All I Want For Christmas (10 page)

‘No.' Matthew's tone was firm. ‘The extension is finished, so it'll reopen tomorrow. Your staff can do without you for a few days. They are quite competent, you know.'

The Range Rover was parked by the main door of the hospital and Lauren found herself swept up into Matthew's arms and carried out to it.

‘Can't walk outside in slipper socks, can you?' he said, settling her onto the front seat, and tucking a plaid blanket round her.

Lauren
closed her eyes. Even the short journey downstairs in the lift had exhausted her. As the engine rumbled into life, she leaned back against the headrest, watching Matthew's hands steer the vehicle out through the exit and into a line of slow-moving traffic.

His head turned slightly. ‘Are you cold?' he asked. ‘I've turned the heater up high but I didn't think to bring you a jacket.'

‘I'm fine,' she murmured, drowsy from the warmth filling the car, and by the time it stopped outside the block of flats where Matthew lived, she was fast asleep.

* * *

Zoe was delighted to see her again, after Matthew had collected her from Clare's flat.

‘Daddy said you'd swallowed a lot of smoke, Lauren. I did too when all the fire was there. We went right outside and down a
steep, steep
staircase made of metal, so the fire couldn't burn us.' She frowned. ‘Some of the children cried. Fergus did. I didn't cry, though. I went down the stairs first when Helen told me to, and all the other children had to follow me. Sarah said I was
really, really
brave.'

‘Well, you were, Zoe. Very, very brave.'

The little girl's cheeks dimpled. ‘Aunty Clare has a baby now.' She chuckled. ‘She's been keeping him in her tummy. He's
really, really
little and has teeny fingers and weeny
toes.'
Her mouth pouted. ‘He cries and cries, too. All squeaky. Aunty Clare says it's 'cos he's hungry and, do you know what, Lauren? She lets him eat her chest.' She paused and looked thoughtful. ‘He hasn't any teeth, though.'

‘What's his name?' Lauren asked.

Zoe shrugged and raised her eyebrows—just like Matthew did, Lauren noticed with amusement.

‘He hasn't got a name. Aunty Clare says she wants to know him a bit better first, before she decides. But Uncle Tom calls him Thingy. That's not a real name, is it?'

‘Come on, Zoe. Lauren needs to rest. We'll go and make tea.'

‘You're going to sleep in Daddy's bed,' Zoe said, catching hold of her hand. ‘I'll show you where.'

Lauren's startled gaze met the laughter in Matthew's eyes. ‘Don't look so alarmed, Lauren. I shall be using the sofa-bed in here.' He turned before he went out of the room. ‘Oh, and in case you're wondering—it's not going to be fish fingers for tea.'

* * *

At the end of three days, Lauren felt much better. She hadn't realised how devastating the effects of smoke inhalation could be. She also knew that despite the similarity in their looks, Matthew was utterly different from Rick.
Lauren
had never met a man so caring. He understood the grief she was still feeling for loss of her grandmother only months before, letting her talk it through, something she'd never been able to do. He held her gently while she wept against his shoulder.

‘She brought me up when my parents divorced. They both remarried. Neither of their new partners wanted a difficult teenager. I don't even know where either of them lives. They've never kept in touch.'

Lauren read the horror in Matthew's expression. ‘But that's terrible,' he said. ‘You mean, they just cast you off, as if you didn't belong to them?'

Her chin jutted. ‘I didn't care. I had Gran. She was always there for me. And then I met Rick. He worked at the same pharmaceutical company.' She paused. ‘I was twenty when we married.'

‘Quite young.'

‘Too young. But he was good-looking—and wanted me. At twenty, I thought that was love.'

‘And it wasn't?' Matthew asked quietly.

‘No. Love is something entirely different. Rick will never understand that. To him, it meant only one thing.'

‘How long were you married?'

‘Three years.' She gave a wry laugh. ‘Long enough to discover what he was really like.'

‘Which was?'

Her hands clasped round her wrists,
remembering
the bruises she'd needed to hide. ‘He drank. A lot. And then . . . '

Matthew's arm slipped round her shoulders, his thumb lightly stroking away their tension.

‘There's no need to go on, Lauren. I can guess the rest. Saturday night in Casualty reveals only too well the effects of excessive alcohol.'

‘But he always regretted it . . . afterwards. And each time I believed him. You see, I needed so much for him to love me.'

‘But you decided to divorce him?'

She shook her head. ‘No, he wanted to marry someone else. Listed all my faults. Said I was naive, clinging—a disaster in bed. How she was so different. Then he left.' Lauren's teeth clenched. ‘I was unwanted yet again.'

‘Oh, Lauren!' Matthew's arm drew her closer, the warmth of his cheek resting against hers. ‘Don't ever say that. He was just the wrong man for you. Of course you're wanted. Remember how much your grandmother loved you. And the children in the crèche. They love you so much, Lauren. As for Zoe—well, you already know she totally adores you.'

His eyelashes brushed her skin as he spoke. A butterfly kiss. Lauren remembered Gran calling it that, and she fought back the overpowering impulse to turn her mouth to his, and feel the intensity of his lips on hers.

When it happened, it came as a surprise—Matthew's mouth at first lightly touching hers.
But
as her body responded, his arms tightened round her, one hand caressing the nape of her neck, weaving circles of delight.

And the kiss deepened.

Sensations she'd never before experienced, spun and whirled inside her as her fingers slid up into the thickness of his hair, drawing his head closer, and she heard the deep intake of his breath as he groaned.

Reaching sideways, he switched off the table lamp, and a velvety darkness filled the room. Lauren could see streetlights glimmer through the pale outline of the window. Somewhere a baby wailed.

Matthew's heartbeat pulsed in time with hers, the rhythm of it filling her ears. She could feel the slight prickle of stubble on his chin. Taste the wine they'd had at dinner on his lips. Smell the fragrant spice of his skin. Feel the growing warmth of his caressing fingers stroke down her neck, sending a tremor of excitement through every inch of her body.

And then Zoe cried out, her voice filled with terror.

It took over an hour to soothe away the nightmare. Only by tucking the little girl into bed with Lauren could her fear be calmed. And then she slept, while Lauren lay beside her, her own tears wet on her cheeks.

* * *

Lauren
returned to the crèche the following morning to find everything running smoothly without her.

‘It's all down to your organisation,' Sarah said, when she mentioned it. ‘We've such a fantastic routine nowadays. Never used to be like this when Catty was in charge. Permanent chaos most of the time. And the extension makes such a difference. You've worked wonders since you came, Lauren.'

By five o'clock, most of the mothers had come off duty and collected their children, leaving only a few. Taking a welcome breathing space, Gina, one of the part-timers, brought Lauren a mug of tea, then sat down on the chair beside her.

‘I was wondering if you could advise me, Lauren,' she said hesitantly. Lauren wrapped her hands round the mug, warming them, before she sipped the hot drink.

‘If I can,' she answered. ‘What do you want to know?'

‘It's not that I don't like it here, or anything to do with you taking over, but . . .' She paused, her cheeks flushing. Lauren waited for her to continue.

‘What I'd really like to do is work on the children's ward.'

‘As a nurse, you mean?'

‘Oh no—I'd never be good enough for that.' Gina smiled. ‘What I mean is . . . ' She stopped again. ‘You see, my sister's little boy—he's only
seven—had
to come in a while back when he broke his leg badly and needed quite a complicated operation. He'd never been away from home before, so I used to pop up to the ward when I could.'

She bent to tie the shoelaces of a small boy. ‘There you are, James—now slip your arms into your anorak. Your mum will be here any minute.'

Once she had the child dressed, she went on. ‘You see, they had this hospital play specialist on the ward. She was fantastic. It really helped Stevie. I expect you know the sort of thing they do.'

Lauren shook her head.

‘Well, through play, they help prepare a child for whatever operation or treatment they're going to need. They read them stories about hospitals, and let them act out what happens. The kids can dress up as doctors or nurses, too. And sometimes, if the parents can't be with them, they stay with the child before and after the operation.'

Her eyes were full of anxiety when they looked at Lauren. ‘It's something I'd love to do. I'd need to take a special diploma course, and as I've already worked in the crèche for over three years, there shouldn't be a problem, but I would need your recommendation.'

Putting down her mug, Lauren studied her thoughtfully. ‘You'd have to be very dedicated, Gina. That kind of work, with both the child
and
parents, must be very stressful and emotionally demanding. Could you do that?'

Gina nodded. ‘I'm sure I could. You see, we lost our own little boy when he was three. Leukaemia. So I do know what it's like having a desperately sick child. Everyone at this hospital was so kind then—and with Stevie. I'd like to put something back.'

‘I'm so sorry,' Lauren said, knowing how inadequate that word could be. ‘I had no idea about your son. But from what I've seen of your work here, in the creche, you're a natural with children. Do you have others of your own?'

Biting her lower lip, Gina shook her head. ‘Andrew was our only child, and to be honest, we're just too scared of it happening again to try for another baby yet. Perhaps one day, though.'

‘Look, it's getting late now, but I'll certainly recommend you.'

‘Oh, thanks, Lauren, I knew you'd help. Helen said you'd try to put me off, because it would mean losing a member of staff, but as I'm only part-time in any case, I'd be prepared to work a full day, one half here in the crèche and the other half on the children's ward.'

‘Well, that would fit in really conveniently. See you tomorrow then, Gina.' Exhausted by the end of the working day, Lauren made herself return to the house that evening, even though Matthew wanted her to stay longer.

‘Give
yourself a bit more time, Lauren, until you're really fit and can cope on your own again.'

Post was scattered on the mat when she opened the front door. Bending down, she picked up a handful of envelopes and glanced at them.

All were addressed to her grandmother, mainly junk mail and some still being sent from different charities, and Lauren wondered just how she was going to prevent them coming.

But one thin envelope was addressed to her. Quickly she slit it open and unfolded the sheet of paper inside, frowning as her eyes skimmed over the heading at the top—it was from a local firm of solicitors.

When she read the contents, her throat tightened.

The house had been rented by her grandmother, but after she died Lauren had continued living there, paying the rent each month. Now this letter told her, in formal terms, that the property, and the one adjoining, was to be sold to a firm of developers for demolition.

She was required to leave within one month.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

‘Are you feeling all right, Lauren?' Sarah asked, looking closely at her as he handed her a mug of coffee the following morning, before the children arrived. ‘Sure you haven't come back to work too soon?'

‘I'm fine,' Lauren snapped back, leaving the coffee untasted and hurrying out to unlock the crèche door. ‘Shouldn't you be doing something useful?'

Her brain was churning, desperately worrying how she was going to clear the house of all her own and her late grandmother's belongings, in just one month. Having lived through World War II, the old lady had been reluctant to throw anything away. No one did in those days. ‘Make do and mend' was the slogan. And her grandmother had kept to it for the rest of her life.

‘You look tired,' Matthew commented, when he came to collect Zoe from the crèche that evening. ‘Come back and have tea with us.' His mouth tilted into a wry smile. ‘I'd suggest stopping to pick up some fish and chips on the way home, but I don't expect you'd approve of that.'

‘Whatever,' she sighed, shrugging her shoulders.

His fingers gently lifted her chin and he
looked
down into her eyes. ‘Hey, this isn't like you, Lauren. What's wrong?'

She picked up her bag and turned to lock the crèche door, fighting back tears. Matthew caught hold of her arm and guided her towards the lift. ‘You really do look washed out. Look, why don't you leave your car here, and stay over with us for the night? That would be good, wouldn't it, Zoe?'

Too weary to argue, Lauren let herself be persuaded, and they drove home in the Range Rover, stopping only at the fish and chip shop en route.

Lost in her own thoughts, she sank into an armchair, not listening, while Zoe skipped round, laying the table, chattering away all the time.

‘I know which way the forks and knives go now, Lauren. Like this.' She screwed up her face, frowning. ‘Daddy hasn't got any serviettes like yours, but we can use kitchen paper. I'll get the roll from the kitchen. Whoops! You nearly tipped that plate all over me, Daddy,' she warned, as he came in.