'Tis the Season: A Collection of Mimi's Christmas Books (28 page)

“Dear, you’re off in dreamland. And by your changing expressions, it’s not a happy place.”

He looked over at the woman who lingered next to him on the floor, and a huge swell of love burst over him and, no doubt, left him grinning inanely. “I am glad you’re here, Mother. Truly I am.” He sat with elbows on knees, his hands hanging.

“Me too, son.” She rested her head against his arm, her puffy hair brushing his chin. He caught a whiff of the flowery perfume she’d always worn. A fragrance he attributed to many of his happiest moments. It reminded him of outings to the park as a youngster. How proud he’d felt when she joined in the children’s games when none of the other mums did. Many times, as an only child, he’d had no one else to play with, and it didn’t matter in the least. He had more fun with her, anyway.

He leaned his head against hers. “You mean you aren’t missing your hectic life, living on the edge, with your Jack? Skiing black diamonds and driving race cars, and—whatever else you two fanatical ninnies managed to get yourselves mixed up in? Let me see, wasn’t your last adventure travelling up the Amazon to live with some pygmies, or some such foolishness?”

“They weren’t pygmies, they were natives, and they treated us very kindly. I do miss Jack, but between you and me, I’m happy not to be packing my bag and flying off to one adventure after another whenever one of his whims took hold. Can’t say that way of life wasn’t fun, though, and most of our trips were very thrilling. It’s a concept you aren’t familiar with. And, it’s what you need more of in this boring existence of yours, Markie. More excitement.”

“Markie? That’s so—”

“Don’t even think about it!”

“Mother, I’ll thank you to leave that silly nickname in the past. And you have no idea how exciting my life is at this particular time. Any more, and I’d be a gibbering idiot, trust me.”

Chapter Seven

Abbie didn’t know whether to take offence or not. She knew he was referring to her tenancy, when speaking with Madeline about excitement in his life, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him. After all, he hadn’t asked for this to happen. But then, neither had she. Her obligations were as important to her as his were to him. He didn’t have a small baby—or the Sisters at the orphanage—relying on him. Worried, she knew she had to make him see her side. Brawling with him in public wouldn’t do at all, and so she waited until he retired for the night and then caught him sliding under his depressing brown covers.

“Marcus?”

“No! Abbie, please, not now. I’ve had enough of you women tonight. I’ve already been called a nice man, even an angel. I don’t think I can handle any more adoration.”
He arranged the pillow to his liking, folded the covers back under his armpits and closed his eyes. “All I want to do is sleep.” It took a short reach to turn off the bedside lamp, leaving him in darkness.

“I’ve only popped in for a minute to discuss something with you, hoping that, surely to goodness, you’ll be able to see my point. It’s terribly important, Marcus, or I’d not be bothering you tonight.”

“Fine, Abbie. Get to it. I’m really exhausted.”
He rolled over to the left and shoved his hands under the pillow.

“Yes, well, you have to understand that it’s very difficult for me to speak about myself. You know, to put myself forward and—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Quit flitting around the subject. Spit it out!”
He changed positions once again, to the right side this time.

“Do you always sleep in the nude?”

“
What?!!”
He sat straight up before he realized she could see where he looked. He squeezed his eyes shut, dropped his chin onto his chest, and rubbed his face.

“Forget I asked. I’m sorry, really. It wasn’t what I intended to say. Seems random thoughts can pop in, when I’m totally open, and I have no control. Please, Marcus, don’t get so annoyed. I’ll work on that, I promise.”

“See that you do.”
Because he’d gritted his teeth, she figured it was probably a good thing that he only had to think the words.

Still, she got the message and collected herself.
“You’ve been wonderful about this silly little business of our sharing your body—”

“I do believe your description ‘silly little business’ to be a bit of an understatement?”

Surprise! Dryness can be explicit in a person’s thoughts even without a voice. He slid back down and pulled the covers up to his neck.

“Yes, I suppose it is, but we are rather stuck with the situation. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I know that you’re a very busy man, and I respect that. Really I do. Enormously.”

“But…”

“But I’m a very busy person also. I have a great many responsibilities, and I hate to ignore them just because I happen to be lodged inside you for a brief spell.”

“Wishful thinking—”

“Yes, well, I’m serious, Marcus. Quite frankly, I have an unending list of chores, and they can’t just be neglected. Most of my work is with people like Mrs. Sykes and her family. You know, yourself, it’s important to lend these underprivileged individuals a helping hand. Especially at this time of the year.” She stopped to assess his reaction to her words so far.

“And?”
Another surprise! Droll irony came through their channels loud and clear. One word conveyed his response perfectly.

“And I don’t want to miss out on the season. It’s my favourite time of the year. So, please, could you let me use your body for my own purposes every once in a while? You know, in order for me to do my job and see to the poor ones who depend on me? I promise not to overuse you, if you’ll only say yes? It’s ever so important—”

“How much time?”

“ What do you mean, ‘How much time?’”

“How many hours a day? I take it you do mean every day.”

“Yes, please.”

“So, how many hours a day must I suffer until this infernal situation has been resolved?”

“How about each afternoon?”

“You’ll leave me alone in the mornings to get on with my own duties?”

“Yes, but if your mother demands your attention, it shan’t come out of my time allotment. After all, she is your mother.”

“Don’t remind me. I just want you to know, I’m only agreeing with this nonsense because of sleep deprivation. Now, good night.”

He’d closed her off before she could thank him. Instead of words, she spilled her warm appreciation throughout his system, and then spied on him as he smiled and slid off into dreamland. What a big-hearted chap he was. How he’d kept this part of his personality hidden for so many years, she’d never know. But she suspected it had something to do with being raised in an only-child environment, combined with a natural shyness that he’d learned to cover up with an uncaring facade.

She’d watched earlier, during the interaction with his mother, and she knew what lay hidden behind his gruff exterior. He loved his mother a great deal. It was beautiful to feel the tenderness that gushed inside him whenever she showed affection toward him. Truth to tell, he’d positively melted when she’d kissed his face. Even though he’d shut her down in order to hide his weak side, Abbie had experienced the loveliness. Never having had a parent, she knew the opportunity to be engaged in these moments would stay with her forever.

Just then an idea burst into her consciousness and wouldn’t be stifled. What would it be like to be loved by a man like Marcus? A strong individual who would care for you and never, ever leave? One day, God willing, she’d find someone who thought the world a dark place until she appeared to light up his life.

****

“Marcus, our arrangement stands. Your mother, remember! It’s in your time allotment to take her car shopping. Sorry. But a deal is a deal.”

“Confound it! You caught me in a weak moment, as you’re quite aware. Therefore it shouldn’t count. First you pester me in my—my bed, then you make crude remarks, and then you flatter me into agreeing with this nonsense.”

“But you did agree. That said, I’ll give you an hour. Then we go to visit the first person on my list, Mrs. Pearson. I’ve been that worried about the poor old dear. She’s an elderly lady, alone and quite weak with very bad arthritis. Unfortunately, I’ve not been able to get her to agree that she needs to be in a home. And I worry that, living alone, she’s in danger of falling, or choking, or any number of things.”

He wished she’d stop wringing his hands. It felt alien to him and made him uncomfortable. He overrode her instincts and stuffed them in his pockets.
“Isn’t there a seniors’ home in Bury to satisfy her requirements?”

“Oh, yes. The Gardens, a beautiful residence, has been recently renovated and is now home to our elderly. It’s a wonderful facility, and the older folks love living there. They have great fun—bingos, and card games, sewing groups, and bake sales. It’s lovely, it is.”

“Then there shouldn’t be a problem, should there? It stands to reason she must move there and live among her own kind.”

“Her own kind? You make her sound like she’s a specific breed of—of animal. For heaven’s sake, she’s a grown woman, with the right to make her own choices.”

“No wonder you haven’t been able to convince the old dear she needs help. With your outlook, she’ll continue to override you until her so-called ‘choice’ has been made for her.”

“Wait! Don’t go forming any kind of opinion until you meet her. Then tell me how easy you think this’ll be. She’s a stubborn old girl, no getting away from it.”

“Well, it remains to be seen. I have no doubt we can talk some sense into her, if we use logic mixed with diplomacy.”

“Have it your own way.”
Smirking,
Abbie knew she’d annoyed him by drawing out the last three words. But the silly man needed to learn a lesson, didn’t he? And she couldn’t wait to witness it happening.

Two hours later, a whole different story unfolded. As they approached Mrs. Pearson’s small bungalow, Abbie told him what to say to get past the old lady and into her parlour.

“Leave it with me, Abbie. I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly.”

Exasperation made her hesitate. She should warn him. But she’d tried, and he thought he knew better. Except that he needed to see for himself that people weren’t animals. That they had a right to make up their own minds about their living conditions
.
Didn’t they?
“Then I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”

The tall, angular woman who stood, arms crossed, waiting for him to finish stumbling through his explanations, wasn’t the weak old girl he’d expected. She reminded him of his fifth-grade teacher, an old battleaxe, to be exact, who had repeatedly scared the hell out of him.

“Mrs. Pearson? My name is Marcus Chapman, and I’m a friend of Abbie’s.” She didn’t move, nod, or leave. “Abigail Taylor? She’s in hospital right now, and she’s asked me to come and visit with you in her stead.”

“I know the poor dear’s in hospital. She’s also in a coma, so how in the world could she speak to you?” Her eyebrows met over her piercing dark eyes and, pulling her navy cardigan across her chest, she waited.

Caught by a devious old woman!
“We spoke before she fell and hit her head.”

“And when you spoke, she asked you to visit me. Twaddle!” She stepped back as if to close the door.

“Wait! I think you’ve misunderstood. What I meant to say was that I’ve visited with the vicar, who was very concerned over who might take on Abbie’s chor…umm, her visits, and I offered to help out. He told me one of her favourite people to come and see was yourself. So, I promised to stop by and ensure you had everything you need.” He saw her softening, and he pushed a little further. “Maybe have a cup of tea with you?”

“Well, young man, you should have said so in the first place. Step inside, and mind you watch where you let that snow melt. Put your galoshes on the mat there.”

“Mrs. Pearson, were you by any chance a teacher?”

“By all means, Mr. Chapman. I taught at the Victoria University in Manchester until I retired a few years ago.” She turned and beckoned him to follow. It was then he saw her stumble and grab onto the wall to keep from falling. Stiffening her shoulders, she resumed her trek into the sitting area and told him to set himself down while she made the tea.

“Can I be of assistance? I’ll carry the tray.” Her expression made him add, “If you like?”

“No, thank you very much. I’m sure I can serve a guest in my own home without needing any assistance.” She raised her voice on the last word.

“Oh, don’t.”
Abbie tried to cut him off, but he’d have none of it.

He used the voice that had worked for years with junior clerks. “Everyone needs assistance sometime in their lives, madam.”

The old woman sank down on the nearest chair as if her legs had lost all their strength. Her eyes looked as if they’d pop out of her visibly shrunken face. Even her skin bristled.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. My offer was made courteously and with kind intentions. Have you reached such an age, or are you in so much discomfort, that you can’t tell the difference?”

“You’d better leave. I find that I’m too busy to offer you refreshments after all.” Her tone might have held some authority in her teaching days, but he heard the fear and weakness threading through her wobbly voice.