Chapter 60
Gemma thought about Joe as she put the finishing touches to a donkey’s tail with the help of wire wool and a spot of Blu-tac. She wished now she hadn’t complained to Beryl about him in the early days. She had butted in on the meeting after Juan’s accident in order to back Joe up. Still, it looked as though it was all too late now. He was leaving, even though he didn’t have another job. If only she’d known earlier that his rather brash, brusque exterior shielded the personal problems he had told her about in their illuminating coffee-shop chat a few weeks ago.
Perhaps, she told herself, Barry was more insecure than he seemed. Maybe she shouldn’t have got so upset when he had called her selfish. It was just, as he’d explained when they’d kissed and made up, that he wanted her all for himself. She should really take that as a compliment.
Meanwhile, he had promised to understand that she might be preoccupied with the nativity play. Relations were at crisis point amongst the Puddleducks at the moment. The second angel had fallen out with the first angel because the third angel had become best friends with the first instead of the second, and not asked the latter to her birthday party. That in turn had led to a heated exchange amongst the mothers the other day at pick-up time.
So difficult! Gemma could remember not being asked to someone’s birthday party at school once, and feeling awful.
‘We’ll have to stand them at different ends of the stage,’ suggested Bella, who kept twirling her ring just in case anyone hadn’t noticed its new position.
Then there was the tricky situation with one of the wise men, who kept sucking his costume. Could sequins go straight through?
The day before the big night, a real calamity occurred. ‘I’ve lost Baby Jesus!’ wailed the Virgin Mary. ‘I can’t sleep without him.’
Gemma had warned Clemmie’s mother that it might not be a good idea for Clemmie to bring in her favourite doll, but both had insisted. The doll was bone china and had belonged to a famous designer whom Mummy had once worked for.
In the end, the doll was found in the messy corner, where the understudy for the Virgin Mary had been trying to wash its hair in the jelly bowl in retaliation for not clinching the role herself.
‘Mrs Merryfield? Why is jelly green?’
‘Good question, Sienna. It can be other colours too, depending on how it’s made.’
Only twenty-four hours to go! ‘Barry, I’m really sorry,’ she said when she rang from school on her mobile. ‘I just can’t go out tonight. Bella and I have to stay late to finish the stage scenery.’
There was a tight silence at the other end. ‘But you know I’ve only got a few days before my leave ends.’
His voice was clipped and even. Even worse, she could hear Joyce in the background. ‘What’s wrong, dear? Has she stood you up again?’
This was ridiculous, thought Gemma, feeling cross now. He was a grown man. Why didn’t he tell his mother to mind her own business?
‘Perhaps you could explain to Joyce that I have to work in order to pay my rent,’ she snapped.
Bella raised her eyebrows at the conversation, and Gemma turned her back in order to get some privacy. ‘Look, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude but I did warn you, Barry, that I’ve got to work late this week. Otherwise the play simply won’t be ready.’
She could imagine him nodding that short, sharp nod at the other end of the phone. ‘We can’t have that, can we?’ he replied cuttingly before hanging up. A nasty cold feeling crawled down Gemma’s spine. She’d have some making-up to do when she got back that night – to both mother and son. Except that, she didn’t feel this time that it was up to her to apologise. Barry should understand, just as she had to understand about his job. And Joyce should stay out of it.
Meanwhile, she couldn’t spare any time to dwell on it. If she was ever going to get home tonight, she needed to push on with the scenery. Ah good, here was Joe. That would give them three sets of hands to get the job done.
‘Isn’t it fantastic about the award?’ chirped Bella as she put the finishing touches to the large sheet of cardboard that was meant to be a tree.
Everything was fantastic in Bella’s book now that the ring was back in situ, but yes, it was amazing about the award.
‘I can’t believe they made a special category just for us,’ she continued.
Gemma smiled at Joe. ‘It is incredible. If you hadn’t sent those pictures in and emailed all those newspapers, it might not have happened.’
Three months ago, she thought, he’d have said something about it being an obvious business strategy, but now he was looking almost shy, as though he was embarrassed at being praised.
‘It’s a shame that your book didn’t get a prize,’ sympathised Bella, who, at the moment, was feeling magnanimous towards the whole world.
‘ Our book,’ he reminded her. ‘It was Brian’s idea in the first place, but as he says, prizes aren’t everything.’
Bella made a cooing sound. ‘Such a sweet old man. He reminds me of my grandfather.’
‘He’s not that old,’ said Joe quickly, ‘although I suppose that at your age anyone over thirty is ancient!’
‘Course they are,’ said Bella and somehow, Gemma had a feeling she wasn’t joking.
‘Have you thought about getting the book printed and selling it to the parents?’ she suggested.
Joe nodded. ‘Beryl has already given the go-ahead and it’s with the printers now. Might even be ready for the spring bring-and-buy.’
‘Pity you won’t be there to see it.’ Bella squinted at her representation of a tree to see if that made it look any better. It didn’t. ‘Do you think this tree looks lopsided?’
‘Yes,’ said Joe and Gemma together, and found themselves laughing helplessly, like children when they got a fit of the giggles.
‘What’s the joke?’
Gemma turned to find Barry at the door.
‘The tree,’ she said, starting to laugh all over again. ‘We’re admiring Bella’s artistic skill.’
‘Or lack of it,’ added Joe. ‘Want to join us? We could do with a hand.’
Barry took a step back. ‘Decorating’s not my thing. I was just wondering how long you were going to be, Gemma?’
‘Ahhh,’ cooed Bella. ‘How sweet. He’s missing you. You two go ahead. Honestly. Joe and I will finish off, won’t we?’