there, young man?’
‘Do you like football, miss?’
His mate next to him nudged him and giggled.
‘George,’ the teaching assistant shadowing me cut in, ‘if you can’t be sensible, you’ll have to go and sit in Mrs Roberts’ office.’
George looked as if he might have spent a fair bit of time there before because he gave an irrepressible grin and carried on staring at me.
‘Anyone else?’ The forest of hands shot up again and this time I picked another child, a demure-looking girl with plaits and a green headband which matched her regulation green sweatshirt with the logo of a brown and green tree on the right breast.
‘Away in a Manger,’ she said in a proud little voice.
‘Excellent,’ I said in the sort of voice that suggested she’d just discovered how to sequence the genome. Actually it was perfect and, unbeknownst to her, already on my list. I turned and wrote it on the whiteboard behind me. I’d already decided I needed five carols to break up the action and to extend the performance.
I picked another waving hand and then realised it was Grace, Nate’s daughter.
‘You’re Daddy’s friend,’ she said in an accusing voice. The teaching assistant coughed and put her hand over her face. And for some ridiculous reason I blushed bright red, which probably confirmed her assumption.
‘I’ve met your daddy,’ I agreed evenly, with a carefully blank face, ‘when we talked about the nativity. Do you have a carol for me?’
She shook her head. ‘My daddy’s very handsome. Don’t you want to be his friend?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t really know him. I only met him that day.’
And there, as if by magic, he was standing at the back of the hall, a look of unholy amusement on his ‘very handsome’ face.
‘He’s very nice,’ pressed Grace
Aware of the pinkness of my cheeks, I gave her a perfunctory, ‘I’m sure he is.’ I could see his shoulders shaking even from this distance, the dratted man. I ignored him and turned to the teaching assistant, who had managed to recover from her fit of coughing and thankfully intervened. ‘Perhaps we can stick to the Christmas carols, thank you, Grace?’
Grace huffed, folded her arms and pinched her mouth together in an expression of too-adult disgust which had me trying not to laugh as she watched me with continued suspicion.
‘Anyone else?’ God, how did teachers do it – keep up this bright, sparkly, I’m so excited voice? I pointed to another boy whose hand had shot up dead straight like an arrow in flight.
‘Hark the Harold Angels.’
I bit back a smile. ‘Perfect. Because we’re going to need an angel.’
Several eager little girls looked excitedly at each other and started whispering. I looked towards the back of the hall, waiting for Nate to join me, but he was finishing a conversation with Mrs Roberts. Hopefully, he was explaining to her why we’d decided to rewrite the script. 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
