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Honor groaned. ‘I was led completely astray. Tamara, you know, who sings on cruises, persuaded me to go to the pub. They were serving the most lethal cider and it went straight to my head. I could hardly stand. Just as well Chris was there to hold me up.’

‘Chris?’ Jago said quickly.

‘Haven’t I mentioned him before? He’s Tamara’s on-off boyfriend. He’s an accountant with the council. Really nice guy. Known him for years. He and Tam got me home and into bed. Even left a pint of water and a paracetamol on the bedside table. They’re such good friends. It’s just I can’t tolerate cider. Never could.’ She waggled her empty plastic cup. ‘And if I have any more of this stuff, I’ll be heading the same way.’ Another parent called over. ‘I must go. Duty calls.’ She touched her hand to his sleeve. ‘Do try to make it to the lantern making. It’s fun and, to be honest, I could do with some help from someone creative. It tends to get a bit hectic.’

He smiled down at her. ‘I’ll do my best.’

Honor felt her blood quicken and her cheeks blush. She blamed the wine. ‘Maybe I’ll see you there then. Bye, Jago.’

‘Bye, Honor.’

As she walked across the hall, a very specific spot between her shoulder blades felt the heat from his eyes.

CHAPTER15

‘LIGHT OF CHRISTMAS’ – TOBYMAC (WITH OWL CITY)

Saturday 18th December

‘Hello, man.’

Jago glanced behind him. Apart from Dave Wiscombe, there was no other male present in the hall. He assumed he was the ‘man’ referred to. ‘Hello, boy.’

The little boy sitting in front of him sniggered. ‘I’m not a boy. I’m Jaden.’

‘Hello then, Jaden. Would you like to make a lantern?’

‘Suppose.’

‘Well, nothing like a bit of enthusiasm,’ Jago muttered to himself and got the required bits and bobs together. He wasn’t sure why he was here. He spent his working life making small fiddly things with his hands, it was hardly what he wanted to do on his day off. He could have said he hadn’t got a school safeguarding check but it would have been a lie; he’d occasionally run workshops with children and had enhanced clearance. Looking up to see Honor supervising Merryn at the next table, he knew exactly what had drawn him here. What an idiot. He attempted to justify it to himself. He’d had to walk Merryn here anyway. It made sense to stay.

After their conversation at the nativity, he’d watched Honor as she walked away, he couldn’t help it. His mood had been all over the place yesterday. He knew his mother was struggling, one look at her face told him. Maybe it was the poignancy of the children acting out an age-old story? Maybe it was because his father wasn’t there to see how well Merryn had done. He’d felt it too. Laughter at the silly story of the angel too late to see any of the main events of the nativity turned, too often, to tears he’d choked back. Laughing with Honor over the runaway reindeers had been a tonic. There was something about her that made you want to laugh and smile. She radiated joy. Her pupils must love her. His mood had been further lifted by the knowledge that the good-looking man with the tousled blonde hair was the boyfriend of one of her friends.

He thought he’d shaken off the grief which dogged him. But then the conversation had drifted to the swimming event on New Year’s Day and his mind had zigzagged back to his father helpless in the river. He could see his change in mood had puzzled Honor and he’d hated she might think she was the cause. He was trying hard to cling on to the good things which were happening in his life at the moment, and that included Honor Martin, but sometimes his emotions were impossible to control.

When he’d ventured into the main space at the Art School early that morning he’d been astonished. He knew Honor must do things like this most days in her teaching life, but it was a symphony of organisation. There were eight or nine tables each with pre-cut sheets of translucent paper, glue, sticks of willow withies, and scissors. On another table, well away from the messy stuff, were picture books to inspire or just look through in a spare moment. On yet another were sheets of brightly coloured paper, PVA glue and scissors to make a simple cut-out and fold-together lantern, which the children could do independently. The floor under the big Velux windows letting light stream in had been left empty and covered with protective plastic sheeting. Dave, the manager, was setting up a space for those wanting to make something on a bigger scale. Jago had been briefed by Honor that the lantern making workshop would run in two-hour sessions and that all children had been booked in but, she’d told him, be prepared for a few drop-ins even so. Parents, Honor had told him with a smile, didn’t often stay for the full session but used the time to pop into town to do some Christmas shopping.

Now, faced with Jaden, Jago felt unaccustomed nerves. He was used to Merryn but she was older, fiercely independent and eager to please. Jaden looked none of those things. ‘Jaden, eh? My name’s Jago. That’s quite similar, isn’t it?’

‘Suppose.’

Jago plastered an enthusiastic smile on his face. Jaden’s mum had deposited him in a hurry, paid the ten-pound fee and shot off without a backward glance. He didn’t think the boy was here of his own free will. ‘What sort of shape do you want to make?’

‘Dunno.’

Jago groaned inwardly. How Honor had the patience to do this sort of thing day in, day out, he had no idea. ‘The star-shaped one is good fun.’ He held up one he’d made earlier. ‘It’s quite complicated but I can help you make it. See, we leave a gap here, glue the LED light in so you can reach in and switch the light off and on.’ He demonstrated it a couple of times. ‘For the parade.’

‘Don’t know if I’m coming.’

‘That’s a shame. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘It depends.’

Jago didn’t like to ask what it depended upon. Something in his gut warned him Jaden may not have the most supportive home life. He smiled sympathetically. ‘It doesn’t matter if you can’t join in the parade. You can use your lantern as a Christmas decoration. It would look great in your bedroom.’

Jaden brightened at the thought. ‘Can I do a nottopuss?’

‘A nottopuss?’

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