I smiled. “Is that what that was?”
His eyes crinkled.
“Chloe must have loved seeing Anette perform,” I said, encouraged.
Ben looked away. “This was her first time on stage.” When he fell silent, I thought maybe I’d overstepped, but then he spoke again. “Normally, whenever Anette does something new, that’s when I miss Chloe the most. When it feels most unfair. But tonight, Anette has never seemed more like her. Her mum practically grew up on stage. She would have loved seeing Anette up there, bad language and all. Plus,” he said, lifting the corner of his mouth, “she was a really big fan of the Spice Girls.” I smiled with him. Then he gestured to the stage and said, “How can I think Chloe isn’t here when Anette is right there?”
It was the most Ben had ever said to me. It made me wonder if I’d misunderstood something last weekend.
“Ben, I—”
“Ben! I thought that was you.” A woman had swiveled round in her seat to face us, cutting off whatever Ben might have said next. Her face lit with obvious interest. It occurred to me that, to her, Ben was an eligible single dad. The school-gates equivalent of the film industry unicorn. Tall, dark and brooding, as Samantha had so thoughtlessly put it. Ben, for his part, didn’t seem to notice. “Aren’t you our official photographer?”
I felt him tense beside me, though his voice was polite. “Not anymore, Ann.”
“Well, you’re used to a bit more excitement than a school play, no doubt.”
“I was always glad to do it,” Ben replied. “I’m just no longer a photographer.”
“But aren’t you always off up a mountain somewhere?”
There was a pause. “I . . . I work for the local council now.”
“Then whose camera is that?” The woman stabbed a finger toward the one sticking out of the canvas bag at his feet. It had a rainbow strap.
“Mine,” I said, picking it up. I’d never seen him quite so rattled. It made me want to rescue him. “I specialize in selfies, mainly, so I’m not sure I’d be much help either.”
To demonstrate, I angled the camera toward us both. “Smile, Ben.” It flashed in our faces. Ben blinked rapidly.
“Okay.” Ann’s smile took on a polite edge. “Well, Ben, if you ever change your mind . . .”
Ben nodded, relieved. It was only when she’d turned back around again that I felt him ease up.
“Thank you,” he said, quietly.
“It was nothing.” I couldn’t shake the thought of him being a photographer. What made you give that up, Ben? The man was a puzzle, one I had no business solving.
We both spotted them at the same time: a group of parents gathered at the front of the stage, looking over the audience. At us, I realized with a start. I recognized Justice’s and Detty’s mothers, who did not look pleased, and Samantha, who did. They were standing around a tall woman in her fifties with a severe bob that swung as she headed over to us.
“Ben.” The woman had an air of reluctant duty. She wore a black shift dress and platform boots. I guessed we’d found the Spice Girls fan. “Can we have a quick word before the second half starts?” The gaggle of parents still stood by the stage, all taking enormous care to look like they weren’t staring.
“Yes, Mrs. Clarke,” Ben said, tucking in his chin like he was in trouble. “Just tell me what you want, what you really, really want.”
I bit back a surprised laugh. Mrs. Clarke didn’t look as if she appreciated the humor.
Up onstage, Anette’s head appeared between the curtains. As soon as she caught sight of her teacher with her dad, she disappeared.
Ben sighed. “I’ve got to go catch myself a fairy.”
* * *
When the curtain closed for the final time, I stood to leave, lifting my satchel. It was heavier than usual, reminding me of what was inside. Whatever had transpired backstage had kept Ben occupied for the rest of the performance. I badly wanted to find Anette, but that meant risking bumping into a certain group of parents.
“Evie!” Anette was pushing her way toward me through the throng, still in her costume and trailing glitter. “You came!” she squealed. The red ribbon was missing from one of her pigtails.
“You were spectacular,” I told her.
“I have some apologies to make,” she said, as if repeating dutifully a line that she’d been given.
I bent low so I could whisper in her ear. “Tink would have been proud.”
She grinned. “My dad said to come and get you. He’s backstage with my head teacher. Come on, I’ll show you.” She grabbed my hand and danced ahead of me, taking me up the steps and onto the stage.
We pushed through the curtain and stepped onto the dimly lit set. “Wait for me right here,” she told me, positioning me next to the wooden pirate ship and backing away. “Dad wants to speak to you.”
“Wait, Anette!” I called after her, sure she was mistaken, but she’d vanished into the wings.
Several minutes passed as I listened to parents attempting to round up their children behind the thin partition at the back of the stage.
Finally I heard footsteps.
“Anette?” It was Ben, looking harassed.
“It’s just me,” I called.
Ben picked his way through the Spice Boys’ den toward me. As he stepped over Tiger Spice’s canoe, his shoe got caught. I reached out to steady him as he extricated himself.
“Hi,” Ben said.
“You wanted me?” I said.
He frowned, studying my face as he took a step closer. “I thought you wanted me?”
I shook my head, puzzled, then caught sight of a bunch of mistletoe strung up on the bow of the pirate ship. It was tied there with red ribbon. Anette.
Was she trying to set us up? Surely not. And yet—this could be a scene straight out of Love Actually.
I flushed, praying Ben didn’t follow my gaze, so of course he did.
“Ah,” he said. “Evie, I—”
A blast of air hit me from behind like I’d been whacked with a pillow. Unable to grab hold of anything in time, I smacked bodily into Ben. He tried to peel me off, but I could get no more than a few inches away before I was sent careening back into his chest. He opened his mouth as if to say something, only to inhale the end of my braid.
“Justice Merriweather, the wind machine is not a toy!” Mrs. Clarke bellowed as Ben choked. The wind abruptly shut off and a piercing giggle rang out, followed by racing footsteps.