Chapter 21
The bus journey to Grace’s school had been fraught. The traffic was insane and, despite his best efforts, Yang couldn’t keep Stacey from fretting that they were going to be late.
‘She’ll kill me if we’re late,’ said Stacey.
‘It’s OK,’ said Yang. ‘We can’t do anything about it, so it is what it is. And we’ve got plenty of time.’
‘But everyone will have got there early and be queuing at the door for the front seats and we’ll be at the back, and what if Grace doesn’t see us? God knows what she’ll do. She’ll kick off, I know she will, if she thinks I’ve not turned up.’ She leaned back in her seat, clearly distressed, and Yang had no idea how to calm her down so he decided to keep quiet and say nothing.
Eventually Stacey dug him in the ribs and announced they’d arrived and they should hurry to the school. They got off the bus and immediately Stacey broke into a jog, in heels, down the road. Yang had no choice but to pick up his speed and go in pursuit.
They rounded a corner and there were the school gates looming ahead. Behind them stood a three-storey Victorian school that looked anything but welcoming. Yang was starting to wonder whether he’d made a huge mistake.
Yang edged nervously into the school hall, feeling like a total fraud. Everyone would be able to tell he wasn’t one of the parents, he thought, and they’d wonder what on earth he was doing here.
They got themselves seated right at the back on the end of the row. Will was sitting a couple of rows in front and turned to wave at Stacey and frown at Yang. Yang could imagine it was quite confusing for Will to see him there, but there was no need to give him such a filthy look. The lights went down and the head teacher stood up on stage to introduce the production.
The production had something in common with all primary school nativities in that it was a well-meaning but shambolic retelling of the biblical tale. Yang struggled to follow the story as it unfolded on stage. There were children in hoods, shuffling around on stage with sheets wrapped around them, and lots of kids dressed as random animals such as donkeys, cows, sheep and goats. There were even a couple of zebras, which confused him. Then two tall boys and a very tall girl arrived wearing crowns and carrying boxes wrapped in foil, and stood behind the people in sheets and a couple of kids that were possibly dressed as camels, but equally could have been hairy mammoths. After them a mixture of boys and girls dressed as angels arrived and did a song-and-dance number. Then they sat all along the front of the stage until the stage was absolutely crammed with every kid who must be in Grace’s class. Finally, the two in the middle, dressed in sheets, picked a doll out of a cot in front of them, which Yang assumed must be Jesus, and held it up, and everyone turned round and pretended to be amazed. At various points during the play, groups of children would come to the front of the stage and sing their little hearts out. Some would shout, some would sing, some would refuse to sing a word, but Yang found it totally mesmerising. He couldn’t take his eyes off the kids coming together and singing, then lapping up the applause as proud parents wiped tears from their eyes.
A children’s Nativity play. Kids singing together in fancy dress about a story as old as time. Knowing it had been done by generations before.
Tradition.
Yang knew all about tradition.
Tradition connects us to our past and our future and, most importantly, to other people.
Yes, it can hold us back. Of course it can. It can bury us far too deep in the past, but as Yang looked around at all the glowing faces in the audience, and indeed the glowing faces on the stage, he recognised that whatever your beliefs, it really didn’t matter. What mattered was being together in a shared joyful experience. Regardless of what colour or creed or, indeed, religion. Gathering together, connecting over something peaceful. That was what mattered in this world.
He glanced at Stacey, who was watching the play intently. She looked at him and smiled.
He smiled back.
He was glad he’d come.
She leaned over and clutched his hand just for a moment and grinned. She looked like she was glad he had come too.
The final number of the performance required the entire cast to be on the stage wailing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ at the tops of their voices. All the cast took it in turns to come to the front of the stage and take their bows. Eventually the donkeys stood at the front, Grace right in the middle, scanning the crowd, looking slightly disturbed as though she thought no one had turned up to see her.
Yang couldn’t help himself. He half stood up in his seat and waved his hand, hoping to get Grace’s attention. She looked over and he saw the biggest smile leap to her face. She nudged the person next to her and pointed straight at Yang and told the poor little boy he had to wave as well, which he reluctantly did. Yang sat himself back down again and grinned at Stacey. He’d liked Grace smiling at him like that. Clearly pleased to see him.
The headmistress stood up and gave a speech, pointing out how well all the children had performed and congratulating the frazzled-looking teacher who sat at the side of the stage, who had orchestrated the whole shebang. Miss Shepherd (which raised a laugh) looked like she was about to slide off her chair in sheer exhaustion. She accepted the flowers offered to her with a grimace, looking as though she would have preferred a bottle of gin that she would have happily downed neat in front of everyone at that precise moment.
The headmistress then announced that they were going to end the show with a new composition from a very special child in their school who really loved donkeys and was very keen to share her song.
Yang clapped hard and watched as Grace arrived beaming on the stage with her ukulele and a chair. She sat on the chair and stared out at the audience. Yang watched her swallow. He hoped that wasn’t nerves. Nerves is the killer of all creation.
She took a breath and launched into the song.
Donkey Love … is the best kind of love.
Donkey Love … is everlasting love.
Donkey Love … beats any kind of love.
Donkey love … is all you need.
She closed her eyes as she sang, slightly out of tune, really feeling the moment. It only took until the end of the first verse for parents to be exchanging looks of silent amusement. Yang tried to ignore them, willing Grace not to notice, willing her to keep her eyes closed, willing her just to enjoy it. That’s what he did when he sometimes found himself gigging to a mainly empty and uninterested room. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment, picturing instead the Glastonbury crowd, shouting and screaming his lyrics back to him. That was the way to enjoy a tough gig. With your eyes closed and pretend you were somewhere else.
There were a few audible titters now and Yang looked around sharply, wanting to shush the vicious idiots intent on crushing the poor girl on stage. He immediately spotted that Will’s shoulders were heaving up and down with laughter. Stacey hadn’t appeared to have noticed, totally focused on Grace as she was.
Yang glanced back over at Grace, who still had her eyes closed, but as she totally missed a high note he heard Will let out an audible guffaw. Yang couldn’t stand it any more.
He leaned forward round the person in front of him and bashed Will on the shoulder.
Will whipped his head round immediately and Yang saw the tears of laughter streaming down his face. Yang saw red, pulled his fist back and punched him in the face.
Will reeled backwards, nearly falling to the floor. ‘What the hell …?’ he said, struggling to get his balance. Will lashed out at Yang and caught him on the chin, causing him to fall off his chair and land on the floor. He looked up and there was the headmistress looming over him, and he was aware that Grace must have stopped singing.
‘What on earth is going on here?’ shouted the headmistress. She glared down at Yang on the floor and then up at Will dabbing his bloody lip. ‘You and you, my office, NOW!’ she said, striding off.
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A few minutes later and Yang, Will and Stacey were sitting outside Mrs Bunton’s office on cripplingly small chairs. Will was sulkily dabbing his still-bloody lip. Yang had decided he needed to be somewhere else so had put his headphones on and was listening to Blur. He felt awful. He’d ruined Grace’s performance. How could he have done that? He’d performed once in a pub when a fight had broken out over a spilled pint. It was his worst gig ever as clearly the audience found the fight over spilt Special Brew much more exciting than his singing. He remembered he’d just given up when everyone turned their backs on him to surge round the two men in their fifties having a scrap. He’d packed his guitar and walked out, and not a single person had noticed, as far as he could tell. It broke his heart to think that Grace might be feeling the same as he had felt. Ignored because a fight was going on in the back of the room. And what must Stacey think of him? She looked bewildered and confused. And she had every right to be. Her colleague and her boyfriend had ended up in a fight at her daughter’s Nativity. It was bad however way you looked at it. He really had screwed this up. Hitting her boyfriend was not the way to get her on side, even if Will was a complete and utter arsehole. He wished she could see that? Why was she so blinded by the smart clothes and the fancy job and the fancy Christmas parties? Why couldn’t she see that behind all that, he was not a good person. And certainly not good enough for her.
A door was flung open at the end of the corridor and Mrs Bunton strode down the corridor in her cord trousers, Chelsea boots, Christmas jumper and a face like thunder. She unlocked her door and held it open, indicating for them all to go in.
There were four chairs arranged in front of a desk. Will made sure he sat next to Stacey whilst Yang sat dejectedly on the end, trying to work out what his story was. He took off his headphones and hung them round his neck.
‘He started it,’ said Will the minute Mrs Bunton had sat down. ‘I was sat there enjoying Grace’s song and he just punched me for no reason whatsoever. And he’s not even a parent; he shouldn’t even be here.’
Mrs Bunton glared at him until he went silent. Then turned her gaze to Yang. Yang had flashbacks of when he was called to the headmaster’s office at his school when he was thirteen years old because he’d been skipping chemistry.
‘And who are you?’ she asked.
‘I’m Yang. I, er, I’m a colleague of Stacey’s and I wrote the “Donkey Love” song with Grace, Mrs Bunton,’ he said, reading her name off the strip on her desk.
‘Creep,’ muttered Will under his breath.
Mrs Bunton nearly got whiplash she transferred her look back to Will so quickly.
‘What was that?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Will, bowing his head.
‘What was that?’ she asked again. ‘It was definitely something.’
‘I called him a creep,’ said Will defiantly.
‘You called him a name,’ said Mrs Bunton, her eyebrows arching. ‘How very grown up,’ she added.
‘About as grown up as him throwing a punch at me during a children’s Nativity play,’ said Will.
Mrs Bunton turned back to Yang.
‘Why did you punch him?’ she asked with the sigh of a woman who has asked little boys that a trillion times.
‘Because he was laughing at Grace,’ said Yang. ‘I didn’t think that was very nice of him and not fair on Grace.’
‘I was not laughing at Grace, I was laughing at your stupid song and you couldn’t take it,’ replied Will. ‘Can so tell you’re not a parent. I mean, how stupid can you get? Making an innocent child get up on stage and sing your stupid song. What an idiot.’
‘There is no place for name-calling in this school,’ said Mrs Bunton sternly. ‘You should know that by now, Mr Caton.’
‘But he is stupid,’ said Will.
‘And you’re a total shitbag,’ muttered Yang under his breath.
‘Enough,’ said Mrs Bunton, slamming her hand down on the desk. ‘Have either of you thought about the example this is setting the children? Fighting! At the Nativity play! And what about poor Miss Shepherd? All her hard work in getting the children Nativity ready, only for them to be upstaged by two idiots in the audience having a fight.’
‘I thought you said there was no space for name-calling in this school,’ said Will.
Mrs Bunton looked as though she would punch him there and then.
‘Do you have anything to say, Miss Bentley?’ Mrs Bunton asked Stacey.
Stacey looked up at her, and then at Will and then at Yang. Then shook her head slowly.
‘Well, for a start I think you both need to apologise to Grace,’ said Mrs Bunton, getting up from her chair and striding over to the door. She opened it and there appeared Grace, looking as confused as her mother.
‘Come in and sit down,’ said Mrs Bunton.
Grace dashed in and sat on her mother’s knee.
‘I’m not in trouble, am I?’ said Grace to Mrs Bunton.
‘Goodness no,’ said Mrs Burton. ‘These two gentlemen have something to say to you.’
‘You were brilliant,’ said Yang immediately to Grace. ‘Utterly brilliant. And I’m so sorry I interrupted you by punching Will. It was unforgivable. I am so sorry.’
Grace’s eyes grew wide. ‘Why did you hit him?’ she asked. ‘Is it because he’s kissing Mummy?’ she asked.
‘Grace!’ shrieked Stacey. ‘You can’t say things like that here.’
‘No,’ said Yang. ‘It wasn’t because of that. No, I punched him because …’ he paused to consider his words, ‘… because he was laughing at me,’ he said finally. ‘That’s all. I was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry, Grace.’
Grace shook her head. ‘It was the best bit of the play,’ she said. ‘I mean, it was so funny when the shepherd did a really loud fart, did you hear it? But a real fight, whilst I was singing. And someone punching Isaac’s dad. It’s like a Nativity dream come true.’
‘Grace!’ admonished Stacey.
Yang tried to suppress a smile.
‘Your turn,’ Mrs Bunton said to Will.
‘What’s my turn?’ asked Will.
Mrs Bunton remained stony faced. ‘Apologise to Grace.’
‘I’m sorry, Grace,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry that Yang’s song didn’t go down well with the other parents and so he hit me.’
‘More please,’ demanded Mrs Bunton.
Will looked at her bewildered.
‘I’m sorry that because he hit me, that I hit him back,’ he said.
Mrs Bunton finally nodded. ‘Well, I think it’s time you all went home now, isn’t it? I’ve got enough to do without supervising the poor behaviour of parents. Having said that, the poor behaviour of parents seems to take up an increasing amount of my time. You are all dismissed, but let us be clear. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you and the slightest hint of trouble and there will be serious consequences. Understood?’
‘Understood,’ muttered Yang and Will.
‘Not sure I’ll be coming back, though,’ said Yang, ‘so you don’t need to worry about me.’
‘Oh, you will,’ said Grace. ‘They do a summer concert every year. We need to start composing right now. I’ve got an idea for a song about a rabbit.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Yang said to Stacey as they stood awkwardly at the school gate. Will had left the headmistress’s office to go to find Isaac, and Grace had to dash back into school to fetch her coat.
‘I didn’t mean to ruin Grace’s Nativity play,’ he said.
Stacey looked angry. ‘How could you do that?’ she asked. ‘In front of the whole school, cause a scene. It’s bad enough being a single parent at the school gate, everyone judging you, looking at you, watching you with their husbands. It’s a nightmare. And then you come along and hit the man everyone knows I’m seeing. What do you think that says? I’m going to be the biggest topic on WhatsApp until Christmas, you realise.’
‘I’m so, so sorry,’ said Yang, looking at the floor. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
‘And what about Will?’ she said. ‘What must he be thinking? What if this makes him think that dating me is more hassle than it’s worth?’
‘I’ll do whatever you need,’ Yang found himself saying. ‘If you need me for extra babysitting so you can see him, then just tell me.’ What was he saying? He wanted to get Will away from Stacey and yet he was encouraging it. But he was desperate. Desperate to make amends and not have Stacey think badly of him.
‘OK,’ she nodded. ‘I might just have to take you up on that. You’re still coming when we go to the Christmas ball, aren’t you? If he still wants to take me, that is.’
‘Of course he’ll want to take you,’ said Yang.
‘You think?’
‘I mean, who wouldn’t want to take someone like you to the ball?’
‘What do you mean, someone like me?’
Yang swallowed; he wasn’t prepared for this. ‘Well, beautiful and charming and fun to be with. I mean, you’re the perfect person to take to a ball, I’d say …’ He trailed off, although unable to look away from Stacey, who was giving him a strange look.
‘Can Yang come home with us?’ Grace said, bounding up behind them.
‘Er, no,’ muttered Yang. ‘Sorry, can’t today. Busy. Stuff to do.’
Stacey nodded. ‘Let’s get you home,’ she said, looking down at Grace.
‘Aww,’ complained Grace. ‘But you are coming soon to babysit again, like Mummy said, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Yang to Grace. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Looking forward to spending time with you.’
‘Yippee,’ said Grace. ‘And thank you for making it the best Nativity ever,’ she said to him. ‘Everyone’s talking about you and wishing you were their dad because you’re so cool.’
‘Are they?’ said Yang.
‘Yes,’ said Grace. ‘Everyone’s super jealous because I invited the man who punched Isaac’s dad. Even Nikesh came to talk to me and he’s the coolest boy in our year and he never talks to me.’
‘Time to go,’ Stacey said to Grace. She took her hand and Yang watched them walk away. Grace turned back at the corner of the road and gave him a thumbs up and a huge smile. He thought his heart might break.