“Where’s Story?” he asks, after pulling me into a hug, followed by Holiday.
I point at the stage. “Directing the rabble. Where’s Mum?”
“Front row, obviously.”
“Obviously.” I laugh with him.
Lando and Holiday push through the crowd ahead of me, and it takes us no time to find our mother. Clementine is with her and acknowledges me with nothing more than a tight smile, which I’d imagine has something to do with Miles standing on her other side. Haven and Alex, who’s carrying a very wrapped up Everly, are next to him.
“How long does this thing last?” Miles asks me.
“I don’t know, twenty minutes? Why?”
“I’m flying out later.”
“Where?”
He looks straight ahead when he replies, “Aspen,” because he knowsIknow why he’s going, and that I think it’s a fundamentally bad idea.
I don’t get the chance to object verbally because Story and her colleague, Celeste, march onto the stage. Everyone in earshot falls silent.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming to watch the Valentine Nook Valentine’s concert, put on by the pupils of Valentine Prep . . .” begins Celeste, before Story takes over.
“Our reception classes have been working very hard over the past month, learning and preparing for this moment, so please cheer loudly and put your hands together . . .” Her hand sweeps to the side as the first pupil walks on.
Miles’s whistle deafens everyone within a two-foot radius, and when Max arrives, it’s even louder.
Whatever nerves or reticence he had about the concert seem to vanish the moment he spots us all in the front row, along with the size of the crowd behind us.
His hand shoots in the air. “Daddy. Hello . . . Hello, Daddy . . . Uncle Miles, Granny . . .”
“Hello, darling.” She waves back.
Max isn’t the only one waving at family members. The whole class is doing it, which, admittedly, makes everyone in the audience laugh, especially at the kid who shouts, “Look at me, I’m singing.”Celeste and Story work on getting the class settled, but once the background music begins, their shoulders straighten, and they stand still and quiet.
“You should try that in the mornings before school,” mutters Miles.
What follows is a fifteen-minute demonstration of cuteness.
The first song is “LOVE” by Nat King Cole, which has all the children running around and spelling the word every time it’s sung, which is highly amusing. The performance is peppered with loud sighs andawws. It’s kitschy and adorable, especially when two of them appear on stage with a large basket and throw love hearts into the crowd.
For someone who complained about it every time the concert was brought up, Max is remarkably enthusiastic. We’re close enough that I can hear his loud, tuneless singing, and my favorite part is him waving at us every time a song ends.
By the time it finishes, my cheeks ache from smiling. The cheer and applause from the audience is loud enough to be heard over at Foxleigh Park, and it doesn’t stop until each child races off the stage into the arms of proud family members.
Max runs straight into my mother, who makes a huge fuss over how delighted she is. But predictably, Max immediately asks, “Can we go see Honey now?”
Scooping him up into my arms, I plant a big kiss on his cheek. “You were brilliant, Maxy.”
“Iknow, but can we go and see Honey?”
I nod and spot Story walking over. “Yes, and Miss MacIntosh is coming too.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Turning to the rest of my family, I tell them where we’re going and grab Story’s hand before my son tugs me away.
The puppies are there. Five meters out, Max recognizes the shelter manager, lets go of my hand, and runs straight up to him.
