One More Song

Mid-December 2000 | Glen Nevis, Scottish Highlands

POV Sister Margaret

She had originally intended to take things a little easier, but the parents of the other children seemed to have little interest in that. It did not take them long to realise that Margaret had plenty of experience when it came to keeping these unruly creatures under control.

On top of that, Oliver required surprisingly little of her attention by comparison. At least on the surface.

Margaret knew better.

He had not taken the news that Beatrice and Helen would be moving to Los Angeles in the United States particularly well.

"That's brilliant, Bea! Maybe they'll even find a way for you to hear completely one day!" Oliver had said, clearly genuinely happy for her.

Several weeks had passed since then, yet the thought that two of the people closest to him would soon be leaving the country was clearly weighing on him. Oliver might be a good actor, but he could not hide it from her.

So Margaret tried to give him as much space as the limited routine of life on set allowed. Even if that meant spending more of her time looking after the other children.

Margaret was almost at the trailer when she heard the music.

She stopped.

The notes drifted through the thin walls, muffled enough that the wind nearly swallowed them. Oliver was playing the keyboard he had bought only recently.

The damn thing had cost a fortune.

Margaret had asked him at the time whether an ordinary keyboard would not have done just as well. Oliver had explained that he wanted to write Beatrice a song for Christmas, and only the best would be good enough for that.

Even if the bloody thing had cost as much as a car.

She remained outside the trailer for a moment and simply listened.

♫♪♬

[Original Song]

The notes were soft and warm, carried by a gentle piano accompaniment that paused every so often, as though Oliver himself were searching for the right words. Then his voice joined in—quiet and careful, almost as though he were singing for only one person.

*

So stay for one more Christmas song,

Before the house grows still.

I'll keep your chair beside the keys;

You know I always will.

*

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I can't make Christmas last all year,

Or keep you here for long.

But while you're sitting here with me,

There's time for one more song.

*

For a moment, only the piano remained. Then his voice returned, quieter than before, filled with regret and longing.

*

I'd planned a proper speech for you,

The sort that makes you cry.

I couldn't find the words for you,

So let the piano try.

*

So stay for one more Christmas song,

Before the house grows still.

I'll keep your chair beside the keys;

You know I always will.

*

And when you come to visit,

No matter for how long,

Just pull your chair up next to mine.

There's always one more song.

*

His voice faded once more, but the piano carried the melody a little further until the final notes slowly disappeared.

♫♪♬

A Christmas song? That's supposed to be a Christmas song? Then why am I wiping tears from my eyes?

Margaret waited another moment. She wanted to give him a little more time to himself before opening the trailer door and sending him back to the set.

***

December 18, 2000 | Leavesden Studios, England

POV Oliver

Oliver was exhausted.

Not the pleasant I could really use some sleep kind of tired, but the kind where even taking off his shoes felt like unnecessary effort.

The last few days in Scotland had been enough. The cold, the wind, the endless drives between their accommodation and the filming locations, followed by the journey back to London. At some point, Oliver had stopped knowing which bed he had actually woken up in that morning.

At least they were back in Hertfordshire now. Today, all they had left were the greenscreen shots where he had to sit on one of the mechanical broom rigs.

After the last few days, that had sounded almost relaxing.

"Cut!" Chris called, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "Olli, what exactly are you doing?"

"This is harder than it looks!" Oliver protested. "You're welcome to try it yourself."

"We're taking a break!" Chris decided after glancing at his watch.

Oliver stomped over to Margaret, his safe haven on set. No matter where they filmed, Margaret was there, and with her came a place where nobody bothered him. Even Chris and the other producers seemed reluctant to argue with her.

He had to laugh whenever he remembered Alan Rickman swearing on set once because something about his hair had been bothering him. The nun had not appreciated that at all. The swear jar had remained noticeably emptier whenever she was around ever since.

"What was the point of sending you to kickboxing if you can't even sit on a broom?" she teased.

Oliver stared at her in disbelief.

So much for my safe haven.

He dropped into the empty chair beside her and looked back towards the set.

"I imagined this differently," he said wearily.

"Everything. Not just today..." He let out a long breath. "I thought it would be easier."

Margaret raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "Suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope." She paused for a moment. "And nothing truly worth having comes without effort. Oliver, I think you know that better than anyone."

Oliver remained silent. He did not even comment on the fact that she had just quoted Romans 5:3–4. She was right—as she so often was.

"Do you regret your decision?" she asked eventually.

"No," he said without hesitation, looking back at her. "Not for a second. It's exhausting, really exhausting. But I've experienced more in this short time than I did in Mill Grove and Oxford combined."

He thought of Jamie, whom he probably never would have met without the film, and of Emma. The annoying little brat he had once tutored only because her mother paid him fifty pounds an hour had long since become someone who held a special place in his life.

"And it's fun," he finally admitted. "Not just the filming. Everything around it too."

"We're going again!" Chris called over to him.

"Well... maybe not everything," Oliver muttered as he got to his feet.

As he headed back towards the broom, he glanced at Chris. Chris simply held up two fingers, grinned, and pointed towards the mark in front of the greenscreen.

Oliver sighed.

"Take twenty-two... Action!"