Chapter Fifteen
Kit couldn't believe he was actually doing it. As he strode into the reception of Moreton Cross Primary School—having been interrogated via an intercom, and zoomed on by a rather threatening camera first—he wallowed, for a moment, in the memories it evoked.
Glancing around, he thought how small everything looked. Had it really been so tiny when he'd been a pupil there? Not much had changed. Despite the strict security measures in place, which was a sad sign of the times, it seemed exactly the same.
Noticing the cheerful paintings on the wall, he smiled to himself. He remembered the honour it had been, having your work of art selected to adorn the reception area. He'd really felt that he'd achieved something when his painting of witches and ghosts had been chosen as part of the school's Hallowe'en display.
"Mr Carroll?" A round-faced lady, with glasses on a chain around her neck and rather untidy hair, advanced towards him, hand outstretched. "I'm so pleased to meet you. It's terribly kind of you to offer to do this. Such a generous gesture, and, of course, the children will be so happy to see Father Christmas. I understand you have a donation for the raffle, too?"
"Oh, oh, yes. Of course." Kit rummaged in the large bag he was carrying and handed her a large, beribboned box of Carroll's Premier Chocolate Selection. "There you go."
"How wonderful. I hope I can resist temptation," she said, smiling at him. "They look so delicious, they may not make it into the raffle."
Kit gave her a faint smile and handed her a second bag. "The sweets for the children. Can I leave them behind the desk for now? I don't really want to lug them around with me. There's a lot in there."
"So generous of you. Of course we'll keep them safe," she assured him, handing the bag to the grey-haired woman behind the desk.
"Is there anywhere I can change?" he asked, feeling a lurch of anxiety and dread as he spoke. Hell, he was actually going to do it. He was going to put on that ridiculous costume and get out there, making a total fool of himself.
Jack had a lot to answer for. When he called him tomorrow, Kit would certainly tell him so.
"Yes, you can make use of the staff room," she told him. "Of course, you don't need to do that until after the Nativity. I'll draw the raffle, while you get changed, and then I'll introduce you. Is that okay?"
"If that's what usually happens," Kit said with a shrug.
She frowned. "Usually happens?"
"You made it!"
Kit spun round, to see Marley striding rapidly towards him. She looked flustered, casting nervous glances at the woman. "Mrs Carlyle, so nice to see you again."
"Goodness, I never introduced myself." The woman tutted. "How rude of me. I'm Janette Carlyle, headmistress at this school."
"I gathered," Kit said, thinking there was something wrong there, somewhere, as he felt a growing unease. Something didn't fit. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on ...
"Well, if you'll excuse me, I'll just put these chocolates with the other raffle items, and then I need to check on the children. We've already had two of them throwing up with excitement—or nerves, perhaps." Mrs Carlyle beamed at them. "As two former pupils here, I'm sure you remember your way to the hall. We'd be delighted if you would watch the show. It's due to start in—" she checked her watch, "—roughly half an hour."
"Great. Love to. Thanks." Marley smiled and waved as the headmistress hurried off, but Kit couldn't shake the feeling that something weird was going on. He just couldn't figure out what.
"Come on, then," Marley said, turning to him. "Let's go and make ourselves comfortable."
"I don't think so."
"What do you mean, you don't think so?"
Kit had caught sight of a crocodile of children, filing along the corridor that intersected with the one he was staring down. The image gave him a pang of despair, and brought a lump to his throat.
He thought about Farthingdale Primary. When would they be holding their Nativity play? His nephew would miss it this year. He imagined Tim in a shepherd's costume, or maybe playing the innkeeper, or even Joseph. Kit had never seen him in any of his plays. He'd rarely seen him, at all, if he was being honest. Not in real life. He'd talked to him via the miracles of Skype and Facetime, but it was hardly the same.
Tim was a cute kid, with Jack's dark hair and Amanda's blue eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He should be here, at school, getting excited about appearing in the play, putting Christmas cards in the class post box, nagging his parents to add yet another toy to his list, and singing Christmas carols in the school hall. Instead, he was in America, miles away from home, missing it all.
Kit's eyes blurred with tears, and he blinked them away.
"You're not changing your mind?"
Marley's voice was challenging, and he glanced down at her. "No. No. Just, well, we've got half an hour, yet. Don't fancy sitting in the hall all that time, waiting. Do you?"
She eyed him for a moment. "Are you okay?"
"Of course."
"Hmm. Well, I suppose we could go for a walk around. Then again, the kids will still be in their classrooms, getting ready."
He nodded. "You're right. The hall it is."
They made their way towards the old assembly hall, nudging each other as they shared stories from their time at the school.
"Two of my nephews will be in this play," Marley told him.
"Your nephews?"
"Olivia's kids. I have a younger sister."
He remembered suddenly. Of course she had a sister. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure she was the one who'd begged him for help at The Blue Lamp. No wonder they had such similar eyes.
"She works at the factory."
"She does?"
"Yes. So does her husband, David. The two eldest boys are at this school. Sam's in the reception class, and Max is in the nursery. Tommy's too young. He goes to the private nursery in the village."
"Wow, Olivia has three kids, and so close together? Impressive."
Marley's voice was strained. "Is it?"
Kit cast a sideways glance at her. She seemed different all of a sudden—sort of tense. He wondered why. "It's a shame your sister and her husband won't be here to see the boys."
"They will be. They booked the time off ages ago, as soon as the school confirmed the dates. You have to be organised when you have kids."
"I suppose you do."
"You have a nephew, don't you? Jack's son. How old is he?"
"He's six."
"Oh. What a shame he'll miss all the Christmas fun at his school."
"Isn't it?"
Marley pulled open the door to the hall and ushered him through.
Kit stared around, wondering how many hundreds of assemblies he must have attended in that very room. He remembered sitting, cross-legged, on the wooden floor, staring up at the stage, listening to one of the teachers bashing on the piano keys, as the kids tunelessly sang the words to some hymn, or other. To celebrate the season, a large Christmas tree stood in one corner of the hall, and the walls were decorated with paper angels, Santas, reindeer, and baubles. The children had evidently been very busy.
"I expect," Marley said, as they made their way along the back row, before sitting down on ridiculously tiny plastic chairs, "that he's having a whale of a time in New York."
"New York?"
"Yes. Didn't you say he was in New York?"
"I don't think I did," Kit said.
She was clearly waiting for him to expand on the subject, but he didn't feel able to. He didn't want to talk about his family, at all, especially to her. She already brought his emotions dangerously close to the surface. He wondered again about the man who'd got out of the car with her the other day. He'd seen them talking and laughing in the car park, then the man—he was pretty sure it was one of their production managers, Don—had put his arm around her shoulders, as if he owned her.
Were they an item?
And why the hell did it matter if they were?
Marley folded her arms in a defensive gesture and stared ahead of her at the stage. So, he'd annoyed her again. Well, he was good at that, as he recalled.
He sneakily examined her profile, noting the high cheekbones, the curve of her lips, the tilt of her chin. He remembered how soft her skin had felt beneath his fingers, and how that mouth—currently set firm—felt, when it yielded against his own.
When she turned to him suddenly, he jumped, startled. "Do you really think what we had was just a teenage thing?"
Kit felt the heat spread from his neck all the way up to his forehead. "What?" He was playing for time, and felt a bit stupid for doing so.
"We were together for two and a half years. Don't you remember what we meant to each other, at all?"
Remember it? He almost laughed. He'd spent years trying to forget it.
Maybe the time for pretence was over. "I remember," he said softly.
She turned to face him fully. "You do?"
Things were bubbling up inside Kit. He'd known coming to the school would be a big mistake. "For God's sake, Marley. Of course I do. You seemed keen to downplay it, though. I thought it was what you wanted."
"You made it sound as if it meant nothing. It mattered once."
"Yeah. Once."
She paused, then burst out, "Do you really think I'd put it behind me that easily? I was just thrown, that's all. I hadn't seen you for such a long time, and I didn't want you to know how much it had shocked me. No way I was going to let you get one over on me."
Kit gave a half laugh. "I could never get one over on you."
"You'd be surprised." She bit her lip and turned back to face the stage. "Well, this is awkward."
"Isn't it?" He took a deep breath. "How have you been? Really."
"Oh, you know, getting along."
"Thought you'd be married with kids by now," he said, feeling a stab of pain at the words.
She didn't answer for a long time, and he thought she planned to ignore him. Then she murmured, "You thought wrong, then."
"Have you been seeing him for long?"
He clearly had her full attention at that. "Seeing who?"
"Don, is it?"
"Don?" She stared at him for a moment, then her face broke into a grin. "I'm not with Don. Bloody hell, I think my mother would have something to say about that, if I was."
"Your mother?"
"She and Don are—well—an item, I suppose."
"Oh." He really hadn't seen that coming. He was astonished, and a little afraid of the huge relief he felt at her words.
A few more people began filing into the hall, chatting and laughing as they bagged seats, took off coats, turned off their phones. A member of staff took their spot at the piano, playing a few scales. A speaker crackled.
Kit checked his watch. Fifteen minutes to go.
"I had such a crush on you." Marley spoke so softly, he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.
"I kind of thought it was more than a crush," he said, trying to keep his voice light.
"I mean, when we were here. When we were at primary school."
He turned to her, amazed. "I never knew that."
"You weren't supposed to."
"But I thought—" He broke off, aware that he'd almost said too much.
"You thought what?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It clearly does. What did you think?"
What had he thought? He remembered being eleven years old, in the painful throes of first love, desperate to pluck up the courage to ask the girl of his dreams out. Marley Jacobs, the prettiest girl in the school—in his opinion, at any rate. He'd wanted to ask her out for so long, but that day had been his last chance. Term was almost over. He'd promised himself he would do it, because if he didn't, he might never see her again.
To his bitter disappointment, he wasn't going to St Hilda's with her. He was being sent, against his will, to Aidensthorpe Court, his father's old boarding school. His parents insisted it was for the best. He shouldn't mingle with the children who would, one day, work for him, apparently. Besides, he’d needed a good education, and the local comprehensive wasn't going to provide that—in their opinion.
Deciding that it was then or never, Kit had made up his mind to ask Marley out. If he could secure her as his girlfriend before they parted, perhaps their love could survive the separation that different high schools would impose on them. Such was his naivety in those days, he thought ruefully. Bless.
It had taken him ages to pluck up the courage. He'd lost count of how many times he'd rehearsed what he was going to say to her. In the end, he'd told myself not to be a coward, and hurried to her classroom as the final bell went, relieved to find her packing felt tips into her Spice Girls pencil case while cheerfully chatting to her best friend, Hayley. He'd stepped into the room without her noticing and hovered, waiting for his moment. Then the world had seemed to stop spinning, when he heard Hayley say, "So, are you going to ask Christopher out, then?"
They'd both giggled, and Marley said, "Might do. He is quite cute, I suppose."
Hayley nudged her. "I knew you loved him."
"Do not!"
"Do, too!"
Marley had flicked back her plaits and pushed her friend playfully. "I'll probably marry him," she announced casually, while over in the corner, Kit's heart hammered.
"Yuk. Why would you want to get married?" Hayley had screwed up her nose. "Boys are disgusting. My brother stinks!"
"I know, I know," Marley had said. "And I don't like Christopher. Not like that. You know, all that kissing stuff. Ugh."
"So, what you going to ask him out for?"
Marley had sighed patiently. "Because he's rich, dumbo. His grandad owns that factory, and Mum says he's got a big posh house and loads of money. One day, it will be Christopher's. If I marry him, I'll be rich, too, and I might get a sports car."
Hayley seemed to consider the matter. "Yeah, but, still .... You'd have to kiss him, and stuff. Could you do that?"
"It would be gross," Marley admitted, "but I've always wanted a sports car, like Ginger Spice."
Kit had left the room, his eleven-year-old heart well and truly broken. He'd never told her what he'd heard, and he didn't know why he felt the need to tell her then. Maybe it was protection. Maybe he needed to remind himself of what she truly was, and warn her that he knew her true nature. After all, that may have been the first time she’d trampled all over his feelings, but it definitely hadn't been the last.
"You're kidding me?" When he'd finished telling her what had happened that day, she looked satisfyingly stunned and rather ashamed. "God, I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, well."
"But you know it was bullshit, right? I mean, you understood that I was just trying to save face?"
"Really."
"Don't say it like that! You know it! Look, we were eleven. Boys were gross. We weren't supposed to have feelings for them. I had to have some excuse for asking you out, or my life would have been a misery. Jeez, you can't really think that, at eleven years old, I gave a damn about a sports car." She laughed, and Kit felt suddenly incredibly foolish.
He really had thought that. In fact, he'd cried himself to sleep, and made damn sure that he'd avoided going anywhere near her, before he left for his new school, so she wouldn't get the opportunity to ask him out, and he wouldn't be stupid enough to do the asking himself.
"Anyway," she added, "we got past that, as I recall."
"You think?" Kit shrugged. "Maybe."
"Maybe?" She frowned at him. "What do you mean, maybe? We—we were in love, weren't we? At the time."
"At the time."
Marley's expression changed. She looked sullen. "Just teenage love. Not real, of course."
There was a tightness in Kit's throat, as dozens of children filed quietly into the room, led by smiling teachers. Their little faces were bright with excitement and joy. Oh, God.
He swallowed. "It felt real enough to me." Why on earth had he said that?
She stared toward her hands on her lap. "Me, too."
They looked at each other, and Kit noticed a sudden softness in her eyes that he hadn't seen since he'd got back. The buzz of conversation around them seemed to fade away, and he was aware only of her face, turned towards him, and the bittersweet memories it stirred within him.
The speaker crackled again, and someone tapped on the microphone. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen."
"It's starting," Marley murmured, then turned away from his gaze. Her face lit up suddenly, and as she waved, he realised her sister and the man who must be her brother-in-law were waving back. "I can't wait to see the boys," she whispered. "Max has been practising Away in a Manger for ages. And Sam's the innkeeper. He's got two lines to himself!"
Kit remembered when he'd been Joseph in their own Nativity play. He'd hoped against hope that Marley would be Mary, but no such luck. Even after all that time, he found himself grimacing at the memory of that awful Amy Smith, with her blonde ringlets and sugary smile. She'd gripped his hand tightly and refused to let go, as they'd stood before the innkeeper, begging him for shelter. Anyone would think she was really in labour, the way she'd clung to him. It was a wonder he'd remembered any of his lines, when all he'd been able to think about was Marley in her white gown and silver wings. She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. The perfect angel.
Blinking away the memory, Kit focussed on the teacher at the piano, as she began playing the introduction to Once in Royal David's City. The young children sitting at the front of the hall stood and began to sing, and his heart flipped. How was he going to cope with it all?
Doing his best to ignore his increasing distress, he concentrated hard on the performances. He remembered a programme he'd caught on the television the previous weekend, and decided to channel Simon Cowell, judging the kids' performances as if they were on X-Factor. That way, he couldn't get too emotionally involved.
Ooh, didn't really hit that high note there, son. Yes, you can sing, little girl, but you have zero stage presence. Don't hold your breath for an agent, kid.
As Mary and Joseph exited stage right, apparently to saddle up a donkey, a class of older children filed in from the left. Marley glanced at the programme. "Oh," she said, and gulped.
"What is it?"
"Nothing, nothing. Just, these are the children who are leaving the school next year. They'll be going to high school. This is their last Nativity play."
Kit heard the catch in her voice, and his eyes widened in surprise. Marley, getting sentimental? Good grief.
He glanced at the children standing nervously on stage, as the teacher played the introductory strains of O Little Town of Bethlehem, and realised that he'd only been around their age when he'd wanted to ask Marley out. They were just babies, he thought incredulously, yet his feelings had seemed so intense, so real. She'd had the weirdest effect on him, ever since the first day he'd seen her, standing in the reception class, pigtails fastened with pink plastic bobbles. How did she affect him like that? He cast a glance at her, shocked to see tears glistening in her eyes.
"Never had you down as the soppy type," he said, nudging her gently. She turned towards him, and the distress in her face alarmed him. "What is it? What's the matter?"
She shrugged and wiped her eyes. "Just, you know. Christmas."
There was more to it than that. There had to be. "I know the singing's atrocious," Kit joked, desperate to cheer her up, "but it's not worth crying over."
She sniffed and wrapped her arms around herself, as if protecting herself from something. "I'm fine."
"Well, you're clearly not," he said. And he'd thought he'd be the one struggling!
"It's a difficult age, isn't it?" she murmured.
He nodded, feeling a bit bewildered by her attitude.
"Ten, or eleven, years old. Not quite children, not quite teenagers. Tough. And then they have high school to deal with soon. I hope," she swallowed hard, "I hope they have good parents, decent families to help them through."
Was that her problem? Kit frowned. What was going on?
They sat, saying nothing, as the children performed their heart-wrenching song. Kit had barely recovered from the assault on his emotions that Marley's tears had provoked, before Mary and Joseph knocked on the door of the inn and were greeted by a little blond boy with a big grin on his face.
"It's Sam," Marley whispered. "Look at those dimples! That's my nephew."
The pride in her voice was evident. Kit watched the little Mary and Joseph negotiate a bed for the night. Sam very nobly—and very loudly—informed them that they could sleep in his stable, then gave the audience a thumbs-up, much to everyone's amusement.
Suddenly, Kit couldn't see them anymore. He felt trapped, desperately blinking the tears away, terrified that Marley—or anyone else, come to that—would notice them.
"I'm sorry."
Marley caught his arm as he stood. "Where are you going?" she hissed.
"I can't do this."
"What do you mean you can't do this? Do what?"
"This whole thing. This Nativity stuff." He saw the look of disbelief in her eyes and almost crumbled. "I can't sit through an hour, or two, of this. I have better things to do with my time. There's loads of stuff to do at the office. Here—" He almost shoved the bag into her arms. "—the costume. The sweets are behind the reception desk. I'm sure your brother-in-law can step in. See you later."
"You've got to be kidding me." The look of contempt on her face almost broke him, but he had to get away.
He pushed through the row of tutting parents and edged his way out of the hall. The walls of the corridor closed in on him, and he almost ran down it, desperate to get out of the building.
As he did so, he could almost hear one of his old teachers yelling, "No running in the corridor, Christopher!"
Well, he was no longer a child. He was an adult now, and he could run if he wanted to. And he wanted to.