Christmas Child

by Diana Hamilton

  ‘They can wait for a day or two, until you’re feeling stronger.’ His brows were a dark, frowning line. ‘That nurse told you to rest up, remember?’

  Rest would be impossible while he was here, didn’t he know that? Mattie thought wildly. He was filling her space with memories, the impossible yearnings of a heart that had been irrevocably given to the wrong man.

  But there was no point in arguing with him, she decided wearily. He was impossibly intractable when it came to getting his own way. Besides, there were too many things to be done.

  The baby had worked her arms free of the shawl, her tiny fists punching the air, her rosebud mouth forming the shape of a square. Any moment now she would start bellowing. For such a small scrap of humanity she could make a remarkably loud noise.

  ‘She needs feeding and changing,’ Mattie said briskly, maternal instincts immediately taking over. ‘Would you hold her for me, please, while I get her things ready?’

  She advanced towards him and he retreated, his face shuttered. ‘Put her down over there.’ His dark head tipped briefly towards the chintz-covered sofa Mattie had bought at a house-clearance sale shortly after she’d moved in here. ‘She won’t fall off it, not if you put one of the cushions between her and the edge.’ He backed through the door that led into the kitchen. ‘I’ll make you a hot drink.’

  Mattie swallowed a spasm of outrage. But for heaven’s sake, what else had she expected? He couldn’t even bring himself to look at his own daughter, so how could she have imagined he would hold her?

  Carefully, she placed the now red-faced bundle on the sofa and stripped off her coat, her throat hot and tight, deploring his cold-hearted attitude towards his innocent baby.

  Nappies and baby wipes were in the suitcase James had carried in for her and, after calming herself down, she performed the changing operation without a hitch, more or less.

  She was getting the hang of it, Mattie thought, deliberately blocking James out of her head. She settled herself in a corner of the comfy sofa, undid the top buttons of her tent-like maternity dress and held her baby to her breast, her eyes going liquid with mother love as her tiny daughter suckled greedily.

  And they were still glowing as she raised them to James as he came slowly back into the room, as if she were inviting him to close the charmed circle of love, to make it complete.

  ‘Tea.’ He put the cup and saucer on a low table within easy reach. ‘There’s more in the pot if you want it.’ His voice was bleak as he fetched his jacket, the expression on his face making her feel utterly wretched.

  The sight of her feeding their baby had filled him with what had to be disgust. She didn’t think she could bear it but knew she had to. The man was so anti-children he had even threatened to end his relationship with the only woman he had ever loved if she went against his wishes and fell pregnant.

  The sound of the outer door closing behind him was almost a relief. He was leaving. He should never have come. As she heard the Jaguar’s engine purr into life tears poured helplessly down her face.

  She and her baby filled him with such revulsion he couldn’t stand being around them for a moment longer. He had left and she didn’t have the remotest idea why he’d come here in the first place.

  All she knew was she wished he hadn’t. He’d opened up wounds that had at last begun to heal over. The result was more painful than she could have believed possible.

  Life had to go on, Mattie told herself as she closed the nursery door on the sleeping infant. For six months she’d known that her future and James’ were to run along separate tracks. And she’d got on with it, hadn’t she?

  There’d been a few minor hiccups, like the time when she’d had to change a fuse and hadn’t known how to do it. It had taken her hours of trial and error to manage it. But on the whole she’d surprised herself by her ability to cope with things that had demanded she haul the almost non-existent practical side of her brain into use when it had come to the crunch.

  So she would cope again. Put James’ brief and unheralded appearance down to one of those brickbats life had the habit of throwing at you from time to time and settle down to healing her battered heart all over again.

  This time it would be easier because she had their baby to claim her time and attention, she decided staunchly as she changed into a man-sized sweatshirt and a pair of jogging pants that had that mercy of mercies, an elasticated waist. The huge bump had gone, of course, but as far as her waist was concerned there was still a way to go.

  Thankfully James had changed the bedlinen. The duvet cover smelled of the fabric softener she used. She couldn’t face the thought of having to wrestle with bedding herself right now and she wouldn’t have slept a wink if his tantalising male scent had kept her company.

  As it was, the knowledge that he had slept in her room, in her bed, sent prickles tumbling all over her skin and she wouldn’t let herself remember what it had been like when they’d shared a bed for so many long, ecstatic nights.

  She would not!

  Lunch was toast and some pâté she’d found in the well-stocked fridge. She wasn’t really hungry but knew she had to eat. She had her daughter to care for and Chloe’s welfare was paramount. It would be the worst kind of betrayal if she allowed herself to wallow in self-pity.

  At least she wouldn’t have to go shopping for supplies for a week or more; her father and Emily had stocked up with enough food to feed a small army. And before then she’d have to work out how to fix the baby seat into the back of her car. It had an alarming number of straps and buckles and the diagrams and instructions that had come with the contraption looked unintelligible to her.

  If James had still been here she would have swallowed her pride and asked him to do it for her.

  But he wasn’t.

  The afternoon passed in a hectic round of feeds, nappy changes, de-burping sessions, culminating at teatime with a gentle all-over wash in the plastic bath on the kitchen table and yet another feed.

  By five o’clock Mattie was exhausted. Too done in to even think about beginning to cook for herself, she threw a few more logs on the fire, sank into the welcoming depths of the sofa and began to have serious doubts.

  Was she really capable of taking on the sole responsibility of caring for this new little life? And what if little Chloe became ill? Would she recognise the difference between a wail of hunger and a cry of pain? Was she fit to be a mother at all?

  Exhaustion was clouding her mind, dragging her down. She might have felt more positive if her father and Emily had stayed around as they had said they would, keeping her company, lending a hand.

  But she really mustn’t blame them. They would have thought they’d been doing the right thing when they’d asked James to collect her, stay with her for a while, fondly imagining that he’d take one look at his baby daughter and be overcome by a rush of sentimentality to the head and that they’d all live happily ever after.

  They were normal, good people. They would never imagine that he’d be so revolted by the sight of mother and baby that he’d drive back to London and Fiona as if all the demons in hell were on his tail!

  She was too tired to cry, almost too tired to register the sound of the key turning in the lock. She stared at him dully as he walked across the room taking off his coat.

  ‘Sorry to have been so long,’ he apologised tightly as he hung the leather jacket on its accustomed peg. ‘With the shutters closed you won’t have noticed, but it’s practically a white-out out there. A couple of times I thought I’d have to abandon the car and walk back.’

  ‘I thought you were on your way back to London,’ Mattie said thinly, pulling herself into a more upright position, clasping her hands around her knees.

  James bit back an angry expletive. Did she have that much contempt for his character? He pushed his hands through his snow-dampened hair. Now wasn’t the time to pick a fight. When she was stronger the truth was going to come out; whatever it took, he’d get it from her. The time for waitin
g and watching was damn near over, the time for laying his bitter soul bare was almost here.

  But right now she looked too frail to take even a breath of contention.

  He said, more or less smoothly, ‘I had things to do. It took longer than I’d expected, and the road conditions, particularly in the lanes, held me up. Have you eaten?’ He changed the subject, firming his mouth when she didn’t answer. Her head was bent, her eyes downcast, the flickering firelight making her cheek-bones seem more prominent. Her hair had grown since he’d last seen her. It was scraped back into a kind of band. If it was loose, he guessed, it would reach her shoulders. She looked achingly vulnerable. ‘Then I’ll fix something for both of us,’ he said tightly, swung round on his heels, headed for the kitchen, then turned back.

  Something was missing. For once she wasn’t clutching her baby with the fierceness of a mother tiger with her cub. ‘Is the child asleep?’

  Mattie nodded, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. At least ‘the child’ was better than ‘it’. Marginally.

  ‘Will you hear her if she wakes?’

  She ignored the brusqueness of his tone. It wasn’t important. Her heart gave a small jerk of pleasure. He was capable of concern for his tiny daughter, even though he hadn’t been able to look at her properly and had refused to hold her.

  Her features relaxed slightly as she indicated the baby listener beside her on the sofa. ‘I have this. I’ll hear her as soon as she wakes.’

  ‘Right.’

  He disappeared into the kitchen and Mattie sagged back into the corner of the sofa. Relief that he was here, that he hadn’t deserted her was warring with the certainty that she was better off without him. The emotional battle was wearing her down.

  But by the time he called her into the kitchen she had let it go. She was simply too tired to do anything other than go with the flow—wherever it took her.

  The oil-fired Rayburn gave out a comfortable warmth, bunches of dried herbs hung from the chunky overhead beams and the square pine table was laid for supper. It was all so dear and familiar to her it brought weak tears to her eyes.

  James should have looked glaringly out of place. But he didn’t. In fact, when he handed her a plate of grilled fillet steak he looked like the most comforting thing she’d ever set eyes on.

  He’d grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, too, and made a green salad. ‘Eat,’ he instructed, pouring red wine for them both. ‘Then bed. You need an early night. I’ll see to the clearing up.’

  Stupid tears misted her eyes and her mouth quivered as she cut into the tender meat. She was grateful that he appeared to have put the discussion about their pending divorce on hold. She couldn’t have faced it. Tomorrow, maybe, she’d be feeling strong enough.

  She ate as much as she could manage, drank a little of the wine, and wondered if he could tell how badly her eyelids were drooping. In the background she could hear the washing machine chugging through its cycle in the lean-to utility room. For the first time she noticed that the bundle of baby laundry she’d left on the floor, intending to put it through the machine later, was missing.

  He was a rock she wanted to cling to and any time now she’d find herself down on her knees, thanking him for being here for her. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to get a grip.

  ‘Thank you.’ Mattie put her cutlery down. She wasn’t going to express her surprise that he could cook a mean steak and go on to remind him that they’d learned rudimentary cooking skills together last Christmas. It was better to keep away from anything personal. She pushed herself to her feet. Every muscle in her body was aching with fatigue. ‘I’ll take your advice and turn in now.’

  Somehow she made it up the stairs without falling asleep and when she finally crawled beneath the duvet she went under instantly. To be woken some time later by the wail of a hungry baby.

  Gaining consciousness as quickly as she’d lost it, she rolled out of bed and stumbled to the small nursery at the head of the staircase, falling over her feet, pushing her hair out of her eyes with one hand, feeling for the door knob with the other.

  ‘Coming, sweetheart,’ she croaked. ‘Hang on in there. We’ll have you dry and comfy in no time.’ By the dim night light she assembled everything she needed. Changing mat, clean nappy, baby wipes, cream. A fresh body suit.

  Broken nights would be the norm for some time to come, she thought without rancour as she sank into the nursery chair with seven pounds of increasingly grumpy, hungry baby in her arms. Opening the front fastening of her passion-killer cotton nightgown, she settled Chloe at her breast and James walked in.

  He was wearing a pair of dark boxer shorts and carrying a glass of steaming hot milk on a tray. Her heart jumped. His body was as magnificent as she remembered. It hurt to be reminded; she knew every inch of him so intimately. Couldn’t he guess how difficult this was for her?

  Holding her breath, she waited for that look of distaste, wondering how she would cope with it for a second time. It didn’t come. He put the tray near her feet, where she could reach it.

  ‘I heard her crying and you lumbering around like an elephant on drugs.’

  His tone was so dry, his description so accurate she wanted to giggle. ‘I’m sorry you were woken,’ she said, straight-faced. His hair was rumpled, sticking up in tufts, soft strands falling over his forehead, his jawline dark with stubble. She loved him so much. She couldn’t help it. As soon as he’d gone—and that could be as soon as tomorrow—she’d begin the long, painful haul of trying to forget him all over again. That promise to herself was uncomforting, the outcome dubious.

  ‘Don’t be,’ he answered tonelessly. ‘That’s what I’m here for. To help out. I admit I don’t know much about these things, but I imagine a nursing mother needs to drink plenty.’

  No revulsion there, not a scrap of it. Maybe she’d been mistaken earlier, she thought as she watched the play of strong muscles across his naked back when he bent to tidy away all the baby paraphernalia.

  Better not to watch, to look at him as little as possible. Better too to ask the question, find out for sure. Because as sure as fishes had fins Fiona wouldn’t take kindly to be left kicking her heels over the Christmas period.

  ‘I suppose you’ll be heading back to London in the morning?’ She eased herself to her feet. Her baby daughter had fallen asleep while feeding. But she herself was wide awake now. She was stingingly awake; every nerve-end pricked as she waited for his answer.

  He straightened, putting the things on top of a pretty pine cupboard. ‘You suppose wrong. I’ll be around until I’m satisfied you’re coping.’

  Relief made her dizzy. He did care. This time he wasn’t going to put Fiona before the needs of his estranged wife and baby. Emboldened, she asked softly, ‘Would you like to hold her? You won’t wake her. I guess she’ll sleep until she’s hungry again.’

  ‘No.’ His answer was unequivocal. But his explanation made her heart twist sharply inside her. ‘We lead separate lives, so separate that I wonder if Emily hadn’t kept me informed I would ever have known the birth date, the sex of the baby.’

  ‘I would have told you through the solicitors—’ Mattie broke in, appalled that he should have thought otherwise. He would have been informed of the birth and she would have waited for his response, hoping against hope that he would claim a father’s right to see his child.

  But he wasn’t listening; he went on tersely, as if she hadn’t spoken at all. ‘That being the case, I can’t afford to get attached to a child whose mother has a tendency to drop off the face of the earth.’

  ‘I would never stop you seeing Chloe,’ Mattie stated with breathy urgency. Why would she, when having James accept his daughter had been her dearest, seemingly unattainable wish? ‘It would be far better for her to know her father, spend time with him, holidays, even, when she gets older. You must see that.’

  ‘No, why should I? Six months ago you didn’t ask what my wishes were, let alone fall in with them. Why the hell should I fall
in with yours now?’

  He turned for the door, the long muscles in his back tense. ‘Think about it, Mattie. And for pity’s sake, get some sleep while you can.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THANK heaven she had a contented baby. At least, it was a case of so far so good, Mattie thought as she tucked Chloe up in her crib after her early morning feed. She would have been fit for nothing but the knacker’s yard if she’d had to pace the floor all night with a screaming bundle of red-faced infant fury.

  As it was she felt like a limp lettuce. Half the night had been spent wondering about what he’d said and the other half wondering about what he hadn’t said. And the whole night knowing he was in her spare room, with her aching to slide into the double bed beside him, beg him to take her in his arms and hold her. Just hold her.

  It was only just getting light but she could hear him moving around downstairs as she padded to the bathroom to take a shower. She could picture him making a fire, trudging through the snow to the wood-shed to bring in more fuel, perhaps making a start on breakfast.

  James would be doing what he would see as his duty because he was that type of man. After all, she was still his wife, and she’d just given birth to his baby. Her parents would have asked him to look out for her for a little while, then taken off, leaving him with no option but to stay for a few days.

  But his face would be tight with irritation. He’d be bored out of his skull, wanting to get back to civilisation. And Fiona.

  Not wanting to set eyes on another voluminous maternity dress, much less wanting to wear one, she’d picked out one of the pairs of jeans she’d practically lived in before she’d got too huge, and a bright-coloured sweatshirt to wear on top. If she couldn’t squeeze into them she’d just have to go back to those shapeless jogging pants.

  Thankfully, the jeans fitted. Just. She felt marginally better. And much better when she brushed her newly washed hair and left it loose around her shoulders, then carefully applied make-up, something she hadn’t bothered with for months.