A Merry Mistletoe Wedding (11 page)

Lists, Thea decided, she must make lists, and immediately. However simple and rustic the wedding, what kind of useless bride hadn't made so much as a list of guests so close to the event? Ah yes: one who had fallen out with her sister, big time.

Three sets of people had looked over Mike and Anna's house but as yet no offers had been made. The agent Belinda had said they were wanting ‘IBC', which apparently translated as ‘In by Christmas'. Maybe, Anna thought as she tried to look at her house with coolly objective rather than forgiving eyes, they'd concluded that just too much needed doing. After all, not everyone finds the walls of a sitting room painted Book Room Red as cosy as she and Mike did. Some probably found its terracotta shade quite oppressive, especially in a fading October light.

One lot had included a young woman with swishy blond hair who Anna recognized from television but couldn't put a name to. She'd begun various sentences several times with ‘Of course in my job …' without actually coming out with what the job was, so Anna had been none the wiser as to whether she read the news or was an Olympic athlete. One couple had been a brittle forty-something pair who found fault with every single thing from the size of the rooms to the locations of the bathrooms. As Mike had commented after, you'd think they hadn't even looked at the agent's details. All the room layouts and sizes were on there. They'd also found fault with each other, hissing ‘
darling
' at the end of every sentence when disagreeing on which bedroom would be right for ‘the twins'. She and Mike hadn't heard from them again and Belinda the agent said they'd decided to move to France instead. ‘These are not words I ever imagined I'd utter,' Mike said when Belinda called to tell them this, ‘but God help France.'

It had been Mike's notion to look at a few possible ideas for a place for themselves fairly locally but on a smaller scale. ‘We can at least see what kind of thing we might like,' he reasoned, and Anna didn't disagree.

‘Nothing that needs work,' she told him. ‘If I want to strip wallpaper, I might as well stay here.'

‘If we stay here, we can't afford to strip anything, or at least not to put stuff back up again,' he said. ‘I've been adding up what we'd save by buying something half this size. Heating, council tax, replacing that iffy boiler that probably won't see the winter out … it's endless. If we sell this, we'll be able to afford to eat, and quite well too, for the next few years.'

And so now, curiosity tweaked by a flashy ad in a Sunday paper's property section, they somehow found themselves in the marketing suite of a new riverside block of swish apartments sitting across a desk from a slick young man in a suit jacket that Anna could see was way too tight for him. The sleeves seemed to end halfway up his wrists and the fabric pulled across his skinny chest. Fashion, eh, she thought. Whoever had decreed that a cool look for young men was to truss them up so tight they ended up looking like Norman Wisdom?

‘So, Mick and Annie …' Mr Slick said, looking up from the form he'd insisted they fill in to list the requirements they could easily have told him in two sentences.

‘Mike and Anna,' Mike said. His knee was twitching – a sign that he was already bored and a bit grumpy.

‘Sorry – right. So I see you're looking at a possible two bedrooms and some outside space.' He looked up and smiled at them. ‘You do know these are, like, flats?' he said. ‘No gardens?'

‘We know?' Mike said, only slightly mocking the upward lilt of the young man's voice. ‘But the ones at the top have large terraces? We could see them from outside?'

‘Oh, the
penthouses
.' He smiled. ‘I should tell you, those are the top of the range, price-wise?'

Mike twitched some more. ‘It's fine. We did see the prices.'

‘Oh right, er … OK.' He had a good appraising stare at Mike's leather jacket and blue bandana and Anna's long velvet skirt and said, ‘Sorry, I'd have thought you might be looking for something a little more … compact. So you've looked at the finer points?' He handed over a fat glossy brochure. ‘This kind of place attracts mostly young professionals, what with the basement pool and gym and a bar and restaurant on site.' He cast another thoughtful look at the two of them, who were so clearly the opposite of ‘young professionals', and turned his iPhone over and over on his desk.

‘Couldn't we just go and look at one of the penthouses? Please?' Mike asked.

‘Oh absolutely. Of course, if you're sure.' The young man jumped out of his chair, rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a card. ‘No keys here, all computerized, electronic, state of the art.'

The lift was entirely mirrored, which Anna didn't like. Face on, at home, in a good light, she would see herself reflected and not be too depressed at what she saw. Now she couldn't avoid herself from all angles and noticed that her neck was not as long as she was sure it had once been, and that her upper back was a bit rounded. She pulled her shoulders back, standing as straight as she could to deny evidence of the advancing years. Thirty-something professionals. How did they afford places like this? Even the smallest, barely bigger than a cupboard, was well over three hundred thousand pounds. She imagined them as neighbours she would probably never see, or if she did, it would be in the lift. They'd be looking tense in running gear, fiddling with a fitness wristband and avoiding eye contact. She'd be in her multiple colourful layers and wondering how terrified they'd be if she said hello and wasn't it a lovely day.

Floor ten: the lift stopped and opened on to a caramel-painted corridor. A light flipped on, the agent zapped the keycard and they were in.

‘It's like a hotel suite,' Mike said, frowning, looking at the pale grey sofa, the carefully placed ornaments, the uninspiring paintings of vague riverside scenes. ‘No character.'

‘Actually, that's rather what I like about it,' Anna said as they toured the space. ‘Especially the bathrooms.'

‘Of course it's obviously a show flat, designer-led decor, an example of what you could achieve,' the agent told them. ‘It's to reflect that you're actually buying into a
lifestyle
. Though of course …' He hesitated. ‘I can see this particular style might not appeal …'

‘Buying into a
lifestyle
?' Mike spluttered. ‘Bloody hell, man, I'm pushing seventy. If I haven't got a “lifestyle” sorted by now it'd be a pretty poor show.'

‘Mike …' Anna warned, worried about his blood pressure. ‘Come on, let's look at the outside space.'

The agent slid the massive glass doors open and they went out to the terrace, which was broad and generous and paved with dark stone. ‘Obviously pots are key,' he told them, indicating a pair of olive trees tethered to a rail and blowing fitfully in the wind. ‘Pots and the view.'

‘Bloody splendid, I'll give you that,' Mike actually agreed. ‘But now I'm thinking it's just too high up. I know it would be next to impossible but I can't help imagining the grandchildren falling off.'

‘Oh, I don't think they could do that,' the agent tittered. ‘Not unless they dragged a table over to the edge and climbed up and over the barrier.'

As he laughed off what he'd said, Anna shivered, imagining Milly and Alfie doing exactly that and plummeting to the car park below, becoming nothing but blotchy, bloody splats. ‘Look, thanks and all that but, you know, it's not for us, this. Sorry. Let's go, Mike. I can't live here or in any high-up place. Not now that thought has got into my head.'

Safely out of the cruelly mirrored lift she took hold of Mike's hand as they went across the road to get a reviving drink at the riverside pub. ‘At least that's one option ruled out,' she told him when she'd recovered from the horrors of her imaginings. ‘It's got to be something with the garden on the actual ground. Do you agree?'

‘Definitely,' he said. ‘But it was useful to go and look, wasn't it? But oh dear' – he laughed – ‘it looks like we'll just have to make do with the lifestyle we've already got. I didn't know you could “buy” them but I think I'd prefer not to.'

‘I've been thinking …' Anna told him as she sipped her spritzer. ‘Maybe we should look a bit further away. Get something small so we can do the travelling thing but have it to come back to. Something that would be easy to rent out if we want to stay away for a longish while, perhaps.'

‘How far away? Please tell me not somewhere cold like Scotland.'

‘No, not Scotland, though the scenery is worth some visits. I was thinking somewhere arty and by the sea and where there are lots of people like us. A place that isn't full of “young professionals” pounding for hours in gyms in the few hours they're not squashed on to commuter trains. Somewhere with great light and—'

‘I hope “people like us” isn't a euphemism for “old” and that you're not meaning Worthing? We went there once, remember, and it was closed. On the plus side, though, I do remember seeing about fifty bikers, none of them younger than me.' He looked quite cheered by the thought.

‘No, I'm coming round to thinking perhaps Cornwall. I'm thinking St Ives.'

‘Ha! Cornwall? The cursed county Emily swears she'll never visit?'

‘Ah, but having
us
there could be one way to change her mind, don't you think? I know it wouldn't be in time for Christmas and the wedding but if we plant the seed that we'll have a lovely base down there that they can all use for holidays whenever they like, then maybe she'll have a bit of a think about it. Surely the idea of a place by the sea where the children could run free on the beach any time of the year would tempt even Emily over the Tamar? It's just an idea, but it's a good one, I think. I've always loved Cornwall. I hate it that she and Thea aren't even speaking. I know they're both miserable about it and I want us to be all together when Thea and Sean get married. Thea's offered to put it off till summer but that's Cove Manor's peak renting season with lots of repeat visitors already booked in, and Sean's already turned down bookings for Christmas so they can accommodate us all. It isn't kind of Emily to be so anti. After all, she surely didn't hate it
that
much last year. I thought it was only the snow that scared her, and that was a real once-in-a-century event. So what do you think?'

Mike considered for a moment. ‘It's pretty devious thinking but I like it,' he said. ‘And at the moment, we only have to let her know we're seriously considering it; we don't actually have to go and live there.' He sipped his beer and looked thoughtful for a few moments. ‘But, you know, I've always liked St Ives …'

‘Melanie is on everyone's case about Christmas and wants ideas for some version or other of a nativity play,' Jenny told Thea in the staffroom. It was two days before half-term and there had been mutterings all week about various class Christmas shows. ‘She's called a meeting for lunchtime and said “no excuses”, so I guess we're under orders.'

‘A nativity play? Again?' Thea said. ‘Oh, groan. Starring parts for four children, to include the innkeeper and the Angel Gabriel, plus three support-role kings and a couple of shepherds and just about everyone else has to be an ox or a donkey with very little for them to do on the stage except fidget.'

‘Don't forget the supporting cast of many angels.'

‘Ah yes, many, many angels and all the parents coming into class to complain that their little star has been sidelined. It's a difficult one, isn't it? I mean, who doesn't love a proper nativity play? You can't beat the baby Jesus being dropped on the floor and one of the shepherds forgetting he should have had a wee before the show rather than during. But when it's every single year you get to the point where you need something a bit more inclusive. I've been thinking about something with more scope for them all to join in.'

‘Excellent. You tell Melanie. Go ahead,' Jenny said with a giggle. ‘I'll be right behind you.'

‘She's off me at the moment so I don't hold out much hope.'

‘She's off everyone, so you mustn't take it personally.'

After the lunchtime bell, Melanie was to be found sitting at the end of the staffroom table, tapping a pen on her notepad. The rest of the staff took their seats and waited for her to begin.

‘Christmas,' she said. ‘I think in these difficult political times we need to get back to basics. Do we have any ideas for a seasonal play?'

‘Yes, I have,' Thea said, clicking on her iPad.

‘If it involves anything from Disney, I don't want to hear about it,' Melanie said.

‘Disney? No, it definitely doesn't. I was thinking it would be fun for the children to put together a drama enacting the story of Yule, of how the year is turning from darkness to light. The great earth mother giving birth to the new sun king.'

‘I don't think so, Thea. That sounds way too pagan. There would be complaints. Anyone else?'

‘Oh, I rather like Thea's idea, actually,' Jenny said. Thea smiled at her.

‘Thanks, Jenny.' Thea seized the moment and continued: ‘And I'd make sure it's not so much pagan as about nature. We can tie it in with a study of the earth turning and the movement of the planets and talk about the tradition of bringing in evergreens. They can sing carols like “The Holly and the Ivy”. We can talk about the magical powers of mistletoe and …' Thea stopped, realizing she was gabbling into a disapproving silence. Melanie was glaring.

‘Sometimes, Thea, I wonder if you're teaching in the right sort of school.'

‘Sometimes, I wonder the same,' Thea murmured but not quite far enough under her breath. There was a collective gasp. She pressed on, feeling she might as well at this point. ‘But you asked us for ideas, Melanie. Wouldn't you even consider this? It could include so much about the natural world and the seasonal cycle and wouldn't upset any of the more religious parents at all. It would be completely inclusive.'