I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,86
hiccupped very loudly; the fresh air and alcohol combo wasn’t doing much for her street cred in front of this man her heart refused to shut the door on.
‘Okay, that works. Are we doing to go all the verses? I mean, going to do all the verses?’
‘Do you know them?’ Mary would have been surprised if he did.
‘I think so. I used to. My memory retains useless stuff like that, don’t ask me why.’
‘Okay then. Let’s do them all.’
‘Do you want to be the page or Wenceslaslas?’ Jack asked.
Crikey, it was catching. Mary sniggered to herself, hearing Jack struggle over the word. He has Wenceslaslasitis, she thought.
‘Be funnier if you were the page,’ said Mary.
‘Okay. After three. Then. That’s one-two-three and then start, not one-two and start on three.’
‘Mmmmm.’ Mary sang the elongated note so Jack could grab the key.
* * *
From inside, the remaining four listened to the carol being performed. Two strong voices for the first verse and chorus, then Mary’s solo in a deep, robust tone; the good king, enquiring of his page information about yonder peasant. Then the page sang his response about where the peasant lived.
‘That’s never Jack is it?’ said Bridge. Blimey, he had let his corset strings out.
‘He makes a very good castrato,’ said Robin.
‘I hope not, for Mary’s sake,’ said Luke.
So Luke also knew that Mary had a crush on the posh twit, thought Bridge. It seems there was only Jack himself who didn’t. Or maybe he does, said an insightful voice in her head, from a place unaffected by the alcohol. Maybe he just doesn’t want to reciprocate. Don’t interfere, Bridge. Let what will be, be.
She knew only too well that love wasn’t always a high-speed dual carriageway; sometimes it was a round-about, too often a one-way street.
* * *
Outside Mary was as gobsmacked as any of them that Jack could achieve such a nuts-in-a-vice piercing falsetto. He was smiling while he was singing, his mood oiled by wine, champagne and probably the dessert too as Luke seemed to have a very generous hand where alcohol in puddings was concerned.
They joined together for the last verse. Gave it their all.
‘…Shall yourself find bleeeeeeeeeessssing.’
They dropped the last note totally synchronised, but it continued to hang in the air like the echo of a bell. Jack and Mary stood silently, without moving, as time stretched the long second and Mary’s brain was plunged into a sobering icy pool of clarity. If ever Jack was going to make a move on her, it would be now. If he didn’t, then he probably never would.
* * *
Had Mary always been that pretty, Jack thought. Alcohol was supposed to dull the senses, but the opposite was occurring. Her eyes were quite lovely, light and shining, a mix of sea greens and blues, the colour of a mermaid’s tail, he fancied as he stood there, slightly swaying. Her lips full, soft, he could imagine how they’d feel against his own. That weirdness swirled inside him again, a confusion of trippy emotions ruffling his senses. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to lift up his hand, thread it in the golden silk of her hair and kiss her. His hand twitched upwards, then common sense slapped him into temporary sobriety. He’d be taking advantage, he’d embarrass himself – and her. He’d have overstepped a boundary that couldn’t be un-overstepped. But how he wanted to. He should ask first. Mary, can I kiss you?
His mouth formed the first word: ‘Mary…’ – just as she turned from him.
* * *
It wasn’t going to happen. And she couldn’t stand there any longer looking up at him all doe-eyed waiting for his rejection. The moment had passed. The last vestige of hope detached itself from her, drifted away into the cloud-clogged sky.
‘Yes, Jack?’
Dithering idiot. ‘Well done,’ he said, and swallowed hard.
‘Yep, we did good.’ Mary opened the door, and they walked back into the inn to be met by thunderous applause, and some loud whistling from Luke.
‘Fabulous,’ said Charlie. ‘The best version of “Good King Wenceslas” I have ever heard.’
Mary took an exaggerated bow, overcompensating the jollity. She didn’t want to give a hint of what she really felt, because inside herself, she was crunched into a corner crying hard.
‘Us now,’ said Luke, getting up keenly. ‘Come on, Bridge.’
Bridge gave a drawn-out sigh. ‘If I must,’ she said and put on the wellies and coat that Mary had just vacated.