‘That’s not what you said when she sent the chair of the PTA in, demanding that we provide all the coffee for the summer fete last year.’
‘It was for a good cause,’ said Sally.
‘So are our profits,’ retorted the other woman.
I glanced at Nate, my eyes widening with apprehension. ‘You were about to say?’
He grimaced. ‘I said I’d help because Grace wanted me to come into school and I –’ his lips curved in a rueful smile ‘– and I thought this would be a nice easy gig. A couple of hours once a week, but that was when Mrs Davies was in charge. I didn’t sign up for full-on producing and directing.’
‘Neither did I. I thought I’d be helping with some musical arrangements.’
We both lapsed into silence.
‘Have you told her about the star of Bethlehem, the year before?’ Sally butted in, bringing Nate’s coffee over. ‘Full-on pyrotechnics. Looked incredible. Although I did worry when I saw the caretaker on standby with two fire extinguishers.’
We both glared at her and she backed away hurriedly.
‘What are we going to do?’ I broke the silence, putting my elbow on the table and resting my chin in my palm.
‘Isn’t there anyone else at the Opera House that could help … someone –’ he lifted his shoulders in a half-hearted attempt at tact ‘– you know, with the script or something?’
‘I don’t think anyone could help with that script.’
He shot me a quick amused smile before tapping his steepled fingers against his lower lip, drawing my gaze to his mouth. Very sexy mouth.
I waved my hands, cross with myself for noticing that totally inappropriate fact, as if to push the thought away. But of course, like a particularly pernicious thorn, it had embedded itself. He has a wife, Viola.
‘I’m going to be tied up all weekend … Do you think you could have a go at writing the next scene? You’re the artistic one and we need something by Monday.’
I eyed him, feeling less than charitable towards him. ‘What with me only working on Saturday night, you mean?’
He frowned. ‘No, that’s not what I meant at all. I’ll help with other things but I’m not a writer; believe me, I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. I rely on facts, logic and what I can see and touch. Music is artistic, creative, isn’t it?’
‘Actually, no, it’s quite mathematical, actually. But, like you say, we need something by Monday. I’ll have a go … but I’m not promising miracles.’
‘I’ll see if I can round up some more parent helpers and I’ll help where I can. Why don’t I give you my mobile number? You can call me if there’s a problem. I am a governor, so –’ he gave a self-deprecating laugh ‘– I have some clout, apparently.’
We swapped numbers, in a grown-up, businesslike fashion. I didn’t think I’d be swapping any flirty texts with him any time soon. The little tentative butterfly wing quivers of excitement that had fluttered earlier in my stomach had been well and truly swatted by his businesslike attitude.
‘One thing we do need to do, and quickly, is to let the parents know what they need to provide, costume-wise, as soon as possible. Everyone is very busy at this time of year and, as Grace mentioned, it really is a faff for parents to have to go out hunting for things. Elaine, my wife, was extremely stressed last year at having to find the right colour leggings and T-shirt.’ He winced. ‘You’ve seen the cast list.’
I had indeed, although my mind was otherwise distracted. At last the wife had a name. Elaine sounded like a cool blonde.
‘Grace is a crocodile; I’m guessing that’s green leggings and T-shirt,’ said Nate with a frown. He looked at his watch, again with a little shake of his head. ‘I, for one, certainly won’t have time to go and buy that sort of thing, and neither will her mother. Work is full-on at the moment.’
I looked at his smart suit and the expensive watch on his wrist, the one that he’d looked at for a third time. Wife. Nanny. Suddenly I felt a little bit sorry for Grace.
‘And I guess that is very important,’ I said with sudden bite. ‘What is it you do?’
If he said brain-surgeon I’d give him a pass.
‘I’m a lawyer.’
Of all the jobs he could have said.
Paul was a lawyer and I still had the sour taste of the cold, precise way he’d drawn up lists of our possessions, allocating ownership where it was due before dismantling our relationship once and for all. He gave me a six-page document … right before he dumped me.
I threw another piece of crumpled paper across the room. This was impossible. I wasn’t a scriptwriter. How the hell was I supposed to shoehorn the Noah’s ark of animals into the story of Jesus’ birth?
Bella walked into her kitchen clutching a large glass of white wine and topped my glass up. ‘Not made any progress?’ she asked with a smirk.
‘No, I bloody have not.’
She sniggered, much like she’d been doing ever since I arrived for our usual Sunday evening get-together. For once she’d left me to it while she bathed the girls.
I came most weeks to escape the silence of my flat and the heavy quiet of solo living, which I still hadn’t quite got used to. On good days when I’d been busy and out working, I told myself that I was embracing the silence and the independence of single life. The paint colours on the walls were all mine, the chocolate and crisps stayed put unless I’d eaten them and no one hammered on the door when I took an hour-long bath.
But on Sundays the quiet was overpowering, almost suffocating, especially when everyone else seemed to embrace that night before school need to stay home.
‘It really isn’t funny,’ I said, sitting back and looking at the cast list and the only existing page of script.
‘I think “to affinity and Bethlehem” is inspired,’ she snorted again.
‘You would; you don’t have to finish the rest of the story. I mean, seriously, how do I get a unicorn and a narwhal into the story? I’m pretty sure there’s not much sea between Nazareth and Bethlehem.’
Bella had all but spat her wine all over the pristine white surfaces in her kitchen when I’d arrived and first told her about the rocking crocodiles, hissing snakes and the armadillos and flamingos. Like Nate, she had grave reservations about the costumes.
‘I’m going into school tomorrow; I’ve got to have something,’ I said, despair starting to grip. ‘I can’t think of any dolphin songs or yak songs or unicorn songs for that matter. I’ve been racking my brains all weekend for anything suitable.’
‘I might be a tad old-fashioned but what’s wrong with Christmas carols?’ asked Bella.
She had a good point.
‘Why don’t you take a break?’ she suggested. ‘While I shove the pizzas in the oven and knock up a quick salad. You could go and read the girls a story.’ The latter was added with a sly smile.
I threw my pen down. ‘I think I will. Where are they? In the lounge?’
‘I said they could watch ten minutes of Blue Planet.’
Ella and Rosa were rosy-cheeked and smelled of lavender when I sat down between them on the sofa. I felt a tug at my heart at the sight of them in their