Trisha Ashley - The Magic of Christmas

Jasper went off to help Caz and Joe Gumball with the myriad last-minute jobs: lighting the charcoal braziers that were set around the courtyard, testing the microphone in Unks’ little striped tent, from where he would speak as Voice of God, and moving scenery. I stored my Eve costume, wig and figleaves (which are threaded onto elastic, so they are quick and easy to put on for the Expulsion) in one of the loose boxes used for changing rooms: men to the left of the coach house, women to the right.

When I came out again the audience had started to arrive, bearing picnics, folding chairs and rugs, and Jojo and Mick were warming their hands at one of the charcoal braziers. I hadn’t thought how depleted the Mummers would be, since Ritch was still away basking in the Caribbean, and Ophelia, of course, had just given birth; but when I spoke to them they told me that actually Ophelia and the baby were in the kitchen with Mrs Gumball, who would mind the infant while she popped out and performed as usual.

‘Is that a good idea, so soon?’ I asked doubtfully.

‘Yeah, she’s fine, she wants to do it,’ Jojo assured me, but I imagine the poor girl’s performance will be even limper than usual.

‘Have they decided on a name for the baby yet?’

‘Sylvester Star, according to Ophelia,’ Mick said, ‘but I heard Caz Naylor calling it Sly.’

‘That’s got to be better than Rambo, though,’ I said, and they agreed.

Although there was an old outside toilet behind the stables (Victorian vintage, with shiny mahogany seating), in recent years Roly has also arranged for a portable toilet block to be set up next to it, which saves much queuing during the breaks. I sensibly repaired there before putting on my Eve costume under my clothes: it would certainly be impossible to go again in that outfit. Makes you wonder how Spiderman and other superheroes manage, doesn’t it?

The Spandex felt odd under my jeans, but quite warm. I left my wig hanging on the post outside the loosebox, together with my figleaves, and went outside again. The courtyard was now quite full and noisy, and the WI ladies were doing a roaring trade in hot drinks. The air was cold and smelled of spices and roasting chestnuts — or, if you suddenly and unexpectedly found yourself in the vicinity of Polly Darke and her little circle of friends, as I did, civet cats.

‘You’ve been making candyfloss again, I see,’ Nick said, doing his silently materialising act right next to me.

‘I call it Hoar Frost and I’m dedicating the recipe to Polly,’ I said tartly. ‘What is she doing here? And why hasn’t anyone run her off the premises?’

‘She’s here because I invited her specially and told her it just wouldn’t be the same without her,’ he said, with an enigmatic smile. ‘I suppose you feel much the same about Ritch Rainford. Poor Lizzy — didn’t he invite you to go to the Caribbean with him?’

I felt myself blush, because actually Ritch had, though I knew he was only flirting, as usual.

‘Yes,’ I said shortly and ambiguously. ‘It’s a pity he isn’t here for the play,’ I added, fingering my sparkling little snowman brooch rather ostentatiously. ‘Several of the other Cotton Common cast members are, though I don’t know if they’ll have the stamina to stay for the whole thing.’

Nick’s hand captured mine and he stared at the ring on my finger. ‘I didn’t get a good look at that last night,’ he said thoughtfully. The flat green stone gleamed with restrained opulence in its heavy, antique gold setting.

‘I hope you don’t mind Unks giving it to me? I suspect it’s a family heirloom, but I did ask him if he was sure he wanted me to have it.’

‘Well, then, I suppose you could say he’s given you the family seal of approval,’ he said blandly. ‘And look, he’s arrived, so we must be about to start. Who’s that with him?’

‘Delphine Lake, one of the actresses in Cotton Common .’

Pretty as a picture from silver curls to tiny, pointed blue shoes, Delphine had somehow managed to insinuate herself into Roly’s royal pavilion, but then, he always did have an eye for an attractive woman. There was just enough room for another folding canvas chair, and their heads were close together in earnest conversation.

Clive Potter came out and stood in front of the canvas curtains, holding up his hands for silence, and then bid everyone welcome to the Middlemoss Mysteries.

‘Now let our play begin!’ he said dramatically, bowed and walked off.

A small silence ensued, then there was a squeak as Nick leaned in and switched on Unks’ microphone before his voice could be heard, confiding to Delphine, ‘… and then blow me if it didn’t pick itself up at the fifth, overtake the field and gallop home by a head!’

‘Voice of God!’ Nick whispered urgently.

‘Ah, yes — excuse me, my dear …’ There was a rustling noise, as of paper being picked up. ‘I AM GOD, THE ALL-POWERFUL, ALL-KNOWING,’ he declaimed loudly, then lowering his voice to a more normal level, continued, ‘Listen to my words — take heed of the mysteries that will unfold before your dazzled eyes.’

The curtain was pulled back to reveal Lucifer and nine angels against a gilded cloudy backdrop and the Mysteries were well and truly up and running. (Or bicycling , as would be the case during Mary and Joseph’s journey to Bethlehem and subsequent flight into Egypt.)

Various interesting noise effects accompanied God’s description of the Creation, which I could hear as I shrugged off my clothes in the changing room and concealed as much of myself as possible with the long, blond wig.

Then we were on.

If you’ve ever tried to remember your lines while inches away from a tall and attractive man dressed in little more than ballet tights, you’ll understand why I found it hard to keep my eyes on the apple. He was carrying a small sheaf of hay, which may have preserved his modesty from the audience, but was not much help to me. I expect ballerinas quickly get blasé about this kind of thing.

Of course, it might have helped if he’d stuck to the text when I offered him the apple, like he’s done at all the recent rehearsals, instead of soulfully telling the audience in the most hammy way that I’d already had his heart and he didn’t think a piece of fruit was much of an exchange.

They loved it, but I was tempted to elope with the snake.

Then he took a bite, tossed it over his shoulder into the wings and led me offstage to cover my modesty with figleaves.

‘Nice costume,’ he said, casting away his sheaf of hay and adjusting his figleaves like a hula skirt. The effect was interesting. ‘Need any help with yours?’

‘No, thanks,’ I said primly. Whoever plays Eve next year will need new elastic: the twang had quite gone out of mine.

We quickly took our places behind the painted bushes and the Voice of God demanded why we had eaten the forbidden fruit? I only wished I knew.

‘The woman tempted me,’ Nick said, passing the buck, just as men have done from time immemorial, and we were expelled from Eden.

The curtain came down and the Mummers began to play something lilting while the scene was changed for Noah’s Ark.

Nick dashed off for his changing room and I headed for my own warm outfit, shivering. I quickly dressed and then went out into the courtyard through the back doorway, avoiding the scurrying animal-headed infants and a harassed-looking Miss Pym.

Nick was already in the courtyard, talking to Polly. I elected to watch Noah’s Flood from the other side, with Annie and Gareth.

‘What’s Polly doing here?’ Annie whispered to me worriedly, when Gareth had kindly gone to get me a hot drink (I was still freezing). ‘And why is Nick chatting to her like that, and laughing and … well, flirting ?’