Chapter 20 December 20th #6
“I heard nothing about hand-holding in the endless acts of services Albi reeled off,” I quip, nudging his shoulder and showing him the squashed cakes. “I don’t think even Herbert Smith will want them now.”
Albi appears between us, and we both watch as he lowers his lunchbox to the ground.
Then he takes one of my hands and one of Dec’s, joining them between us, before he collects up his lunchbox and ambles on his way, picking his tail up too.
“The prawn has spoken,” Dec says, smug, as we follow him.
I roll my eyes, acutely aware of my chest pulsing. “Camryn?”
“Yes?”
“Breathe,” he whispers. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I really do,” I say, continuing to walk toward my worst nightmare. And not just for Albi. I need to do this for me too. And for Dec. “I can’t start my relationship off with your son on a false promise.”
“Camryn, you told him prawn shit is brains.”
I wince. “Sorry.”
“Shut up.” He stops us, checking Albi’s not too far ahead. “I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable doing.”
“I have to keep moving forward,” I tell him.
“No matter how hard, no matter how painful. There has to be some peace for me somewhere on this shitty journey, and I’m really hoping it’s standing in front of me.
” It’s come with its minor unexpected plot twist, but .
. . fuck. My life has been a plot twist.
“It’s standing in front of you,” he replies, sincere. Soft. Wholeheartedly.
“I wouldn’t dream of doing this without you.” I need him to know that. He’s taken the edge off the pain—a soothing salve to my devastated soul—making impossibles possible.
Dec brings my hand to his lips and kisses the tops of my fingers. “You’re not alone anymore, Camryn. I know I come with baggage but—”
“He’s not baggage, Dec.” I cast my eyes toward Albi. He’s stopped trudging along, is watching us intently. “He’s life.” And, scarily, he could be a part of the reason I heal.
Dec nods, as Albi comes barrelling into us. “Daddy, come on!”
“Coming, fella,” he says, gently tugging on my hand, so that when I follow him, he knows I’m coming willingly.
I can do this.
We make it to reception, and Dec signs Albi in as a middle-aged woman comes flapping around the corner. “Albi Ellis,” she cries. “Where have you been?”
“Sorry, Mrs. Brown,” he says sullenly.
“Never mind, never mind, you’re here now.” She takes his shoulders and starts hurrying him along the corridor. “Take your seats.” I don’t miss the raised brow she points my way.
“This way,” Dec says, dragging me toward a set of double doors.
Pushing through, I’m suddenly in a small concert hall with rows and rows of tiny wooden chairs lined up, adults sitting on them.
“Here.” He finds us two seats on the end of an aisle one row from the back, and I lower, gazing around the hall.
Every wall is covered in art and displays, every available hanging space dangling in tinsel and handmade, painted snowflakes of every shape, colour, and size.
I swallow, keeping my head still and directed forward, looking around the hall, only moving my eyes.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“What?” Dec turns a worried look my way. “What is it?”
“You’re the hot single dad.” Mums at every turn are flicking looks this way, all obviously curious. “They’re looking at me.”
“They’re not looking at you,” Dec says tiredly, scoping the place himself . . . seeing everyone looking at me. “Okay, they’re looking at you.”
I can see it now, all of them vying for his attention, the play date offers, invitations for Albi to every party.
One woman is particularly interested, even if she tries to hide it.
She’s a stunner. And here’s me, literally rolled out of bed.
“How many have you dated?” Dated doesn’t mean sex, as I know that’s not been in his life for some years.
He snorts. “None.”
“Really?”
“Really, Camryn.”
“Okay, how many have fluttered their lashes?”
He shifts on his chair, uncomfortable. “A few.”
My eyebrows jump up. “A few?”
“Most of them.”
“Hot single dad,” I muse.
“Except I’m not single.” He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Am I?”
“Keep it PG,” I mumble, nudging him back to his own personal space.
“Shut up.” He grabs my hand and squeezes as a man in a pair of bottle-green cords and an obscene Christmas jumper walks onto the stage and introduces himself as Mr. Gantree, before reminding parents taking photos is prohibited but they can purchase pictures from the school website when the appointed photographer uploads them.
I take a deep breath and cling to Dec, not quite believing I’m here, that I’ve put myself in this box of triggers.
But then I look at Dec sitting next to me, and I can believe it.
He glances at me, concern a constant on his face, some for me, and some for Albi, who’s about to make his acting debut.
“I’m okay,” I assure him, trying not to let my chest inflate as I take a deep breath and return my attention to the stage.
“Concentrate.” I don’t want his worry for me to distract him from such a monumental moment as a parent.
My eyes widen when an octopus wobbles onto the stage and starts to set the scene for the audience, not that we could have missed the big boards with waves and coral reefs painted on them.
“This is Christmas Under the Sea,” Octopus declares, as a piano is wheeled on and Mr. Gantree takes the stool, starting to play.
And we watch in fascination as Santa’s elves that, for the sake of this production, are actually clown fish, all huddle onto the stage and start singing I-don’t-know-what.
Father Christmas is a merman, and his reindeers are dolphins.
I lean into Dec. “This isn’t a nativity play as I know it.”
“Me neither,” he murmurs. “Where are the three wise men?”
“Are you religious?”
“Not even a little bit.” His posture changes, his body sitting up straight, and I look back at the stage when I see Albi waddle on, looking so bloody proud of himself. I don’t know who to watch. Albi or Dec.
Albi whips out a scroll and lets it roll out, the paper hitting the floor. “The naughty list,” he declares sternly, and all the sea creatures gasp.
“Nailed it,” Dec says, resting back in his chair.
I smile, leaning into him. “Which one is Petal?” I ask.
“The jellyfish,” he whispers. “She better not sting my boy.”
I chuckle and settle, finding Albi on the stage again. His grin is as wide as his face.
And it’s magic.
For the rest of the play, I sway constantly from sad to elated.
Smiling happily and smiling sadly. I study each and every kid on stage, compare Noah to them all—height, size, hair, speech, cheeks.
At one point, when they all burst into an interesting version of Winter Wonderland that involved changing most of the lyrics to fit the production, I thought I might have to step outside, watching them all sing with utter gusto, like their lives depended on it, keen to show their mummies and daddies how well they’ve done.
But, honestly, I didn’t want to miss Albi.
And I definitely didn’t want him to see me get up and walk out.
As soon as the curtains close, everyone stands and a raucous applause breaks out, grown-ups clapping and whooping, so many proud faces in the house.
I take it all in. Numb but not. I know what it must feel like, this feeling filling the room, and it’s the best in the world.
Utter pride and love. Dec’s feeling that now, and I am too, to an extent.
The curtains slide open, and I make sure Albi sees us clapping for him.
His grin makes him even more edible, so I give him a thumbs up that he tries to return but can’t because of the giant pink velvet mitts on his hands.
“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” Dec asks as he leans into me, talking just loud enough for me to hear over the continued applause.
“I might have to shower at some point.”
He looks down his front, to the sweatpants and hoodie. “We can shower later. Want to come on a date with me and Albi?”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“But it’s school time.”
“It’s the last day before Christmas break. What’s he going to miss except Herbert Smith monopolising the party food?”
I smile, Dec grins back at me, and then he grabs my hand, pulling me through the crowd toward the stage. The eyes of many women follow us as he leads us round the back, down a corridor, and into a classroom. It’s empty. “What—”
My words are stolen along with my breath when he spins me into him and claims my lips with a soft, possessive pressure, tugging my body close with his arm hooked around my waist. And despite where we are, I tumble into the sanctuary of his kiss and succumb to the beautiful effect he has on me, following his pace and pressure for what feels like forever until he hums and slows the swirls of his tongue and sucks my lip gently into his mouth.
I open my eyes, dazed. Warm. Madly, deeply in love. “We’re in a classroom,” I whisper.
He looks around, his wet lips pouting in thought. “Detention for you, Ms. Moore.”
“I’m guilty by association. Being led astray. Mixing with the wrong crowd.” I push my mouth to his, my arm around his neck to keep him there, feeling his lips stretch into a smile beneath mine. “We better get out of here before we’re found and–”
The door swings open, and the woman who took particular interest in us in the hall appears.
“Oh, apologies.” She pulls her handbag closer into the crook of her bent arm.
“I didn’t realise the room was occupied.
Was I interrupting something?” Her eyes land on me, and it’s all I can do not to roll mine. “I’m sorry, we’ve not met.”
“Camryn, Melissa; Melissa, Camryn,” Dec says quickly, before starting to haul me out of the classroom. “Have a great Christmas, Melissa,” he calls, dragging me along.
“Don’t forget my canapés and mulled wine get-together tonight!” she calls. “Seven thirty.”