by C. K. Martin
‘I know. That’s what I told myself.’
‘Doesn’t feel like it?’
‘Not this time of year. Everyone wants to be happy and looking forward to Christmas. I turn up and they look at me like I’m here to ruin it with red tape and legislation.’
‘It’s not like that, I’m sure.’
‘Even I feel like it is. If I feel that way, then I can’t really expect anyone else to feel any differently about me, can I?’
‘People always try to push their luck remember. All you are doing is protecting them from themselves.’ He stopped and looked pleased with himself for the spin he was putting on it. ‘Defender of the people? Protector of children from the…’ he ran out of steam.
‘Christmas tree?’
‘Why do children need protecting from a Christmas tree?’
‘Far too many reasons than I would like. It would have been fine, I’m sure of it.’
‘Then why did you have to do something?’
‘A complaint from a member of the public.’ That was it really. She hadn’t exactly gone looking for trouble, although the woman who owned the bookstore clearly felt differently about the matter. The way she had looked at her, the comments. It was as though she thought Jo had gone there out of some personal vendetta, when nothing could be further from the truth. It had been a moaning member of the public with a specific enough complaint that she’d had no choice but to go and investigate.
It wasn’t her fault that when she got there she discovered there were actual problems. The display looked so perfect too, in its haphazard kind of way. It really did feel like Christmas. The old fashioned kind, and it was possibly the first thing that had made her smile in the six weeks she had been back. Not that she could share the smile. Or show any kind of positivity, given the number of things that were wrong with it. The electrical issues were just too much for her to overlook.
Oh, she had been tempted. Really tempted.
She drained her cup of tea and resisted banging her head against the back of the chair too. She was still on probation. Overlooking something as serious as electrical code violations was enough to lose her the job. Her logical brain knew that.
Her less logical brain had been gawping at how gorgeous Kayleigh was from the moment she had stepped into the bookstore and had rendered her mouth mute for about thirty seconds. Even after she had regained most of her faculties, she had been unable to come up with any long sentences. Sticking to the point seemed like a much safer alternative than dissolving into a giggling schoolgirl.
Of course, shutting down half of her bookstore was not the grand gesture to begin a new romance with. In fact, it was the exact kind of act that Jo was sure ruined your chances forever.
She had seen the look on Kayleigh’s face when she had told her the news. Everything she tried to do to make it better had been rejected outright. Jo had looked at the work calendar. Any new inspections were already booked up until the end of January. They were a small department and underfunded. The vague possibility of a re-inspection before Christmas had come out of a desperate attempt to win the woman over. It would have to come out of her own time, but as she handed her card over, she had been more than willing to offer a few of her free hours if it meant she could reverse the damage her visit had caused and put a smile back on Kayleigh’s face.
Jo wanted to slap herself. She had no idea who this woman was, but she had been utterly mesmerised by her. Impractical crushes were kind of her thing. Which, when you lived in a big city, was fine. There was always someone new to move onto after you had thoroughly broken your own heart. A small town like this?
The suffering would probably never end.
CHAPTER THREE
Kayleigh stared blindly at the form on the counter in front of her as she stirred the pasta sauce. She had assumed that once the anger had died down, her brain would come up with a solution. The only problem was that she remained as furious now as she had been the moment Jo had walked out of the bookshop.
The sauce, something she claimed was a family recipe but was, in fact, straight from a jar but with a single extra herb thrown in, spat at her hand. She pulled it away from the saucepan and sucked the offending splatter from her finger. ‘Tidy that up now please. Dinner is nearly ready.’
‘But—’
‘No buts. Now, please.’ She followed the order with a stern look at the little girl sitting at the dining table. Kayleigh’s cottage wasn’t big enough to allow for a playroom, so the dining table was currently doing double duty as a six-year-old’s arts studio. A six-year-old who was now staring back at her with disappointment. Emily understood the request to clear the table wasn’t just to make way for dinner. After dinner, there would be no more colouring time.
Kayleigh knew she was lucky. There could be more defiance at this age. Instead, Emily was sweet and cheerful most of the time. Besides, that look of sadness and disappointment always got to her more. It was a significantly more powerful weapon in the war of child versus adult. Kayleigh caved. After the day she’d had, she couldn’t stand for another person – especially a tiny one — to feel as badly as she did. ‘Emily, if you tidy that up straight away like a good girl, I promise you can have another half an hour later while I tidy up. But only if you eat all of your dinner. Deal?’
Emily’s only response was to beam at her and begin shuffling the paper towards the end of the table. It had been her parent’s old table, designed for a family. Parts were stained from colourings of her own, going back twenty years or more. Now, only the two of them ever sat at it. That left plenty of room for toys and craft materials to take up the other end. Kayleigh didn’t mind the mess. It felt better to be annoyed by the clutter everywhere than acutely aware of the loneliness that expanse of oak could give her.
Kayleigh served up two helpings and carried them over to the table. She put them down and eyed Emily’s clothing suspiciously. The pale colours didn’t bode well. A few weeks earlier, Emily had declared that she no longer wanted her spaghetti cut up for her. Instead, she wanted to spin it around her fork too. Kayleigh had made a promise to herself long ago to celebrate any request for independence that Emily had, and this seemed to fall into the category. What had followed since was a very messy process of trial and error, but she was starting to get the hang of it. Not quite enough to sit through the meal without liberal protection from napkins though.
By the time Kayleigh had finished the surface and people protection project and they both looked like leftovers from a bad Halloween ghost group, dinner was cool enough for Emily to begin. Kayleigh took her first mouthful and forced it down. The encounter that afternoon had left her feeling more nauseous than hungry. The same could not be said for Emily, who already had more sauce on her face than in her mouth, but she had dived into the process with gusto. ‘How was school?’
‘It was okay. Mrs Brinkmore made us do spelling. She said we had to do spelling first.’
‘Before what?’
‘Before we could practice the play.’
‘The Christmas play?’
‘Yes. I’m a sheep.’
‘I know you are. I bet you are the best sheep.’
‘No. Mozzi is the best sheep.’ Mozzi was Emily’s best friend at school. Kayleigh doubted that Mozzi was the little girl’s real name, but she had never heard her called anything else. She was just Mozzi to everyone. The two of them were inseparable, but with more than a little hero worship on Emily’s part.
‘I’m sure you are just as good a sheep as Mozzi is. Oops, be careful.’ An inexpert flick of the fork and sauce arced gracefully into the air and over the table. ‘Concentrate.’
‘Mozzi is a better sheep because sheep jump high.’ A statement of fact. Kayleigh watched carefully for signs of sadness or envy. If there were any, Emily was keeping them to herself.
‘Sheep jump a little bit. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Next year, you’ll be in another class and you will get to be something else.’
‘I like being
a sheep.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ Acting ambitions apparently were yet to take hold. That was good. Kayleigh didn’t need a little drama queen on her hands.
She smiled and watched, not really listening, as Emily filled her in on the rest of her day. Kayleigh had never thought she would become an expert in this, the ability to half listen and nod in the right places. To capture the important parts in amongst the general chatter and ask the right questions. Being a parent was never her goal. Yet here she was. The two of them were doing alright, all things considered. She resolved not to let the problem with the health and safety woman ruin Christmas for them. It was a huge part of her life now, but that didn’t mean it was more important than Emily. ‘Come on, help me carry these plates into the kitchen.’
‘Does that mean I can finish my picture?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ Emily gathered the plate carefully and grinned. Kayleigh could see she was getting tired, but the promise had been made. It took a lot for Kayleigh to go back on her word, especially with Emily. The little girl was her whole world.
Kayleigh frowned. Her whole world was limping a little bit again. ‘Is your leg hurting?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you say something?’ Kayleigh put the plate down as Emily shrugged in response. ‘Give me your plate and let’s go take a look.’
Kayleigh deposited the second plate on top of the first and followed Emily through to the lounge, watching her every step from behind. Yes, there was a definite limp going on there. She kept an eye on Emily’s changing height and general growth, but it was hard to notice the changes in someone when they were so slight and you saw them every day.
Emily sat down and looked up expectantly. ‘You take it off.’
‘No honey, you take it off.’ Kayleigh stood firm on this one. Most of the time, Emily handled her prosthesis well, but at the end of the day, when tiredness set in, she tended to revert back to those times when Kayleigh did it for her. With a sigh she gave in and doffed the prosthesis, pulling it free from the limb that ended just above where her right knee used to be. ‘Does that feel better?’ A nod.
Kayleigh dropped to her knees to take a look. There was a patch of redness where it had clearly been rubbing. ‘I think we’re going to have to put some cream on this tonight. Then perhaps tomorrow you could use your wheelchair for school to give your leg a rest. How about that?’
‘Sheep don’t use wheelchairs.’
‘I…’ What could she say in response to that? Deny it? Kayleigh’s brain scrabbled for some kind of reasoning. ‘You could pretend you are a robot sheep for a day?’ It was weak and she knew it. The look of bemusement on Emily’s face told her it was not a winning argument. ‘Let’s see how it is in the morning then. Come on, let’s go to bed.’
‘But you promised colouring.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just go to sleep and try to get better?’
‘No. I want to colour.’ Emily picked up her leg, ready to do battle on the matter if she had to.
‘Okay, okay. But let me get your chair. Leave that there and I’ll clean it for tomorrow.’
Kayleigh went into the other room to get the wheelchair. She needed to keep an eye on Emily’s leg. Past experience had taught her that getting an appointment over Christmas when resources were stretched was no easy matter. If Emily was outgrowing her prosthesis, then the sooner they got it fixed the better. She was determined that Emily would have to use the wheelchair as little as possible, but without feeling ashamed of it. It was a fine line to walk. She wanted her to have convenience and freedom, but she had to be comfortable as well.
Nothing ever prepared you for this.
Twenty minutes of colouring later and Kayleigh could see Emily’s eyes were starting to droop. It was nearly seven o’clock and they still needed to go through the bedtime routine. In addition to making sure teeth were properly cleaned (they usually weren’t) and a story, there was a massage and some cream to now administer. Emily was a bright girl and her reading was improving in leaps and bounds, as was to be expected when owning a bookshop was in the family genes. Kayleigh was desperately looking forward to that day when she could get Emily to read to her whilst she did the other jobs, cutting the bedtime routine in half.
She was just being practical. Life had taught her, above all else, to just get on with it.
As Emily chatted on, slower now and slightly more rambling, Kayleigh thought back to the Christmas display. As she rubbed the ointment on sore skin, she was reminded of how important it really was. Something that the health and safety woman either didn’t know or didn’t care about. This would be the third year she had made the display big and bold and more than just part of a sales routine. In that final week before Christmas, the fundraising would begin in earnest.
It wasn’t much, but the satisfaction and joy she felt each January when she presented the cash to the children’s disability charity that had helped Emily so much was overwhelming. In the darkest of days right at the start, it had given her a focus and a meaning to keep going. Something beyond Emily.
Emily was her whole world now. But she had been someone else’s whole world once.
Kayleigh swallowed, trying not to let the tears fall. Damn, this time of year made her too emotional. With the anniversary of the crash fast approaching, every day threatened to pull her into a black hole that she couldn’t let Emily see.
‘What’s the matter Aunty Webby?’
‘Nothing. I’m just tired.’ A white lie. Apparently she wasn’t as good at hiding the emotion as much as she had hoped. Only Emily called her Aunty Webby. Everyone else who knew the nickname had gone. Kayleigh’s sister had taught Emily to say Aunty Webby right from the start and there had been no reason to change it. A stupid nickname because she had carried the book Charlotte’s Web around with her everywhere for a whole year. Maybe longer. Her older sister Debra had started the name and had refused to let it go, even through those teenage years when the two of them fought all the time. How many times had Kayleigh threatened to punch her if she dared call her that again? Too many to remember. Now she would give anything just to hear her sister say it one more time.
Emily’s hand slid out from under the duvet and into hers. Old beyond her years sometimes, she had been through the worst of the pain when she was too young to really remember it. But at times like these, when Kayleigh let her guard slip and her adult emotions show, Emily seemed to have a quiet compassion well beyond her years. Kayleigh cleared her throat. ‘Right, let’s read you a story young lady and then straight to sleep.’
‘Read Goldilocks and the Three Bears.’
‘Again? Really?’
‘Pleeeeeeeease.’
‘Emily, you have to be bored of that one by now.’ Without waiting for a response, knowing that the answer would remain the same, she stood up and walked over to the small bookcase opposite the bed. As she bent down to choose the book from the top shelf, her eyes settled for a few seconds on the picture in front of her. It was the last picture she had of the three of them before Debra and Jack had slid off the road. A freak accident, that was what they said, but she wasn’t sure she believed it. She had been fond of her brother-in-law, but never of his driving. He’d grown up in the town, a petrol head when he was a young man, whereas she had only ever known the sedate village. Life moved at a pace here where going over the speed limit never seemed necessary. Very few things could ever be that urgent. It suited her personality and it was one of the reasons why she had stayed when so many of her classmates had left.
But it had taken her a long time to stop blaming Jack for killing her sister and leaving her world turned upside down.
For the first year, whenever she broke down, it had been so easy to silently curse up to the heavens at him. Emily cried so many times during that first six months, not really understanding why her parents never came home. Not understanding why they didn’t come to her in the hospital when she was in so much pain. As much as she
had loved her Aunty Webby, in the beginning she had been a poor substitute for her actual parents.
The nurses told her things would get better. That kids were resilient. She hadn’t believed it. Then, at some point in the following summer, not much more than six months after they were gone, Emily seemed to adapt, just like the nurses said she would. It coincided, Kayleigh realised now, with the reduction in her pain. Her young body recovered from the amputation; she no longer looked down at herself with the quizzical look of someone who remembers something was there once, but can’t quite remember what.
The child described as a Christmas miracle bloomed into summer in a way that made Kayleigh’s heart melt. The two of them had settled into a life together, both accepting their fate. The journey had not been straightforward and the they had many lessons to learn that most people didn’t, but they had tackled them together.
It was the photo atop the bookcase that they still said goodnight to every night. Kayleigh hadn’t wanted to take her sister’s place. She knew, with some sadness that had no name but was buried deep in her heart, that Emily didn’t really remember her parents at all. They were the people in the picture frame and in the photos that Kayleigh made sure were around everywhere. They never aged and she would never remember their touch, unless perhaps in dreams. The day would come when she would be too old to be put to bed like this. When she stopped saying goodnight to them out loud. Kayleigh knew that when that day came, she would be the only one who could really picture her sister and still hear her voice.
Even so, for now, things didn’t have to change. ‘Goodnight Emily,’ she said.
‘Goodnight Aunty Webby.’
‘Goodnight Mommy and Daddy.’
‘Goodnight Mommy and Daddy.’ Emily did a sleepy wave to the other side of the room.
‘See you in the morning Sweetheart.’ Kayleigh dropped a kiss on her head and turned the nightlight on. Emily slept through until morning most nights now, but Kayleigh was always afraid that she would try to get out of bed herself in the dark. Adept as she was, hopping around in the darkness was a sure-fire way to getting hurt.
