Chapter 27
MARY
All of a sudden, it was the Monday before Friday’s dress rehearsal, and I still had eight outfits to either finish off, adjust to fit, or, to my agitation, start from scratch.
Back when I’d volunteered for this enormous project, I hadn’t quite accounted for how little time there was with a baby who wanted feeding, and keeping clean, and needed cuddles and smiles.
I’d never done this without Shay and Kieran to help with the trickier bits. I had brilliant ideas, but neither the time nor the skill to make them happen. Some parts just needed an extra pair of hands. Thankfully, these days, I was being offered several.
When I let Sofia know I couldn’t make coffee morning, she somehow read between the innocuous lines of my message.
Mary
Sorry, not going to make it today. I need to work on the costumes. Hope that’s ok x
Sofia
No it’s not ok. Where are you on a scale of calmly working to a perfectly achievable schedule, that happens to allow no time to hang with your friends, and rampaging panic attacks because no way on earth will you be ready on time? And how can we help?
Mary
I’m somewhere between Officially Freaking Out and beating myself up for volunteering for something I should have known I couldn’t handle.
Had a brief moment of weakness and looked online for fancy-dress shops.
I don’t know how you can help – don’t shun me when the NLCCCCC is a giant wardrobe malfunction?
Sofia
Right. We’re on our way.
Within the hour, I had four women, too many small children and two more sewing machines set up in my dining room.
They’d brought cake, of course, as well as a tub from Rosie’s freezer that she thought might be sausage casserole.
Most importantly, they brought stories, jokes, unrelenting positivity and some much-needed perspective.
‘I can promise you, Mary, you could throw together costumes that are ten times worse than the Princess Santa outfit you made me, and they’d still be the best we’ve ever had.
We’ve barely made it past tea-towel and dressing-gown shepherds.
One year, we had an angel wearing a white bin-bag, because they spilt Coke on their original robe at the last minute,’ Rina reassured me as she glued tiny stars onto Star Santa’s dress.
‘Besides, while these costumes will blow people away, if the last few aren’t that special, everyone will be far too distracted with the utter bonkersness of the script to notice,’ Rosie added, adjusting the buttons on Shrek Santa’s waistcoat.
‘Don’t forget the props,’ Li said, eyes widening as she ironed the creases out of some stubborn velvet, assuring us that she’d be more help if she didn’t sew. ‘Cheris and Carolyn have asked to borrow our ride-on lawnmower.’
‘They’ve convinced Moses to let them hire a snow machine,’ Sofia said, shaking her head as she cut out a pattern for Joseph’s tunic.
I couldn’t help smiling. ‘While on the one hand I wish it were another month away, at the same time I can’t wait to see it. For many different reasons.’
Whether the concert turned out spectacularly, or turned into a spectacle, it would be a night to remember.
By the time they’d all left, just after two, the progress we’d made more than made up for the time spent clearing up the trail of destruction created by four small children left largely to their own devices for hours.
The women were all too busy to offer much time for the rest of the week, but they promised to drop in when they could, and at the very least bring more cake.
I looked at the pile of fabric, weighed it up against the finished costumes hanging up along the living-room curtain rail, listened to Bob starting to whimper and called the man I most wanted to see, who the very thought of also happened to put me in such a tizzy, my finger trembled as I pulled up his number.
‘Hi.’ Beckett sounded slightly breathless – relieved? – when he answered. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes. And no.’
I went on to stammer out the situation, and unsurprisingly he listened, took notes and made me feel reassured as no one else could have done.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said once we’d come up with an action plan.
‘For what? We already agreed that I’d be your assistant. I hoped you’d be calling on me far more than this.’
‘Hoped?’ My heart leapt, lodging itself somewhere behind my voice box. I really needed to get a grip on whatever these feelings were.
It’s called love, you numpty, Shay’s amused voice replied inside my head. This is what it feels like. Not a charming man duping you into believing your whirlwind affair was a lifelong passion.
Beckett cleared his throat. ‘I don’t exactly dread hanging out with you, Mary. If you hadn’t picked up on that by now.’
‘Right. Okay.’ Thank goodness we were on the phone so he couldn’t see me swooning. He didn’t dread hanging out with me! What more could a girl want?
‘Anyway, that’s not why I’m apologising. I’m sorry for being a bit off yesterday. I told you I didn’t need any help and that wasn’t true.’
I didn’t know if I wanted him to ask me why or not. Then again, if he did ask, I’d not have the courage to answer honestly. Not when we’d just arranged for him to spend a considerable amount of time at my house over the next few days.
‘That’s okay. You don’t have to explain.’
I breathed a mental sigh of relief. I didn’t want to make up some excuse about being tired, feeling unwell or something else that would mean lying to my friend.
‘Any of it. Until you want to.’
‘What?’
‘I mean…’ Beckett broke off, paused, then carried on, his voice more resolute. ‘I’d love to get to know you better. Your whole story. I won’t push or pry. I won’t ask uncomfortable questions. But when you’re ready, if it would help to share it with someone, I’d love to be the person to listen.’
‘Thank you.’
And then I was crying again, dammit. Because I was tired and overwhelmed and about ready to pack my bags, call a taxi and pretend I’d never set foot in New Life Community Church, yet this kind, patient, understanding man always – always – managed to make me feel better.
* * *
For the next three days, I sewed and snipped and stressed out, and Beckett made pots of tea and rounds of toasties, listened to my self-doubt-fuelled rantings, cooked, tidied up and did menial but vital tasks like donning wings so I could adjust the straps or picking up the giant pot of buttons I’d clumsily scattered across the floor.
Gramps was there, too, of course, cuddling Bob, watching quiz shows and occasionally shuffling about, inspecting my dodgy wiring.
The coffee mums popped in sporadically and handed out cookies or mince-pie cheesecake, did some of the simpler stitching or passed me feathers, rubber tubing or whatever else I needed.
When my eyes grew so tired the stitches blurred together, Beckett would drive us all to his house and head back out taxiing, while I kept Gramps company and then helped him to bed.
I’d never assisted an elderly man in getting undressed and into his thermal pyjamas before, but we managed it with humour and historical anecdotes if things got a bit awkward.
When Beckett came home, we ate a late supper of cheese on toast or cinnamon bagels, accompanied with a tonic and gin (that I suspected he’d bought especially for me) and easy conversation until I knew I’d fall asleep if I didn’t call myself a taxi home.
Aside from all the anxiety, the frustration of a jammed sewing machine or swatch of netting that just wouldn’t sit right, it was the best few days I’d had in a very long time.
It felt like home.
Beckett felt like home.
I couldn’t help my antenna twitching for any sense that he might feel the same way about me. I must have been about as different from his ex-fiancée as you could get. Then again, he was nothing like the man I’d married, so I decided not to dwell too much on that.
On Friday, I spent the morning finishing off a few final touches, washed my hair for the first time all week, took Bob for a frosty walk in the forest and paced up and down the dining room, pausing to smooth a crease here, adjust a bow or a beak there, and waited for Beckett, my friend, hero and the man I’d pretty much fallen in love with, to take us to the dress rehearsal.