Notting Hill in the Snow. Jules Wake

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      ‘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 matching dressing gowns and little fluffy slippers.

      ‘Who wants a bedtime story?’

      ‘Jesus’s Christmas Party,’ said Rosa, suddenly producing it from underneath a cushion.

      ‘I read that last time.’

      ‘Read it again,’ piped up Ella. ‘It’s our favourite.’

      Picking up the book, I read it, the three of us joining in with great gusto at the innkeeper’s roared refrain, advising his never-ending stream of visitors to go to the stable.

      Halfway through the story, it hit me. As soon as I reached the words ‘The End’ I bundled the two girls upstairs, calling to Bella to put them to bed, and dashed into the kitchen to pick up my pencil.

      By the time Bella came back downstairs, I’d completed a very rough script.

      For some reason, even though not one of them was over five foot tall, a surge of fear shot through me and my tongue glued itself to the roof of my mouth. They were all looking up at me with wide-eyed interest as I stood at the front of the large hall.

      There was absolutely no sign of Nate Williams, even though when he’d texted back last night he’d said he planned to be here. We’d had a brief text exchange and when I’d told him of my executive decision, he’d agreed that it was for the best and that he would back me a hundred per cent.

      ‘Oak and Apple class, say good morning to Miss Smith,’ said the teaching assistant in a high-pitched, here kitty, kitty sort of voice. She’d been allocated to help me, for which I was very grateful, otherwise I’d have been completely on my own.

      ‘Good. Morning. Miss Smith,’ intoned the class in a deadened robotic rhythm that threatened to suck all of the life out of me. Honestly, it was like facing a crowd of Dementors. I had no idea how they were going to respond to the news that Noah’s Christmas Ark was no more. The children, all in their green and grey uniforms, were sitting cross-legged in front of me on the polished parquet floor, which had probably had thousands of children’s feet pass across its surface over its lifetime.

      I took in a breath and said in a voice designed to counteract their joyless greeting, ‘Good morning, Oak class. Good morning, Apple class.’ I beamed at them like Mary Poppins on acid. ‘Shall we try that again? Good morning, Oak class,’ I bellowed in a loud voice. ‘Good morning, Apple class.’

      ‘Good morning, Miss Smith,’ they bellowed back with a lot more energy.

      Energy was good. I could work with that. I checked my watch. Where was Nate?

      ‘That’s better. I’m looking for people with good loud voices. Do I have any here?’

      A sea of hands shot up, waving like little sea anemones. Better and better. Things were looking up. I could do this.

      I was on the hoof, making things up as I went along. Actually, that wasn’t true at all. I’d planned today with meticulous attention to detail, dividing up the duties between myself and Nate. It was vital we made a good impression as we had to sell them a complete change of plan. I’d decided it was best to be honest and explain that Mrs Davies was too poorly to finish the script, so we were going to start afresh with a new lot of auditions. I’d hoped to palm that job off on Nate but as he still wasn’t here and I couldn’t stand in front of the children looking like a complete lemon, I got on with it.

      Despite a few minor groans most of the children looked interested when I explained that we were going to have new parts and that there’d be fresh auditions today.

      ‘But I still want to be an armadillo,’ said Jack, a touch of belligerence in his square plump face.

      ‘There isn’t an armadillo in this story.’

      ‘I want to be an armadillo,’ he repeated, folding his arms, giving me an implacable stare.

      ‘There’ll be other parts. New ones.’ I smiled gamely at him as he continued to stare at me.

      ‘I’m not happy. I’m not happy.’ He shook his head and I was pretty sure that he was parroting someone else’s words.

      I gave him a vague smile and moved on. Today I had to get my cast together and teach them the new songs I’d chosen. I needed a loud confident boy to play the innkeeper. A bossy know-it-all to play his wife. A serene Mary. A careful, thoughtful Joseph. Three bouncy kings. As many rustic shepherds as I could get away with. A herd of cows, a flock of sheep, oh, and an angel.

      If I could hand all that over to Nate, I could get on and start teaching the children the Christmas carols.

      I looked at the door again. Where was he? I looked back at the children, watching me with expectant interest. I was on my own.

      ‘Does anyone know any Christmas carols?’ I’d already decided on most of them but I was hoping this little bit of democracy would make the children feel more involved and hopefully forget about marmosets, narwhals and flipping unicorns.

      Again the hands shot up, several with that me-me-me fervour you only find in little children. Right under my nose, one little boy waved his hand madly, almost bouncing up and down on the spot trying to get my attention. It would have taken someone with a heart of cold, hard stone to ignore him.

      ‘You there, young man?’

      ‘Do you like football, miss?’

      His СКАЧАТЬ