A Little Christmas Magic (6 page)

He’d promised to spend the afternoon with them today and look what had happened.

A premature labour at only twenty-seven weeks for poor Aimee. Four weeks longer than the previous two pregnancies and she’d really begun to hope that this time she would get to take her baby home. He’d tried to keep her calm until the ambulance arrived and he couldn’t have let her go to the hospital alone. Not when her husband was out on the oil rig for another two weeks.

Not even noticing the muddy streak Benji’s paw left on his trousers, Adam kept moving. Maybe a wee dram of whisky before his tea would help. And some time with the children. He could read them a story before bed.

The words of the song were audible now. ‘“Little donkey, little donkey, on the dusty road …”’

Maybe the children would prefer to hear songs than a story.

Adam stepped into the kitchen. He was expecting warmth and the smell of hot food. The loving greeting his children always gave him and the prospect of winding down in the comfort of his favourite part of his house. He wasn’t expecting to be hit in the face with a blinding kaleidoscope of colours.

‘What in heaven’s name is
going on
in here?’

‘
Daddy
…’ Poppy flung her arms around his legs. ‘We’ve made decorations. Aren’t they bee-
yoot
-i-ful?’

Adam took another upward glance at the desecration of the ancient, oak beams.

‘And we’ve learned a song all about Jemima.’

‘It’s not about Jemima.’ Oliver was right beside his sister now. ‘It’s about another donkey. The one that Mary was riding to get to Bethlehem.’

Christmas again. How did it manage to accentuate the worst of life in so many ways? Impossible not to think about a donkey carrying the pregnant Mary. With a full-term pregnancy that everybody knew ended up with a healthy baby, despite less than adequate birthing facilities. Unlike poor Aimee who had access to the best of modern care but now had a scrap of a bairn who was on life support in a neonatal intensive care unit in Edinburgh.

Adam tried to push the concern away. To focus on his own healthy children. Tried to centre himself by a glance around the room below ceiling level. At least that looked relatively normal. Or did it?

‘
What
…’ he actually had to swallow before he could find any more words ‘… are
those
?’

The children had fallen strangely silent. Even Poppy, who could never be called a quiet child. It was Emma who answered.

‘They’re Advent calendars. You get to open a little door every day until Christmas Eve and there’s a new picture and a little chocolate. Very little and the children haven’t eaten them all from the doors that already needed to be opened. They saved them. For
you.
’

She sounded nervous, Adam realised. He looked over the twins’ heads and looked at her properly for the first time since he’d come into the room. He still hadn’t got used to the way she looked, with that air of being a stray gypsy waif, but he was certainly letting go of the idea that
she could be unreliable or unable to commit to anything. She’d thrown herself into being his children’s nanny with her heart and soul, hadn’t she? They loved her.

And she loved them. The way she’d said how much she loved being with them this morning had touched his heart in the way that only total honesty could.

And now she was looking at him with eyes that looked too large for her thin face. With a glow that was telling him that she was doing this to make his children happy.

Because she already loved them.

And because it was Christmastime.

There was a hopeful expression in those eyes, too, that was a plea that he wouldn’t spoil it all by being cross.

He found himself unable to look away. Adam got a sudden vision of what it would be like to be seeing himself through her eyes and he didn’t like what he saw. He forced a smile to his lips as he managed to break the eye contact with Emma.

‘As long as you don’t eat too much chocolate before dinner.’ He looked up again. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen such long paper chains. You must have been busy all day.’

‘I did my practice, too. D’you want to hear what I learned today, Dad?’

‘Aye. Let me get my coat off, son. And I need a wee something to drink.’

He glanced across at Emma, feeling like he should apologise, although he wasn’t quite sure why. ‘D’you drink whisky, Emma?’

She shook her head but smiled. ‘Let me find one for you while you listen to Ollie’s new tune. You’ve had a long day. Dinner will ready in no time.’

There was no recrimination in her tone that she’d been left with the children all afternoon and that they’d been left without their promised walk or time with their
father. No … Both the tone and the way she was looking at him gave him the odd feeling that she knew exactly how hard his day had been. He didn’t have to say anything about what had happened but she was still willing to try and make it better.

Even more oddly, it
was
starting to feel better. He could almost dismiss the edge of panic at seeing how Christmas was invading his house again. Maybe that was because the decorations were so obviously made by children with their wobbly shapes and sizes. Tania might have gone overboard with decorations but she would never have tolerated something so far less than perfect. Even the bunch of holly on the table was real instead of a perfect, plastic replica.

This was different. This was Emma, not Tania. Couldn’t be more different, in fact. Maybe it would even be okay.

‘Thank you.’ It felt like the first time Adam had ever smiled at Emma but surely that wasn’t the case?

Maybe it was because he’d never seen
her
smile quite like that. A slow, delighted curl to her mouth that lit up her face and gave her a faint flush of colour on those pale cheeks.

She was pretty, he realised. Not flaky looking at all. Too young for her years, still, and too thin, but … yes … pretty.

Beautiful even.

E
MMA HAD A
lot of time to herself on Sunday because Adam didn’t get called out, although he seemed to spend a lot of time on the phone and she overheard a snatch of conversation about a sick baby who was in Intensive Care. The children—and the dogs—got their long walk to see whether the pond was frozen and Emma was glad of the time on her own.

She sat in her room, with her laptop and her guitar, working on her Christmas gift for Sharon. She was writing a song about friendship and the strength it could give someone to get through hard times, and she intended to record it as a background to a slide show of all the best photos she and Sharon had taken over the last few years. She might even use the very private ones—like the one in her hospital bed where she’d been so swollen by the steroids she’d been taking and completely bald from the chemo. Sharon had insisted she needed a photo so that Emma would be able to look back and see how far she’d come and then she’d said something about eggheads and made Emma laugh, and that was the moment she’d captured.

She’d been so right. It was hard to believe how far she’d come. And maybe—Emma squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a heartbeat—she would be able to look
back from the distance of many more years. But if she couldn’t, Sharon would have this gift from her heart for ever.

Back in the routine of the school week again, Emma was delighted to feel so at home with the routine of her new job. She was loving her time at the school, helping with the music classes, and the new friendship with the junior-school teacher, Caitlin, promised to be something special.

It was a bonus that Oliver took so long to find everything he needed to take home after school because it gave the young women a few minutes extra to chat.

‘I was telling Moira Findlay that you have one of the most amazing voices I’ve ever heard,’ Caitlin confessed on Monday afternoon. ‘She said they might consider offering you an invitation to join the village choir.’

Emma grinned. ‘I take it that’s a huge honour?’

‘You’d better believe it. Normally you have to be second-generation Braeburn, at the very least.’

‘Did you tell her I’m only here till Adam’s mother gets back?’

‘No.’ Caitlin’s face fell. ‘I’m kind of hoping you’ll fall in love with the place and decide to stay. He’s still going to need a nanny, isn’t he, and the last few have been disasters—especially that Kylie, who was far more interested in her boyfriend than the children.’

Emma backed away from the conversation fast. ‘My plans are totally up in the air for next year. I couldn’t commit to anything and Adam hasn’t mentioned the possibility, either. I …’

The urge to say something more was strong but this wasn’t the time or place. Caitlin must have sensed something big but her curious glance lasted only a moment. Poppy was tugging on Emma’s hand.

‘Sing Miss McMurray the new song, Emma. The Christmas one.’

‘We’ve got lots of carols we’re learning already, Poppy,’ Caitlin said.

‘But this is Jemima’s song. About Mary.’

‘“Little Donkey”,’ Emma supplied.

‘Oh …’ Caitlin’s eyes shone. ‘That’s one of my all-time
favourite
Christmas songs. How could I have forgotten it?’ She began to hum but then stopped. ‘That’s the chorus. How does it start again?’

Emma could see that Oliver had been totally distracted from finding his reading book by watching the goldfish in their bowl on the science table so she sang the first few lines about the little donkey on the dusty road, plodding on with its precious load.

Poppy beamed and Caitlin sighed happily. ‘Imagine our play with our Mary coming in on a donkey with Joseph leading her, and all the children singing that.’

‘I’m Mary,’ Poppy reminded her.

‘I know, pet.’ Caitlin patted her head.

‘And I’ve
got
a donkey.’

‘I know that, too. But Jemima’s a
real
donkey. We can’t use her in our play.’

‘Why not?’ Emma was caught by the image. Adam would be there in the audience, wouldn’t he? How amazing would that be, to see his two children and their pet creating Christmas magic for the whole village? She could take photos and give them a new memory that would always remind them of a joyous moment.

Caitlin was staring at her as if she had lost her mind.

‘She’s a very good donkey,’ Emma continued. ‘And Poppy’s used to riding her.’ From the corner of her eye she noted that Oliver had stopped watching the fish and
was now watching them. ‘Would she still follow you in a strange place, Ollie? Would you be able to lead her?’

Oliver scowled at her. ‘‘Course I would.’

‘They could just come down the centre aisle and then the children could take their place on the stage and someone could take Jemima out the side door.’

‘Ohh …’ Caitlin was clearly completely captured. ‘How would we get her to the hall, though?’

That was a problem. ‘It
is
too far to walk,’ Emma agreed.

‘My brother’s girlfriend’s aunt runs a donkey sanctuary not far from here,’ Caitlin said thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if we could borrow a float?’

Poppy was bouncing up and down on her toes. ‘Hooray … Jemima’s going to be in our play.’

‘Hang on,’ her teacher warned. ‘Don’t get too excited. And don’t tell anybody else about it. We’ll have to get all sorts of permission, like from the hall committee and from your daddy.’

The bright glow of the idea dimmed for Emma. Neither authority was likely to be too enthusiastic about this inspiration but she suspected Adam would be the hardest to convince.

But he was okay with the paper chains now, wasn’t he? And the Advent calendars and the holly? Maybe another small push forward would help get him into feeling the goodwill of the season more. When they passed a man selling Christmas trees off the back of a lorry on their way home, Emma stamped on the brakes.

‘I think we need a tree,’ she said aloud. ‘What do you think, kidlets?’

The twins were silent.

‘We could put it in the big living room,’ Emma suggested. ‘And we could make decorations for it. And then
your presents can go underneath it on Christmas Eve. Is that what you usually do?’

‘We don’t have a tree.’ Poppy’s voice was very small. ‘We only go and see the tree by the church and the one in Gran’s house.’

A glance in the rear-view mirror revealed an expression on Oliver’s face rather like the one that had been on Caitlin’s when Emma had suggested adding Jemima to the junior school’s play. As if she was completely crazy.

‘Maybe that’s because Daddy gets too busy at Christmastime. Would you like to have a tree, Poppy?’

Poppy thought about this for a long moment. ‘Jeannie has her very own tree.’

‘So does Jamie,’ Oliver said. ‘And Ben and … and
everybody.
’

Emma channelled Catherine McAllister. It was up to her to make Christmas happen for these children, even if the thought of the repercussions of this step were more than a little scary.

‘Right, then.’ She reached for her wallet. ‘Come on. You can help me choose the
best
one.’

‘No.’

‘But, Daddy … I
want
Jemima to be in our play.
Please
…’

‘
No.
’ Adam’s fork clattered against his plate in the silence that followed the resoundingly negative response.

It was just as well that Emma had waited until dinner was almost finished before broaching the subject of including the largest family pet in the nativity play. Her appetite evaporated in the face of the atmosphere that instantly filled the McAllister kitchen—her favourite room in this grand old house. That single word had somehow created an impenetrable barrier and Adam was clearly
angry. Was he even tasting the casserole he was forking into his mouth?

The last of the wonderful meals Catherine had left in the freezer, Emma had noted with some alarm. She would have to cook the evening meals herself from now on.

The children began simply pushing pieces of food around their plates with as little enthusiasm as Emma.

‘Eat your dinner,’ Adam ordered, ‘or there’ll be no ice cream.’

‘I don’t
want
ice cream.’ Poppy’s voice wobbled. ‘I
want
…’

No, Emma begged silently. Don’t say it.

‘I want Jemima to be in our play.’

Adam dropped his cutlery and his chair scraped back with a screech that made Emma flinch.

‘It’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard,’ he snapped. ‘And it’s
not
going to happen. I don’t want to hear another word about it.’ The stern glare Poppy was being subjected to was transferred to Oliver. ‘From
either
of you.’

Then it was Emma’s turn to get the look. ‘I expect this was
your
idea in the first place?’

For a heartbeat she felt frightened. It wasn’t just about potentially getting fired from a job she was coming to love far more than she’d expected. It was more about the glimpse into what Adam McAllister would be like if he lost control. She was sensing the depth of emotion hidden away in this man for the first time and who knew what might happen if it broke through those rigid, self-imposed constraints?

But then Emma was aware of something she rarely felt.

Anger.

She could see that the children really
were
frightened.
Sitting there, like small statues, with pale faces and probably holding their breath. Scared that their daddy didn’t love them any more because they’d done something bad.

Was it so bad to dream of doing something a bit out of the ordinary? Okay … a lot out of the ordinary, but this was about
Christmas
, wasn’t it? About making a little bit of magic?

So she held Adam’s angry glare and lifted her chin.

‘Yes,’ she said clearly. ‘It
was
my idea. And Caitlin McMurray loved it. She said she’d talk to the hall committee about getting permission and that she could probably arrange transport to get Jemima into the village for the evening.’

Adam was on his feet now. He crumpled his serviette into a ball and threw it down beside his unfinished plate of food.

‘Have you seen the state of the village hall? It’s crumbling inside. The floorboards all need replacing. Quite apart from the public-health issues of an animal needing to relieve itself indoors, there would be the danger of the floor giving way. Imagine the panic that would create? Not only could Jemima get injured but so could anybody who was unfortunate enough to be sitting anywhere nearby. Like my
children.
You’re suggesting that I allow you to put them in danger for the sake of a school
play
?’

‘It’s a
Christmas
play.’ Emma was not going to let her voice wobble like Poppy’s had but it was a close call. ‘It’s special.’

‘
Ach
…’ Adam turned and strode towards the door. ‘I’m going to find somewhere I can get away from this nonsense. And I don’t want to hear anything more about it. From
any
of you.’

Bob followed his master from the kitchen but his head
was hanging low. Benji started to follow Bob but then stopped and slowly slunk back beneath the kitchen table.

Emma swallowed a gulp. She reached out with one hand to squeeze Poppy’s hand. She would have squeezed Oliver’s too, but he promptly put both his hands in his lap to avoid her touch.

‘It’s okay,’ she told them with as much confidence as she could muster. ‘Daddy just needs time to get used to the idea. He’s a little bit cross but he’ll get over it, you’ll see.’ She found a smile. ‘Why don’t we all have some ice cream?’

‘We’re not allowed,’ Oliver informed her. ‘We haven’t eaten all our vegetables.’

‘I’ll bet Benji would eat them if we put them in
his
dish.’

The children looked astonished. Was an adult actually suggesting something naughty?

It wasn’t the first time that Emma had been struck by how like his father Oliver was. He was deep, this little boy, and there was a sadness in him that shouldn’t be there. It made her heart ache.

‘Sometimes,’ she said softly, ‘we all need a cuddle. And having a treat like ice cream—it kind of gives us a cuddle from the inside and makes us feel better. A tummy cuddle.’

Poppy climbed off her chair and onto Emma’s lap. She wound her skinny arms around Emma’s neck and buried her face on her shoulder. Emma happily gathered the little girl closer and rocked her a little as she cuddled her. She held out her other arm in an invitation for Oliver to join them but he stayed where he was with his head bent as if he was staring at his hands.

They heard the roar from Adam all the way from the living room. Oh … dear Lord … Emma had forgotten the
tree they’d installed in there as soon as they’d got home, thanks to the clever stand the Christmas-tree man had sold her along with the spruce the children had declared the best.

They could hear the furious footfalls as he came storming back into the kitchen.

‘Whose idea was
that
, as if I couldn’t guess?’

It was Emma receiving the full force of the glare this time.

‘It has to stop, do you hear me? I won’t have it.’ Adam didn’t have to reach far above his head to grab hold of one of the paper chains. And it didn’t take much of a tug to have it break and drift down in pieces.

‘We don’t do Christmas.’ He wasn’t shouting but the quiet words were chillingly final. ‘Not in this house.’

Poppy burst into tears. Oliver was staring at the falling paper chains and Emma just knew she was going to see this staunch little boy cry for the first time, too. But the sound that came out of his mouth was more like a cry of fear.

‘
Daddy
…’ His pointing was urgent and Emma turned her head automatically, in time to see the flames from the paper chain that had landed on top of the stove.

With a vehement curse Adam flung himself towards that side of the kitchen. He grabbed a tea towel, put it under the cold tap and then covered the pile of burning paper. It was all over in seconds.

Except that it wasn’t over. Both the children were sobbing and this time Oliver had no objection when Emma gathered him under her free arm and took both children out of the kitchen and away from their father.