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“We’re delighted to welcome you all to this year’s Christmas festivities,” Lowell said. “And we’ve got plenty of treats lined up for you. The children have been working fantastically hard.”

Ava eyed Daniel and he caught her gaze, grinning and shaking his head vigorously. He didn’t have to pee. That was one less thing to worry about.

“But before we get to the main events of the evening,” Jake said. “I do need to make a small announcement.”

There was some mumbling at this from parents who already had phone cameras ready to record. Jake held up his hands.

“As you have all heard, Whitebridge Primary has been under threat of closure for the last few months.”

Hope sat up straighter and Ava could feel her almost shaking. Without thinking, she took Hope’s hand, squeezed it tight in her own.

“I had a phone call from the council yesterday,” said Lowell, the bright light shining on him and beading sweat on his forehead. “But I thought it only fitting to save this announcement for tonight, when we’re all together as a community.”

Hope’s fingers interlaced with Ava’s and Ava’s mouth went dry, her pulse pounding through her veins until all she could think about was the touch of Hope’s skin on her own.

“I’m happy, no, ecstatic, to tell you,” Jake said. “That Whitebridge Primary will be remaining open.”

There was a loud cheer from parents and children alike, but Ava didn’t hear it. The only thing she heard was Hope’s erratic breathing as she yanked Ava into a hug that pushed all the air out of her lungs and left her breathless and dizzy.

Chapter Thirty Four

Hope ushered the children off the stage, grinning widely at each of them and praising them to the heavens.

“You were wonderful, perfect, excellent work.”

Alice had forgotten two of her lines, the innkeeper had offered Mary two rooms for the price of one, a sheep had tripped over, and after his afternoon accident Joseph was wearing a long white dress shirt rather than a robe, but on the whole, things had been very good.

Of course, Hope would have told them they were amazing anyway, but just at the moment she had little time for anything other than frantic mental gymnastics revolving around the school staying open.

The older children trooped onto the stage to begin their singing and Hope corralled her kids into the classroom next to the stage, where Ava was waiting for them.

“You were all excellent,” Ava pronounced as they walked in. “I’m so proud of you.”

Hope turned away because she could see that Ava was getting choked up and if she saw a tear then she was likely to start as well.

“Gather in,” Ava said. “We’ve got time for the very last chapter of our story before the juniors are finished and you can go and find your parents.”

The children gabbled away happily as Ava gathered them onto the carpet to sit quietly.

And Hope couldn’t watch.

She couldn’t watch as Ava read the last chapter of the last book of the last day. She couldn’t listen to Ava say ‘the end.’ So she slunk away toward the hall.

The juniors were giving an off-key rendition of Away in a Manger as she walked quietly down the halls of the school.

They’d stay open. Whitebridge Primary was safe. She should be happy. She was happy. She was filled with joy at the idea of keeping the school. Keeping her school. But with every second that went by she was closer and closer to losing Ava.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have ideas. She had those. One that might even be somewhat workable.

It was more that she lacked the… the courage perhaps, to bring it up.

There was something here, she knew that. She and Ava shared something, a connection, a biological imperative, something that made her know that together they could be something amazing. She knew in the same way that she knew the first moment that she held Alice that nothing would ever be the same again.

It was the same kind of deep-seated sense that she had found someone, her someone, someone that made her better and bigger and stronger than she really was.

Now all she needed was someone to push her into asking that other someone if perhaps, maybe, there could be a future that didn’t involve them living the rest of their lives apart. Or maybe she needed a stiff drink. Neither of which she was likely to find in a primary school.

“What are you doing out here?”