A Merry Mistletoe Wedding (12 page)

‘No. Thanks for your input but it's out of the question. I think we need a proper nativity play,' Melanie declared. ‘One that will firmly ground the pupils in the story of what Christmas is really about.'

‘Apart from what Christmas is about to the many pupils here who aren't Christian, that is,' the deputy head put in a rebellious bid and smiled at Thea across the table. She smiled back at him, grateful for the support.

There was a general muttering and shuffling and after only a very brief discussion Melanie declared that there would be a traditional nativity play with those who weren't in the main roles being cast as various plants, animals and angels. She then moved on to asking who had got the manger that they'd used the previous year and would they please return it immediately.

‘Why did she bother asking for ideas if she'd already made up her mind?' Thea asked Jenny as they went off to take the afternoon classes. ‘It was a complete waste of time. And we had a nativity play last year, and the year before, so they must have got the hang of the Bible version of Christmas by now. I thought something a bit different, maybe every other year, would be more dramatically challenging for the children. I'd got a whole set of lesson plans mapped out too. I was going to take them out to look at how the dead-looking trees and shrubs were already forming spring buds and tell them the story of how mistletoe came to be associated with thunder and was thought to protect against fire and lightning.'

‘Boxes to tick, forms to fill in,' Jenny told her, giving her a brief hug. ‘You've got great ideas but Melanie hasn't really got the imagination to give you scope to use them. You can still do the nature thing though, can't you? It's a good project.'

‘I've started wondering what's the point of carrying on here, to be honest. These children are being taught by numbers, pretty much. There are other ways.'

‘But if you hang on in, you'll be head of a school in a couple of years and then you can run things your way.'

‘I
could
be head if I toe the line but I'm not sure I want to … I think you had a point about Forest Schools. There are so many ways for children to learn; they could be so much more proactive. They all start here burning with eagerness to learn and by eleven, too often the fire's half out.'

‘As I said, box-ticking and Ofsted and SATs – they've all got so much to answer for.'

‘Well, thank goodness it's half-term at the end of the week. I'm off to stay with Sean. I feel a bit sorry for him – I'll probably spend the first four hours ranting at him about work.'

‘Oh, don't do that. Just drag him off to bed. That'll sort you out!'

‘Have you made it up with your sister yet?' Charlotte let herself in through Emily and Sam's back door and surprised Emily, who was cooking pasta for Milly and Alfie.

‘What do you mean “made it up”? It makes it sound like we've had a childish spat.'

Charlotte's eyebrows went up. Emily noticed they looked a bit pink round the edges and guessed she'd had them threaded that afternoon.

‘And you haven't?' Charlotte went on. ‘What would you call it then?'

Emily drained the pasta and shrugged. ‘It's nothing. Just … I don't know, I can't even remember. It was nothing.'

‘It was
not
nothing – it's about her
wedding
, which is massively important and the longer you leave it, the more
not
nothing it'll get. After all, shouldn't she be able to count on you to help her find a dress and decide if she wants bridesmaids and whatever else weddings have?'

Emily sighed. ‘I did all that with her last time and then it all fell to bits. She probably wouldn't want me around anyway.'

‘Last time?'

‘When she nearly married that one who left her. Rich. It was only a few weeks before the wedding. She's better off without me interfering.' Emily divided the pasta between two dishes. A couple of tubes of penne fell to the floor and she ignored them as she dolloped on some sauce (blobs on the worktop) and grated cheese over the top. Charlotte frowned and as soon as Emily put the plates on the table and went to call the children, she picked up a J-cloth and wiped down the granite surface and picked up the stray pasta.

‘Oh, come on now, it doesn't sound like your input made the difference.' She shoved the floored pasta in the bin.

Emily shrugged. ‘Well, if she
did
ask my opinion, she knows I'd be saying not Christmas and not Cornwall. I was
so
unhappy there last year. That snow, that
trapped
feeling …' She shuddered.

‘But that's not your decision though, is it, love? With weddings, we just have to go along with the bride and groom's choice. Can't you think about how much fun the day will be? How lovely to see your sister so happy?'

Emily shook her head slowly. ‘I just can't,' she said.

Charlotte looked at her closely. ‘You look terrible, Emily, if you don't mind me saying. I mean, you're all droopy and don't-careish. It's not like you. Just look at your hair.'

Emily glared at her and said, ‘I do mind you saying, actually.' And then she burst into tears, thumping her body into a chair at the table between the two dishes of pasta and sobbing into her hands.

‘Oh shit. Sorry, all my fault. Hang on, I'll get Sam,' Charlotte said. ‘Give me a sec.' She went out to the garden office, clattered open the door without knocking and surprised Sam in the middle of some sneaky computer Minecraft. ‘Get in here quick, Sam, and help me take care of the kids. Emily's not happy and I can't stay more than a few minutes. I've got a job audition.'

‘Oh, please tell me she's not crying again,' he said, slowly putting his feet down from where he'd been resting them on the desk. ‘She's like a leaky tap.'

‘She's depressed, you idiot. Any fool can see that.'

‘No she's not,' he said. ‘She's always been a crier.'

‘Just come in and give her a hug or something. It's not as if you were up to your eyes in work, is it?'

‘I've got a mega-deadline – can't you look after her?'

‘Deadline? Yeah, right. I could see. And no, I can't, not this time. I only called in for a wee. As I said, I've got somewhere to be.'

‘OK. You won't say anything though, will you?' he said, nodding back towards the now-closed computer as he locked the office behind him.

‘About you diddling about doing sod all? Not unless I have to,' she told him. ‘Now come and give me some back-up. The poor woman needs a break and a hair-wash and blow-dry. It might sound frivolous but it'll perk her up a bit. All the small things help.'

Sam trailed into the kitchen with Charlotte, and Emily looked up at him, her face blotchy and streaked with tears. She didn't protest as Charlotte hauled her out of the chair and led her firmly into the sitting room, pushing her down on to the sofa. Baby Ned was sleeping in his Moses basket under the window.

‘When did you last get out of this house?' Charlotte asked.

‘Dunno,' Emily told her. ‘A while.'

‘Not even to the shops?'

‘Ocado delivers,' Emily said, picking at a small hole in her sleeve. She didn't like being questioned but understood that Charlotte was being kind. Kind upset her though. It made her want to cry. Actually, almost everything did: a handmade get-well card from Milly and Alfie (she hadn't even claimed to be ill); a homeless cat on the internet; Christmas adverts with everyone looking so carefree and happy. Anything could set her off.

‘Look, honey, go and wash your face and I'll drop you off in the car. You're going to get your hair properly done.'

Emily laughed as she brushed away some more random tears. ‘My hair? Bloody hell, what's the point?'

‘You'll feel better, is the point. However awful you're feeling, if you can make yourself feel a tiny bit better about the bits of you round the edges that are easily sorted then it won't do any harm. Sam will look after the children.'

‘I'm taking Ned,' she said. ‘I like him to be with me.'

Charlotte eyed her. ‘You won't leave him even for an hour?'

Emily slid up the sofa, closer to the basket, as if Charlotte were about to take him away. ‘Not for a minute. It's just in case, you know?'

‘Listen, I've got to go to a thing, a work thing, but I can drop you off on the High Road and you can go to that Blow and Go place in the precinct where you don't need an appointment. Or nails. Would you prefer a manicure?'

‘Nails? Er … no. No point.'

‘OK, hair then. But I do insist.'

Emily smiled. ‘You're very bossy.'

‘I am. And I'm also very right. You've dug yourself in here and you need to start tunnelling out again. Before you know it, it'll be Christmas.'

‘Yes, that's soon,' Emily half whispered, ‘and I haven't done anything.'

‘Of course you have. You've had a baby. Get the children to make a list for Santa and Sam can sort it out. There's plenty of time. Now, let me have a quick wazz and we'll go.'

There were too many people in the shopping mall and Emily felt nervous as she pushed the pram through the crowd. Where did they all come from, late afternoon on a weekday? She wished Charlotte had been able to come with her because since she'd got out of the car and clicked the Bugaboo's seat into place on the wheels, she'd felt weirdly unsafe and vulnerable, all soft-edged, like an unshelled egg. The shop windows were Halloween-themed with orange and black everywhere and flashing scarlet devil masks and green fright wigs. Each sound, all the echoes of voices, the music blasting from shopfronts, was far too jaggedly loud and Emily pulled the hood of the pram up so that Ned wouldn't be overwhelmed by clamour. The garish masks and oversize plastic spider webs and witch outfits looked extra cheap and pointless and she feared for his new little spirit being contaminated by tat.

Outside Blow and Go, she hesitated and peeked inside. There was tuneless rap music playing, harsh and angry. The young hairdressers were wearing black tunics over spider-web leggings and most of them had green and white face paint and witch hats or horns. One girl had vampire teeth and a fake blood trickle painted from her mouth. Emily shuddered. Two large boys on skateboards raced past, almost colliding with the pram, and, in a panic, she reached into it and took Ned out, wrapped in his blue blanket, cuddling him close to her, stroking his soft, sleepy head. His fingers spread out like little starfish as he half-woke and then he drifted off again, tucked inside her coat.

‘It's all right, baby. We'll go home. It'll be safe at home.' She murmured to him, kissing his fuzzy little head. There were more skateboards and a shouted commotion and a woman behind yelled, ‘Hey, you!' Emily pulled away, pressing against the salon with Ned safely between her and the glass till the jumble of noises subsided. When she looked back again, she had a confused moment of wondering what was missing that should be there and then she realized. The pram had vanished.

‘Oh God,' she whispered to herself. ‘Oh God, that fucking interfering Charlotte.'

‘For heaven's sake, what kind of twat would steal a
pram
?' Mike asked Sam. He and Anna called in to see Emily as soon as they heard about the theft. Emily was curled up in a corner of the sofa, saying very little, clutching Ned to her even though he was fast asleep. She'd put a cosy lavender throw and some cushions over her legs and gave the impression of having built herself a barricade.

The day was a dark, rainy one and Sam had lit the wood-burner. With the lamps glowing, the place looked cosy and pretty and yet also a little unloved. Last week's papers were piled up near the front door, too late for that week's recycling. Anna had seen a trail of children's clothes up the stairs and a pile of clean clothes was balanced precariously on the banisters, ready to be put away. All was a long way from well.

‘Anyone with an eye to a few quid,' Sam told them. ‘They cost a bomb, those fancy buggies, and Em insisted she needed the most state-of-the-art gizmo for this baby. God knows why, but it's the must-have for all the smart mummies. The big fat four-by-four of prams. Anyway, it's probably on eBay as we speak. I'd have a look and go and grab it back but Emily won't let me. Says she never wants to see it again.'

‘It would feel cursed,' Emily chimed in. ‘Ned could have been in it. He was in it only seconds before. What would the evil thieving bastards have done with him? Thrown him out on to the concrete floor or in the road? Suppose they'd taken him and kept him or
sold
him? Or worse, he could have …' Her eyes filled with tears.

‘But he wasn't in it.' Anna put her arm round Emily. ‘And they only wanted a valuable piece of kit, not a baby. You can't sell babies.' She wasn't entirely sure about this but it was the safest thing to say. Emily's imagination was quite capable of conjuring up awfulness without back-up from her own mother.

‘I could see it all, like a huge fast flash.' Emily sobbed into a piece of kitchen roll. ‘If they'd got him, the whole thing from then on went through my head: the press, the “Oh, the careless mother, letting a child go from under her nose while she looked in a shop.” Blame, hate, the horror, all
my
fault. Stupid, feckless woman, doesn't deserve a baby, it should be taken into care … People can be so vile.'

‘Oh, come on now, Emily, none of that happened,' Mike told her. ‘Not even close. Some yobs mugged you. They probably hoped you'd left your bag in it as well so they could get cash and a couple of credit cards at the same time. In fact that's all they would be after. The pram was probably abandoned somewhere by the river, or even in it, like a nicked car.'

‘I hate London. I loved it and couldn't imagine being anywhere but here in this house but now it's spoiled. I don't want to live here any more. I need to feel safe. I need to be somewhere the children can feel safe,' Emily said through more tears.