Sophie's Encore (28 page)

“I—”

I didn’t get a chance to offer my reply as the children bounded in. “Midnight feast, midnight feast,” they chanted as quietly as they could.

“Right, let’s see what we’ve got,” Dan announced and rubbed his hands together. “I think we can find some chocolate here somewhere.”

I watched as he charmed my children yet again with his easy-going, cheerful, confident demeanor. It really was no miracle that Emily had given up calling him ‘Dan’ altogether. Josh, too, was attached to the only man in his life. And Dan? Well, one thing was for certain. He was learning to take unexpected interruptions to his amorous intentions in his stride. We were like a family, even if we weren’t a family.

Chapter Forty-Three

We stayed with Dan almost all of Sunday. Peter let Dan off the hook for the day, resulting in an unexpected lie-in, and we didn’t have breakfast until ten a.m. It was sleeting and thoroughly uninviting outside, so we extended our morning repast until lunch, let the children play, and generally lounged around like in days of old.

When the kids got too restless, we had another splash in the pool and Dan hooked up the Wii thoughtfully supplied by the cottage owner, letting the children mess about with games and balance boards while we looked on indulgently. Emily tired of the technology first and demanded to play dress-up. Josh immediately jumped on the bandwagon and suggested they could practice his play.

“What play?” Dan queried, amused. “Are you in the school play?”

Josh grinned. “I’m the innkeeper.”

“The innkeeper?” Dan was lost.

“In the nativity.”

Dan opened his eyes wide and clapped his hands. “The
nativity
. Of course. Is it really that time of year already?”

“It is,” I confirmed. “Two weeks to go. Emily is an angel in hers, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Emily nodded and swept around the room in her rendition of an angel-ballerina dance.

“So…can we practice?” Josh was eager to show off his inn-keeping prowess.

“Sure,” Dan agreed. “What shall we do?”

Thus, under Josh’s keen direction, Dan and I took turns at being Mary and Joseph, party guests and kings. Emily brightened proceedings with a spirited chant of “fear not, fear not”, flapping her arms like wings and dancing around us like an excited butterfly. The afternoon flew past, and before we knew it, I had to bundle the children into the car amid many protests and emotional tears, and we were on our way back to London. I felt thoroughly discombobulated and out of sorts myself, desperate for a moment alone to ponder the sexy near-miss of the previous night.

Two weeks and thirteen phone calls with Dan later, I was even more confused. My initial certainty that we would
probably
have made love right there on the kitchen floor had been replaced by doubt when there was no hint of innuendo—subtle, crass, or otherwise—during our long-distance chats. I longed to confide in Rachel, but something kept me from doing so. I wanted to keep the moment precious, even if—
especially
if—it was never to be repeated. So I stewed and wondered and kept getting on with my daily life. And there was plenty to be getting on with.

For starters, I resumed my training with Richard, and I was astounded to discover how much I had missed this professional purpose in my life during the weeks gone by. With Dan out of the picture, Richard was working with another band, and I got to cut my teeth on a different, much more grungy kind of sound. I didn’t particularly rate the music, but I enjoyed playing with it and mixing it to Richard’s specification.

Then there were the nativities. I made costumes and practiced lines with the kids, learning songs and movements and even stage directions, wondering all the while at the logistics of it all and how I would pull it off. Because, naturally, Josh’s and Emily’s nativities were scheduled for the same day, if not exactly for the same time.

“
Obviously
they’re going to be on the same day,” I ranted at my mum when I found out. “Why on earth would a school and a playschool coordinate their dates so that fraught single mummies can see their children in their respective nativities?”

“Calm down, calm down,” Mum soothed. “What’s the big deal? You go to one first, and then the other.”

Grrr. Why did Mum have to be so reasonable about this? “I don’t want to be rushing around like a headless chicken. I wanted to…you know,
enjoy
their performance. I’d kind of hoped that one would be on one day and one on the other, and I could make a big fuss of each of them in turn.”

Saying it out loud, my reasoning sounded lame even to me. Mum simply laughed. “Thirty-six and still discovering that the world doesn’t always turn your way. Sweetheart, get over yourself and get on with it.”

“Yah, well, thanks Mum,” I sulked, then laughed. “You’re right. It’s just that I’m exhausted, and all this running around for them on my own…”

“It’s tough, I know,” Mum conceded. “But you’ll do it. I know you will. And anyway, isn’t Dan…?”

She didn’t finish her question, unsure, as always, whether she had already said too much.

“I don’t know.” I sighed. “He hasn’t said when he’ll be back, even though we’ve spoken every day. He sounds much better…”

“But he knows about the nativities, right?”

“He does. I’m fairly sure we mentioned the date.”
At least seven hundred times
. I was working hard at not getting upset on the children’s behalf that Dan would miss these performances. There was
no
reason he should be there, no obligation, no expectation. The kids had asked a couple of times but took my evasive answer in their strides. After all, they knew Dan was away at the moment. So it was only me who felt rankled, but I didn’t want Mum to know that.

“Sophie, these things have a habit of working themselves out. Don’t fret,” Mum advised before she rang off.

“Don’t fret,” I repeated to myself and pulled a face. Easier said than done.

With two days to go, “Don’t Fret” became my mantra, and I even passed it on to the children.

“Don’t fret, angel cakes, you’ll remember your lines,” I reassured Josh when he was in tears the night before the nativity.

“Don’t fret, sweetheart, of course you’ll remember to walk slowly and regally,” I soothed Emily, who was also going to pieces.

“Don’t fret, Sophie, you’ll get through the day,” I instructed myself at bedtime, feeling restless and agitated.

Finally, the big day arrived. I rose early and got my two stars ready, dropping Josh off first, then Emily, and returning home for an hour before rushing back to playschool to claim my front row seat. I had just made myself a cup of tea and switched on early morning television, having taken a day off my sound apprenticeship yet again, when I heard the front door being unlocked and shut. I didn’t have time to contemplate what was going on, and at a deep level I knew who had arrived even before his voice rang out, firm and strong.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

I set my cup down on the coffee table and flew into Dan’s arms. He held me tight, stroking my hair with one hand and securing my body against his with the other. We said nothing at all, just hung on to each other like two drowning people.

We started to sway, and Dan let me go. His eyes shone, and his face was one big smile.

“You made it,” I stated. I tried for a casual tone but failed miserably. The high squeal in my voice told Dan exactly how excited I was to see him.

“I made it,” Dan reiterated. “I wouldn’t have missed the plays for the world, and besides, my Devon exile is finished. I am officially a healed man.”

“That’s wonderful!” I jumped up and down like one of my children.

Dan burst out laughing. “It’s wonderful to have someone so happy to see me.”

We hugged again, simply because we could.

“Have we got enough time for—” Dan began, a certain glint in his eye, but I didn’t let him continue.

“—a cup of tea? Yeah, we have about half an hour. I just made myself one. Would you like one?”

Dan belly laughed. A loud, long, proper laugh, free of crackles, coughs, or convulsions. His skin glowed with a healthy color in his cheeks, and he had put on just a little weight. It suited him better than the hollowed-out look he had sported before.

“You have a very low opinion of me, Sophie Jones,” he teased. “A cup of tea was all I was after.”

“Of course. Right.” I felt flustered and caught off guard. I
hadn’t
imagined that look in his eye. I knew I hadn’t. I knew this man.

He’s flirting with me
.

The realization hit me with a bang, and I sloshed boiling water all over the counter rather than into Dan’s mug because I giggled so much. Dan was flirting with me, innuendo, tease, and wide-eyed denial. It was as if he was turning the clock back eight years and starting all over again. The butterflies in my tummy told me I liked that idea. Very much. I was ready. But they also told me I was wildly out of practice and had no idea how to play the game anymore, so I opted for blithe ignorance.

“Here’s your cup of tea,” I announced brightly but calmly, cheeks flaming but hands only shaking mildly.

Dan gave me a curious look when he accept the mug. “Everything all right? Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine,” I squeaked. “Just fine. Anyway, drink up, we need to go soon.”

My rock star raised an eyebrow at me, but gulped down his scolding hot cup of tea. I busied myself in the kitchen, feeling awkward all of a sudden. There was simply no time to get all flirty and coy. The last thing I wanted was to be blushing and bumbling in front of the other parents at Emily’s playschool, let alone my daughter.
Cool
and
composed
had to be my watch-words for the day.

“And not just for today, either,” I muttered to myself while I put our cups in the dishwasher.

“What
are
you whittering on about?” Dan appeared perturbed by my distance so I flashed him a bright smile that literally sent him reeling across the room. Talk about mixed messages!

“Nothing,” I sang. “Come on, let’s go.”

My heart flipped happily in my chest while I sat next to Dan at Emily’s play, having claimed two front row seats. The overriding emotion was relief. Relief, at having Dan healthy and smiling at my side, and relief at sharing this special occasion with someone who meant so much to me and to the kids.

The children acted and sang beautifully, if just a little out of tune, and Dan smiled the entire time. I noticed his eyes scanning the group time and again, examining each and every angel closely, finally moving on to Mary and even the shepherds.

“Where is Emily?” he grumbled. “Has she been taken ill or something?”

I shot him a confused look, forgetting for a moment that he hadn’t witnessed the drama of the past two weeks when Emily had experienced a diva-style traumatic change of heart regarding her allotted part.

“What do you mean?” I hissed back. “Why would she be ill?”

“Wasn’t she meant to be an angel?”

“Shh,” an angry voice interrupted from behind us. Dan and I turned as one, doing a superb double act of indignant parenthood. The dad whose stern admonishment had silenced us so abruptly gestured toward the state-of-the-art video camera he was pointing at the stage and then placed a finger on his lips again. I suppressed a giggle and turned to face the front. Dan nudged me, also looking forward with a stony face indicating an imminent explosion of laughter. I could feel his shoulders shaking.

Just then, Emily finally made her grand entrance alongside the other two kings. Her blue eyes sparkled brightly in her blackened face, and her crown wobbled as she took the regal steps she had practiced at home. Dan stared a question at me but said nothing.

“I bring thee Frank and sense,” Emily enunciated as clearly as she could, handing Mary a cone made out of gold foil with a small man drawn on the side. The children’s solemn dedication to their cause was touching. I felt tears brimming in my eyes, and they weren’t just from withheld laughter at Emily’s unexpected reinterpretation of Casper’s gift for the baby Jesus. I didn’t dare look at Dan for fear of losing my composure completely, which would have been wholly inappropriate. Digging my nails into my palms, I breathed deeply and tried to commit the occasion to memory.

“Frank and sense?” Dan queried sotto voce when the play concluded, the applause faded, and the parents started mingling, waiting for their de-costumed offspring to appear for home-time.

“It’s a big word,” I defended my daughter.

“It sure is,” Dan agreed. “I thought she was going to be an angel?”

“She decided last week she didn’t want to be an ‘airy-fairy angel,’ she wanted to be someone high and mighty and with some power. And anyway,” I continued my imitation of Emily’s belligerent revolt, “‘being a girl sucks’—no idea where she got
that
from—and so she swapped roles with one of the kings.”

Finally, Dan let go of the laughter that had been building between us for the past twenty minutes. He barked and hollered and was wiping tears of mirth from his eyes when Emily emerged, jubilant, and threw herself straight onto his lap. No thought spared for Mummy. My daughter was an opportunist and knew which side her bread was buttered.

“Dad!” Her little voice carried loudly through the room and several heads turned. “Dad back!” She cuddled him, and I smiled. Dan had certainly made both Jones’ ladies’ day.

“Sweetheart, you were a lovely king,” Dan complimented her.

She took a proud bow. “Kings rock,” she declared. “Girls suck.”

Dan ruffled her hair. “Do they now? Well, then you won’t be wanting the Barbie ballerina I brought for my angel…” He petered out, putting on a distressed face.

Emily scrutinized his frown lines and downturned mouth with all the intensity of a two-year-old. “Barbie ball-ina?” she squealed after a moment’s thought. “Me like Barbie ball-ina. Pease?”

“Okay,” Dan laughed. “It’s waiting for you in the car. Shall we go?”

And just like that, he had my daughter eating out of his palm all over again. They held hands as we left the hall, and I caught a few more curious glances. The mother of one of Emily’s playmates touched me lightly on the arm.