Page 71 of Five Gold Rings
She giggles quietly. ‘Well, he looks immensely peaceful. Well done.’ She then looks down and blushes and I peer down to see my robes have opened up to reveal way too much thigh. ‘Cover yourself up. That is not appropriate in the House of God,’ she tells me. ‘The holy water will start to boil.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, laughing but pulling a face. ‘How did Joseph cope? There was no underwear in that time. Do you think he flashed wang a lot in public?’
‘No doubt,’ she says, giggling.
More nativity crew come into our pew and Eve and I move up so she’s sitting next to me, close to me, our legs touching. I glance at her and see she continues to blush, like she’s embarrassed, flustered. This is crossing that friend line, isn’t it?
‘Can I say that since Chris’s house, you look a bit more relaxed?’ I say to try and chill her out. ‘A bit more like you might enjoy your Christmas?’
She takes a deep cleansing breath. ‘I was enjoying it regardless, I think. You know, weirdly, the last few days have been fun. All of it really.’
‘I think I’ve had fun, too,’ I tell her.
Oh, Eve. What is this that we’ve developed over the last few days? I can’t quite read what we are anymore, but I think I helped you and that feels important. After we deliver the last ring, it’s time to get her back to her family and then after the new year, it’ll be time for us both to move on, in whatever direction that might be. It breaks my heart but at least we had these three days.
I squeeze her hand and there’s a moment where she looks at me and all these people, the music, the lights, the sound – it all stops. I exhale gently as she smiles at me again, a magical warming feeling from the contact. What is this? Did she feel that, too?
‘Joe,’ she whispers.
‘I…’ But we both suddenly jump out of our skins as an organ fires up, doors open and the bride appears in a doorway, ethereal, beaming, flanked by many bridesmaids. I count twenty, from little kids dressed as angels to older teens who’ve gone strong on the cleavage and fake lashes. But a radiance and joy from that bride tells me everything is alright with the world. I look over at Eve, silently watching this train of people, her face lit up to see this whole wedding unfold with such happiness.
‘Merry Christmas, Eve,’ I tell her.
‘Merry Christmas, Joe.’
She turns to me. This is a moment. I can feel it. It feels warm. But maybe too warm. Hold up. That’s not a feeling. I know that because it comes with a sound. Not just any sound, a sound like a drain has just emptied its contents, echoing through that church. People turn to each other in horror. Eve covers her mouth with her hands to stop her laughter.
‘What the hell was that?’
It’s my turn to try and restrain my giggles. Does she think that sound came from me? ‘Holy shit,’ I whisper. Quite literally. I don’t think there’s a nappy in the world that can contain that.
She faffs, trying to cover the baby but also looking horrified at what’s coming out of his nappy. ‘It won’t stop coming. It’s like a mudslide,’ Eve says, aghast. She whips off my headdress and tries to use it as an extra layer of protection on that little baby’s butt.
How is he still sleeping through all of this? A lady down the pew gives us some serious side-eye. Hey lady, this is the Son of God. I’m quite happy to hand this kid back now. Any takers? Eve can’t stop giggling and I shake my head at her, chuckling back as she gets a pack of tissues out of her handbag. That’ll work. And for a moment, it’s just nice to see tears in her eyes for the right reason, to see her laughing, healing, knowing that any crap Christmas memories from this year may be replaced by this crappy one instead.
SEVENTEEN
Eve
Can you fancy someone more after seeing them in a nativity? I feel that’s slightly sacrilegious but there were little things Joe did at the front of that church that made my whole body sigh. The way he high-fived a very tiny angel, the way he kept putting a reassuring hand to Mary’s back, the way he handled the baby Jesus himself sweetly, even when he crapped his pants in the most dramatic and explosive of ways. But now I can’t quite handle being around him. Every time he’s close, flashing thigh or cracking jokes, I giggle. The thigh is firm. I knew that already because I’ve seen him in the little jingly shorts, you could see there was definition, but that feels like a different time. B.C. Before Crush. Jesus knows.
Given he’s spurned my advances already, there’s just no clear way to say this out loud either. We could extend these Christmas adventures. How about it? I know we have one more ring to deliver but I wish it were ten more. We could drive around in your little car forever. Until the New Year at least. Is it weird that this is the fantasy I want to live out? Driving around London, living off fast food and meal deals and delivering happiness to other people, whilst we keep listening to his Christmas playlist on loop, just the two of us in our little festive bubble.
‘I may need you to smell me again,’ Joe asks me, back in his tuxedo now, in the back seat again, using our baby wipes to try and de-poop himself. I laugh watching him trying to sanitise his chest, thinking about how someone suggested he have a quick wash in the baptismal font. I politely decline the opportunity of smelling him, just because it feels dangerous to get that close to him again. I need to keep a reasonable distance and just see the rest of the day out.
We sit there in his car as the sky starts to change colour and the sound of Faith and Emmanuel’s reception echoes down the street. The wedding is done. Except it’s not. I’ve never seen such a loud wedding – from the heckling cheers, to the big gospel singing, to a relative two rows down who was sobbing with joy. For all the pretty, serene and dignified weddings I’d been to, this felt brilliant, like how every wedding should be, a huge exclamation of joy and love. For now, the church still simmers in that emotion. It’s Christmas and it’s time for people to party in the hall next door. If the wedding was loud then I anticipate the reception will be heard in the next borough.
‘Despite the poo-nami, can I just say you were an excellent Joseph?’ I tell him as he tries to get himself cleaned up.
‘I thought so. Did you take any photos I could show my mum? She’ll be made up,’ he asks.
‘Unfortunately not,’ I say, grinning. He was also so good with Jesus. The way he let him grip on to one of his fingers, the way when he handed him over to his real mother, Jesus smiled back at him as if he knew of his innate goodness. Stop it, Eve. My phone ringing gets my attention and I answer it.
‘WHERE ARE YOU?’ a voice hollers out, making the windows of the car rattle. Noel.
‘Noel…’ I did give Noel a call this morning, sitting on the end of Joe’s bed. We exchanged Christmas greetings, but I mostly sobbed to have to recount all that Chris drama. He sobbed back. But even that feels like a lifetime ago, where I was and felt like another person.
‘YOU SAID YOU’D BE HERE BY 3 P.M. AND IT’S 3.05 P.M.!’ He’s not even on speaker but I am sure Joe can hear all of this. It’s not even alcohol doing this. He’s just loud, dramatic and welcomes the opportunity to embarrass me at every given turn. I did tell him this morning about the rings, but I also reassured him that he would have the pleasure of seeing my face today. It’s nice that he’s been clock-watching, waiting until we were reunited.