Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jen was confident to begin with.
She had contacts from the many jobs she’d had over the years, and from the many places she’d spent time socialising. There were several options for a pop-up bar and food trucks, and she had the band sorted already, thankfully.
But it was nearly Christmas. And she was giving them mere days’ notice.
Despondent, she finished up what felt like her hundredth phone call of the day.
‘No luck?’ Julia asked sympathetically, as she came down from reading bedtime stories. She settled onto the sofa next to Dan with a groan.
Jen shook her head. ‘At least this one was apologetic,’ she said. ‘The last guy just laughed in my face.’
Dan grimaced. ‘People are rude. Is there anything we can do to help?’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I really want to show Ted I can do this. He seems to think I’m some kind of big kid.’
She looked at them both, expecting them to share her outrage, but they seemed to be suddenly busy inspecting their fingernails.
‘Ah, that’s – that’s harsh, I mean, you’re great with the children,’ Dan said eventually, his tone encouraging. She appreciated his attempt at support, at least.
‘How far have you got?’ Julia asked.
‘Literally nowhere.’ Jen began ticking off on her fingers. ‘No reindeer, no decorations, no party games, no food trucks, no bar.’
‘Bar?’ Julia asked, her eyes wide. ‘It’s a kids’ Christmas fair. In a primary school! They don’t have a licence, you know. Much as the teachers probably wish they did!’ She chuckled at her own joke, and Dan caught her eye, grinning.
‘There are ways around that,’ Jen said, memories of a particular school fête when she was on teaching practice surfacing. ‘You just sell raffle tickets and they get a free drink with them.’
Julia and Dan exchanged a glance, smirking.
‘Sounds dodgy,’ Dan said.
‘We usually just pop into The Plough afterwards,’ Julia said.
‘Hmm,’ Jen said, distracted and barely listening.
She was tempted to head over to The Plough right now. She could use some liquid inspiration. She tapped her fingers on the screen of her phone, bringing to life the list in her notes app, which didn’t have a single item ticked off.
She had to pull this off; Ted was counting on her. The children were counting on her. And she needed to prove, to Ted and to herself, that she was the kind of person he could rely on when he needed to. Just as she could with him.
In the end, her old contacts proved useful, as did her powers of persuasion.
From somewhere, she discovered reserves of determination she’d forgotten she had; motivated by the need to keep her promise to Ted, and to the children, she threw herself into the challenge, fuelled by a continuous intake of coffee and mince pies.
Long-forgotten memories of her one term as a teacher began to resurface; the drive to think of new and exciting ideas that would inspire the children, the determination to work tirelessly to prepare activities that were as appealing as possible.
Something buzzed through her, an excitement that had once been familiar.
A couple of days before the fair was due to take place, she had everything prepared; more decorations had been ordered and were due to arrive the next day, catering had been arranged, Michelle’s nephew had confirmed the band, and Andrew was still happy to reprise his role as Father Christmas.
A local farm park had even agreed to bring a donkey.
The plus side of being so busy was that she’d had almost no time to think about Anthony.
Which was just as well. This new and capable version of her wasn’t made of stone, and his betrayal was still painful.
At night, when at last she collapsed into bed, she found herself going over and over conversations they’d had, trying to find any clue that he’d been a low-life, lying trickster of a journalist, and not the romantic poet she’d believed.
There was nothing.
Her stomach still dropped when she thought of how he’d said he didn’t usually fall so fast, that she was making him behave in a way he never had before.
It felt impossible that all those things he’d said had been lies; it had all felt so real.
Her eyes burned with tears as she remembered how she’d felt that he really saw her, and celebrated her choices.
And, she thought as warm tears slipped into her already wet pillow, she’d really wanted to be the version of herself that he thought she was; free-spirited and adventurous. Perhaps that had been the most intoxicating part of the whole thing – the escape from the reality of her life.
Because, truly, she wasn’t brave or carefree; she was afraid.
Afraid of believing in a love that might get shattered again. Afraid of throwing her whole heart into a person, a child, a career, only to have it broken again. And hiding away in jobs and a home and with people that she didn’t really care about had seemed to be the answer.
But she realised now, as plans for the Christmas fair and ideas for activities to do with the children spun through her head, at last pushing out images of Anthony’s clear blue eyes and sharp cheekbones, that this was what exhilarated her.
This was what excited her, this was what she was good at. This was what she wanted to do. And that happiness lay not in the promises of a man, or in hiding from heartbreak; it lay in herself. Her abilities, her ideas, her hopes and satisfaction in her own achievements.
This truth chimed through her, singing along her veins like a clear, cold liquid, bringing a clarity she hadn’t had for years.
This was what she wanted. She wanted to teach again. She wanted to be in her sister’s life, her niece and nephew’s life. God help her, she thought she might even want to be in Babblebrook.
‘You’re putting a lot of work into this,’ Julia said as they sat in the kitchen the next morning.
Jen was up bright and early, checking messages and last-minute details; the school fair was the next day. Everything was on track, but she wouldn’t breathe freely again until it was all happening, a perfect well-oiled machine that made the children happy and Ted proud.
‘I just don’t want to let him down,’ she muttered, checking her emails for the hundredth time.
Julia glanced up from where she was handing the children slices of toast and cups of milk. ‘Him?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows.
‘Well – I mean the children. Obviously.’
Julia smirked. ‘Obviously.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Jen said.
‘I’m going to wear my red lovely Christmas jumper with the penguin on it to the fair,’ Amy said, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
‘And Georgie can wear his Christmas pudding hat, can’t he, Mummy?
And I’m going to do a dance at the disco with Lottie and then stroke the real donkey and then I’m going to just actually remind Father Christmas a small little bit about the presents I’ve asked for. ’
‘Sounds perfect,’ Julia said. ‘Now go and get into your uniform, please.’
Amy slid off her chair and padded over to the door. ‘It’s going to be the bestest Christmas fair ever, I know it, because my auntie Jen is doing it all,’ she said, as she disappeared through the door.
Jen swallowed. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, and she had to take a deep breath and remind herself that she was this Jen now. The one who stayed calm. The one who didn’t let people down.
Julia was watching her carefully. ‘Coffee?’
‘God, yes.’
Her hands were only shaking slightly as she held out her mug.