I Heart Christmas (33 page)

‘Why haven’t you called your friend?’ the man asked.

‘Because she’s a decent human being and turns her phone onto silent in the bloody theatre,’ I shouted. ‘Will you please just let me in? It’s an emergency.’

It seemed that shouting was not the way to this man’s heart. Rather than smile, soften and let me by, his face hardened and he stepped a little closer towards me. Aah, so that was what intimidating looked like. He really was wasted on Radio City. I was sure that there was some poncey club downtown that was desperate for a bouncer like him.

‘You’re not going in,’ he bristled. ‘Maybe I should call the police for you.’

‘Oh, that would be brilliant actually,’ I replied, waiting for him to step a little closer and then seizing my moment.

As the usher came towards me, he left a tiny gap between himself and the door. A gap that I was now desperate enough to throw myself through and leg it up the stairs, into the main lobby. The usher was just startled enough to give me a head start and, once inside, it seemed like no one gave two shits as to whether or not I had a ticket. I barrelled straight into the main auditorium, just in time to see dozens of dancers dressed like soldiers lined up on the stage. Ooh, the Rockettes! This was one of my favourite bits! But I didn’t have time to be distracted by perfect formation dancing, as impressive as it was, as the usher from the front door appeared to have recovered himself and was right behind me. I bolted down the aisle, apologising to everyone under my breath as I went, half hunched over, trying to be as quick and as quiet as possible. Sadly, I was not a church mouse and I was not doing well. Really, I should not have spent all morning eating biscuits. The three-block dash over here should not have left me in such a state.

I saw Jenny and Louisa right away. Jenny, the heathen, was fast asleep, her eyes closed and her head lolling on her left-hand neighbour. Her right-hand neighbour, Louisa, was transfixed. I really, really wished I wasn’t about to ruin her afternoon.

‘Louisa,’ I hissed from the aisle, bobbing down to stay out of sight of the usher. ‘Lou.’

A few disgruntled parents turned to look at me while the rest of the front row hardened their faces and stared straight ahead, pretending I wasn’t there. I assumed they were English.

‘I’m sorry,’ I stage-whispered. ‘I really need to talk to my friend. LOU.’

But my best friend was completely transfixed by the dancers and couldn’t possibly hear me. There was no way I could get to her without actually crawling along the front row to avoid getting in the way of the stage. I sighed, blew a piece of hair out from in front of my face and got down on my hands and knees. Thank God I’d worn shorts and not a skirt. This still wasn’t going to be a pretty situation but at least no one was going to have to see my knickers.

I got as far as the fifth person in, just three more pairs of snowy shoes from Louisa, before I felt the very-upset-by-now usher grab hold of my ankle and pull. The floor was slippery and, quite frankly, gross, so I wasn’t too happy when he gave me a good yank and my hands slipped out from underneath me.

‘Bollocks,’ I grunted as my face hit the cold, wet floor and my body began to slide backwards.

As I tried to scramble back upright, one foot held high in the air, face still level with a lovely pair of Manolos on the second person in from the right, I couldn’t see an awful lot of point in being coy. I’d already effectively ruined, or made, everyone’s afternoon, depending on how you looked at it.

‘LOUISA!’ I yelled as I felt a second pair of hands wrap around my other ankle. ‘LOU!’

Once I had been dragged out to the aisle, the hands let go of my ankles and wrapped themselves around my arms, pulling me roughly to my feet. Really, I’d seen people thrown out of clubs with more delicacy.

‘We’ve called the police,’ the usher from outside said in a quiet but firm voice. ‘I hope you’re looking forward to spending Christmas in a cell.’

‘Oh, whatever,’ I replied, shaking my hair out of my eyes and trying to see whether or not Lou had noticed the commotion. For fuck’s sake … she was still staring straight ahead. Stupid British refusal to acknowledge anything even slightly dodgy. ‘LOUISA SMITH! TURN AROUND!’

To her credit, she did actually look up but not before the usher bent my arm up behind my back and started to half drag, half carry me out of the theatre.

‘Oh shit,’ I heard her say as she got to her feet. ‘Angela?’

‘LOU!’ I shouted back, still fighting with the man who had clearly failed the police force entry exam several times over. ‘I LOST GRACE.’

She stopped clamouring for her bags and went a very funny colour. Beside her, Jenny snorted, jumped in her seat and opened her eyes, looking around in confusion.

‘What do you mean, you’ve lost my baby?’

The music up at the front really was quite loud. I was surprised the Rockettes weren’t deaf, let alone that they could hear well enough for Louisa to distract them. And really, I would have expected more professionalism. Surely someone had stood up in the front of a matinee performance and screamed about a missing baby before today without half of them falling over? Surely?

Every single person in Radio City Music Hall gasped at exactly the same time. The racket on stage as thirty-six dancers all collapsed into each other at the same time was much, much louder than I had imagined it could be. There was no way a single one of them weighed more than a hundred pounds, how could they possibly cause all that noise? The crowd’s gasp turned into a ripple of murmurs, finally evolving into assorted tuts, sighs and general displeasure. The people down the front did seem to have the decency to be a bit worried about the baby but the people at the back, who didn’t really know what was going on, seemed altogether more excited.

Not stopping to worry about the people in the neighbouring seats, and really, who could blame her, Louisa grabbed her coat and her Jenny Lopez and ran into the aisle while three dozen dancers dragged each other to their feet and attempted to regain formation on the stage.

‘Where is she?’ Louisa looked terrified and I felt horrible. More horrible than I had ever, ever felt before. ‘What? I mean, how?’

‘Cici took her out of the office because she was running around,’ I tried to explain as quickly as possible but it was difficult when my left arm was about to be broken and I was still being pulled backwards by a man three times taller than I was. ‘And then I went out to get her and she wasn’t there.’

It was more or less entirely what had happened. I didn’t see any point in leaving in the toilet break.

‘Cici has my baby?’ Louisa bellowed. Jenny rubbed her eyes, slowly waking up and processing what was happening. ‘That psycho has my baby girl? Oh my God, Angela, she’s probably sold her by now. She’s probably on a plane to Guam.’

‘Where is Guam?’ Jenny asked, blinking. ‘I’ve always wondered.’

‘That isn’t important,’ Lou shouted, punching her delicate fist into my captor’s shoulder. ‘Will you bloody let her go. My child is missing!’

He glared at Louisa and then looked at the other usher who had assisted in my capture before letting go of my arm. I twisted it back in front of me, rubbing my wrist and nursing it close to my chest. The relief lasted for approximately four seconds before Louisa began raining a torrent of tiny blows onto my arm.

‘I cannot believe you lost my baby,’ she said, punctuating each syllable with another slap. ‘I cannot believe you lost my baby.’

‘The police will still want to talk to you,’ he grunted. ‘We called in a public disturbance.’

‘Good.’ Lou marched out into the lobby, too angry to even cry. Jenny took my hand and squeezed. I was not too angry to cry. I was sobbing my eyes out. ‘I’m about to create a really fucking big one if we don’t find my baby immediately.’

Two uniformed officers stood in the doorway as we approached the front door. They looked incredibly bored. I was immediately both thankful for their presence and terrified of how they were going to deal with Louisa.

‘We got a report of—’ one of them began.

‘MY BABY IS MISSING,’ she shrieked, throwing herself on the woman officer. ‘CICI SPENCER STOLE MY BABY!’

‘OK, we were called to a public disturbance?’ the male officer said, looking to me and Jenny for answers as he peeled Louisa off his colleague. ‘There’s a missing baby?’

‘Well, there’s both,’ I said. ‘Sort of.’

I tried to work out how I could explain without implicating myself in either potential crime while the police officers stared at me, clearly confused. It didn’t take me long to realise it would probably be quite hard, given that I was guilty in both cases. Oh God, I was going to spend Christmas in prison. I’d be someone’s bitch by morning. And while I was braiding my prison wife’s hair, Cici would be reprogramming Grace to become a complete sociopath on a yacht in the south of France. It probably wouldn’t take long, I had a feeling she was already predisposed.

‘There’s no disturbance.’ Jenny woke up just in time to be useful. Both Louisa and I seemed to be suffering complete psychotic breakdowns. ‘My friend was babysitting for us in her office and her assistant has absconded with the baby. We need to find the assistant.’

In times of crisis, everyone needed a Jenny Lopez. Who else would think to use the word absconded other than someone who had spent three hours a day for the last six years watching police procedural dramas and dated three different detectives? She was my hero.

The police waited to get confirmation that the theatre staff were happy to drop the disturbance charges but they had clearly already lost interest in me and my Christmas Spectacular crashing antics. Angry usher seemed mostly interested in Jenny and his accomplice looked as though he was only interested in getting the police out before his boss appeared.

‘Ma’am, we need to know exactly what happened,’ the woman officer said, still supporting a sobbing Louisa with one arm. ‘When did you last see the child?’

‘It was about one fifteen?’ I said as my phone buzzed against my bum in my back pocket. I pulled it out to see Delia’s name glowing on the screen. ‘Is it OK if I take this? It might be about Grace?’

The cop nodded and turned her attention to Jenny, who was doing a fine job of nodding and looking stern. She would have made a brilliant lawyer if she could have been bothered with going to law school.

‘Delia,’ I turned away slightly, just in case she told me that Cici had thrown herself off the Empire State Building and taken Grace with her. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to control my reaction. ‘I’ve lost Grace. Or I’ve lost Cici and Cici has Grace. She’s kidnapped her, she has totally kidnapped Louisa’s baby and—’

‘Angela, calm down,’ she ordered on the other end of the line. ‘I know where she is.’

‘You spoke to her?’ I shouted, spinning back to Lou, Jenny, the interested usher and the police to give them all a double thumbs up. It was hard to say which one looked less impressed. ‘Where is she?’

‘I called the office to talk to you and Megan told me what was happening,’ Delia explained. ‘I’m sorry, she’ll be where she is every Christmas Eve.’

‘Sacrificing goats?’

‘She’s at Macy’s,’ Delia sighed. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

Of all the places I might have expected to find Cici Spencer on the average Christmas Eve afternoon – Saks Fifth Avenue, Cipriani’s, the seventh circle of Hell – the toy department of Macy’s was not, and would never have been, on the list. Louisa, Jenny and I leapt out of the police officers’ squad car, the siren still blaring, as we pulled up outside the department store. Louisa hadn’t said a word on the way over, she’d just kept rocking backwards and forwards, occasionally forgetting to breathe and then having to take a series of short, sharp breaths. Jenny was calmly rubbing her back while I babbled over and over and over. Cici went to see the Macy’s Santa Claus every Christmas Eve, had done ever since she and Delia were little girls and became obsessed with
Miracle on 34th Street
. Which was exactly what she’d be needing when I got my hands on her.

Accompanied by our new police entourage, the three of us pushed through the last-minute shoppers, struggling through revolving doors en masse.

‘This way.’ The male police officer had clearly spent more time in the toy department than any of the ladies in our party and led the way to the escalator. It only took a couple of minutes to find the huge queue of kids patiently waiting to deliver their lists to Santa – altogether too late in my opinion – and right there, at the head of the queue and about to dump Grace into the lap of a questionably motivated old man, was Cici Spencer.

Louisa ran at her with a battle cry, the likes of which I had previously only heard on
Braveheart
or
EastEnders
, and grabbed her daughter right out of the hands of Father Christmas, throwing her at me before launching herself at Cici. But this wasn’t her first time. Quick as a malnourished cat, Cici took off around Santa’s sleigh, followed by Louisa. Baubles and tinsel and dozens of candy canes flew across the store as Cici pushed over the beautifully decorated trees behind her, trying to slow Louisa down with some sort of festive assault course. But there was no way. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned but New York had no fury like a mother scared and Lou was currently channelling all the fear that she had lost her daughter into kicking Cici Spencer’s arse. It was a form of therapy that I supported.

‘Oh, boys and girls!’ Santa Claus struggled up from his seat and stepped forward to break up the fight, losing his hat in the process. I was quite impressed to see that his beard seemed to be entirely real. ‘Let’s not fight at Christmas.’

With Bing Crosby crooning a seasonal backing track, the cries of all the children who had been waiting to see Santa and not two thirty-year-old women chasing each other around a department store growing and the fear that Grace had been sold to Brad and Angelina completely assuaged, I was actually starting to feel quite Christmassy again. I mean, at least I’d seen the Rockettes. On their third go around the sleigh, Louisa finally caught up with her prey, reaching out for a handful of blonde hair and pulling. Hard. Hampered by her pencil skirt and high high heels, Cici went down way too easy. It was disappointing really, she should have known better – this wasn’t the first time she’d been beaten up by my mates.