‘Well, suspension of disbelief is in order.’
‘I can do it if I put my mind to it,’ she says.
‘I don’t mean you,’ I say. ‘It’s the paper beards and the girl on her iPad in the back row.’
‘Oh, I hadn’t spotted her. I think she has problems with her lines,’ says Sophie.
‘And with acting, I might add.’
A mother in the row ahead shuffles and I receive a passively aggressive backward glance. I jam my knee in her lower back, lean forward, put my hand firmly on her shoulder, and say, ‘I’m so sorry, it’s quite a squeeze in here.’
‘Like mother like daughter,’ she hisses back.
‘Isn’t Nelly doing well?’ says Sophie.
‘You mean she hasn’t attacked anyone?’
‘She seems really in role. What an angelic expression.’
I look at Nelly, who is super concentrated. I feel a little twinge. Motherly pride? No, this is because I know from the look in her eye that the angel is about to turn devil.
‘Ajay!’ shouts Aisha, half standing and waving, as the head moves off stage and the lights dim.
‘Shhh,’ says a deliberately loud pedant from two rows behind us. I let it go, the soloist deserves our attention, and I listen to a surprisingly sweet rendition of ‘Away in a Manger’. Some of the words are wrong, but you have to forgive at Christmas.
The narrators appear and start to tell the story of the star.Nelly’s arms are behind her back now, and she’s wriggling. It looks like she’s stuffing both her hands down her pants. I raise my eyebrows. Not now, Nelly. Please.
I watch as Nelly retrieves something from her pants. It looks like a roll of paper. I’m slightly concerned but hope it’s got something to do with the play.
‘Oh, this is the big number. Ellie’s in it,’ says Sophie, jiggling to get a better view.
‘What’s Nelly up to?’ says Aisha.
I lean right to see what she’s doing. Adams will soon be requesting references for her, and we’re only just over the hamster incident, so I need her to be good.
‘Oh, that’s beautiful,’ says Sophie, as three girls (one of whom is Ellie) and a boy appear in full snowmen costumes and start to sing ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’.
‘Oh, there’s Hari,’ says Aisha with emotion in her voice. Hari is in a huge Santa costume with a cotton wool beard and bright red suit. Sophie squeezes Aisha’s arm.
Meanwhile, I’m staring at Nelly, standing centre-stage, angel wings in the spotlight, unfurling the banner that she’s grasping in her hand. She holds it above her head, and we all read:
SANTA’S DEAD
The audience goes silent. Everyone exchanges glances, several in my direction. And then she turns the banner over:
HARI KILLED HIM
‘Hari told Nelly that Santa doesn’t exist, and she’s taken it to heart,’ I say, as she glares at Hari. She looks sweet striding towards Santa in her angel costume. I have a vague hope this is in the script, but the confusion on the faces of the children suggests not.
Santa pulls open his sack and takes out a present as the song reaches its crescendo. Nelly walks directly in front of Santa Claus and shoves him so hard that he tumbles across the stage andinto the cardboard Nativity scene, toppling the crib. The baby Jesus hurtles towards the edge of the stage and falls off.
There’s a huge gasp in the audience. Children start crying. Hari has so many cushions tied around him that he can’t get up and flays around like a dying insect. A teacher rushes to pick up baby Jesus, but his swaddling unravels and he disappears under the benches.
A major search for baby Jesus is underway as Nelly jumps on Hari and starts pulling his Santa outfit off in disgust at his duplicity.
Sophie grabs my arm, as the whole of the hall seems to draw its breath and wait for what’s next. Several parents look at me, their eyes screwed up in fury.
‘We can just hope that it’s all planned?’ Sophie whispers as Nelly holds Hari’s beard and hat in the air triumphantly. Several mums rise up, outraged.
