Page 30 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“Enough,” he finally says, raising a hand. “Ever thought of joining the paparazzi?”
I laugh and wander over to him.
“Can I have a copy?” he asks. “Of the pictures.”
“Sure,” I thrust my phone at him. Give me your number. As he taps it in, I wonder how many other girls have that number. And how many would probably kill to get it.
“Okay, Teddy,” I say, once he’s done. “Time to reveal the source of the mysterious music that so impressed Loreena and Tommy.”
He points to the door. Right next to where we mounted the switch for the lights, sits a handwritten sign. Just a small piece of card nailed to the wooden door frame, with wonky felt-tip lettering that reads ‘THIS WAY FOR SOUND’ and a large black arrow.
“Off you go.” Teddy nudges me towards the stable door, and I step through into the gloom. The soft nicker of a horse acknowledges my presence, and others join in a gentle welcome chorus.
It’s not as dark inside as I expected, and straight away I see why. On a stand sits a small wedge-shaped piece of equipment. The brightly lit display glows, illuminating a flat black pad above. It’s divided into six squares. Taped to one is a piece of paper with the words ‘PRESS HERE’.
Like Alice in Wonderland, I don’t pause to question the instruction. I reach out and press the rubbery surface. Immediately, bands of red light spring magically to life, and above me, a flurry of drum beats pours into the darkness. I trace the sound to its source, a smallspeaker tucked on a shelf in between jars of hoof conditioner and lice killer.
Other instruments join the drums, and I feel like I know the song, but for a moment it eludes me. Teddy joins in the rhythm, his hands unable to resist the pull, effortlessly beating out a complex pattern against the wooden frame of a stall door.
The lyrics kick in, and now the pa-rum-pum-pum-pum is unmistakable. I smile as I recognise the opening words of ‘Little Drummer Boy’.
Now I know why we won. It wasn’t my grand ideas, or Geordie’s careful instructions. It was this musical magic, woven in secret by Teddy. My little drummer boy.
It was a favourite of all the Christmas carols I learned as a kid. It didn’t seem so old and heavy with religion like the others. This modern version is enchanting, voices weaving in harmony and beneath it all the relentless rhythm of the drums. My eyes meet Teddy’s, and something arcs between us. He plays, hands thumping on the wood, while the curious horses peer over their doors, their heads swaying as if enjoying the performance. The music tugs at a deep nostalgia within me, and without thought, my voice slips in alongside the recording and Teddy’s constant rhythm, and it’s beautiful.
“When did you even do this?” I ask when the drumbeats finally taper away to nothing.
“While you were up in your room, taking your nap.” He echoes the lie I told back at me.
Even though I feel like I could trust Teddy like I’ve trusted Sam, I haven’t let him in on my secret. The less people who know the shameful truth, the better. I promised Haley I wouldn’t do any work while I’m here, then from day one broke that promise behindmy closed bedroom door. But there’s too much at stake. With a partner’s seat so close, and a rival for it breathing down my neck, some work is inevitable. I brush away the guilt with a smile.
“And you just had all this gear lying around?”
“Oh yeah. This is all standard stuff.” He reaches over to turn off the equipment. “Took me a minute to find the track and add it to the sampler pad. A couple to hook up the speaker. The hardest bit was nailing on the sign. Bashed my thumb with the hammer.” He waves a bruised-looking thumb at me.
“Let me see.” I capture his hand in mine. The thumbnail is already blackening. On impulse, I pull it to my lips.
He laughs. “Kiss it better? That’s what my mum used to do.”
“A kiss makes everything better,” I murmur.
His hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up, nose brushing mine. Even in the gloom of the stable, I see his pupils blown wide, read the wanting in his eyes. He leans in, and I sigh into his mouth.
His arms circle my waist, coaxing me closer, but the bulk of our winter jackets thwarts the fit.
I fumble for his zipper; he shifts back, giving me room.
The metal teeth rasp downward; cold air rushes between us, and in the same breath he drags one bare hand beneath the lifted hem of my jumper, fingertips skating over the warm skin of my stomach. My breath catches; the stable smells of hay and leather, but all I hear is the quiet hitch in my throat as his thumb strokes a slow line just above my navel.
Heart thundering, I tug his shirt free, halfway through the buttons, when a sudden blast of light floods the stall.
Teddy’s amused smile freezes; we both snap away from the glare, me throwing an arm up to shield my eyes from the torch beam.
A low chuckle drifts towards us.
“Ah, so you took my advice then?” I can hear the grin in Poppy’s lilting Irish accent. “Sorry, loves, didn’t mean to startle you both. Saw some mad coloured lights and thought I’d best check we hadn’t aliens landing in the stables.”
“No, Poppy, just us,” Teddy says, his voice a little rough. “The sampler pad lights up like a Christmas tree.”
