All I Want For Christmas (7 page)

‘First things first, little Zoe,' he said, carefully removing a sprig of mistletoe from the buttonhole of his jacket as he stepped into the hall.

Fascinated, Lauren watched as he held the green-leaved twig over his daughter's dark head, then bent and kissed her.

‘Lauren says we must do everything according to tradition on Christmas day, Zoe,' he said, straightening up again, with the mistletoe held high.

‘Kiss Lauren, too, then, Daddy,' Zoe instructed.

His head turned and, before Lauren could move away, his lips met hers.

She was aware of a faint trace of spice. That his skin was cold from the outside air. That his mouth was gentle and undemanding. And then it was gone, leaving her with a strange sense of regret.

‘Now, come and see all my presents, Daddy. They're upstairs in my bedroom. I had a really, really ginormous stocking and it was filled right to the top, and there was—'

The little girl's voice died away when she reached the top of the stairs and went into her bedroom. Lauren pushed the front door shut. She was surrounded by a feeling of déjà vu— only this time, there was no mistaking that this
really
had been a kiss.

The turkey was still on the table when she went into the kitchen. Automatically she spooned the juices over it, re-wrapped its foil, and replaced it in the oven, while her mind whirled with a turmoil of thoughts.

Why did I just stand there? Why didn't I move away? He's probably spent the morning with that piece of mistletoe, kissing every nurse in sight. It's the kind of think Rick would do.

But even as she thought it, she knew she was wrong. No matter how great their similarity in looks, Matthew and her ex-husband were as unalike as chalk and cheese.

CHAPTER FIVE

Zoe was back in the kitchen before Lauren realised. ‘Daddy said you'd want me to help you some more.'

He was getting her presents in from the car, Lauren remembered. To put round the tree.

‘Of course I do, poppet. How about finding the glass dishes for the orange and grapefruit starter? They're in that cupboard. Only be very, very careful how you carry them, won't you?'

Holding her breath, Lauren watched as the little girl crossed the kitchen with each small cut-glass bowl, until the last one was safely on
the
table.

‘I'll do it,' Zoe insisted, dipping a spoon into the basin of fruit.

She was still filling the bowls when Matthew came to join them, one eyebrow lifting in a question mark when he saw her.

‘I'm helping Lauren, like you said, Daddy.'

‘Can I help as well?'

Zoe shook her head. ‘No, Daddy. It's dinner-time now. Lauren and me have got it all ready, so you'd better go and sit down at the table.'

* * *

Sitting on the floor, wearing a red paper crown, Lauren decided she'd eaten, and definitely drunk, far too much. It was easily done on a day like this. Now, as they drank strong dark coffee, it was present-opening time. Zoe was in charge.

The pile of presents had grown to at least five times its original size since the previous night. All Zoe's, smuggled in earlier. Lauren yawned in the warmth of the blazing wood fire and settled her head back against the arm of Matthew's chair.

Through half-closed lashes, she glanced up at him. His thin good-looking face was smiling as he watched his daughter's excitement.

‘Just what I really, really wanted. How did Father Christmas know?' she kept repeating,
while
the heap of torn wrapping paper grew around her.

Matthew suddenly leaned forward as the little girl picked up a flat, oblong, holly-papered box. ‘Wait, Zoe. That one's for Lauren.'

Bemused, Lauren took it.

‘Just a small thank-you,' he said quietly.

Carefully, she began to untie the red ribbon and the Christmas wrapping fell away to reveal a small, white-framed watercolour. A seascape in delicate hues of blue merging with the pale golden sand of a cove, bordered by cliffs. It was so detailed that Lauren could almost smell the soft salt breeze, hear the crunch of shingle beneath her toes, feel the warmth of the sun.

‘I painted it—years ago,' Matthew told her.

‘You
painted
it?' Lauren's voice echoed her surprise.

‘I spent most of my school holidays near there. My uncle is the local GP and I've a horde of cousins. Well, three to be exact, but they always had loads of friends so it seemed like more.'

Gazing down at the picture, Lauren momentarily had a vision of Matthew as a small boy, shaggy-haired, perched on one of the rocks, his thin brown legs half-hidden in the sea.

‘It looks a beautiful place to be,' she said softly.

‘It is.'

‘I
never imagined you were an artist.'

Matthew laughed. Zoe twisted round to see why, gave him a smile, and went back to the book she was colouring with her new crayons.

‘An artist?' Matthew's eyes were lost in laughter lines. ‘That's something I'll never be. Once, I hoped.' The humour left his face. ‘I wasn't good enough.'

‘Oh, but you are, Matthew. It's a fantastic picture. So real. It's as though I'm right there.' Lauren turned to look up at him. ‘Do you still paint?'

His eyebrows rose. ‘When?' he enquired dryly.

‘You must have some spare time.'

‘Not a second! And anyway, it's just a waste of time.'

‘Of course it's not!' Her fingers stroked the edge of the wooden frame. ‘Not when you can create something as perfect as this.'

‘I'm glad you like it. I didn't know what to give you, but somehow . . . well . . . I hoped you'd like this.'

‘I do. Very much.'

A log shifted in the grate, sending a shower of sparks racing up the chimney, and Zoe shot across the room to clamber onto her father's lap.

‘Nothing to be scared of, sweetheart,' he murmured, his long fingers stroking her straight dark hair.

Zoe buried her cheek in the thick cream
wool
of his Aran sweater and his arm closed round her, his chin resting lightly on top of her head.

The room was growing dark. The only light centred round them from the rise and fall of the flames.
In a little world of our own,
Lauren thought.

Then a little voice piped up. ‘When's tea?'

‘Zoe!' Matthew roared. ‘You must be full to bursting from all the Christmas dinner.'

The little girl sat upright on his lap, shaking her head. ‘No, I'm not, Daddy. That was a long time ago.' A smile hovered round her lips. ‘And there's jelly shaped like a rabbit and ice cream and a ginormous cake with icing, and crackers, and I'm really,
really
hungry. Shall we make tea, Lauren?'

‘Lauren's been busy all day. How about you and me going to make the tea?' Matthew suggested, easing his daughter down onto the floor.

‘Yes, let's!'

‘But you'll never find where everything is,' Lauren protested weakly.

‘I know!' Zoe cried triumphantly, tugging at Matthew's hand. ‘Come on, Daddy. I know where everything is 'cos I helped Lauren put it there.'

Lauren scrambled to her feet, but Matthew's hand on her shoulder gently pushed her down into the chair he had just vacated.

‘Do as you're told for once, Lauren,' he said
firmly,
and let himself be led away into the kitchen.

Settling deep into his chair, Lauren stared into the smouldering embers of the fire, her eyelids heavy. The cushion behind her back was still warm from the heat of his body and a slight hint of spice lingered.

Leaning sideways, she switched on the table lamp beside her and began to study the little watercolour again. It was so detailed. Even limpets on the rocks were visible. Lauren bent her head to look more closely. And tiny clusters of pink thrift clinging to cliff ledges. Tucked away in one corner, almost on the beach, was a grey stone fisherman's cottage.

He'd spent all his childhood holidays there, he'd said. So when did he paint this picture? Surely it wasn't a child's painting? Did he still visit the cove? It was obviously a place he knew well—and loved. She could tell that just by looking at the scene.

Had he taken Anna there? And Zoe?

She closed her eyes, resting her head on the flowered chintz of the chair. He must have been sitting on one of the scattered rocks when he painted it. Or maybe on the sand . . .

Her fingers let the fine grains filter through them, her shoulders edging away from the roughness of the granite behind her back. The waves made a soothing sound, dragging tiny stones with them as they receded, then swished back.

Something
dug into her spine. Her searching hand touched the spikiness of a limpet shell as she settled her body into a more comfortable position. Matthew was somewhere nearby. Swimming, maybe. Or wandering the tideline. Or sitting on a rock, his long legs lost in the rippling waves.

She knew he was there. Somewhere close. She could smell the warm spiciness of him, mingled with the salt of the sea.

And any second now, she would feel the heat of his eager, tender lips burning over her skin . . .

‘It's teatime, Lauren! Teatime!'

Zoe's voice woke her and she opened her eyes to see the little girl dancing in through the open door, clutching an armful of red and green crackers. Matthew rattled along behind her, pushing the tea trolley.

He winked at Zoe. ‘You'd better ask Lauren if we've found everything. I'd hate to be in her bad books again.'

* * *

Lauren drove back to the crèche after the Christmas break, knowing her life would never be the same again. Knowing that she loved both Matthew and his child.

It was something she couldn't prevent, but didn't want it to be so. Their lives were already too complex. Matthew still loved Anna, and
was
tormented by the agony of causing her death.

And Zoe? She'd had so much insecurity in her short lifetime.

Helen's right,
Lauren reflected sadly.
I shouldn't have brought her home. With me there, plus her father, she's been given a glimpse of how life can be. It wasn't fair of me. I was being selfish.

But it had been a wonderful Christmas. A traditional family Christmas. Lauren's mouth curved into a smile. Everything a Christmas should be.

Now, life must return to normal. Lauren was manager of the crèche. Zoe, just one of the children she looked after. And Matthew . . .

She stepped out of the car and locked the door. Matthew was merely the parent of one of her charges. There could be nothing more. With a new year ahead of her, she had to make that a resolution. Christmas was over.

Inside the hospital foyer, she met the usual bustle of activity. The lift doors opened. People crushed into it. On the far side, Lauren noticed ruefully, was Helen, tight-lipped and frowning.

Lauren nodded in greeting, but her gaze remained fixed on the closing doors, willing Matthew's tall figure to appear. To see his smile. Smell the warm spice of his skin. Know he was close to her in this confined space.

With
a judder the lift began to move, and Helen inched nearer, suddenly launching into an attack of words that jarred into Lauren. ‘You must do something about getting more room for the crèche, Ms Mallory.'

Lauren blinked in surprise, expecting something quite different. ‘Yes, I know, Helen. It's something that's worried me since I took over. Three and four-year-olds can't help being boisterous,' she reasoned, ‘but toddlers get swept out of the way and crawling babies trodden on. I've asked the hospital manager for somewhere else in the building—he says it's impossible.'

Helen's long nose twitched. ‘You mark my words, Ms Mallory. It'll take an accident before anything gets done.'

‘Oh, please don't say that, Helen. I really am at my wit's end to prevent that happening. There has to be some way, but what?'

Dejectedly, Lauren stepped out of the lift with Helen. ‘Do you think we've enough time to take down the decorations before the children arrive?'

But when they reached the crèche, Sarah was already there, stuffing armfuls of dusty crepe paper and bits of tinsel into a black bin bag.

‘Oh, you angel!' Lauren cried.

‘And the kettle's boiling.' Sarah grinned.

Once the children began to arrive, the noise grew. There were new toys to show off.
Exciting
events to describe. And routine to be established again.

Lauren didn't see Zoe come in, only knew she was there when two arms flung themselves round her waist in a hug. Quickly, Lauren turned to see Matthew's dark head above the cluster of parents by the door, but before she could catch his eye, he was gone.

Christmas is over
, she reminded herself.
Life is back to normal again.

* * *

There were two new babies that morning, their mothers anxious and tearful when it came to parting from them.

‘She needs a lot of cuddling,' one explained, burying the baby's face against her cheek. ‘And this is the bunny she holds as she goes to sleep . . . '

‘Don't worry.' Lauren smiled reassuringly as she gently eased the child away. ‘She'll be fine.'

The second mother sobbed so much, her bewildered little son joined in with a loud roar of unhappiness.

‘I'll take him,' Sarah said firmly. ‘Come on, sunshine.'

Lauren guided both mothers to the door.

‘Come in whenever you want to, or if you're at all worried,' she told them. ‘It's not easy, I know, but they'll settle quickly. They all do. It's the mums that take a bit more time.'

As
the morning went on, Lauren noticed Gina had a streaming cold. The girl sneezed violently every few minutes, continually mopping her nose.

‘I think you'd be better off at home,' Lauren advised as the girl dropped yet another paper tissue into the bin.