by Debbie Young
“Please carry on with the play, while I go and help our friend here work out what’s happened to her baby. I’m sure there’s a simple and satisfactory explanation.”
She led the stranger gently but firmly down the central aisle towards the privacy of the vestry. In her wake, Bob, our village policeman, squeezed past the others in his pew to dash after them. The resident doctor followed suit.
Joseph, apparently remembering his designation as God’s handyman, stepped up to the front of the chancel.
“Now, children, let’s invite the congregation to join us in ‘While Shepherds Watched’.”
45 Reunited
“Sophie, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” said Hector in a low voice masked by the singing. He was staring at me with concern.
I certainly felt as cold as a ghost. My thoughts were spinning so much I could hardly enunciate the words, although I’d sung along to this hymn often enough in the shop over the last few weeks. Then during the second verse, I had a flash of recognition.
“Celeste,” I said faintly. “No, hang on, not Celeste.”
Her child would have been much older than a baby by now.
I tugged at Hector’s sleeve.
“Hector, listen, I know who that woman is and why she’s here. Put Carol’s hair above Billy’s face.”
“What?” He gave me a funny look, then glanced at Billy behind us. “What do you mean?”
“Carol’s older man, her unsuitable Christmas suitor,” I said slowly. “It was Bertie, Billy’s brother, that she ran off with, wasn’t it? Dirty Bertie?”
Hector nodded. “How did you know?”
“Because I’m willing to put money on that being Carol’s long-lost daughter come back to find her. Carol was gone from the village for a whole year, wasn’t she? That’s long enough to have had a baby in secret, and to give it away before she returned to Wendlebury.”
Hector nodded again.
“And it happened long enough ago for her daughter to have reached the age that woman is now. Though I find it hard to believe that Carol would have abandoned her baby.”
Hector looked grim. “It might not have been her choice. It might have been taken from her by social services, especially if she was living in a van with an unsavoury partner.”
“Then when she returned to the village, she might have kept the baby a secret to avoid hurting or shaming her parents,” I said.
Hector frowned. “I suppose she could have traced the baby once her parents had died, but perhaps she was worried her daughter might not want to know her after all that time. Poor Carol.”
Everything was starting to fall into place. “I bet that’s what Damian was doing on my computer: secretly trying to trace Carol’s long-lost daughter and bring about a reunion. Carol must have confided in him about her escapade with Bertie and the resulting child. It’s a refreshing change for Damian to actually listen.”
Hector shook his head. “Poor Carol, having to live with her loss for so long.”
As the hymn finished, one of the little angels hiccupped loudly and giggled. The ridiculous noise acted like a “start” button to get the play moving again, with just a few lines remaining till the end.
Next thing I knew, the cast was lining up across the chancel to take their bows, and Joseph beckoned to me to come forward to receive the applause. I hesitated, till he came over to grab me by the hand and pull me up to the stable.
“Don’t forget Damian,” said Mary. “Where’s Damian?”
46 A New Player
Everybody looked this way and that, as if Damian was the festive answer to Where’s Wally. Looking back at our pew, I realised that Hector had also disappeared.
Then the vicar gave a wonderful speech that hit just the right note, saying it was the funniest nativity play he’d ever seen (I think he meant that as a compliment), and also one of the most moving.
“I’m sure that’s set us all up wonderfully for the rest of Advent. My wife and I couldn’t have wished for a more memorable welcome back to the village. You can always count on Wendlebury Barrow to be that little bit different and inventive. The Wendlebury way, ha ha. And that very special interpretation of the story of Jesus’s birth will be popping in and out of our heads all over Christmas.”
The vicar blessed the congregation, then urged us to stay and enjoy the lovely spread that had been laid out at the back of the church. I returned to the pew as people filed down the aisles towards the buffet tables, gossiping and chattering no doubt about the mysterious intruder. Their children ran from the front to rejoin their families, as eagerly as lambs in a field finding their ewes.
I sat down hard on the pew, and stared for a while, glassy-eyed, at the stable, which had been the focal point of my ambitions these last few weeks. Unable to believe it was all over, I felt strangely deflated.
I don’t know how long I’d sat there when I felt a warm hand clamp down on my shoulder. I recognised Damian’s touch.
“Sophie,” said Damian’s voice. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Really?” Adrenaline surged through me. I shot to my feet, recognising the sound of a baby gurgling behind me, and spun round.
There stood Damian with his arm round the girl. Carol stood beside her, flushed with excitement, cuddling a real live baby against her chest. Hector hovered behind them, his hand on Carol’s shoulder.
“This is Becky,” said Damian. “Carol’s daughter. And her grandson, Arthur.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “I’d just guessed.”
Unusually for him, Damian chose that moment to step out of the limelight and drift away towards the buffet.
“Hello, Sophie,” said the girl, in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry for spoiling your play.”
I slumped back down on to the pew.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, you didn’t spoil it,” I said. “The play was just fine. You carry on.”
Carol, murmuring gently to the baby, took him for a walk to the chancel to show him the manger scene. Becky followed close behind her, reaching a hand out as if unsure whether Carol might run off with him.
Hector lingered behind with me, watching after them.
“You were right, Sophie,” he said. “Carol had taken Damian into her confidence. Of course, I knew about Carol and Bertie, as did Billy, and a few other older folk in the village. But no-one ever knew that Carol had had a baby, until she told Damian. Apparently the baby was taken away from her by social services for its own safety, because of Bertie’s violence. What an awful thing to happen.”
Carol and Becky were talking shyly to each other. Carol had started to show Becky points of interest in the church, then slowly they became less aware of their surroundings and gazed only at each other, registering their undeniable bond.
“The likeness is uncanny when you see them together,” Hector agreed. “I’ve seen photos of Carol at Becky’s age, and they could be the same person.”
“It’s like watching the same person thirty years apart,” I whispered.
Then Hector frowned.
“What on earth made you mention Celeste when she first appeared? Surely you didn’t think it was Celeste come back to haunt me all the way from Australia?”
I thought fast. “Oh, I didn’t mean your Celeste. I was just naming angels. Celeste is a popular name for an angel, isn’t it, like Gabriel? Perhaps I’ve just been spending too much time in the company of angels lately.”
47 Director’s Cut
With perfect timing, Jemima and two of her little friends marched up to us with a couple of plates of Middle Eastern snacks. “The dinner ladies said we’ve got to give you these.” They meant the WI.
The array of bite-sized pittas, falafels, dates, olives and grapes looked delicious, and I realised how hungry I was.
“Thanks, girls, and well done,” I said, as we each accepted a plate gratefully. “You did brilliantly in the play.”
They giggled and ran back down the aisle, whispering
excitedly to each other. I bit gratefully into a date, but then nearly choked on it as I remembered the most important thing.
“But what happened to the baby? How had he got into the manger, and how did he disappear?”
Hector paused, a falafel halfway to his mouth.
“Apparently while Carol was in the church on her own, laying out the costumes before the cast arrived, she heard a snuffling in the chancel. She went to investigate, pulled back the blanket, and found a baby fast asleep. Thinking he had been abandoned, she picked him up and carried him back to the vestry to look after him while she worked out what to do next. Not wanting to disrupt the play, she hid him in the wardrobe, where the vicar’s robes are stored, and she stayed in the vestry with him till the play was over to make sure he was OK. Despite all the noise, the baby didn’t wake up till he heard his mother’s cry of distress. Which is rather touching when you think about it.”
“And remarkably obliging of the baby. Still, Becky did say he’s a good sleeper. But how did he come to be in the manger in the first place, if that isn’t a silly question?”
“Becky had left him there, thinking that if she presented the baby to Carol in front of the whole village, she’d be less likely to turn them away. Becky was used to being turned away by people. Arthur’s father did a runner before the baby was even born.”
“Poor Becky, and poor Arthur.”
At that point, Damian came striding up to us cheerfully, a glass of mulled wine in one hand and a plate piled high with food in the other. I guessed the WI had fallen for his charms too.
“I bet you didn’t see that plot twist coming,” he grinned.
I turned on him. “Damian! What the hell did you think you were playing at, interfering in Carol’s secret past?”
“If what you mean, Sophie, is was it my idea to track down Carol’s long-lost daughter, then yes, it was. But only after Carol had told me about Becky, and made it clear how much she regretted having to give her up as a baby. She had no idea that Becky had a baby too. I only found out once I’d traced her and gone to meet her for the first time in my van.”
I felt slightly mollified.
“But it was bloody difficult to get Becky to hook up with Carol once I’d got her down here,” said Damian. “She was too nervous of rejection, too worried that Carol wouldn’t want to know her. As if! So, as you may have guessed by now, she’s been living in my van for the last couple of weeks, getting up the nerve to meet her long-lost mother.”
“In your van? In December? Damian, how could you let her?”
He looked at me evenly. “Sophie, if I’ve learned anything since I came here, it’s that I can’t make women do what they don’t want to do.”
48 Exit, Pursued by a Donkey
Hector, setting down his empty plate, quietly looped his arm round me, as if staking his claim. Damian went on speaking, his mouth full of pitta bread.
“Becky told me she was going to take Arthur to the church to introduce him to Carol, while I went to fetch Janet, the donkey. She must have chickened out. By the time I got back, I had to get straight on with directing the play. I just assumed they’d hooked up and all was fine. It never occurred to me that she might have done something that mad.”
Carol and Becky were now sitting in the choir stalls, playing with the baby together. He seemed an exceptionally good-natured child. To look at them, you’d think they’d known each other all their lives.
“I suppose I can understand why she’d behave that way if she was worried about rejection. I mean, who’s going to reject a baby found in a manger in the run-up to Christmas? But hang on, Damian, anyone could have come along and carried the baby off. Then where would she be?”
Damian shook his head. “Oh no, Becky had planned to come forward the minute the baby was discovered, and announce herself to Carol and everyone then. She is a very good mother. She adores little Arthur.”
“But, Damian, she let him sleep in your van!”
Damian put his finger against his lips to silence me. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’s been in places a lot worse. Lived in a squat for a while after her boyfriend ditched her. Maybe now she’s landed on her feet at last.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
As I had been Carol’s friend long before Damian was, I felt irked to be late to the party.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before, Sophie. But Becky wouldn’t let me say anything to anyone until she was ready, and I respected that. It took all my dramatic powers to persuade her to come to the village at all, bigging up how sad and lonely Carol is. Although—” he looked at his feet “—I didn’t need to exaggerate.”
I nodded.
“I drove down to Brighton to collect her from this awful hostel she was living in, then when we got back here, she refused to come out of the van. When I told her about your nativity play, she dreamed up the mad notion that it would be the perfect time to reveal herself and her baby to Carol. What else could I have done? I could hardly throw her out of the van, could I?”
I looked up to the chancel, where Carol and Becky were standing close together by the manger, Arthur in his grandmother’s arms. Carol looked as if she’d just opened the best Christmas present she’d ever had.
“No, Damian, you did the right thing. It can’t have been easy for you either.”
Carol looked up and saw me watching them, and beckoned us all over.
“Sophie, isn’t my grandson gorgeous? He and Becky have come to spend Christmas with me.”
For the first time, Becky smiled.
“And maybe a bit longer,” added Carol.
Damian looked smug. “Well, there you go, Carol. You kept saying I was the son you never had, and now you’ve got your daughter back, and a grandson as a bonus. I was just the understudy. Now the play’s over, and all’s right with the world, I think my work here is done.”
He stepped back, and I knew he was going to have one of his dramatic moments. He recited grandly, gesturing at the features of the church around him:
“‘Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep’.”
“‘The Tempest’,” said Becky, shyly, looking up at him from under her long lashes. “Prospero’s speech.”
“Bloody hell,” said Damian, wide-eyed. I glanced at Hector, who was smiling approvingly.
For a split second, Carol looked disappointed. “Does that mean you’re off, then, Damian?”
He nodded.
“Yes. Call me Mary Poppins. I suspect that’s more up your street than Prospero, Carol. And yours, Sophie.”
He winked at Becky.
“You don’t need me any more. None of you do.” He shot me a reproachful glance. “So I’ll be off to my folks in Northampton tonight, then back to Spain with the rest of my theatre company for the New Year. I thought we might have time to squeeze in an improvised panto before our spring tour starts.” He flashed his best smile. “Your script has inspired me, Sophie.”
Coming from Damian, this was praise indeed. I didn’t even mind that he was comparing my nativity play to a pantomime.
“So I’ll be out of your hair, Carol, and Becky can have my room.”
Becky looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. She spoke in a small, quavering voice. “Damian, I don’t have the words to thank you.”
“No thanks required,” he said briskly. “If Carol hadn’t been so kind to me, it wouldn’t have happened. I’m just glad I was able to r
eturn the favour she did me. You did ask for payment in kind, didn’t you, Carol?”
Carol, for once, was rendered speechless. She bent her head to kiss the now sleeping baby’s forehead.
“Anyway, you’ll have to excuse me now. I’ve got a date with a donkey before I shoot off – got to return Janet to Stanley. Then my matchmaking duties will be over for the night.”
Becky threw her arms around his neck, then clung to him for a moment while shedding a few tears of gratitude. Then, to my surprise, Carol pressed the baby into my arms to free herself to hug them both together.
49 A Christmas Feast
“So, time to send out for the biggest turkey in the shop?” asked Hector, mischievously once Damian had gone.
Becky turned to Carol.
“Actually, I’m vegetarian,” she said anxiously. “I hope you don’t mind?”
Carol laughed. “Of course not, my dear. And anyway, I don’t usually have a turkey at home at Christmas. I volunteer at the homeless shelter in Slate Green on Christmas Day and eat there with the clients. You can come and help, if you like? Little Arthur would bring a smile to their faces, I’m sure.”
Becky’s eyes were wide. “You’re one of those volunteers? That’s amazing. You change lives, people like you.”
I guessed she’d passed through a lot of shelters like that in her time.
Any further conversation on that score was cut short by the arrival of Tommy, who came bounding across from the buffet table carrying a plate piled high with food, eager to add his twopenn’orth. He’d turned his t-shirt back to front now, to make sure no-one missed its slogan.
“Finish your mouthful first, please, Tommy,” I said, picking a damp speck of his falafel off my top.
We all waited expectantly to see what he was so eager to tell us. He swallowed hard.
“The thing is, Sina was wrong about my mum’s baby,” he said cheerily. “I mean, she isn’t having one. But I’ve still got that board book I bought for it. Do you think your baby would like it, miss? I mean, I know what it’s like to grow up without a dad. You don’t get so many presents. I’d really like to give the board book to your baby.”