Their Christmas Family Miracle

by Caroline Anderson

  Then she let out the breath she’d been holding and slipped into a troubled and uneasy sleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT WAS the first time in years he’d been round a supermarket, and Christmas Eve probably wasn’t the day to start—not when they even had to queue to get into the car park, and by the time they’d found a space Jake was beginning to wonder why on earth he’d suggested it.

  It was going to be a nightmare, he knew it, rammed to the roof with festive goodies and wall-to-wall Christmas jingles and people in silly hats—he was dreading it, and it didn’t disappoint.

  The infuriatingly jolly little tunes on the in-store speakers were constantly being interrupted with calls for multi-skilled staff to go to the checkouts—a fact that didn’t inspire hope for a quick getaway—and the place was rammed with frustrated shoppers who couldn’t reach the shelves for the trolleys jamming the aisles.

  ‘I have an idea,’ he said as they fought to get down the dairy aisle and he was shunted in the ankle by yet another trolley. ‘You know what we need, I don’t want to be shoved around and Thomas needs company, so why don’t I stand at the end with him and you go backwards and forwards picking up the stuff?’

  And it all, suddenly, got much easier because he could concentrate on amusing Thomas—and that actually was probably the hardest part. Not that he was hard to entertain, quite the opposite, but it brought back so many memories—memories he’d buried with his son—and it was threatening to wreck him. Then, just when he thought he’d go mad if he had to look at that cheerful, chubby little smile any longer, he realised their system wasn’t working.

  The trolley wasn’t getting fuller and, watching her, he could see why. She was obviously reluctant to spend too much of his money, which was refreshing but unnecessary, so he gave up and shoved the trolley one-handed into the fray while she was dithering over the fresh turkeys.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘They’re so expensive. The frozen ones are much cheaper—’

  ‘But they take ages to defrost so we don’t have a choice. Just pick one. Here, they’ve got nice free-range Bronze turkeys—get one of them,’ he suggested, earning himself a searching look.

  ‘What do you know about Bronze turkeys?’ she asked incredulously.

  He chuckled. ‘Very little—but I know they’re supposed to have the best flavour, I’m ethically comfortable with free range and, anyway, they’re the most expensive and therefore probably the most sought after. That’s usually an indicator of quality. So pick one and let’s get on.’

  ‘But—they’re so expensive, Jake, and I feel so guilty taking your money—’

  He gave up, reached over and single-handedly heaved a nice fat turkey into the trolley. ‘Right. Next?’

  ‘Um—stuffing,’ she said weakly, and he felt a little tug at his sleeve.

  ‘You said we could have sausages and cook them and have them on sticks,’ Kitty said hopefully.

  ‘Here—traditional chipolatas,’ he said, and threw three packets in the trolley, thought better of it and added another two for good measure. ‘Bacon?’

  ‘Um—probably.’ She put a packet of sausagemeat stuffing in the trolley and he frowned at it, picked up another with chestnuts and cranberries, which looked more interesting, and put that in, too.

  ‘You’re getting into this, aren’t you?’ she teased, coming back with the bacon.

  So was she, he noticed with relief, seeing that at last she was picking up the quality products and not the cheapest, smallest packet she could find of whatever it was. They moved on, and the trolley filled up. Vegetables, fruit, a traditional Christmas pudding that would last them days, probably, but would at least be visible in the middle of the old refectory table in the breakfast room, and a chocolate log for the children. Then, when they’d done the food shopping and filled the trolley almost to the brim, they took it through the checkout, put it all in the car and went back inside for ‘the exciting stuff’, as Kitty put it.

  Christmas decorations for the tree they had yet to buy, little nets of chocolate coins in gold foil, crackers for the table, a wreath for the door—the list was nearly as long as the first and, by the time they got to the end of it, the children were hungry and Thomas, who’d been as good as gold and utterly, heart-wrenchingly enchanting until that point, was starting to grizzle.

  ‘I tell you what—why don’t you take the kids and get them something to eat and drink while I deal with this lot?’ he suggested, peeling a twenty pound note out of his wallet and giving it to her.

  She hesitated, but he just sighed and shoved it at her, and with a silent nod she flashed him a smile and took the children off to the canteen.

  Which gave him long enough to go back up the aisles and look for presents for them all. And, because it had thinned out by that point, he went to the customer services and asked if there was anyone who could help him wrap the presents for the children. He brandished his cast pathetically and, between that and the black eye, he charmed them into it shamelessly.

  There was nothing outrageous in his choices. There was nothing outrageous in the shop anyway but, even if there had been, he would have avoided it. It wasn’t necessary, and he didn’t believe in spoiling children, but there was a colouring book with glue and glitter that Kitty had fingered longingly and been made to put back, and he’d noticed Edward looking at an intricate construction toy of the sort he’d loved as a boy, and there was a nice chunky plastic shape sorter which he thought Thomas might like.

  And then there was Amelia.

  She didn’t have any gloves, he’d noticed, and he’d commented on it on the way there when she was rubbing her hands and blowing on them holding the steering wheel.

  ‘Sure, it’s freezing, but I can’t do things with gloves on,’ she’d explained.

  But he’d noticed some fingerless mitts, with little flaps that buttoned back out of the way and could be let down to tuck her fingers into to turn them into mittens. And they were in wonderful, ludicrously pink stripes with a matching scarf that would snuggle round her neck and keep her warm while she walked the dog.

  He even bought a little coat for Rufus, because he’d noticed him shivering out on their walk first thing.

  And then he had to make himself stop, because they weren’t his family and he didn’t want to make them—or, more specifically, Amelia—feel embarrassed. But he chucked in a jigsaw to put on the low coffee table in the drawing room and work on together, just because it was the sort of thing he’d loved in his childhood, and also a family game they could play together.

  And then he really did stop, and they were all wrapped and paid for, together with the decorations, and someone even helped him load them into the car and wished him a merry Christmas, and he found himself saying it back with a smile.

  Really?

  He went into the canteen and found them sitting in a litter of sandwich wrappers and empty cups. ‘All set?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. We were just coming to find you. Thank you so much—’

  ‘Don’t mention it. Right, we’d better get on, because we need to take this lot home and then get a tree before it’s too late, and at some point today I need to go to the hospital and have a proper cast put on my arm.’

  ‘Wow! Look at the tree. It’s enormous!’

  It wasn’t, not really, but it was quite big enough—and it had been a bit of a struggle to get it in place with one arm out of action in its new cast, but just the look on the children’s faces made it all worth it—and, if he wasn’t mistaken, there was the sheen of tears in Amelia’s eyes.

  They’d put it in pride of place in the bay window in the drawing room, and lit the fire—a great roaring log fire in the open hearth, with crackling flames and the sweet smell of apple-wood smoke—and, between the wood smoke and the heady scent of the tree, the air just smelled of Christmas. All they had to do now was decorate the tree, and for Jake it was a step too far.

  ‘I’m going to sit this out,’ he said, hea
ding for the door, but Kitty shook her head and grabbed his good hand and tugged him back, shocking him into immobility.

  ‘You can’t, Jake! You have to help us—we’re all too small to reach the top, and you have to put the lights on and the fairy and all the tinsel and everything!’

  Why was it, he wondered, that children—especially earnest little girls—always talked in italics and exclamation marks? And her eyes were pleading with him, and there was no way he could walk away from her. From any of them.

  ‘OK. I’ll just go and put the kettle on—’

  ‘No! Lights first, because otherwise we can’t do anything until you get back, and you’ll be ages!’

  Italics again. He smiled at her. ‘Well, in that case, I’ll put the lights on first, but just the lights, and then we’ll have a quick cup of tea and we’ll finish it off. OK?’

  She eyed him a little suspiciously, as if she didn’t trust his notion of quick and wasn’t quite sure about the emphasis on the words, because there was something mildly teasing in them and he could see she was working it out, working out if he was only teasing or if he was being mean.

  And he couldn’t be mean to her, he discovered. Not in the least. In fact, all he wanted to do was gather her up into his arms and tell her it would all be all right, but of course it wasn’t his place to do that and he couldn’t make it right for her, couldn’t make her father step up to the plate and behave like a decent human being.

  If he was the man he was thinking of, Jake knew David Jones, had met him in the past, and he hadn’t liked him at all. Oh, he’d been charming enough, but he’d talked rubbish, been full of bull and wild ideas with no foundation, and at one point a year or two ago he’d approached him at a conference asking for his investment in some madcap scheme. He’d declined, and he’d heard later, not unexpectedly, that he’d gone down the pan. And it didn’t surprise him in the least, if it was the same David Jones, that he’d walked out on his family.

  So he couldn’t make it right for David’s little daughter. But he could help her with the tree, and he could make sure they were warm and safely housed until their situation improved. And it was all he needed to do, all his conscience required.

  It was only his heart that he was having trouble with, and he shut the door on it firmly and concentrated on getting the lights on the tree without either knocking it over or hurting any more of the innumerable aches and pains that were emerging with every hour that passed.

  ‘Are you OK doing that?’

  He turned his head and smiled down at Amelia ruefully. ‘I’ll live. I’m nearly done.’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on. You look as if you could do with some more painkillers.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. It’s just stretching that hurts—’

  ‘And bending over, and standing, and—’

  ‘Just put the kettle on,’ he said softly, and she opened her mouth again, closed it and went out.

  He watched her walk down the hall, watched the gentle sway of her hips, the fluid grace of her movements, the lightness in her step that hadn’t been there yesterday, and he felt a sharp stab of what could only be lust. She was a beautiful, sensuous woman, intelligent and brave, and he realised he wanted to gather her up in his arms, too, and to hell with the complications.

  But he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t, so with a quiet sigh he turned back to the tree and finished draping the string of lights around the bottom, then turned them on and stood back.

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Really pretty!’ Kitty whispered, awed.

  ‘It’s a bit crooked,’ he said, wondering if there was any way he could struggle in under the tree and right it, but Edward—typically—rushed in with reassurance.

  ‘It doesn’t show,’ he said quickly, ‘and it looks really nice. Can we put the rest of the things on now?’

  ‘We have to wait for Mummy!’ Kitty said, sounding appalled, and so Jake sent them off to the kitchen to find out what she was doing and to tell her to bring biscuits with the tea. He lowered himself carefully on to the sofa and smiled at Thomas, who was sitting on the floor inside a ring of fat cushions with a colourful plastic teething ring in his mouth.

  ‘All right, little man?’ he asked, and Thomas gave him a toothy grin and held out the toy. It was covered in spit, but it didn’t matter, he was only showing it to Jake, not offering it to him, so he admired it dutifully and tried oh, so hard not to think about Ben.

  ‘That’s really nice,’ he said gruffly. ‘Does it taste good?’

  ‘Mumum,’ he said, shoving it back in his mouth with a delicious chuckle, and Jake clenched his teeth and gave a tiny huff of laughter that was more than halfway to a sob.

  What was it about kids that they got through your defences like nothing else on earth?

  ‘You’re going to be a proper little charmer, aren’t you?’ he said softly, and was rewarded with another spitty little chuckle. Then he threw down the toy and held out his hands, and it was beyond Jake to refuse.

  He held out his hands, hoping his broken wrist was up to it, and Thomas grabbed his fingers and pulled himself up with a delighted gurgle, taking Jake’s breath away.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said a little tightly, massively relieved to see Amelia reappear. ‘Um—could you take him? My hand—’

  ‘Oh, Jake! Thomas, come here, darling.’

  She gently prised his fingers off Jake’s, and the pull on the fracture eased and he sank back with a shaky sigh, because it hadn’t only been the fracture, it had been that gummy, dribbly smile and the feel of those strong, chubby little fingers, and he just wanted to get the hell out. ‘Thanks. That was probably a stupid thing to do, but—’

  ‘You couldn’t refuse him? Tell me about it. Look, I’ve brought you something lovely!’

  ‘I don’t really want a cup of juice,’ he said softly, and she laughed, the sound running through him like a tinkling stream, clean and pure and sweet.

  ‘Silly. Your tea’s there, with the painkillers.’

  He found a smile. Actually, not that hard, with the warmth of her laughter still echoing through him. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And chocolate biscuits, and shortbread!’ Edward said, sounding slightly amazed.

  ‘Goodness. Anyone would think it was Christmas,’ he said in mock surprise, and Kitty giggled and then, before he could react or do anything to prevent it, she climbed onto his lap and snuggled up against his chest with a smile.

  ‘It is Christmas, silly—well, it is tomorrow,’ she corrected, and squirmed round to study the tree. ‘We need to put everything else on it.’

  ‘Biscuits first,’ he said firmly, because he needed his painkillers, especially if Kitty was going to bounce and fidget and squirm on his bruises. And his arm was really aching now after all the silly things he’d done with it that day.

  So they ate biscuits, and Kitty snuggled closer, and he caught the anguished look in Amelia’s eye and felt so sad for them all that it had all gone wrong, because Kitty’s father should have been sitting somewhere else with her on his lap instead of hiding from his responsibilities in Thailand, and he should have been there with Rachel and Ben, and none of them had deserved it—

  ‘Right. Let’s do the tree,’ he said and, shunting Kitty off his lap, he got stiffly to his feet and put the baubles where he was told.

  He was being amazing.

  She couldn’t believe just how kind he’d been all day. He’d been so foul to her yesterday, so sarcastic and bitter, but somehow all that was gone and he was being the man Kate had talked about, generous to a fault and the soul of kindness.

  He was so gentle with the children, teasing them, humouring them, putting up with their enthusiastic nonsense, and then, when the tree was done and she’d swept underneath it to pick up the needles that had fallen out of it while they’d decorated it, they went into the kitchen and she cooked supper while she danced around the kitchen with tinsel in her hair, singing along with the Christmas
songs on the radio and making Thomas giggle.

  And then she’d looked up and seen Jake watching her with an odd look on his face, and she’d felt the breath squeeze out of her lungs. No. She was misreading the signals. He couldn’t possibly want her—not a destitute woman with three children and a smelly, expensive little dog.

  So she pulled the tinsel out of her hair and tied it round the dog’s neck, and concentrated on cooking the supper.

  Sausages on sticks for Kitty, with roasted vegetable skewers in mini pitta pockets so she could pretend she was having kebabs, followed by the sort of fruit Millie couldn’t afford to buy, cut into cubes and dunked into melted chocolate. He’d put little pots on the top of the Aga with squares of chocolate in, and they’d melted and made the most fabulous sauce.

  And the children had loved every mouthful of it. Even Thomas had sucked on a bit of sausage and had a few slices of banana and some peeled grapes dipped in chocolate and, apart from the shocking mess, it was a huge success.

  ‘Right, you lot, time for bed,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, but it’s Christmas!’

  ‘Yes, and it’ll come all the earlier if you’re in bed asleep,’ she reasoned. ‘And Father Christmas won’t come down the chimney if you’re still awake.’

  ‘But he won’t come anyway, because of the fire,’ Kitty said, looking suddenly worried, but Jake rescued the situation instantly.

  ‘Not a problem,’ he said promptly. ‘There’s another chimney in the dining room, and he’ll come down that.’

  ‘But he won’t know where to put the presents!’ she argued.

  ‘Yes, he will, because he knows everything,’ Edward said with an air of patient indulgence that made Millie want to laugh and cry all at once. ‘Come on, let’s go up to bed and then he’ll come.’

  ‘Promise?’ Kitty said, staring at her hopefully.

  Oh, Lord, there was so little for them. They were going to be horribly disappointed. ‘Promise,’ she said, near to tears, but then the doorbell rang, jangling the ancient bell over the breakfast room door, and Jake got to his feet.