Читать книгу Notting Hill in the Snow - Jules Wake, Jules Wake - Страница 9

‘Which terminal is it, Dad?’ I asked as I spotted the sign for the slip road for Terminals One, Two and Three.

He began fumbling through the travel folder on his knees. ‘Do you know, I’m not sure,’ he said in a chatty, conversational way, completely unmoved by the fact that I needed to make a major directional decision in the next thirty seconds.

‘Do you think you could find out quickly, because if it’s Terminals One, Two or Three I need to come off the motorway in a minute.’

I heard the shuffle of paperwork and tried to breathe slowly – in, out, in, out.

‘Any time soon,’ I said, looking in my mirror, taking preparatory action by indicating and trying to get into the left lane, just in case.

‘I think it might be Four. Or it might be Five. It was Four last time.’

Damn, the Range Rover in the lane next to me was speeding up; he wasn’t going to let me in and the car behind me was getting closer and flashing its lights. I floored the accelerator and, to the accompaniment of the angry blare of the horn of the Range Rover, I nipped into the almost non-existent space between him and an articulated lorry as we reached the first countdown sign to the slip road.

‘Dad! I need a decision.’

‘Four,’ he said. ‘We definitely flew from Four last time. Oh, no, it was Five. It was the new one. Do you know, it’s the largest building in the UK and is big enough to hold fifty football pitches?’

‘That’s interesting,’ I said with a sigh as I put my foot down on the accelerator and sailed past the slip road.

‘Well, I’ll be there in perfect time,’ he said, checking his watch, oblivious to the sharp manoeuvre of the Range Rover, which wheeled out from behind me to overtake and when the driver drew alongside he made his displeasure quite clear with a few choice hand gestures. ‘My flight’s not until three-thirty and I’m checked in.’

‘Great,’ I said through gritted teeth, looking at the traffic on the other side of the M4 already starting to back up. I’d planned to drop him at twelve-thirty, which would leave me plenty of time to battle the traffic back into central London, but he’d faffed about trying to decide whether to take a front door key with him and then decided that he ought to have another book on the flight, which he’d packed in his suitcase. By the time we’d left my parents’ apartment, just ten minutes from my flat, it was half an hour later than I would have liked. And then the traffic was horrendous on the M4 because a lane was closed.

Just as we approached the slip road – I’d moved over in plenty of time – my dad suddenly said, ‘Of course, last time I went to Atlanta I flew British Airways.’

I risked a quick glance at him as he turned an apologetic face my way. ‘We’ve still got plenty of time. I’ve checked in online. I only have to drop my case.’

I gritted my teeth. I had to get back to Notting Hill, drop the car and get to the school in time for two and it was already ten past one.

‘I’m flying Virgin Atlantic this time,’ Dad announced, apropos of nothing. There was a silence in the car. ‘Not British Airways.’

‘Does that mean that it might not be Terminal Five?’ I asked, my fingers almost strangling the steering wheel.

‘I think –’ Dad drew out the syllables as I negotiated a roundabout, following the signs to Terminal Five ‘– that’s for British Airways flights only.’

‘Oh, for … sake,’ I ground out under my breath as I did a hasty left signal and pulled back into the main stream of traffic going around the roundabout. ‘Are you definitely flying Virgin?’

‘Yes,’ said Dad. ‘See here.’ He held up the paperwork just under my nose as if I could calmly take my eyes off the road and peruse the details at my leisure.

‘Dad, do you have any idea where Virgin fly from?’

‘Terminal Four?’

‘Do you know that or is it a guess?’

‘Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? If BA flies from Five, Virgin would fly from Four.’

‘Not necessarily,’ I said, driving for the second time around the roundabout, past the turning for Terminal Five. ‘Is there any way you could look it up on your phone quickly? I can’t keep driving round and round this roundabout.’

When I started the third circuit, I took an executive decision and took the turning for Terminal Four.

‘I might have got it wrong, you know. I think Terminal Five is for all flights to America, so that would mean Virgin do fly from there,’ said Dad, looking back over his shoulder at the roundabout as he lifted his phone to his ear.

‘Who are you calling? I asked, glancing over at him.

‘Your mother; she might know.’

I raised my eyes heavenward before I spoke. Dad was a gentle soul; getting cross with him would be counter-productive … but seriously.

‘Mum isn’t going to know. You’re the frequent flyer. Just look it up on your phone.’

‘Phyllis, it’s Douglas. No, I just had a cup of coffee. They’ll give us lunch on the plane. I know, but I didn’t like to bother you.’

‘Dad …’ I ground out through gritted teeth.

‘Yes, Viola’s fine. Driving a little too fast.’ I shot him a furious look but he was oblivious, picking at the twill on his tweedy trousers. ‘No, we’re not there yet. I don’t suppose you know which terminal the flight will go from? No, I thought Five but then I’m flying Virgin Atlantic … Yes, I know, I always go BA; I’m not sure why they changed it this time.’

‘Dad!’ I yelled. My shoulders were level with my ears and any second steam was going to hiss out of my ears. When he jumped and gave me a mild-mannered look of reproach I felt doubly guilty, but seriously, he was driving me mad. ‘Clues would be good here; otherwise we’re going to be driving round and round in circles.’

‘Viola needs to know which terminal it is. We thought possibly Four, but then it might be Five … You think it’s Three? Gosh, never thought of that.’ He leaned my way, any sense of urgency completely lacking. ‘Mum thinks it might be Three. I don’t think that’s very likely, do you? It doesn’t sound right to me.’

I closed my eyes for a very brief second, wheeled the car into the left lane and followed the signs to Terminal Five, my hands gripping the steering wheel like claws. I pulled up in the drop off zone and hauled the car into a space, slamming the brakes on, almost sending Dad through the windscreen, and yanked my phone out of my pocket.

‘Well, we’ve just arrived at Terminal Five … I’ve no idea.’ He unbuckled his seat belt and went to open the door as I stabbed at my phone, typing into Google.

‘Dad!’ I yelled, grabbing his arm as he started to get out. ‘Wait, I’m looking it up.’

He turned back to me, all mild-mannered and totally reasonable, as if I were the crazy person. ‘It’s all right dear; I’ll just go and ask someone.’

I looked through the windscreen at several stern-faced police officers, their hands resting on large black guns. ‘We’re not allowed to stop here; it’s just dropping off.’

‘They won’t mind. I’ll just …’ I leaned over and tried to grab at his seat belt, catching the eye of one of the police officers who was looking at the registration plate and talking into the radio just below his shoulder.

‘But,’ said Dad, opening the car door and putting one foot out as the policeman advanced. God, he was going to get us arrested.

‘It’s Terminal Three,’ I hissed as the answer magically appeared on my screen. ‘Virgin Atlantic fly from Terminal Three.’

‘Well, that’s good,’ said Dad, hauling himself back into the car. ‘It must be just next door.’

‘As the crow flies and if we were allowed to drive across the runway, yes. But by road it’s twenty minutes back round.’ Holding my phone up, I shoved it towards him to show him the map on the screen.

‘You seem a bit tense, Viola. It’s all right. I’ve got plenty of time. In fact, I could have got the tube, you know, or the Express from Paddington. You didn’t need to drive me.’

I bit the inside of my cheek and didn’t say a word.

‘You’re very late,’ observed the receptionist, once I’d spent another five minutes on the laborious sign-in process, waiting for my escaped prisoner photo printed badge. When had schools become like Fort Knox?

‘Traffic,’ I said tightly.

‘I understood you were local,’ she said, reading the address on the DBS certificate I’d handed over. She didn’t seem in any kind of hurry to let me through the big glass maglock doors.

Finally I breached Security and was led into the big assembly hall. The wall bars and ropes, the parquet wood floor and the blue carpeted stage with the piano in the corner immediately brought back memories of my own primary school days.

‘That’s Mr Williams,’ said the school secretary, gesturing towards a familiar figure standing on the stage surrounded by small children. At the sight of him, my heart did its funny flutter thing again.

‘M-Mr Williams?’ I stuttered. I certainly hadn’t expected to see him here today.

‘He’s our parent volunteer, also helping with the nativity. And there’s Mrs Roberts, our head. I’ll introduce you.’

He glanced over, just as handsome as ever, my imaginings over the last week had not let me down, but there were no smiles this morning; he was too busy gripping a clipboard with grim determination. Even so my heart did another one of those salmon leaps of recognition and stupidly I suddenly felt a lot better about this whole nativity project.

‘Miss Smith.’ Mrs Roberts strode over on long thin legs, looking a lot more glamorous than any headteacher I remembered, to pump my hand. ‘What a result. We’re so delighted the London Metropolitan Opera Company –’ she pronounced the name with great delight ‘– is helping us like this. Our nativity is one of our biggest and best events of the year. And when our usual teacher, Mrs Davies, went down with appendicitis, we thought it was all going to be a disaster but now you’re on board and can take charge …’ She clapped her hands and beamed at me.

‘Er … um. Right.’ Take charge? Me? That wasn’t quite what I’d signed up for.

‘Of course, Mr Williams here, one of our dads and a governor, will be here to assist you. And Mrs Davies had made a good start. She’s allocated most of the parts already and started the script. This morning Mr Williams is taking the children through the opening scene with the armadillo, Joseph, Mary and the flamingos.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got a meeting.’ And with that she hurried off.

Armadillo, Joseph and flamingos? What the …?

I went over to stand near the stage, feeling a touch like Alice in Wonderland. Who needed Mad Hatters when you had armadillos and flamingos?

‘You’re late.’ He barely looked up from the clipboard at me. ‘Right. Can I have Jack, the flamingos and Mary and Joseph to run through the first scene?’

The five children, two of whom were identical twins, shuffled on stage, four of them in school uniform grey shorts and skirts and green sweatshirts sporting the school logo, a golden tree. They all carried a single sheet of A4 paper which I assumed was the script. The fifth child wore a Buzz Lightyear outfit stretched lumpily over his school uniform.

‘OK, do you want to start?’

The five of them looked at one another and inched closer to each other, ducking their heads down behind the sheets of paper. A reluctance of children.

‘Jack, off you go.’

Jack looked up from under his eyebrows, his face full of surly suspicion. ‘I am the Christmas armadillo,’ he declared with stout, if stolid, wooden authority. I bit back a snigger; that sounded horribly familiar. ‘I am here. To guide. You. Across the far. Vast desert. It is a very long journey.’

I looked at the floor. Friends, that was it. The holiday armadillo. Ross in fancy dress. I swallowed the smile because Mr Williams definitely wasn’t seeing the funny side of anything this afternoon.

‘Joseph, you must follow me,’ continued Jack. ‘Our good friends, the flamingos …’ The twins looked at each other and immediately, with Midwich Cuckoos’ style telepathy, both stood on one leg, the other bent at the knee. They wobbled precariously. ‘… Will accompany us on this perry … perry louse journey where we will face many challenges. We have to cross the river of a thousand crocodiles …’ There was a pregnant pause and he looked meaningfully at several children seated on the edge of the stage, who looked towards Mr Williams and then one child began to clap her hands together and the others followed suit. ‘Climb the mountains of a hundred bears …’ Cue a group on the other side of the stage to start growling. ‘And navigate the shifting sands full of snakes …’ A storm of hissing broke out which went on for a good few seconds until Jack glared at the offending group and raised his voice. ‘Come. Follow. Me.’ He began to march around in a circle, the flamingos hopping after him.

The boy in the Buzz outfit stood there, looking down at the floor, while Mary, less of the virgin and more of the exhibitionist, had her skirt hoicked up and was flashing her knickers quite happily at the front row.

‘Come follow me,’ said Jack again, doing another circuit of the stage.

Still the boy didn’t move. On his third circuit, Jack gave him a sharp nudge. ‘Come follow me.’

The boy started. ‘To affinity and …’ he frowned and raised one arm in classic Lightyear pose ‘… to affinity and Bethlehem.’ With that he and Mary followed Jack and the flamingos, the five of them marching and hopping off stage.

‘Sir, sir …’ One of the boys in the audience had shot his hand up straight in the air. ‘You forgot the song.’

‘Yes,’ piped up another voice. ‘The crocodiles sing the song.’

Mr Williams – still no first name – peered down at his clipboard and winced. If I’m honest he looked slightly sick. Then he looked up and over at me with pure panic and desperation written all over his face.

‘Miss Smith, perhaps you might be able to help with this one?’

I crossed to his side, almost immediately aware of his masculinity. His business uniform, the jacket and tie, had been abandoned, tossed casually over the back of one of the wooden chairs on the other side of the hall, and his shirtsleeves were rolled back, revealing strong forearms covered in dark hairs, something I’d never considered the least bit sexy before. I could smell the faint scent of cologne and I was horribly conscious of the fineness of his cotton shirt, the broadness of his chest and the shadow of warm skin beneath the fabric.

I gave him a professional ‘of course, I’ve got this’ smile. I could play the piano and I had a pretty good repertoire of Christmas carols, although I was intrigued as to which it might be. I read the words on the page.

Crocodile Rock

‘OKaaaaay,’ I said. ‘Interesting choice.’

‘Mmm.’ His mouth twitched and I thought he was going to smile but then he went and spoiled it by saying, ‘Do you think you could play it?’

I gave him the look and rolled my eyes. ‘I think I can just about manage it.’ What did he think I was, some amateur? I could sight-read music from the age of eight. ‘If I had the sheet music.’ I looked at the clipboard in his hand hopefully. He shook his head.

‘Right, well, I suggest we practise the songs another time,’ I said in a bright, loud, this-is-so-much-fun voice for the benefit of the children before lowering it to say to him, ‘I’ll try and get the music for this for another day. Why don’t you carry on with the next scene?’

‘I can’t,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘Why not?’

‘The teacher only wrote the first scene. She was rushed into hospital with appendicitis last week and has been signed off for six weeks. The only other thing I’ve got is a cast list.’ He ripped a sheet from the clipboard. ‘Mrs Roberts has left the rest up to us.’

‘Oh, sh … shoot.’

‘Exactly. Shoot creek. Paddle-free.’ He handed me the sheet of paper. ‘It gets worse – read that. There are sixty kids.’

I scanned the sheet.

Armadillo – Jack

Bears – Sophie, Emily, Theo, Charlie, Oliver

And so it went on, every letter of the alphabet was covered; there were dolphins and elephants and marmosets and narwhals through to unicorns, yaks and zebus.

‘Oh, dear God and who organises the costumes?’

He looked at me. ‘We do.’

The end of the rehearsal couldn’t come quick enough. We managed to hook up my iPhone to the school sound system and had the children singing along very badly to Crocodile Rock. Thankfully, according to the snapshot of script we had, the crocodiles only had to sing one verse but even so I cringed. The words didn’t even come close to relating to Christmas.

As the children of Oak and Apple classes trooped back to their respective classrooms, I heaved a sigh. Mr Williams had slipped his jacket back on, tucked his tie in his pocket and was now shouldering into a heavy wool pea coat.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ I blurted out.

He nodded warily.

‘What is your name?’

Relief blossomed bright and sudden. ‘It’s Nate. God, I thought you were about to throw in the towel.’

‘Not sure I’m allowed to,’ I said with a disconsolate smile. ‘I’m stuck with it. Thanks to your mother-in-law, I believe.’

‘I’m stuck with it too. I’m a governor and … I promised my daughter I’d help with something. I assumed I’d be on crowd control duty.’

‘I assumed I’d be on Christmas carol duty.’

‘Looks like we’ve both been dropped in it from a bloody great height.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I could murder a coffee. Fancy one? Strategy meeting?’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

‘We’re going to need more than a plan. We’re going to need a Christmas miracle.’

All week the papers had been threatening a cold snap from the east with night-time temperatures expected to be sub-zero. They hadn’t been exaggerating; the light was dimming and the cold air bit sharply at my face with cruel icy teeth as we stepped onto the street. Like a swarm of ants, everyone funnelled out of the school gate and the pavement was now full of small children bobbing along next to adults, their features hidden by hats and scarves and bowed like turtles by the outsize school-logoed backpacks on their backs.

‘Sorry, do you have to work later? I just realised,’ he said, scanning the pavement quickly.

‘I do, but I don’t have to be at the theatre until seven; it’s only three-fifteen … although I’m paranoid about being late.’ Just like the first time we met, we fell into step easily, although there was none of that initial easy flirty banter. Now I knew he had a wife and child.

Your job must be so fascinating. Doing something that you love …’ He let out a self-deprecating laugh. ‘I’m assuming you love it and that it was a passion that has become your job, but maybe not.’

‘Music is my passion and I am incredibly lucky that I do something I love, but it can still be hard work.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone that plays in an orchestra before.’

‘It’s still a job at the—’

‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!’

A little girl in a sparkly bobble hat that came down to the bridge of her nose, and bundled up in a dark pink down coat like a little wriggling caterpillar, came hurtling towards us and launched herself at Nate, throwing her arms around his hips, almost knocking him over before throwing her head up to look at him. ‘You’re still here! Can you take me home?’

He scooped her up and kissed her on the nose, her legs, in grey tights, hung around his waist, her little black Mary Jane shoes swinging in delight as she clung to his neck, a huge beam on her face.

‘Not just now. I need to speak with Miss Smith, pumpkin.’

Her lower lip poked out in a perfect pout, which Nate ignored.

‘Did you eat all your Weetabix this morning?’ he asked, tapping her scrunched-up nose.

‘Yes –’ she gave a long-suffering eye roll and Nate caught my eye and winked ‘– and my badnana. I was very good today,’ she said with an imperious lift of her head as she patted her father’s face with her wool-gloved hands.

‘Glad to hear it; then you’ll grow big and strong.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Do I have to? I don’t want to be strong –’ she pulled a bleurgh nasty medicine face ‘– but I do want to be big, like you.’

He ruffled her hair affectionately and kissed her on the cheek before sliding her down. ‘I think you’re a bit too big to be picked up like this, these days. You weigh as much as a … a camel, I think.’

‘A camel!’ she shrieked in disgust. ‘No, a crocodile,’ she shouted, snapping her teeth in exaggerated bites before collapsing against her dad’s hip, giggling, and then I realised she’d been one of the group on stage.

A small, rather dumpy woman with an unexpectedly plain face came bustling up.

‘Grace, don’t run off like that,’ she scolded in a heavy Eastern European accent.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Nate, ‘she’s safe.’ But he turned to the little girl and shook his head. ‘She’s right – you shouldn’t go running off, even if you do see someone you know. It’s not fair to whoever’s looking after you, is it?’

‘Sorry,’ said Grace, looking suitably contrite, and she leaned towards the woman and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

The woman’s face lit up and she patted Grace on the head with a gentle, familiar touch. ‘No worries, little one.’

‘Can I come with you?’ asked Grace, turning back to her dad and latching onto his hand, looking up at him with the most hopeful, irresistible pleading look.

I laughed and Grace looked my way, her eyes wide in innocent enquiry.

‘Svetlana, this is Viola; she’s helping with the nativity play. And we really need to go and talk about it.’

That was the understatement of the century.

Svetlana nodded and gave me a wide friendly smile. ‘Hello.’

With her straggly blonde hair and clumpy mascara, she wasn’t the cool, svelte blonde that I’d envisioned Nate with. Wife? She was quite young. Nanny? There were certainly plenty of those in this postcode.

‘Can I ride the donkey this year?’ asked Grace, looking between me and her father with a guileless expression.

I lifted my shoulder. Did she mean a real donkey? I wouldn’t have been at all surprised. Whatever happened to having Mary, Joseph, an angel or two, three kings and a couple of shepherds?

‘Last year I was a sheep and I didn’t like the cotton wool.’ Grace pulled a face and wiped her eyes, clearly re-enacting the problems she’d had last year. ‘And Mummy was cross –’ she said this with childish delight, the sort inspired by having overheard something she shouldn’t ‘– because where do you expect to find white leggings this time of year?’

‘Right,’ I said, stalling for time. ‘No cotton wool sheep.’ And here I was, already worrying about sodding armadillo scales or whatever they had.

‘And Joseph was Joseph,’ said Grace conversationally now. ‘We don’t have no one called Mary but my friend Cassie would be a good mummy for Jesus. She’s got white hair and it’s really, really long but she was an angel last year, except she wasn’t allowed to bring her sparkly wand. If I was an angel I’d have wings with fairy lights and a wand with sparkles that glows in the dark.’

I tilted my head to one side. ‘I think if I were an angel I’d want wings too, although I’m not sure they had wands then.’

‘Oh, they did,’ said Grace, nodding with great confidence. ‘God gave them to them.’

Nate raised a discreet eyebrow my way, as if to say, And now get out of that!

Good old God. Him and his sparkly wands. Another thing for me to contend with. Wings and wands. All of a sudden there was an awful lot to think about. Kitting out all those animals was going to be a huge ask. If only we could stick to flocks of shepherds like every other nativity I’d ever seen. Tea towels and toy sheep everywhere.

‘I’ll see you later,’ said Nate, tapping her nose. ‘After I’ve met with Miss Smith.’

‘I could come with you,’ suggested Grace with a decided tilt of her chin, putting her hand into his. ‘I know all about the tivity.’ Then she added with a sudden random tangent, ‘Do you think Mummy can buy me a crocodile costume?’