Page 105 of A Manny for Christmas

A smirk forms over Tristan’s face—one I want to slap away with my open palm—and I watch in horror as Toby’s specs jiggle on his face before falling right off. That oversized fucker must have pushed the arms over his ears. I grip Daisy’s waist so tightly that she jumps on my lap. Toby ducks, momentarily out of sight behind the front few shepherds, and I glance left and right in outrage. Is anyone else seeing this?

When he surfaces again, he has his specs on, but he looks like he’s on the brink of losing it.Move away from him, I urge him silently.Comeon,mate.I’m getting twitchy. A look at Molly tells me her eyes are wet with tears.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she says.

‘I know,’ I reply grimly, sitting up as straight as I can to see if Mr Pratt is showing any sign of doing his fucking job. This is a bloody outrage.

I sit, braced for I’m not sure what. But then I spot a meaty hand coming around over Toby’s shoulder. It grabs his ear and twists, and poor little Tobes bucks in agony and tries to pull away, but the hand stays.

Toby’s mouth forms an O, a silent scream making its plea to be heard. Because, if I know Toby, the last thing he wants to do is cause a fuss.

Andthatis when I lose my rag.

This endsnow.

I pull my hand away from Mol’s so I can grab Daisy around the waist and plonk her on Molly’s lap. I vaguely process Mol’s shocked intake of breath as I get to my feet and push my way through the people sitting between me and the aisle. There’s an audible murmur from the parents behind me, whether at my interruption or at what’s going on on stage, I have no idea. I’d put money on the former because, as far as I can tell, no one seems to give a shit that a kid’s being bullied by an ogre twice his size in plain sight.

I stomp my way to the stage, managing not to punch Mr Pratt, who only seems to notice me as I loom over him on my way past. His reedyexcuse megoes ignored as I jump up onto the stage and storm over to the cluster of shepherds. The kids are all staring at me, their mouths agape, and for a second I have a pang of guilt that I’m interrupting their little performance.

But it’s only fleeting, because none of the adults tasked with safeguarding these kids in this building seem to be capable of doing their job, so it’s not like I have any choice in the matter.

The shepherds part like the Red Sea as I approach, and Turd-ball Tristan lets go of Toby’s ear pretty damn smart. I stoop and gather Tobes up into my arms, pressing his face into the crook of my neck.

‘It’s all right, mate,’ I croon. ‘I’m so sorry he hurt you. I’m so sorry. I won’t let it happen again.’ He nods against my neck and hugs me more tightly. His legs are around my waist like a koala.

And then I get in Tristan’s space. I hold up a finger and shake it as close to his face as I dare.

‘You,’ I shout, with zero desire to keep my voice down. The entire play has stalled, in any case. I suspect I’m putting on one hell of an alternative show. ‘I saw what you were doing. You keep your hands to yourself, you pathetic little shit, or I’ll make your life a misery. You hear me?’

He shrinks back, all semblance of swagger wiped clean away, and nods his head in a blind panic. His eyes are wide. The violent feelings welling up in me right now are fucking terrifying. He’s just a kid, and yet I swear to God I’m barely responsible for my actions. I pull myself the hell together and leave him with as disgusted a sneer as I can while I shake my finger uselessly at him one more time.

‘Stay away from Toby,’ I say in a voice that would have put the fear of God into nine-year-old me, ‘or I’ll get the police involved and slap you with a restraining order.Got it?’

I have no clue if minors can be served with restraining orders, but from the fact that this kid looks to be seconds away from shitting himself, I’d say my threat has hit its mark.

There’s a tentative hand on my arm. I peer around Tobes. It’s the odious and utterly incompetent Mr Pratt.

‘I really need you to leave the stage now, Mr…’ he says in a patronising tone that I can just tell he’s honed for uncooperative children. I’m marginally mollified by the look of fear on his face. Either he thinks I’m unhinged or he knows he’s fucked up. I’ll take either.

‘Andyou,’ I shout, jabbing the air in front of his chest for good measure, ‘need to do yourfuckingjob. Toby was being bullied up there by that little shit, in front of everyone, and you didn’t intercede. You’re a fucking joke.’

He stands there, open-mouthed and looking so fucking gormless that I want to punch him in the face.

‘Move along, fucker,’ I growl at him instead.

And with that, I jump down from the stage and stride down the aisle, a sea of horrified faces and illuminated iPhones flanking me on both sides.

38

MOLLY

Iset Daisy down from my lap and stand. We need to get the hell out of here. Now. I push past a few parents, aiming for the side aisle. Max’s grand exit down the middle is definitely not for me. As Daisy and I leave, the headmaster, Mr Pritchett, joins a visibly trembling Mr Pratt on stage and apologises for the ‘interruption’, urging parents to stay seated in anticipation of the play resuming.

But honestly? His voice is barely audible over the excited hum of parents expressing moral outrage.

Max is halfway to the car before we catch him up. He still has Toby in his arms, and he’s vibrating with anger.

‘I had to get him out of there.’ The expression on his face suggests he expects me to disagree or call him out for bad behaviour.

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