the people with parts,’ I reminded them, ‘and if the rest of you can sit around the piano to practice the carols.’

  I filled the teaching assistant in with what I’d done with the music teacher in the previous week. ‘They’re almost there on Away in a Manger but Silent Night needs a bit of work.’

  ‘And you’re only doing the first and last verse of that one.’

  ‘That’s right.’ I must have looked worried because she patted me on the arm. ‘Viola, it’s all sounding great and you’ve done wonders on Silent Night with the three children singing those harmonies.’ She grinned at me. ‘No one will hear Cassie if she’s flat.’

  ‘Shh,’ I said, making sure none of the children were in earshot. ‘It took a lot of work but I think it was worth it.’

  ‘What – to get her mother off your back? You should never listen to the parents.’

  ‘I know but …’ I needed to pull a few things out of the bag. The weight of responsibility to make this nativity a success was getting heavier. Having Tilly and Leonie here this morning made me feel a lot better but there was still a lot to crack through this morning.

  ‘Grace and George, would you come up on stage and we’ll go from the top with the arrival of Mary and Joseph.’ Grace giggled again as Cassie smirked at her, leaning into her, cupping her hand and whispering into her ear.

  It had felt a little bit weird leaving from Nate and Grace’s house to go to work on Saturday night. After two nights there, I felt like a small bird being shoved out of the nest into the big wide world and I didn’t really want to leave. The Christmas tree was up, the lights glowing and it looked so warm and homely. Grace had been quite put out that I had to go to work and had been a little bit sulky but the promise of an episode of Strictly Come Dancing had quickly cheered her up, along with my assurance that I’d be there in the morning. It might have been hard leaving, but it was a joy coming back when I let myself in just after half past eleven to find that Nate was sitting up, waiting with a glass of red wine for me.

  On Sunday he and Grace came with me to my parents’, where I cooked Sunday lunch, Pork this time, and Mum cross-examined him about his thoughts on Game of Thrones. She was already on Season Five. Dad was rather taken with Grace and read three chapters of Harry Potter to her, leaving Nate and I to do the washing-up together.

  As weekends went, it had been pretty perfect and this morning, dancing in and out of each other’s shadows, preparing breakfast, getting ready for school and work, had seemed so natural that Nate had only just stopped himself kissing me goodbye at the door when I left to meet Tilly and Leonie. Grace, on the other hand, had given me a big hug and kiss, asking me for the fifth time that morning if I’d be there to pick her up after school.

  I watched as Grace, looking back at Cassie, got to her feet and came up to the stage with a very silly walk. It seemed as if snow fever was affecting everyone this morning, as George copied her and the three kings fell into fits of laughter.

  ‘Right you lot, calm down. Grace and George, can you go from the first knock at the door with Mary and Joseph?’

  As Sarah raised her hand to knock on the pretend door, Grace pulled a face at Cassie, who pulled one back and then started to laugh. Sarah, non-plussed, looked at me, uncertain what to do.

  ‘Carry on,’ I said and George stepped forward to pull open the door, his larger than life gesture suggesting a door of gargantuan proportions. The first time he’d done that I’d been about to suggest that he was more sensible about it, but then realised the comic possibilities.

  Despite his prolonged absence, George was word perfect and knew his lines. He delivered them perfectly and Sarah responded with a very worried, anxious Mary face. I smiled. She’d been a good choice. Of all of them, she was the most natural actor. There was a pause. It was Grace’s line next. George poked her in the ribs but Grace was too busy pulling another face at Cassie.

  ‘What?’ she muttered at him. He nodded towards Mary. She slid me a quick glance, almost sly, and delivered the line with a petulant tilt to her lips.

  The rest of the scene played on but Grace was uncharacteristically sulky and difficult throughout.

  ‘Grace, you need to concentrate a bit more so that you remember your cues.’ She’d missed quite a few or been slow to respond. ‘George, remember to face the audience when you speak so that they can hear you. Sarah, speak up a little. Daniel, look up when you’re speaking. But well done all of you; it’s coming together nicely.’

  We moved on to do a full run-through but Grace didn’t get any better and the worst thing was that she was being deliberately awkward – slow to deliver her lines, as well as impatient and sulky with the others. By the time we’d run through the whole play, which was only half an hour long without the songs, the rest of the cast were pretty peeved with her bad behaviour and so was I.

  Unwilling to take her to task in front of the other children, I was also loath to show her any preferential treatment. What had got into her this morning? She’d been fine when I’d left.

  When the break bell rang, before I could say anything to her, she’d run to Cassie’s side, linked her arm through hers and was busy whispering in her ear again. Now that the
rehearsal was over and everyone else had performed their parts pretty well, there didn’t seem much point singling her out. I knew she could do the part, she’d shown that plenty of times before. Hopefully today was just a blip and the result of snow and overexcitement.

  Grace was the last one out of her class, head down, her mouth surly and she was in her school shoes. While a lot of the snow had melted, the playground was a mass of grey slush.

  ‘Hey, Grace,’ I said. ‘Do you want to pop your boots on?’

  ‘No,’ she said, looking up at me with baleful eyes.

  ‘I think it might be a good idea. They’ll keep your feet warm and dry.’ Since her initial aversion to them when we’d bought them in the charity shop and then before we went out to build the snowman, practicality had won over aesthetics and she’d happily, or so I’d assumed, worn them throughout the rest of the weekend.

  ‘Don’t want to.’ There was a mulish set to her face before she said, ‘The cold never bothers me … anyway.’

  I might have laughed except that she then added, ‘You can’t make me.’ There was a pause before she added with a quick look of uncertainty, ‘You’re not my mum.’

  ‘OK,’ I said equably, ignoring the dart of pain in my chest. I was the adult, she was the child. ‘Shall we go home?’ I held out my hand but she ignored it and skipped a few steps ahead of me.

  Frowning, I followed her. Had the other children been teasing her about her mum having left? Children could be so cruel to each other.

  ‘Did you have a good day?’ I asked, hoping to divert her and let her chatter fill the odd void that had appeared between us.

  She shrugged and looked away. I decided to leave her to it, hoping that as she unwound on the way home she’d confide whatever had upset her, because something clearly had. Hopefully she’d open up when she was ready and I was pretty sure, knowing Grace’s usual chattiness, that it wouldn’t be too long before she started to talk to me.

  However, Grace’s uncharacteristic sulkiness survived the journey home and when we walked into the house. She flung the carrier bag with the offending boots into one corner and took off her shoes. The feet of her tights were soaking and she must have been cold.