Chapter Text
Would you believe me if I said I was once a bright-eyed, happy-go-lucky drama student? Yeah, I wouldn’t either. But I was. A decade ago, of course.
I wish I could look back on those days fondly. That I could put on the rose-tinted glasses everyone else seems to have when they think of school and remember my best friend and my boyfriend at the time and not feel the need to stab someone or myself. I wish I could look at Ben and not want to vomit at the sight of him and I wish I could let myself think about Charlie without feeling my heart crumble into pieces like it had the day he left.
The three of us were thick as thieves in drama school, I guess. I’d met Ben first in a musical theatre introduction lesson during our first week and we bonded over the fact that neither of us could sing or dance, at least not to West-End standards anyway. We both dropped that class after two weeks and sort of fell into the Shakespeare class when we found out we still had to have a complete timetable outside of our assigned free periods. That was where we both met Charlie.
I’m not an idiot. I knew Ben had some kind of feelings for Charlie from day one, just as I did. I didn't blame him, I don’t think anyone could resist Charlie Spring. Not when he looked as if he’d been made to perfection, dark curls that fell perfectly, deep blue eyes that sparkled when he laughed, a beautiful smile that would show off the most adorable dimples if it was wide enough. He was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. But Ben had seen him first and, being a good sport, I backed away and even offered to be his wingman. Which did mean that I was there when Charlie, very politely, turned him down after Ben asked him out at the end of our first lesson. He quickly followed this rejection with the suggestion that the three of us could be friends and, hey, I took what I could get from Charlie Spring. Ben took a bit longer to accept Charlie’s offer but he very quickly grasped onto the idea of not having Charlie in his life and threw it out. So, yeah, thick as thieves.
After one acting exercise that involved a kiss with Charlie, I told him I was bi and asked him on a date. He said yes and, well, the rest was history.
Charlie wasn’t just beautiful. He was smart, witty, had the driest sense of humour I’d ever known and absolutely, positively loved Christmas. Like, get the decorations out the minute Halloween ended loved Christmas. That had turned Ben off him romantically but it just made me fall for him further. The first time I saw his eyes light up when he heard the opening note to ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ in fucking November made my heart quiver and it took everything in me to not propose there and then. He didn't even know I was that deeply in love with him yet but, hey, I’ve always been known for being slightly unhinged when it comes to romance.
Before Charlie, my relationship with Christmas was… Indifferent, I guess. I never really fully loved it but, when my parents, mainly my dad, sat me and my brother down on Boxing Day when I was five and told us they were getting a divorce, it somewhat soured the festivities for me. I still continued to celebrate it with Mum because she loved everything about it but, when she passed two weeks before Christmas in my gap year, I stopped. I would never have said I hated Christmas, I was never a Grinch about it, I just stopped partaking in Christmas-related activities. Work dos, Secret Santas, the like. But then I met Charlie. Charlie, who would gleam in every Christmas aisle of a shop. Charlie, who would be knee-deep in baubles and tinsel by nine in the morning on the first of November. Charlie, who always took part in some form of Christmas showcase. Just his enthusiasm for Christmas and the build-up and everything, as well as his family’s when we’d visit them around this time of the year, made me fall back in love with the holiday. When he found out our drama school was putting a showcase on for the local primary school, and does so every year, he begged me and Ben to audition with him.
Because Charlie loved Christmas, I loved Charlie and Ben loved being the centre of attention, it was a no-brainer.
Thus became our tradition throughout drama school - celebrate Halloween, help Charlie decorate the following morning then audition for whatever Christmas showcase Charlie would find. The showcases were fine, they were fun and seeing each other in elf costumes or reindeer costumes always tickled us, but I think, by our third round, even Charlie was sick of the acting gig. Yeah, three drama students sick of why we were drama students, I’m just as shocked as you. It was the competitions with our peers and the lack of control we had over the actual material we’d be a part of.
Quite frankly, the three of us were tired of being puppets.
I remember one conversation the three of us had in between our entrances during our fourteenth performance of the third showcase we acted in. Ben was sour at the fact that a girl in our dance class was playing the role of Santa in her first year of doing the showcase when he’d auditioned for it after building a glowing rapport with the organisers for two years, Charlie was just miserable at not having any control at all and was talking about taking a different direction in his career in the industry, either directing and producing, and I’d had enough of drama school in general, wanting to take a different career path altogether and get into primary teaching. Ben had scoffed and mocked me for it but Charlie had been nothing but encouraging of it. He just wanted me to be happy and I wanted the same for him. We both encouraged each other.
So I graduated drama school, got into Leeds University to do Primary Education and moved up there to do my degree. Charlie uprooted his life to join me. We got a house and a puppy called Daisy. Despite his want to gain more control in his career, Charlie continued to pursue acting, getting roles in local productions and attempting to get some onscreen work. I knew he was struggling in multiple aspects of his life but, knowing how his mind works, I didn't try to provide solutions. I just offered comfort and it worked.
Then I graduated and got my first teaching job. That was when Charlie started talking about Hollywood. It’d always been his dream to work in Hollywood, that was one of the first things we ever discussed, but he’d never felt like he had the guts to actually try and pursue it. At least until I completed my dream of being a teacher. It seemed to unlock something in him.
It also kickstarted our first and only major fight.
Whenever Charlie would talk about moving to Hollywood, he’d marvel at the thought of the two of us living there together. I’d still teach and he’d direct or produce anything he wanted, we’d both be living our dream. It sounded incredible in theory but, when I noticed that Charlie wasn’t just talking hypotheticals, I had to shut it down immediately. There was no way we could do it, I had no clue how my teaching qualifications would translate in America, I didn’t feel good about flying separately to Daisy and I’d only just started feeling comfortable at the school.
Charlie took this badly. He started saying how he’d done everything for me, left his family, his old life behind, so that I could pursue my dream so why couldn’t I do the same for him? I told him the truth - that I had nothing against him pursuing his dream, I was only encouraging it, but I couldn’t follow him. I gave him the idea of maybe going long distance for a few years while I figured out the logistics of me and Daisy moving out there eventually and he entertained it, saying it was a good compromise for the time being. I thought that was that.
Until I got home from work one day in December and all of his stuff was gone. I didn’t celebrate Christmas that year.
Honestly, I felt betrayed at first. We’d been together for seven years at this point, had grown together, had talked about the future, had intended on spending the rest of our lives together. And he just… Threw all of that away like it was nothing, like I was nothing. I was angry for a long time. I resigned from that teaching job, packed up the house Charlie and I bought together and moved back home. I bought a smaller house, a new build, so Daisy had a garden and applied for a teaching job at the primary school I used to attend. I got it and the headmaster, Mr Ajayi, put me in charge of the nativity, he’d heard of my thrilling past as a failed drama student. I took it in my stride and tried to put on the best nativity I could, mainly as a giant fuck-you to Charlie and to try and regain some semblance of a love for the time of year I associated him with.
It was atrocious. I don’t even want to talk about it. The critic that wrote for the town’s newspaper, Isaac Henderson, had slated it, stating that a newborn could’ve done a better job. I still don’t totally understand why Truham Post has a critic reviewing children’s school nativities but it was through Henderson’s minus two-stars review of my nativity that I came across Ben’s name. Apparently, after mocking my prospective career choice, he’d followed my footsteps and also became a primary school teacher. Of course, he teaches at the prestigious private school, St. John’s Primary, and his nativities are always such perfect productions. The prick.
It was around this time that Charlie decided I was worth his time and sent me a measly postcard about how much he was enjoying his new fancy life in Hollywood and his new amazing job. It made me want to gouge my eyes out. Between this postcard, Ben’s resurgence in my life, my piss-poor attempt of a nativity and being back home where I’m reminded of my dead mother every hour of every day, I made an executive decision.
I would start to hate Christmas.
The first day of school after the October half term has a specific energy and I know, as soon as I step into the staffroom, what it is. It’s time to start preparing for Christmas. Wonderful. Lesson plans start to involve Christmas anecdotes, we’re encouraged to talk about Bethlehem and three wise men and Jesus and Santa Claus. It grinds my gears but, unfortunately for me, my love for seeing my students smile and laugh always outweighs my hatred for Christmas so I have no choice but to suck it up and use my drama degree to good use by putting on a performance in front of everyone. The teachers buy into it every year but my Year Fours are always so smart and they can see through my façade every year so I’m honest with them. I tell them I don’t like Christmas, I don’t tell them why, and I take the opportunity to tell them that other people don’t celebrate Christmas for a variety of reasons. This starts a conversation on Hanukkah and Diwali and other holidays and, while I never claim to be a seasoned expert on these holidays, I think it’s important for them to learn them as well as Christmas. I don’t make it a big deal or anything, and I do tell them that other people choose to celebrate no holiday at all and that’s perfectly fine too, but I just like to make sure my kids don’t grow up to be ignorant little shits like the other kids at Truham Primary.
Maybe I shouldn’t call children ‘little shits’.
As I read out a quick spelling test of words involved in the story of the birth of Jesus, I glance at the clock above the door of my classroom and note that we have about five minutes before I have to line up my class for the assembly. With a sigh as I know what’s coming with today’s assembly, I look back down at the list of words before me and address my class.
“Two more words, okay, everybody?” I ask and am greeted with a wave of murmured ‘yes, Mr Nelson’, clearing my throat. “Your next word is frankincense. Frankincense.”
I wait a few seconds before repeating myself.
“Frankincense.”
I let my eyes wander across the room to check on my kids as they write down the word and hide it from their table-mates. I have to stifle my laugh in this classroom sometimes, some of my students do things in such ways that make me want to giggle with them, and that’s why I teach. As I see Delia slap her hand over her sheet, I smile and start to get ready to get them lined up.
“And your final word, Bethlehem. Bethlehem.”
Same process as before. I wait a few seconds before saying it again.
“Bethlehem.”
I shrug on my jacket as I watch them all scribble down their rendition of Jesus’ birthplace before they all start to look up at me one by one, waiting for further instruction. I smile.
“Well done, you lot,” I praise. “Now, put your tests in your trays, everybody, we’ll mark them when we come back to assembly, okay?”
“Yes, Mr Nelson!” they trill back in almost-unison and I brace myself for the cacophony of trays being dragged open and slammed shut at various intervals.
I sigh again and call each table group to come join the line one at a time, making sure to stare pointedly at some of my more troublesome boys as they jokingly push each other in the line. They turn sheepish and apologise, making me nod in approval, before I start to lead my class through the school to the main hall. I’m grateful for my class, who are generally more well-behaved than most others, as they walk in silence behind me and I lead them through the door of the main hall, directing them to sit on the floor in a row. As I help Anastasia lower herself to the floor, I smile at her meek ‘thank you, Mr Nelson’ and make sure she’s alright with Faith before checking on the rest of my class. I hear an exasperated sigh behind me once I finish counting the familiar heads, just to be extra certain I have everyone, and turn to see my favourite colleague, Tara Jones, chastising her Year Six class for talking and misbehaving.
“Frederick, if you swear one more time, you’ll lose all laptop privileges and I’ll get Mr Ajayi to phone your mum.”
I hide my snort as the kid in question suddenly looks terrified at the prospect of his mother being called in and wait for Tara to join me as I stand to the side. She gives another sigh when she sees me, a tired one, and I smile brightly at her as she approaches me with narrowed eyes.
“You’re oddly cheery for what’s about to come.”
I scoff. “Please, he’s not gonna give that play to me, not after my shitshow of a nativity.”
“Famous last words, Mr Nelson,” she sings and I chuckle.
“What about you?” I challenge. “You’ve not done it yet.”
She shudders at just the thought. “With this class? Absolutely not.”
We share a laugh before the room goes silent as Mr Ajayi bounds in with his never-disappearing smile. Tara edges away from me to keep an eye on her class, staring daggers at a trio of girls who sit whispering in each other’s ears, and I turn back to face the front as Mr Ajayi takes his position. He beams at every person in the room.
“Good morning, everyone!”
“Good morning, Mr Ajayi!” the kids sing back and I chuckle to myself when I hear Luke yell it the loudest.
Mr Ajayi chuckles too. “Good morning, Luke. Welcome back, I hope you all had a lovely half term.”
I zone out for a moment as he lists out a few announcements, most of which he’s doled out in an email nobody except me reads apparently, and check on my class. Again, I praise whoever is up there for my exceptionally easy class. Even the troublesome boys aren’t even that bad, they’re just stereotypical football-obsessed boys who rough-house with their older brothers at home and bring that never-ending energy to school. They like to play-wrestle in the playground and call each other names, as boys do. There’s no talking out in class, no bullying within my class (that I am extremely grateful for after my stint in teaching Year Six), no tears caused by other students. It feels too good to be true, to not have at least one child that creates utter chaos, but, every day, they stay the same sweet, helpful, caring class I met back in July for their Meet-The-Teacher session. Although, a big part of that has to be thanks to Tara, who taught them in a job-share last year.
“Now, before we end this with some singing, I am delighted to tell you all which class will be performing the nativity this year!”
Those words bring me back to reality because a godawful mix of energies take over the hall. Though I am the only teacher at Truham Primary to actively hate Christmas as a whole, no-one likes doing the nativity. I mean, wrangling twenty-eight rowdy children to perform a retelling of a story no-one except maybe Mrs Dawson believes in? Every teacher’s worst nightmare. But the kids are practically vibrating with excitement, their cute little murmurs taking over the hall, and Mr Ajayi raises his hand to get them to go quiet, which happens immediately. He smiles.
The power that man holds could be lethal.
“Thank you, everyone,” he says, putting his hand down. “Now, can we get a drumroll? The next class who will be doing the nativity will be…”
I share a smirk with Tara as our kids start to drum their hands against the floor and our eyes flicker towards our colleagues, raising our eyebrows as we see each other linger on certain teachers. Tara stifles a giggle with her cardigan sleeve as I turn her attention to Mr Greene.
“Mr Nelson’s class!”
It feels like I’ve been dunked in ice-cold water. What the fuck? I hear Tara’s giggles through the cheering of my class and whip my head around to face Mr Ajayi, only to see him beaming at me. Beaming! What a fucking prick.
In my state of shock and dread, I watch numbly as Mr Ajayi gets everyone to stand up and they start to sing ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’ in celebration. It’s the first fucking week of November but okay. Because Mrs Dawson’s class is in the room beside mine, after the singing, I ask her if she can take my class back to my room and set them up with their reading books while I talk to Mr Ajayi about the nativity. She nods and beckons my class to join her line as I follow Mr Ajayi to his office. He gestures for me to sit down, I don’t.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask instead. “Was my attempt five years ago not bad enough?”
He chuckles, amused. “Nick, I think you’re being a bit dramatic here.”
“Don’t you remember? The damn stage nearly came down and the hall still smells like a nine-year-old crapped in their donkey costume.”
Yes, that did actually happen.
“You were still green around the gills then. Now, you know better! Plus I know you adore your class, you have a better opportunity to create a more positive experience.”
I sigh and lean against his filing cabinet. “Mr Ajayi, you know my feelings about this. All of this.”
He shrugs. “Can you blame me for not wanting any member of staff to look like they’d rather be anywhere else this time of year?”
Maybe I’m not as good an actor as I thought.
I stay silent. I don’t know what to say to that.
“Listen, Nick,” he starts, leaning on his desk to look me in the eye. “I wasn’t going to announce this until the Christmas party but I imagine you won’t be coming to that.”
I tilt my head slightly at his words and invite him to continue with a wave of my hand.
“This is my last year at Truham Primary,” he admits and my heart drops like stone, my body physically deflating as his sentence sinks in. “My other half proposed when I visited him over in America during the half term and we agreed that it makes more sense for me to move there in the summer.”
Other half. Proposed. America. Move there.
That sounds too familiar.
My voice is gruff as I say. “Congratulations.”
He beams again and then his smile turns somewhat sad. “You’re a good teacher, Nick. And a good person. You deserve a second chance and I want to be here to see you get it.”
Something tells me he’s not just talking about the nativity. Why did I have to tell him my sob story all those years ago?
His words ricocheting around my head, I sigh again, in defeat this time, and nod. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it. But don’t blame me if it ends up being shit.”
He chuckles and stands up. “That’s all I ask for, Nick.”
I manage to smile and also stand up to get back to my class so we can mark their spelling tests. Mr Ajayi speaks up as I open the door to leave.
“Oh, also,” he says. “You’ve got a classroom assistant starting this afternoon. Thought you’d appreciate a second adult for the nativity.”
Great. Just what I need. I thank him and leave his office, admittedly grumbling like a five-year-old the whole way back to my classroom.
“Oh, come on, Nick. It can’t have been that bad.”
I admire Tara’s belief in me.
She’s leant on the wall beside me as I use the printer in the staffroom to copy some worksheets for my class during lunch and I’m complaining about the nativity, something I know I’ll be doing until it’s over. I grimace at the thought of my attempt when I first joined Truham Primary.
“Tara, we got complaints for two weeks after the first performance,” I tell her and she sniggers into her tea.
“You talking about the Great Nelson-Nativity Fiasco?” Imogen, a Year One teacher and my other favourite colleague, asks, her blue eyes gleaming with mirth as she joins us. “Did you tell her about how Marcus projectile-vomited across the hall during the birth of Jesus and hit Isaac Henderson’s face?”
Tara barks out a laugh as I send Imogen a glare but she just smiles widely. In hindsight, that was probably what tipped me from one star to minus two stars.
“Thanks for the reminder, Immy,” I say, my voice dripped in sarcasm.
“You’re welcome, Nick!” she chirps and makes Tara laugh even more. “I do think you’re exaggerating slightly though. This isn’t going to be the end of the world.”
I reach around the printer to grab my pile of worksheets and pluck the master copy, inwardly counting to make sure I have enough.
“That’s easy for you to say, Im,” I point out. “Your Easter plays are always perfect.”
“Because five-year-olds and six-year-olds are always sadistic little shits who get excited over the prospect of killing Jesus,” she replies. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your lovely Faith’s rendition of crucifying Luke.”
“Oh, she’s definitely going to grow up a serial killer if we’re not careful.”
This makes all three of us laugh as we wander back to our table to finish eating. I’m not going to lie, Imogen’s Easter play when she had my class a few years ago had made me very excited to teach them when I found out. I’ve always loved a class I could laugh with, that had their own bold personalities already. And I know I’m being all bah-humbug about this nativity. I need to relax and start focusing on the present, throw my shoddy last attempt out of my mind. I know what not to do now.
Besides, maybe Mr Ajayi is right. Maybe I will appreciate a second adult to help with it. Speaking of, I haven’t seen an unfamiliar face pop into the staffroom yet. My eyebrows furrow in confusion as I look around, tossing a Wotsit into my mouth.
“Penny for your thoughts, Nick?” Tara asks.
I look at her and apologise. “Sorry, I’m just… I’ve been assigned a new classroom assistant, I was just wondering who it is. I don’t see anyone new here.”
Imogen shrugs. “Maybe it’s not someone new. Maybe Nathan’s finally listened to Harry’s classroom assistant and moved her to you.”
I can’t help but groan. “Not batty old homophobic Mrs Grant.”
Tara giggles, taking a bite of her cereal bar. “Someone’s gotta have her.”
“And it has to be the openly-bi teacher?”
Before either of them can reply, the bell signalling the end of lunch trills throughout the school and we all sigh, pouring the last of our food and drinks down our throats. Then we rush to tidy, me running to wash my cheese-dust-covered fingers before touching anything else, and bid each other goodbye as I gather my worksheets, jacket and bag. I walk back to my classroom, hoping for a moment of peace before my class would return, only to be greeted by the complete opposite. My entire class is surrounding someone who has to be sixteen at the oldest and they’re playing a game together.
“What’s going on here?!” I ask loudly and my class jumps, the person standing to greet me, their blonde hair bouncing against their shoulders. “Who are you?”
“Mx Olsson!” they say immediately and I spot the pronoun pin on their chest.
“What’re you doing here, Mx Olsson?” I ask and their eyes go wide as they realise I have no fucking clue who they are and why they’re in my classroom.
“Oh, I’m your new classroom assistant!” they say.
I physically recoil at the implications of their words. Oh, no.