Making Laws for Clouds Read Free Page B

mean something. Something specific’
    Wayne frowns. He’s not there yet.
    â€˜Okay, paint me a picture, Wayne. That’s whatthey say sometimes. Paint me a picture. You’re a shepherd, you’re on the job. Now, what can you see?’
    â€˜Okay,’ he says, staring across the road and hopefully visualising the Holy Land. ‘There’s a swamp. And bombs.’
    â€˜Wayne, it’s a rocky hillside outside Bethlehem. Acting is about making stuff up, getting beyond your own little world. You’ve seen that TV ad about thinking outside the square? That’s what it’s about. You know what that means?’
    â€˜No.’
    That’s when the bus turns up. At some stops Joe Bell gives a couple of toots of the horn, but not ours since I always make sure we’re ready early. There are only a few people on it tonight, because it’s just for cast and crew. Cast and crew and Mrs Bell, on account of the catering.
    I try not to stare at Tanika on the way to the bus. Tanika in the front row with her gingery Magus beard, trying – if I’m getting it right – not to stare at me. Or maybe it’s just that her beard’s not on straight.
    â€˜I’ve never seen a bomb,’ Wayne says when we’re getting on. ‘So I made that bit up. I just know they’re out there.’
    â€˜That’s good Wayne. That’s the way’
    Old dresses and sandals are pretty much the go for most of the people on the bus but my dress’d be thebiggest, since I’ve got the biggest mother. It’s bunching up when I go up the steps, and I have to lift it like a queen going over a puddle. Very elegant. Mum gave Wayne a bathrobe for his costume, and he got to cut the bottom off but he still catches a sandal on it and headbutts me in the back.
    â€˜What is it with you shepherds and your bathrobes?’ That’s what I say to him, to stop us both looking too stupid, and Tanika laughs. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh into her beard, and I quite like it.
    â€˜Hey,’ she says when I sit down.
    â€˜Hey back. Bearded lady’.
    â€˜Nice dress.’
    â€˜Thanks. Don’t know about the hibiscus pattern, but maybe I’m just that kind of Magus.’
    â€˜Cool,’ she says, and laughs again. Her beard is stuffing from an old mattress stuck on a piece of cardboard and attached by fat ginger sideburns to sunglasses that’ve had the lenses knocked out. Not a bad job at all.
    So I say, ‘Nice burns,’ and I’m tempted to give them a tug but I don’t since her mother’s there (even though she is facing forward). ‘You’re very resourceful.’
    â€˜My mum made it.’
    â€˜Yeah, well, she’s pretty resourceful too.’
    â€˜I’ve got my frankincense,’ she says, and holds upsome incense sticks. ‘They’re musk flavour.’ I show her my myrrh jar and I open it so that she can see the goo inside and she says, ‘Oh, yuk, what’s the baby Jesus going to do with that?’
    We all laugh – except her mother – and I tell her, ‘Grease axles or something. He could do worse than get himself a trade, you know.’
    The bus gets to the Blessed Virgin all too quickly, and we have to get down to business. Wayne goes off with the other shepherds and I go with Tanika to find Mattie Hartley. This is a Father Steele strategy – get together in your groups first and talk through some of the issues.
    Mattie’s down the back, drinking a cup of cordial and eating as many biscuits as he can fit in before we have to get started. He’s found a packet somewhere. No surprise.
    Clearly it’s up to me to take the initiative and I’d rather do that than watch Mattie Hartley crack biscuits open and lick the cream out (and then sometimes stick them together again and put them back in the packet), so I kick our Magus meeting off by saying, ‘Okay,