Page 36 of Not Just for Christmas

‘Take lots of photos!’ Sam ordered.

There was always an announcement before these things, to make sure carers were happy for their children to be photographed. But there’d never been an issue.

‘I’ll do my best,’ I called.

His class was moving out of sight, but he cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘And try not to cry, Mum!’

Mum. He sounded so grown up when he called me that. Tears instantly pricked at my eyes.

‘I’ll try,’ I said with a sniff.

‘Samuel Oakley, fingers on lips,’ his teacher reminded him.

We were finally at the head of the queue. At the table sat Jon, the caretaker’s son, and Mia from the under-twelves football team – both wearing expressions suggesting they ran MI5 in their spare time.

‘Tickets, please,’ Jon barked.

I handed over my two. ‘There are actually three of us. Can I buy another ticket, please?’

‘No,’ Jon said, adjusting his glasses. ‘There aren’t any spare seats.’

‘But Sam’s Joseph,’ Heather began. ‘I assume that if you have a main part you ought to be allowed one teensy weensy extra guest.’

This must have been the wrong thing to say because Jon and Mia clasped hands to their mouths and exchanged looks of horror.

‘Assume makes an ass of you and me,’ said Jon, shaking his head.

‘Being Joseph doesn’t make you more important than anybody else,’ Mia said gravely and pointed to a poster on the wall that declared Every Child Matters. ‘Doesn’t matter what you are, Mrs Wheeler is just as proud of you.’

That shut Heather up.

‘It’s fine,’ Dylan said gently. ‘Moms get priority. You two go in.’

I could have wept with embarrassment. Dylan had arranged VIP tickets for us to see him in concert all over the world and here I was failing to secure him a plastic chair in a school hall.

‘What’s the problem here?’ Mrs Wheeler herself bustled to the front of the queue.

‘Sam Oakley’s mum wants three seats and only has two tickets,’ Jon announced.

‘We’re very sorry for holding up the queue,’ I mumbled.

‘Right.’ Mrs Wheeler took in the situation. ‘Lucy, why don’t you and Mrs Oakley go and sit down? Mr Wilde, may I borrow you for a moment?’

‘Right now?’ Dylan looked doubtful. ‘Isn’t the show starting any second?’

‘We’ve got time,’ said the headteacher briskly.

‘Mrs Wheeler—’ I began to argue. If Dylan missed the start, Sam was going to kill me.

But the head teacher had already taken Dylan’s arm. ‘If you’d be so kind as to come with me?’

‘See you later, ladies,’ said Dylan, looking bewildered.

Poor Dylan, goodness knows what he was letting himself in for. But he was a big boy, he’d be fine. Unlike the small boy about to play Joseph whose only Christmas wish was for Dylan to be in the audience and clap and whistle for him because his daddy couldn’t.

I had failed him and my heart felt heavy as Heather and I took our seats.

Chapter 19