The exchange, p.6
The Secret Santa Project, page 6
‘Oh, no, Mrs Chen,’ said Stacey, slowly and clearly, ‘I’m not interested in your son romantically AT ALL. Believe me.’ She turned back to Yang. ‘Will that help?’ she asked him.
‘Yes, that’s very clear,’ he replied quietly.
‘I’ll bring food,’ said Mrs Chen, still grinning. ‘No need to decide, no need to pay, no need for anything. I will bring you the best in the house.’
‘No, honestly. Really, you shouldn’t. I mean just a stir-fry would be great really, but please let me pay.’
‘No,’ Mrs Chen said firmly, putting her hand on Stacey’s shoulder. ‘You just sit here with my son. I will bring you everything you need.’
Stacey realised she really had been kidnapped, in this tiny little Chinese restaurant on the edge of Soho.
By the end of the meal Stacey couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt quite so content. She’d been fed dish after dish of the most wonderful food. It just kept coming and she just kept eating. She couldn’t help herself. It had been so long since someone else had cooked for her, so long since she’d sat in a restaurant and enjoyed the delights of food just arriving at the table. She’d forgotten the magic of that.
And then Yang’s mum had sat and grilled her, but in a nice way. On a low heat until she felt all warm and fuzzy rather than burnt and crisp. She asked her question after question about her life, as if she was interested, as if Stacey was important. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to her like that. She’d soon spilled the beans on her life with her daughter and how challenging that was alongside work, and how her family were no help whatsoever. She could have sworn Mrs Chen had tears in her eyes when Stacey said her mother only really spoke to her on her birthday and at Christmas, and then it was to ask her for money, because she thought she was loaded because she had a good job with the council.
‘But you are still their daughter,’ stated Mrs Chen, putting her hand over Stacey’s. ‘You need looking after, too.’
‘I am,’ said Stacey, now fighting back her own tears as she saw the look of concern in Yang’s mother’s eyes. Her own mother had never looked at her like that. Not even when she told her she was pregnant and didn’t know what to do. She’d told her she was an idiot and should get herself down the abortion clinic.
Yang had long since disappeared and Mrs Chen had taken his seat. She had no idea why he had brought her here. She presumed it was because he was hungry and wanted to blag a free meal off his parents. What a lucky man Yang truly was. He wandered through life without really trying, had no responsibilities to speak of and a mother who was there to look after him at the drop of a hat. He truly led a charmed life.
Stacey didn’t want to leave. She sat and drank coffee as a raft of waiters served hungry customers steaming plates of food. By now, Mrs Chen was buzzing around, ordering waiters this way and that, making sure they were on top of their game, service-wise. Yang eventually appeared from what Stacey assumed was the kitchen and went over to speak to his mum, who glanced at Stacey and then hurried back into the kitchen herself.
‘I really need to go,’ said Stacey. ‘After School Club finishes in half an hour.’
‘Right,’ said Yang, looking awkward.
‘I need to thank your mum, though. She’s been so kind to me.’
‘Well, she loves to talk,’ sighed Yang. ‘I’m sorry if she was too much.’
‘You have no idea how lucky you are to have her,’ said Stacey.
‘I guess, when she gets off my back. You know, she can be such a nag, seriously.’
‘Because she cares,’ said Stacey. ‘That’s why.’
‘Sure it is,’ agreed Yang, looking distracted.
‘Thank you, though,’ said Stacey. ‘For bringing me here. I mean I never go out for a meal, ever. And not without Grace. So this was amazing. Truly.’
Yang nodded. ‘Nothing really. Stacey, I … I … wanted to ask you … well, wanted to say, that you know if you ever really need a babysitter, I could do it. I mean I’m not some crazy child-obsessed weirdo or anything. Don’t worry about that. I mean … God, that came out wrong … I mean, I look after my nieces and nephews all the time so, like I say, if you’re stuck for a babysitter then let me know. That’s all. Just wanted to tell you that. Because I do get it, you know, that it’s hard being female. I mean, being a single parent.’
Stacey felt her mouth open. Had Yang actually just said that?
‘Would you really?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he nodded.
Stacey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She looked at Yang. Could she ask him to babysit? He clearly came from a good family so she had no doubt he could take care of Grace OK. And she really was desperate to get out, and she knew exactly who she’d go out with, given half the chance.
‘Well, actually,’ she said, ‘this dad outside school keeps asking me out and I’d really like to, but I haven’t been able to say yes as I can never get a babysitter. Would you take care of Grace whilst I went on a date with him?’
She watched as Yang swallowed. ‘Yes, I can do that,’ he said in an unusually high-pitched voice.
‘Seriously?’
Yang nodded.
‘Can I text him now to see when he’s free?’ she asked.
‘OK,’ he replied, looking away.
Stacey got her phone out, her fingers almost stumbling over the keypad she was so excited. She looked up and grinned when she’d finished. ‘I’ll let you know when he replies,’ she said.
‘Cool,’ nodded Yang.
Stacey reached to put her coat on just as Mrs Chen came dashing out.
‘For your daughter,’ she said, pushing a paper bag into Stacey’s hands. ‘She might like them.’
Stacey looked down, unable to believe her eyes. Could this woman get any more lovely?
‘They are just fortune cookies,’ said Mrs Chen. ‘That’s all.’
This time Stacey really did have tears in her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had shown kindness to her tricky, slightly naughty, hyperactive daughter.
‘Thank you,’ she said, welling up.
‘You visit again?’ asked Mrs Chen.
Stacey nodded and embraced her.
‘I’ll get you to the bus stop,’ said Yang, guiding her out of the door.
They walked in silence along the crowded streets.
‘Well, here we are then,’ said Yang, eventually. ‘This is your bus stop.’
‘Thanks, Yang,’ Stacey said, giving him a warm smile. ‘Thanks for dinner and everything. It was really nice,’ she added awkwardly. She felt her phone ping in her pocket. She took it out. Her eyes lit up. ‘Brilliant,’ she said, looking up and grinning at Yang. ‘Will says he can do this Friday. Is that OK?’
Yang nodded silently.
‘You are the best,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe I’m actually going on a date. Oh, Yang, thank you. This means the world.’ She stepped forward and hugged him. She couldn’t help herself. This had been such a good day when all she had expected was an afternoon walking the dreary streets of Bermondsey. She was actually going to go on a date for the first time in for ever. Maybe finally her life was going to take a turn for the better. She grinned at Yang and leaped onto the bus, giving him a cheery wave as she sat down.
He nodded back and walked away. Hands deep in his pockets. Head down.
Chapter 7
At exactly the same time as Stacey was waving at Yang from the bus, Jerry was donning his chorister’s robes at the church of St Martin-in-the-Fields, which sits on the very corner of Trafalgar Square. Stacey and Yang had in fact gone straight past him, and had they looked across Charing Cross Road they would have seen him with his head low, marching down the street. However, if they had seen him, he wouldn’t have told them where he was going. He’d only confided in Stacey so far that he sang in a church choir. He didn’t particularly know why he hadn’t shared news of this major source of joy in his life with everyone else. Hard to say. Was it that he thought they would laugh at him? Give him that classic British side eye when he announced he did something that they really didn’t understand? Or was it the fact that he sang in a church choir? He had lived in the UK for many years and he was yet to understand how the British really viewed religion. He came from Missouri, where religion was a major part of community life, a thing that gathered people, brought families together, and yet he didn’t get that sense here. British religious beliefs were something to be followed quietly, without fuss or drama. The first thing Jerry had done when he’d arrived was to go to church as he knew that was where he would meet people, and he had hoped that would be where he could sing. And he knew if he could sing then he would have at least some corner of happiness in his life.
It was no coincidence that he wound up in the choir at St Martin-in-the-Fields. It wasn’t his local church, but it was the top of his list. Why? Because it appears in one of his favourite London-based films, Notting Hill. He liked to tell the folks back home that he sang in a choir on a movie set. It also blew him away that the church he sang in was over three hundred years old. Three hundred years old! One could argue that it was older than the United States itself. It was finished before the Founding Fathers signed the Declaration of Independence, for goodness’ sake. This was old on a scale not available in his home country. In St Martin-in-the-Fields he felt part of history, part of something so solid and enduring that he could never be cut adrift.
And Jerry had to sing. Singing was therapy for him, the only thing that took him off into another world and made all his troubles go away. Singing was his lifeline. Of course, listening to singing could also do that for him. He was obsessed with musical theatre. Another factor that had kept him living within five miles of the very epicentre of musical theatre for the world. Just walking down Shaftesbury Avenue made his heart leap, and whenever he felt low or alone he would take himself down to the avenue of sparkle and shine and slide into the box office of one of the many musicals available and pray for a last-minute return ticket at a cut price. Hamilton was his all-time favourite – it blew him away – but Six was a close second. The tale of the six wives of Henry VIII was like a drug. It gave him a high like no other, every time he saw it.
But tonight was choir practice, so he didn’t need to go and find his drug of choice. A shot in the arm of Anne Boleyn dressed like a Spice Girl singing about having her head cut off? No need for that. Tonight was especially exciting, given the choir were preparing for the carol concert – always a highlight, and so very British. He knew he would go home happy tonight.
‘Hey, Jerry,’ said Carol as she walked into the vestry. Jerry had already bagged the corner spot for them, slightly away from the rest of the twenty-two strong choir, who were getting their robes on. There they were shielded by a tall cupboard and so could gossip about their day and share strictly forbidden sweets. Carol, at sixty-two, was one of the oldest members of the choir and delighted in breaking the rules and winding up the choir master.
‘Carol,’ nodded Jerry.
‘Good day?’ she asked.
‘Acceptable,’ he replied. ‘You?’
‘Excellent,’ she replied. ‘Christmas cards written. Thankfully a few old codgers died this year so my list has dwindled slightly.’
‘Every cloud, hey, Carol?’
‘Every cloud, Jerry. You send Christmas cards, do you? It must be close to last posting dates for your folks back in Missouri.’
‘Yep, all done. Then just the phone call on the day covers Christmas generally in the McKinley family.’
‘Mm,’ nodded Carol. ‘You seen that man of yours this week?’
‘For fuck’s sake, Carol – sorry, God,’ said Jerry, crossing himself and looking skyward. ‘I told you, he’s not my man – he’s not anything – he’s just. He’s just …’
‘Fucking you around?’ she asked innocently.
‘You cannot say that in a place of worship, Carol.’
‘We should speak the truth, dear boy, in a place of worship and I for one feel that you are being fucked around. I will sing “O Little Town of Bethlehem” extra loudly later to compensate.’
‘He’s not fucking me around. We meet for coffee, we chat, he’s made no advances whatsoever, so how can he be fucking me around? He just wants to be friends, clearly. He doesn’t fancy me. He could be straight, for all I know.’
Carol arched her eyebrows. ‘Straight men don’t go for coffee and a chat. Straight men don’t seek friendship. They just don’t. He’s gay, he fancies you, but he’s fucking you around.’
‘But why would he do that?’ asked Jerry. ‘Come on, you wise old beast. Why? If he is gay and fancies me then why doesn’t he just ask me out or give me something?’
Carol looked Jerry up and down.
‘Maybe he’s waiting for you to grow a beard.’
‘I didn’t have a beard when I met him.’
‘Maybe a moustache.’
‘I didn’t have a moustache, either.’
‘Maybe he’s waiting for a shift in personality. Maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move.’
‘Screw you!’ said Jerry. ‘You know I’m incapable of first moves.’
‘But you may have no choice, young Jerry. The path of true love never did run smooth. You may have to make the first move.’
‘Who said anything about it being the path of true love?’
‘Your face did. Every time I mention his name.’
‘Does it really?’ exclaimed Jerry, his hands flying to his face.
‘Of course it does. I can spot the lovesick a mile off. You absolutely need to sort some treatment for that and I reckon your only chance of survival is to make the first move.’
‘No. Can’t do it. No way, Jose.’
‘Big chicken.’
‘If he wants me, he’ll tell me. I just have to be patient. Anyway, Christmas is coming. Romance is in the air, right? Now is the perfect time for him to step forward.’
‘Mm,’ said Carol, offering him a jelly baby. ‘Leave me the orange ones,’ she warned. ‘You could buy him a Christmas gift?’ she suggested. ‘You know, if that doesn’t scream “take me over the frothy milk machine” I don’t know what does.’
‘And what would I buy, exactly? I mean, don’t talk to me about Christmas gifts. We’ve just been landed with Secret Santa at work, but we’re not supposed to spend any money. Do an act of kindness instead. I was kind of up for it until I knew who I’d picked. It’s stressing me out thinking about that, never mind buying a gift for a man who may or may not fancy me.’
‘Maybe you just need to think of what you would like from whoever picked you. I often do that. See something I’d like, then buy it for someone else. It kind of weirdly works.’
‘Well, clearly all I want for Christmas is my tall dark handsome coffee-shop man, but the chances of me getting him are less than zero, as we have just discussed.’
Carol stared at Jerry and then said clearly and succinctly, ‘Then let us pray.’ She took both of Jerry’s hands in hers, still clutching her bag of jelly babies, and then closed her eyes.
‘Dear Lord,’ she said. ‘Please deliver to our dear brother Jerry the love of his life this Christmas in the form of hot guy in the coffee shop. May he come forth with love and kindness to Jerry and may he accept this gift graciously. We both promise to kick the ass of “O Come, All Ye Faithful” and even “Ding Dong Merrily on High” – arguably the worst carol of all time – at the carol concert, if you will just offer this kindness by then. I’m giving you a deadline, by the way, as I find that these things can drag on. The carol concert is next week, in case you don’t have it on your calendar. We do, of course, expect you to attend. Dearly beloved, thank you and good night. Amen.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Jerry solemnly.
‘Well, we’ve done all we can,’ said Carol, opening her eyes and popping a jelly baby into her mouth. She reached into her coat, pulled out a hip flask and took a swig before handing it to Jerry.
‘Really?’ he asked. ‘We’re doing this now, are we?’
‘’Tis the season to be merry,’ she said and winked, then slapped her hand to her forehead. ‘I know what you should do,’ she said. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? I often find when you have these little conversations with God that he finds a way of giving you the answer to your prayers.’
‘Really?’ said Jerry. ‘I’ve never found that.’
‘Invite him to the carol concert,’ said Carol.
‘No way,’ said Jerry.
‘Come on!’ said Carol. ‘It’s perfect. He gets to see you in a long dress by candlelight. If he’s not going to fall in love with you then, he never will.’
‘Why on earth would he agree to come and watch me sing carols?’
‘Because he wants to fall in love with you, of course. It’s the perfect way to find out what his intentions are. If he comes, that is the biggest God-damn sign above his head that he fancies you in the history of the universe. No man on this planet accepts an invite to a carol concert for the sake of friendship. That is pure love. You ask him next time you see him. Promise me. Then this matter is resolved.’
Jerry stared at her for a moment.
‘OK, Carol. I will. But just because it’s Christmas and … and, well, I am desperate.’
‘No kidding,’ replied Carol.
‘Can you help me with the Secret Santa thing as well?’
‘No way,’ replied Carol. ‘Doing a favour for a colleague at work? Are you kidding me? What a totally ridiculous idea that is.’
Chapter 8
Diane hadn’t meant to call in at the theatre. Her intention had been to pop into town to see if she could nail down Chloe’s Christmas presents before she arrived back from uni. Repeated requests to Leon to ask him to go to Selfridges in between performances had fallen on deaf ears and so now here she was, at eight o’clock at night, stomping down Oxford Street in a fury because it was so damn busy.
Selfridges was absolutely heaving. You would have thought it was the January sales. Diane squashed her way through, also managing to pick up a pair of leather gloves for Leon’s dad and an elaborate jewellery box for Leon’s niece. Two more to knock off the never-ending list. The list that Leon had shown no interest in whatsoever. Indeed, had he ever shown any interest at all in helping with Christmas preparations? Why, for the twentieth year running of their marriage, was she the one buying her husband’s family Christmas presents? Why did he always get all the joy of Christmas and she got all the pain? Just because he was directing a bloody pantomime shouldn’t mean he got out of all the domestic requirements of Christmas, should it? He got to celebrate Christmas every bloody day in that theatre whilst she sweated it out in the council house, counting beans. Why was she facing the Oxford Street crush whilst he was enjoying watching families enjoy the true spirit of Christmas? She forced her way out of the rotating door and took a deep breath, large yellow card bags knocking around her ankles.
