A Wedding in the Sun

Epilogue

The Christmas Fayre at the Dowlands Primary School was in full swing when Jo wandered through the gates with Oscar’s hand firmly in hers. Dec looked eagerly around his old school, stifling a nostalgic smile.

‘Do you think Miss Chukwuka is still here?’ Liss asked. ‘Or Mr Denham? He used to dress up as Stick Man for the Christmas Fayre.’

‘I bet he would have played Santa if there hadn’t been such a danger of the kids recognising him,’ Jo said with a chuckle.

Outside the main school block, a brick Victorian building with ‘Girls’ and ‘Boys’ written over the identical entrances, three rows of kids were lined up on the steps, singing ‘Born on Christmas Day’ with enormous smiles and some gospel moves. A music teacher Jo didn’t recognise stood in front of them, encouraging them with expansive arm movements and exaggerated facial expressions.

‘Wow, the choir wasn’t that good when we were at school,’ Liss commented. Jo snorted a guilty laugh, but she just shook her head when Liss peered curiously at her. Perhaps that money had gone to a good cause after all.

Passing the choir, Jo gave a few self-conscious waves to familiar faces from her PTA years as she bought cups of mulled wine and punch and some misshapen homemade biscuits and then ushered Oscar ahead of her into the portakabin that had been converted into learning support space and a student library.

Inside was a Christmas wonderland of soft fairy lights and handmade decorations in crepe paper, tinsel and velvet – with a soundtrack of tinkling Spanish guitar. Oscar rushed to the corner where an armchair had been draped in red velvet with a stack of wrapped presents to one side.

‘Papá!’ he called, throwing his arms around the figure in the chair, who was dressed in red and white, with a synthetic beard and curly black hair emerging from under the wonky hat.

‘Oscar,’ he replied in a low, rumbly voice, ‘I’m Father Christmas, remember?’

‘I didn’t know Father Christmas had an accent,’ said a tall girl who was standing to one side, holding her present.

‘You weren’t so sceptical a moment ago when I said, “Ho ho ho,” and gave you that colouring book,’ he replied.

‘It’s a colouring book?’ the girl repeated with a grimace and walked off, leaving Adrián grumbling under his breath.

‘Can’t you at least play something festive?’ Jo asked as she approached with a wry smile.

‘Do you have any idea how many times I’ve played “Jingle Bells” already today?’ he asked, his voice gravelly. Instead of a festive favourite, he absently plucked an ancient Renaissance piece that had become part of the soundtrack of her life over the past six months.

Ever since he’d turned up on her doorstep with his performance guitar the Sunday after the wedding, sat her down on her own sofa and played her a very corny – but absolutely wonderful – acoustic version of ‘Always’ by Bon Jovi that had made her laugh and cry all at once, she’d heard him play nearly every day and she missed the tinkles of music in the house when he wasn’t there.

He paused his playing and said, ‘You could at least give Father Christmas a kiss.’

Jo obliged with a smile, pressing a light kiss to his lips.

‘“I saw Mummy kissing Santa Claus…”,’ Liss sang in a mumble, catching Adrián’s eye to share the joke.

‘How much longer do I have to do this? I’ve been trying to look at the clock on my phone, but then a kid appears and asks if that mobile is their Christmas present. Kids these days.’

‘My, my, Santa is grumpy, today. Perhaps he’s just been hanging out for his milk and biscuits,’ she teased, holding the plate out to him.

‘Mrs Claus knows her husband well,’ he quipped, before choking on the implication of his words. He spluttered around a few shortbread crumbs. ‘I mean… Ms Whitecap, Santa’s girlfriend.’

‘Don’t you mean Santa’s significant other? His better half?’

‘His domestic partner,’ he said pointedly, reminding Jo of the rather emotional day three weeks ago when Adrián and Oscar had officially moved out of his apartment and into her house.

‘Wow, Santa is a very modern person!’ exclaimed a voice from the door. Mrs Begum, Oscar’s teacher – and Dec’s a few years ago – strode into the room. ‘Thank you so much for helping this year, Mr Rivera. We always have such trouble with volunteers. So few children have grandparents nearby in London.’

‘Happy to help,’ he said earnestly, with only the slightest hint of side-eye at Jo’s scowl.

‘It’s good to see you too, Declan,’ Mrs Begum continued. ‘It’s nice when siblings come along to support their?—’

‘Stepsiblings,’ Liss finished for her with a smile, grasping Oscar’s shoulders and giving him a quick hug.

‘Indeed,’ Mrs Begum said with an amused smile. ‘How interesting the way these things turn out.’ She glanced between Jo and Adrián and Jo wondered if she was a second away from saying, ‘A match made in the PTA.’ But instead, she turned to Adrián with a frown. ‘But I think we need some more “Jingle Bells”. We’ll see you soon in the gym for the concert!’

As the teacher disappeared, Adrián took up his guitar with an affected groan and played a few bars in a mournful key. Another student appeared in the doorway, tugging an obviously reluctant younger sibling along and Adrián transformed in an instant.

Strumming a lively rhythm, he gave Jo a prompting look and she sighed, but played along, singing the words to the first verse of ‘Jingle Bells’. Liss joined in and the children approached with bright eyes. Slowing at the finish, Adrián put the guitar to one side and hunched to greet the children.

‘Ho ho ho! Welcome to my grotto! I’ve been so busy making presents for children like you. Want to come and tell me your wishes for Christmas Day?’

Jo gave him a quick wave and mouthed that they’d see him later at the concert. Grasping Oscar’s hand, she headed for the door, looking back for one more glance at Father Christmas in action, his expression full of mystery and drama.

Just before the concert started, Adrián joined them in the gym, his hair askew and smelling slightly of mothballs. ‘Thanks for delivering our angel to the nativity,’ he murmured, pressing a kiss to Jo’s cheek.

There had been countless moments like this over the past six months: small, tender gestures; silent communication and tired comfort. In contrast to the beginning of their relationship, everything seemed to be going right for them.

He grasped her hand and tangled their fingers as the lights on the stage came up and the principal appeared, a tight smile on her face. ‘Uh, before we start, could the parents of Oscar Rivera Hernández please come backstage? There’s… just been a small incident with his wings.’