I’d emailed it to him the previous evening and he’d agreed to speak to her to let her know we’d decided to take a new direction. He’d also agreed he’d be here to help me this morning.
When I looked up a second later Mrs Roberts had disappeared. I gave Nate an expectant look, waiting for him to cross the hall floor and join me. Instead he waved his phone, mouthed, ‘Text you,’ and bloody disappeared!
I glared at the empty doorway. This was not what I’d signed up for.
Resigned but with low simmering anger, I turned back to the task at hand. It took some time but eventually I had five carols, all of which would fit perfectly within the story and included O Little Town of Bethlehem, We Three Kings and Silent Night. I was starting to feel a slight sense of euphoria.
‘OK, now I need some characters for the nativity. Some really good actors. Could you put your hand up if you would like to say a few lines?’
Jack’s hand shot up. ‘I want to be the armadillo.’
I gave him another smile – there was no way I was putting an armadillo into my nice traditional script – and turned to some of the other children. I could have predicted that George would be one of them, although I could already see quite a few children sinking back into their little bodies, trying to make themselves invisible and as unobtrusive as possible. ‘No one has to say lines if they don’t want to,’ I added more gently, smiling at some of the anxious faces. ‘You can sing the carols with everyone else.’
I had a good thirty children keen to show their stuff. I gave the doorway one last look. It really did look like I was on my own. Thankfully, the teaching assistant, who was pretty capable, agreed to take half the children over to the other side of the hall and she started practising the words to Away in a Manger with them, while I tried to get the measure of the children who wanted parts. I looked enviously at the piano. Teaching carols was much more in my comfort zone.
Come on, Viola, you’ve just got to get on with it. At least I had a script that made some sense now.
I’d shamelessly stolen the story of Jesus’s Christmas Party, writing the script with a fair bit of padding of my own, while taking complete advantage of Bella’s hospitality as she’d put the girls to bed and cooked pizza. During that time I’d created what I hoped was a half hour play and then used her printer to print out the lines for the innkeeper and his wife and other key parts for audition.
When the break bell rang the children all scattered like marbles, racing off at varying speeds towards the long corridor down to their classrooms.
‘Well handled,’ said the teaching assistant. ‘They can be a tricky bunch.’
She didn’t know how close I’d come to giving one of the boys a Chinese burn, but I don’t think you’re allowed to do that.
‘I’m more worried about whether Mrs Roberts will approve. This isn’t quite as flamboyant … and I’ve heard the previous productions have been …’ I waved my hands to illustrate all-singing, all-dancing.
She snorted. ‘Yes. They have.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Load of crap. It’s all Emperor’s New Clothes. Crocodile Rock! For Pete’s sake, what’s that about? Whatever happened to good old Christmas carols?’
‘Yeah, but …’
‘Don’t you fret, pet. The parents are going to love it. I’ve read the script. It’s funny, although you’re going to have to put an armadillo in it.’
‘There isn’t going to be an armadillo,’ I said firmly with a grin, but her face was deadly serious.
‘You don’t know Jack.’
‘You look like you need a large slice of cake,’ said Sally, when I marched with quick, jerky strides into the Daily Grind at eleven o’clock, my coat flapping behind me. I’d just picked up Nate’s text.
Meet you later. Coffee. Couldn’t make rehearsal. Had a call I had to deal with.
‘And the rest,’ I snapped, feeling the tension riding in my jaw. ‘I don’t suppose you do gin at this time of the day?’ I glanced around the room, a frown on my face. Where was he?
The morning mums crowd were long gone and there were only a few people dotted about at tables, most hiding behind laptop screens, absorbed in what they were doing.
‘Bad morning?’
I heaved out a juddering sigh, feeling my furious pulse finally starting to slow. ‘It started well but I was let down.’
‘Ah, one of those,’ sympathised Sally, snatching up a white china cup and saucer. ‘Cappuccino?’
‘Oh, God, yes, please. And cake.’
‘Coffee and walnut?’
‘Perfect.’
‘And where would you like it?’ she asked, her eyes sliding over my shoulder with definite meaning.
I looked over at the same time that Nate Williams lifted his head from his laptop. I glared at him.
As I approached his table, he pushed his laptop to one side. ‘Morning, you got my text then.’
‘About two minutes ago,’ I snapped.
‘Ah, sorry.’ At least he had the decency to look a little sheepish.
‘It’s fine … What could be better than managing sixty children on your own?’
He winced. ‘How did it go? I … I’m sorry I didn’t make it. I’ve had a couple of …’ he rubbed at one of his eyes ‘… things to sort out this morning.’ Studying him properly, I realised he looked tired. One eye was quite bloodshot and there was a grim set to his mouth. ‘How was this morning? You did a great job on the new script … for someone who’s not very artistic. I love that you’re telling the story from the innkeeper’s point of view.’
‘Thank you … not my idea, though. I pinched it from a book. Jesus’s Christmas Party.’
‘Well pinched, though. So how did it go down with the children?’
‘Good.’ I softened. He did look a bit crap. ‘And I got through quite a bit this morning. Recast everyone. Your daughter is now the very bossy innkeeper’s wife.’
He laughed. ‘Typecasting. She can be quite bossy.’ Then he sobered, his expression pensive. ‘Some of the time.’
‘And I’ve found the most perfect innkeeper.’
‘That’s great. Sounds like you’ve made good progress.’
‘I’d make more with some help,’ I said pointedly.
He winced. ‘That might be problematic, this week. Svetlana, she’s our nanny, her mum’s very ill. She had to catch a train home this morning.’
‘A train?’ I’d assumed, with her name and accent, home would be a flight away.
Nate let out a mirthless laugh. ‘She comes from Wigan. Been here since she was seven. But I’m really stuck without any childcare. I can work from home … while Grace is at school but it’s almost impossible when she gets home. I’m going to have to maximise those hours when she’s at school to get stuff done.’
‘Great,’ I groaned.
‘It’s not exactly a picnic for me, trying to juggle everything, but Svetlana says she’ll be back in a couple of days.’ He glanced back at his computer screen.
‘Sorry I interrupted you. You’re working.’
He let out a short laugh and turned the screen around to reveal a webpage with the heading, Simple Gingerbread House Recipe – BBC Good Food.
‘Interesting; I didn’t have you down as a baker.’
‘I’m