A Little Christmas Magic (14 page)

A lightning bolt unleashed itself from the dark cloud that was pressing ever closer. If only she hadn’t agreed
to have the test so soon she could have kept it at bay for just a little longer.

There was no way to push it back now. All she could do was honour the promises she had made and then find somewhere she could gather strength to deal with the storm when it finally broke.

California maybe?

She was gone.

This time, the silence of the house had an almost ominous edge. It wasn’t just an overnight absence. Emma was gone from his house and after tomorrow she would be gone from his life as well.

Adam had been late home after going to check that Jock was coping back on the farm and the children were already tucked up in bed and asleep. Emma’s bag had been sitting beside her guitar case near the clock and within minutes of his arrival Caitlin McMurray had driven up to collect her. His dinner was keeping warm in the stove, she’d told him. The turkey was thawing in the scullery tub and she’d left some gifts under the Christmas tree and hoped that would be okay. And she’d said that she was sorry … so very sorry …

Too weary to feel hungry, Adam sat on a chair at the kitchen table beneath all those rainbow-coloured paper chains and downed the last shot his whisky bottle had to offer. The emotional roller-coaster of his day had left him drained enough to feel numb.

Or maybe not completely numb. There was pain to be found that had to be coming from the broken shards of that glass bubble of hope. And pain was a close neighbour to anger. Easy to step over the boundary and preferable to direct the anger towards someone else. He’d used this method of defence before but he knew it came with
some fine print. It was only a matter of time before the anger turned inwards and became a sense of failure. He hadn’t been enough as a husband.

He hadn’t even been enough as a lover this time around.

Was he enough as a doctor? Joan McClintock probably thought so by now, as she lay in the cardiology ward of the infirmary, recovering from her angioplasty. And Old Jock definitely did. He’d said as much when Adam had taken the groceries that Eileen had put together and gone up the hill to visit him. He could swear there had been tears in the old man’s eyes when Jock had gripped his arm in farewell.

‘You and that wee lassie saved my life, son. I might not be up to playing my pipes tomorrow but I’ll be back on deck next year, you wait and see.’

The Jessops would be spending a quiet Christmas in the neonatal intensive care unit but it would be a celebration because they’d be able to hold their precious new baby and talk about the day in the not-too-distant future when they’d be able to take her home. She’d need careful monitoring for her first years of life but it would be a joy to be responsible for that.

Yes. Adam could take comfort in knowing that he
was
enough of a doctor for this village. That he was deeply woven into the community fabric and he was needed here.

Was he enough as a father?

With a heavy tread and two unusually subdued dogs, Adam climbed the staircase of his old family home and went to check on his sleeping children. Oliver lay sprawled on his back at an angle that had his head almost touching the wheels of the train engine tucked in
the corner beside his pillow. Adam gently moved the toy as he bent to kiss his son.

Poppy was rolled into a ball and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. She had her Gran’s old teddy clutched in her arms.

‘Are you awake, sweetheart?’ Adam whispered.

She must be dreaming, he decided when he got no response. He pulled the duvet up to cover her back and kissed the top of her head.

‘Sleep tight,’ he murmured. ‘Love you.’

The hallway outside the children’s rooms was quiet and still. The half-open door of the empty guest room further down was eloquent enough to be an accusation. There would be no music coming from that room again. No small, fairy-like woman would emerge with joy in her eyes and laughter just waiting to bubble free. With hands and lips and a body that could make a man feel like … like he was, well, more than enough.

Maybe it would help to shut the door.

Adam wasn’t sure why he flicked the light on. Perhaps because it seemed suddenly beyond belief that Emma
had
really gone?

The room was empty, of course. The bed neatly made. A vase that his mother must have put in here before she’d left had a sprig of holly in it—a fragment of the festive bowl that was on the kitchen table downstairs. A tiny bit of the Christmas Emma had been so determined to spread throughout this house.

And there was something else. A glint under the bed that the light was catching. Stooping, Adam found it was a disk. A copy of the recording made with Braeburn school’s junior choir? He’d heard all about it but he hadn’t actually heard the singing, had he? And it wasn’t good enough. With the disk in his hand Adam went back downstairs
and into the library to turn on the computer. The fire was only a glow in the grate but the dogs curled up as close as they could on the rug.

He had expected to only hear sound when he pushed play on the menu. The image that filled the screen was a shock. It was Emma and another young woman. The photo must have been taken with a mobile phone. Two happy girls at a party somewhere. Emma looked so much younger. Her hair was a thick mass of curls and her face was different. Plumper. Carefree.

He should have stopped right there—the moment he knew that this was something personal and nothing to do with his children or their carol singing—but the photo was dissolving into the next image in the slide show and the exquisite plucked notes of the guitar were being accompanied by words.

It was the song he’d come to know from the snatches he’d heard late at night as he’d paused at the top of the stairs. A song about memories and friendship. About love. He knew he was seeing something never intended for his eyes when he recognised the man that he’d seen Emma with at the hospital today and he would have stopped it except that the next image was so shocking.

Emma in a hospital bed, completely bald and with her face unnaturally puffy. An IV line snaked beneath the hem of her gown.

Of course. He’d been right in thinking what that tiny scar was about. She’d had a central line inserted as a portal for major drug therapy.

Chemotherapy. That was the only thing that could make someone look like this. And you only got chemotherapy for cancer treatment.

And yet Emma was smiling. Laughing, even? It was so easy to recognise her despite the drastically altered
appearance because the image captured that joy that was what Emma was all about.

The stunning effect was still there even as the image dissolved into a new one and it was only then that Adam could register the words of the song’s chorus.

He couldn’t see the next image. Or the next, because his vision had blurred. He barely heard the rest of the song as he bent his head and covered his eyes with his hands.

The longing was too much.

He
wanted to be the one to share the good times with Emma. To be there to hold her in the bad times.

Was she still sick? Was
that
why she’d been at the infirmary?

The longing morphed into a fierce protectiveness. A need to care for her for as long as possible—even if they both knew it might not be very long.

Maybe there was another man who was special to her and there was no future for
him
with Emma, but she might know that she didn’t have much time left and she’d chosen to be
here.
Not with anyone else but with him and his children. To give herself in every way possible to make this Christmas special. It was only now that it was dawning on him how incredibly lucky they’d been.

The children were going to be heartbroken to wake up on Christmas morning to a house that contained the gifts but not the person who’d chosen them. The magic she’d created would be spoilt.

And he’d been the one to send her away. She would
be leaving Braeburn as soon as tomorrow’s concert was over. He’d never have the chance to tell her what she’d given his children in making Christmas happen. What she’d given him in that he now knew he was capable of letting go of the past and that he could find real joy in his life again.

That he could feel hope.

A nudge under his elbow made Adam uncover his eyes. He hadn’t noticed the dogs coming to flank his chair and the steady gaze from Bob offered limitless sympathy and something more. Wisdom? He scratched his old dog’s ears.

‘You’re right,’ he murmured. ‘I can’t let that happen, can I?’

‘J
ANET CALLED WHILE
you were in the shower.’

‘Oh?’ Emma sipped the mug of coffee Caitlin had put in front of her. ‘Who’s Janet?’

‘My brother’s girlfriend’s aunt. The one who runs the donkey sanctuary.’

‘Oh … is there a problem? I thought she was delighted to help with getting Jemima to the concert. Is it the snow?’ Emma took a worried glance out of the window. ‘It is getting awfully heavy, isn’t it?’

Caitlin laughed. ‘Don’t stress. I’m doing that enough for both of us. No. Aunty Janet’s still as keen as mustard. In fact, she’s bringing an extra donkey. He’s called Dougal.’

‘But we don’t need
two
donkeys.’

‘He’s back-up—just in case Jemima doesn’t want to co-operate. Apparently Dougal’s done this sort of thing before. He’s a darling, Janet says, and if Jemima’s not used to getting into a float then having another donkey can help. Plus …’

Emma had to smile at Caitlin’s expression and the raised forefinger that advertised how important this was. The connection she’d found with this new friend was partly due to how their imaginations were caught by the same things. She had to try and squash the sadness of
how much she was going to miss this friendship. Caitlin hadn’t asked about how soon she would be leaving Braeburn. She only knew that she was no longer needed as the McAllister nanny.

‘Plus what?’

‘Well … Dougal’s looking for a new home. Janet was a bit worried when she heard that Jemima is an only donkey. She says they get very lonely by themselves and they can get very noisy.’

‘Jemima’s certainly noisy.’ Poppy had said the same thing, hadn’t she? That Jemima needed a friend. Another wave of sadness hit as she remembered the time with the children that day. When they’d picked the bunch of holly and made the paper chains. She was so going to miss their laughter and cuddles and the sheer joy of singing together.

‘So what I’m saying is that Dougal doesn’t necessarily have to go back to the sanctuary. He could be a Christmas gift for the McAllister family.’

‘Oh … that’s a lovely idea … but …’ Emma bit her lip. It wasn’t her place to accept, was it? She’d already given things to the McAllisters that were going to have long-term consequences. The thought of the damage she might have done had already formed a horrible knot in her stomach. ‘You’ll have to ask Adam about that.’

‘I’ll get Janet to talk to him. She’s very persuasive.’ With a nod and another smile Caitlin moved on to the next item on the agenda for her busy day. ‘I need to talk to Moira about finding another piper to open the concert. Old Jock’s always done it but he’s not well enough this time. I don’t want to offend him by asking someone whose playing he doesn’t respect, though.’

Emma grinned. ‘Village politics, huh?’

‘You’re not wrong there.’ But Caitlin looked up from
her list, shaking her head. ‘You know, it usually takes a generation or more before someone becomes part of the heart of a village like this. You’ve managed to do it in the space of a few weeks.’

‘Hardly. I’m still a stranger.’ But Emma had to swallow a big lump in her throat. She
felt
like a part of the heart of Braeburn, which was something that could only have happened so fast because it felt like the place she was supposed to be. With the people she was supposed to be with.

‘You saved Jock,’ Caitlin reminded her. ‘You’ve saved the village hall with the funds that CD’s going to raise. Plus …’ She held up her finger again. ‘You’ve saved my reputation as the teacher who can pull the end-of-the-year concert together.’ She heaved a huge sigh. ‘There are still a million things to do, though. There’s the backdrop to paint and the hall to decorate and hay to get delivered and I don’t know if Bryan’s finished making the cradle yet. And I’ve got to ring Jeannie’s mum to make sure they don’t forget to bring the baby doll and …’

Emma finished her coffee. This was good. She would be too busy to dwell on what would happen after the concert. ‘What can I do to help?’

‘Ye canna say no.’

‘But, Jock … I haven’t touched the pipes in years.’ The Velcro of the blood-pressure cuff made a decisive ripping sound as Adam removed it from Old Jock’s arm. ‘I’d be as rusty as your coronary arteries were before the stents went in.’

‘Nonsense, lad.’ The old man fixed Adam with a steely glance. ‘No laddie I taught ever forgets and you were the best. There’s no one else I’d choose to take my place and
I told that McMurray lassie from the school that I’d find my own replacement.’

He didn’t have time to stand here arguing with Jock. It had taken time to organise the children this morning and get them to their friends’ houses for the day so that he could check on his patients and be available for any emergencies. They’d been so slow, too. Uncooperative. Oliver had kicked his chair more than once and refused to even look for his songbook and Poppy had been in tears and refused to eat any breakfast.

‘I want Emma to make my breakfast,’ she’d sobbed. ‘I
love
Emma.’

He had to try and be home at four p.m. as well for the woman who was coming to collect Jemima in a float. Emma should be there for that, shouldn’t she? It had been her crazy idea in the first place. But it was his fault that she wouldn’t be there and he had to start fixing his mistake somewhere.

But to wear his kilt … To pick up his beloved pipes that had been gathering dust for three years or more …

Emma would be there.

He wouldn’t just be playing for the village and showing them that he was ready to embrace life fully again.

He would be playing for Emma. Showing her the man he really was—the man he wanted to be again. He’d heard so much of her music but she’d never heard his.

Could it be a way to connect again? A chance to talk?

Maybe even a way to persuade her to come back to where she was needed so much?

To come back home?

‘All right, then.’ The words were the kind of growl everyone was used to from Dr Adam McAllister. ‘I’ll do it. What song did you have in mind?’

‘The usual.’ Jock’s nod was satisfied. There was even a hint of a smile on the craggy face. ‘“O Come All Ye Faithful”.’

The stars didn’t align well enough for him to make it home by four p.m. and see Jemima loaded into the float, but the donkey was missing so presumably they’d managed without him. At least now he had the time to go and let the dogs out and to collect his bagpipes.

He wasn’t the only person who’d been out and about, doing his job, today. A courier had been to the farmhouse and left a special-delivery letter. Unfortunately, he hadn’t chosen a good place to leave it and enough snow or sleet had landed to make it very soggy. Soggy enough for the envelope to disintegrate as he picked it up.

It was addressed to Emma, not him, so he had no right to look at its contents.

And he wouldn’t have, except that he could see that the stationery was stamped with the logo of the infirmary and he thought that there had to be some mistake and that the letter
should
have been addressed to him.

They were blood-test results. A whole raft of them. With a sticky note stuck to the top one.

Proof. Couldn’t be better so far, Em.

Happy Christmas, love, Jack.

Jack. The man in the photograph. The man at the hospital. The ‘almost’ brother who had become a specialist oncologist and had looked after Emma’s mother.

Who was clearly looking after Emma now. His signature was on the test results. This
was
why she’d been at the hospital.

His head was spinning.

He’d known, at some level, how wrong it was to assume that Emma was deceiving him in the same way Tania had so often.

But why had she looked so stricken when he’d told her he knew why she was there? So
guilty
?

Because she’d been less than forthcoming about the nature of her ‘appointment’?

Oh … dear Lord … did she think he was rejecting her because she was sick?

He
had
to talk to her as soon as possible. Never mind thanking her for what she’d done for the children or for him. He had the biggest apology in his life to make.

But he had a duty to do as well. He couldn’t break his promise to Jock.

He had to find those pipes. And he had to get dressed for the part. A small part, thank goodness. He’d find a way to talk to Emma as soon as it was over.

The snow had stopped falling over Braeburn village on the night before Christmas. The cobbles of the narrow streets were sleek and dark where they’d been swept clear hours before but the perfect, white snow lay in a soft blanket on rooftops and gardens. It covered the bench where Emma had sat so many times to listen to Jock play his bagpipes and it coated the branches of the huge Christmas tree in the square, which only made the lights seem to twinkle even more brightly.

Not that there was anybody to appreciate the pretty picture. Most of Braeburn’s inhabitants seemed to have squeezed themselves somehow into the village hall so that there wasn’t even standing room any more.

Peeping through the curtains that were keeping several dozen excited children and just as many adult support crew hidden, Emma still couldn’t see Adam anywhere.
Surely he wasn’t going to miss seeing his children perform? Her frown deepened as she noticed the size of the gap visible in the crowded space that led in a straight line from the entrance to the stage. Would Jemima really cope with carrying Poppy down that narrow aisle?

Aunty Janet didn’t seem to think they’d have any problem.

‘She’s a darling,’ she’d informed Emma that afternoon. ‘Went onto the float without any trouble at all and then she fell in love with Dougal on the spot. She’ll be perfectly happy until it’s her turn to perform.’

Which wouldn’t be for a little while, although the concert was about to start. The main lights had been dimmed so that only the fairy-lights they’d hung on the walls were twinkling now, lighting up the spruce boughs and holly branches. An expectant silence grew until it felt like the audience was holding its breath, and then Emma heard a familiar sound—somewhere between a honk and a screech—that would have had Sharon putting her fingers in her ears, no doubt. Someone, out in the foyer, was warming up a set of bagpipes. Caitlin hadn’t told her who she’d found that could replace Jock without causing offence, but as the first true notes sounded it was obvious that a good choice had been made.

Who knew that bagpipes could play a Christmas carol with such haunting beauty? Coming down the aisle, it was too dark to see the face of the man holding the pipes but he was pure Scot, with the folds of a kilt brushing bare knees and long socks as white as the snow outside. The sight and sound would have been stirring no matter what was being played but the Christmas carol gave it an extra depth that brought tears to Emma’s eyes.

This was about Scotland—the place she’d fallen in
love with—and about such a special time of year that was all about celebration and family.

And there was a family she’d fallen even more in love with here.

As the lone piper came closer, Emma was sure it was her imagination—or the tears misting her vision—that made her think it was Adam playing the bagpipes. But right in front of the stage he stopped and lowered the pipes before turning to exit from the side door, and there was no mistaking his identity.

He was her gorgeous, gentle Scotsman. The lonely man whose heart she had touched—and then broken again.

She could feel a piece of her own heart being torn off in that moment.

Never again would she love someone as much as she loved this man.

Would it make any difference if she told him about the conversation she’d had with Jack this morning? That the initial results of all her blood tests were so good that he was confident she’d beaten her disease and could look forward to a normal life? He’d known how hard it was for her to believe. He’d said he was sending a copy of the results for her by courier.

It was the Christmas gift she’d wanted above anything else. It should have made her feel ecstatic and yet here she was, watching Adam exit the crowded hall to loud applause, and she was having to fight back tears.

The fear that she had lost something that would have made every moment of the battle she’d had to keep her life more than worthwhile.

Not that there was any time for that dark thought to last more than a heartbeat. The curtains were being drawn back now. Poppy needed a kiss and words of encouragement
as she joined the other tiny dancers to start the evening’s proceedings.

‘You look gorgeous, hon,’ Emma whispered. ‘I just love that new kilt that Daddy got for you. He’s going to be
so
proud of you.’

She had expected Poppy to be bouncing up and down with excitement and that she would have to say how much she
loved
kilts. Or dancing. Or Christmas. But the little girl seemed uncharacteristically solemn and she clung so tightly to Emma’s neck that she had to prise the little arms free as the dance teacher clapped her hands to shoo the troupe of girls into position.

It was Oliver’s turn to perform with the other boys on the chanters next but Emma couldn’t stop to watch. She had to get Poppy changed into her blue dress and shawl to be Mary amidst the chaos of mothers putting the final touches of moustaches and beards onto the wise men and shepherds and Caitlin trying to be in five places at once as last-minute adjustments were made to the nativity set behind the second curtain. The mothers would take care of Oliver’s costume during the next item, which was an older girl reciting a Christmas poem. Emma’s job was to go outside and help Janet get Jemima into position and primed for the grand entry.

The icy night air found the gap between Adam’s socks and the hem of his kilt and made him shiver as he slipped outside during the applause for his son’s performance. Behind him, he could hear Maggie MacEwen being introduced and then the girl’s clear voice as she began her recital.

‘“’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house … not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse …”’

Rounding the side of the village hall, Adam could see where the float was parked. He knew that Emma would have to bring the children and Jemima down this path so that they could make their entrance to the hall.