‘Hold hands, everyone,’ roared the Ugly Sister. ‘Grasp your neighbour, take your opportunity, it is Christmas, after all. Now sway!’
Caspian seized my hand immediately, but the awareness of Lando on my other side felt electric. I glanced up at him, and he lifted his hand towards me in invitation. Shyly, I slipped mine into his, and he gave it a little squeeze as the music started up again and the audience sang with gusto, swaying along in time. I felt as if someone had thrown a noose around my neck and was slowly strangling me. All I could think about, all I could feel, was Lando’s hand holding mine. All my other senses seemed dulled – the music distant, the shouts from the stage echoing far away, Caspy’s hand like a feather in mine. My entire being felt as if it was pulsing down my left arm and I feared my hand would be red hot and that Lando could feel my heart beating madly through my palm. I croaked my way to the end of the song, and as I was stumbling through the final chorus, Lando shifted his grip, lacing his fingers through mine. Now I went cold, the sudden intimacy shocking me, and I stopped singing altogether, feeling dizzy as the heat now returned to my body, flushing my face. I prayed my hand wasn’t sweaty; I didn’t think I could bear to see Lando wipe his on his jeans when we were finally allowed to release the hold. After what felt like several months, the song finished on the seventh repetition of the final line:
Roll a bowl a ball a penny a pitch!
Our hands were freed to clap and wave as the actors took their bows, and then I busied myself organising coats and hats and gloves and scarves, making more fuss than I usually do to ensure the children were warmly wrapped up, buying time to let myself settle. When we stepped outside, the cold air helped refresh me, and by the time we reached the cars, I had enough presence of mind to make sure that I was in a different vehicle from Lando. I piled in with William, Daphne, Pilar and the children. We drove home listening to Daphne’s tales of her years on the stage, some of them far too scurrilous for Phina and Caspy’s ears, but so funny that I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to ask her to tone them down.
Although it was late when we arrived home, the twins had far too much adrenaline – and sugar – coursing through them to sleep. They skipped in singing the coconut song joyfully at the tops of their voices.
‘Oh dear, I don’t think I can keep my eyes open a second longer,’ said Bunny, who was looking exhausted, but happier than she had been earlier.
‘Go to bed,’ I said. ‘I’ll gladly stay up with them for a while. They need to wind down and maybe a late night will mean a late morning.’
‘You are a genius, and too kind. Thank you, dear Pixie.’
She kissed them goodnight and disappeared upstairs. Xander had vanished with some champagne and his phone almost as soon as we arrived, and William was still wearing his coat.
‘I’m going to run Daphne and Pilar home,’ he said, clinking his car keys.
‘Goodnight then,’ I said. ‘I want to hear some more stories from the theatre next time, please.’
I followed the children into the kitchen, where they were sitting on the spotless floor by the warm Aga, the closest place they could find to help them recreate Cinderella. Lando was filling the kettle at the sink.
‘All right, you two, how about some milk and gingerbread men and a quick game, to help you get ready for bed?’
‘Oh, yes please, Pixie. I want the gingerbread girl.’
‘You got it!’
‘You will stay and play, won’t you, Uncle Lando? I’m going to get Hungry Hippos and it’s much, much funner with four. But I want to be the green hippo.’
Lando looked at me.
‘Oh, I’m sure Penny doesn’t want me hanging around, she’s already got you two to look after.’
‘Oh please, Uncle Lando, please!’
‘No, do stay,’ I said. ‘Hungry Hippos is definitely more fun with four. But you have to be the yellow hippo.’
The children shouted, ‘That’s theworstone. You’ll never win.’
Lando regarded us solemnly.
‘Well, with a challenge like that, how could I refuse?’
Soon we were sitting around the kitchen table, all bashing away furiously at our hippos, raising squawks and whoops of dismay or victory as they gobbled the little plastic balls. As Seraphina reset the game for the third time and Lando chased after an escaped ball that was dangerously close to being lost forever behind the fridge, I allowed myself a moment’s reflection. Having decided that I could have a torrid fling with the attractive but bad-tempered man, even if that fling were only imaginary, I now had to recalibrate. Tonight, I had seen a different, unexpected side to Lando; he had been relaxed, fun, good-natured, warm. Although you would think that this was a good thing, I disagree. When he was in the ‘grumpy but gorgeous’ box, I felt safe – I could fantasise about him in a sort of ‘film star’ way but had no desire actually to get to know him, or to have to worry about any deeper feelings. Seeing him in this new light, particularly interacting with the children who he obviously adored, had confused and upset me. The superficial images in my head were being nudged aside by something more meaningful, flashes of a shared future, and this was precisely what I had promised myself I would avoid. I felt almost cross with him for being so lovely; he had gone off-script and that made it difficult for me to stick to my resolutions. But as I looked up to see three expectant pairs of eyes waiting for me to position my trigger finger for the next round of Hungry Hippos, I comforted myself with the thought that all I had to do was keep all of this firmly in my head, which shouldn’t be difficult. It simply mustn’t spill over into real life. What would Lando see in me, anyway? And surely, I could ignore the nagging inner voice insisting that my desire for husband, children and home was as strong as it had ever been, and would offer me far more adventure than a new start in India could ever hope to?Keep going, Penny, I told myself.Keep yourself safe.
Two riotous rounds later and I noticed that the children’s reactions were slowing, their shouts quieting. I knew I’d be unpopular, but my years of experience with children had taught me that it was always better to make them leave the party before they thought they were ready to.
‘Come on, you two, time for bed. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time over the holiday for a rematch.’
Their complaints were token, and they bid Lando goodnight with little fuss. I shepherded them upstairs, through a very quick shower and toothbrushing, then one quick story. Eyelids were closing even before I had finished reading. I kissed them goodnight, then went back downstairs to tidy up. Was a part of me hoping that Lando would still be there? Of course, it was. I was even wondering how – or whether – to suggest a cup of tea. I was as bad as the children at knowing when to stop, and the thought of continuing the evening in the company of the ‘new’ Lando was enticing. But my hopes were dashed. The kitchen was empty. I was saved the job of tidying up, as he had put the game back in its box and removed our cups and glasses to the dishwasher. Damn him for being helpful and considerate on top of everything else that evening. I opened the back door for a last breath of freezing air and could see a light burning in Lando’s studio. A vision of that cosy, busy space came into my mind, and I pictured him hunched over his carvings, as I had first met him, pouring whatever complicated emotions he was experiencing into the wood. I longed to go to him, to understand him, to get to know him. But, instead, I closed the door and took my exhausted mind and body to bed.
TWELVE
Breakfast the next morning was unprecedentedly quiet – just me and my thoughts and a text from Dad in response to the photo I had sent last night:
Looks very festive and cold. It’s 30° here! You might be surprised to hear that we are also going to see a panto, a local group puts them on every year, but they’re a bit different from the ones at home. I’ll send you the link xxx
