If you don’t have children at Christmas it’s easy to feel like you’re missing out, so I’m really pleased when Fiona invites me to watch Izzy perform in her school nativity play. Apparently the new headmistress has introduced a gender-neutral policy and the nativity is to reflect that. Hence Izzy is one of the wise men and Lucas is one of the angels.
Which makes a change from my politically incorrect seventies school days, when only blonde, blue-eyed girls could be angels, so my best friend Sameena and I were relegated to being ‘travellers’. Little of which I remember, except that the costumes were very itchy and Mum said I picked my nose the whole time. Unlike Rich, of course, who in later years took the starring role as Joseph and positively nailed it.
Actually, thinking about it in context, that’s probably the wrong choice of words.
But anyway, I was really looking forward to the nativity, and when I walk into the large assembly hall it couldn’t feel more Christmassy. It’s all been decorated by the children; colourful paper garlands are strung across the vaulted ceiling, there are displays of Christmas artwork, and a huge tree covered in tinsel and paper stars takes pride of place by the piano.
‘You look fab, I love that dress!’
Fiona clocks me and races over, arms flung wide.
‘EBay, only a tenner. You look great too!’
Seriously, Fiona looks amazing. But it’s more than that . . . invigorated, that’s the right word.
‘I look like a woman who hasn’t slept for weeks since starting her new job because it’s all I can think about.’
‘Oh, wow, how’s it all going?’
She can’t stop grinning.
‘Bloody brilliant. I should’ve done it years ago.’
‘That’s so great, I’m so pleased.’
‘I know, right? I was so worried about it all, but it couldn’t have worked out better. And it’s not just me – David has cut back on his hours now I’m working, so he gets to come home while the kids are still up and spend more time with them.’
‘See,’ I say, ‘I knew it would all work out.’
‘No you didn’t,’ she laughs, ‘but I appreciate you telling me to go for it.’
‘Any time,’ I grin.
We go to find our seats and run into Annabel.
‘Hi,’ she smiles, looking perfect as always in a white trouser suit.
Only Annabel could wear that; if it was me, it would be covered in coffee dribbles and dog hair in two minutes.
‘Hey,’ I smile, as we do the double-cheek kiss and Fiona chats away about school stuff; the decision to ban plastic in the canteen, the use of a drone to do some of the overhead nativity shots, Clementine’s part as Mary (or ‘the lead role’, as Annabel keeps calling it). There’s also mention of Clive; he’s moved out and is renting close by, he’s giving her the house, he’s got a new girlfriend already. But instead of being upset, Annabel seems mostly relieved and unscathed by it all. It’s business as usual.
That said, while her hair is blow-dried poker straight and her lips and nails are both painted a matching festive red, it’s as if the gloss has worn off a little.
‘You know, I listened to your podcast,’ she says to me, as Fiona nips to the loo before the performance starts.
I brace myself.
‘Motherfucking Monday.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You were talking about Throwback Thursday and Flashback Friday, and I wanted to tell you I’m totally embracing Motherfucking Monday.’
I smile. ‘I like that.’
‘Me too,’ she grins, before turning and finding her seat on the front row.
Of course.
As for the nativity play, it was everything it should be. Baby Jesus’s head fell off and rolled off the stage. One of the angels wet himself. Clementine did a wonderful Mary, no doubt one that will be talked about for many years to come, but she did fall foul to my nativity faux pas by deciding to pick her nose all the way through it. While the finale saw the drone crashing into the velvet curtains and having to be rescued by one of the dads who, it turns out, is divorced and made the headmistress blush bright red when they got tangled up together in the aforementioned curtains.
And as the immensely proud godmother, I can state that Izzy and Lucas were both wonderful. Of course. I particularly loved that Izzy mispronounced frankincense and ended up giving a gift of Frankenstein to Baby Jesus instead.
And I cried a bit at ‘Silent Night’. Of course.
I’m grateful for: