All I Want For Christmas (4 page)

When Zoe did wake, however, Lauren was helping some older children to stick leaves in patterns on pieces of wallpaper. Zoe ran across and climbed onto her lap, her thin arms wrapping tightly round Lauren's neck.

‘You went away,' the child accused.

‘Only to the canteen for my lunch,' Lauren said, leaning forward to put the top back on the tub of glue.

‘You can eat it with me.'

‘But you have yours with all the other boys and girls.'

‘Want to eat it with you.'

At that moment the box of leaves was grabbed by an inquisitive toddler, who could just see above the edge of the table. In the confusion, with Zoe and several children helping to pick them up, the subject was forgotten.

For now,
Lauren thought.

There were enough problems running the crèche already. She wondered whether it were possible to have a second room, or change the layout of this one somehow? With crawling babies and unsteady toddlers vying with energetic three and four-year-olds, it was not only chaotic, but dangerous. Tiny fingers got trodden on. Meticulously built towers of bricks were sent crashing, creating much distress for
the
budding architect.

Already that day she'd had to ban the children from using the slide when a baby sat on the end and was cannoned into by an older child hurtling down. Divided into those who were actively mobile and those who weren't, life would be safer and easier for all concerned.

With six staff, it ought to be possible. Lauren decided she must explore the surrounding corridor and see if the room next door was available.

As the hours wore on, Lauren became increasingly aware of her scalded wrist. The cuff of her sweatshirt was rubbing the tender skin and she pushed the sleeve up to her elbow, out of the way.

As she did, she remembered Dr Trevissick.

* * *

By six-fifteen, she and Zoe were once again the only ones left in the crèche. Seeing the pallor of the child's face, Lauren knew she was tired and anxious, and her anger grew with each passing minute.

I know he's a busy man,
she reasoned,
but after yesterday you'd think at least he'd try. For someone whose whole life is dedicated to caring, doesn't
he care
about his own child?

Her wrist throbbed, reminding her of the concern Dr Trevissick had shown that
morning.
Why couldn't he show the same feeling for Zoe?

The little girl leaned against Lauren's knees, her small chin cupped in her hands, her huge brown eyes watching the door.

Why doesn't he realise what he's doing to her?
Lauren inwardly raged.

Her hand was hovering over the telephone, ready to have him paged again, when the door opened and he was there, swinging his daughter up into his arms as he kissed her.

‘I know, I know.' He forestalled Lauren. ‘It's nearly six-thirty.' His blue eyes gazed imploringly at her. ‘But would could I do? There was a cardiac clinic this afternoon. One of the consultants was called away, so I had to take over. You can't shunt patients in and out at five-minute intervals. Some need coaxing to talk. Others need reassurance.' His wide mouth curved into a smile. ‘And some are just long-winded. What else can I say?'

‘Sorry?' she suggested.

‘On my knees?' he countered. ‘Come on, little Zoe. Time to go home.' Locking the door, Lauren fell into step beside them.

‘As you can't be sure when you're going to be free, wouldn't it be better for Zoe if her mother collected her each day?' Lauren asked as they passed through the main doors.

Dr Trevissick spun round to face her, the bones of his face sharp in the bright light flooding out from the building.

‘Zoe
has no mother,' he grated harshly. ‘I killed her two years ago.'

CHAPTER THREE

Stunned by his words, Lauren stood, not knowing how, or what, to reply. All she could do was stare back at him, bewildered.

Killed her.
His voice rang in her ears.

Zoe was holding his hand and twirling herself around, first one way, then the other. ‘You'll make yourself dizzy, Zoe,' Lauren warned automatically, feeling her own head spin.

‘Home, Daddy.' The child tugged at his arm and he started to walk. Lauren kept pace, needing to know more. But how could she ask? The Range Rover was parked next to her Mini. Dr Trevissick lifted Zoe into her seat and fastened the belt. Standing between the cars, Lauren waited for him to open his door.

When he did, she asked softly, ‘What did you mean?'

‘Exactly what I said,' he replied tersely. ‘I killed my wife.'

‘But . . . ' she began, then realised he was still talking in a rapid monotone.

‘We were on holiday. The Lake District. Going over one of the passes. I was driving too fast in the thick mist. I saw the headlights of a
lorry
approaching in the middle of the road, and swerved. We overturned. When the car stopped rolling, Anna was dead.'

‘And you?' she whispered.

His voice hardened. ‘Me? Oh, I was fine, apart from a fractured ankle. Broken bones mend. Necks rarely do.'

For the second time that day Lauren murmured, ‘I'm sorry,' and knew how futile it was. No words yet invented could help.

‘And Zoe?' she asked.

His head turned to study the little girl, chattering to a teddy in the back of the car. ‘Zoe was at home with my sister. It was only a weekend. A second honeymoon for Anna and me.' He gave a short laugh. ‘And I killed her.'

Lauren stretched out her hand and touched his. ‘It was an accident, Dr Trevissick. Something no one can prevent.'

His head jerked up, blue eyes blazing at her, full of torment and guilt. ‘I was driving too fast in that mist. It was my fault.'

‘Or the lorry driver's,' she said quietly.

A deep line drew his brows together. ‘The lorry driver's?' he questioned.

‘If the lorry hadn't been in the middle of the road at the same time . . .'

‘But it was,' he snapped, slamming the car door.

Zoe looked up, startled, from the back seat, then waved to Lauren as the Range Rover backed away.

Starting
up the Mini, Lauren felt desolate.
To think I imagined my life was shattered. What torment that man has to live with, constantly blaming himself for the tragedy. How can anyone ever help him?

There was time to stop at the supermarket on her way home, so Lauren stocked up for several days ahead, carrying four large bags into the house.

I wonder what the Trevissicks are eating tonight,
she wondered, rolling out ready-made pastry for a steak pie.
If I made two of these, they could have one for their supper tomorrow. Zoe would probably enjoy it, but what about her father? What was his taste likely to be?

She remembered the fry-up for his lunch, and evening takeaways. Her mouth twitched into a smile. He'd probably eat anything. Would he mind, though, if she did bring them a meal? He did get quite angry when she'd complained about the meals he was feeding Zoe.

Rick had a temper, too.

Her teeth bit hard into her lip and she glanced down at her arms, expecting to see the purple and green of bruised skin. But all she saw was the redness of her scalded wrist and her mind flicked back to the morning, remembering the firm but gentle grip that had held her arm under the running tap, and the concern that filled Dr Trevissick's blue eyes.

The same eyes that, later, she'd seen
swamped
with torment. Something she never once had caught in Rick's eyes.

So alike, yet so unalike.

She wondered what Rick was doing now. Rick and his new wife. Where were they honeymooning? Somewhere exotic? Rick enjoyed basking in hot sun, lying on a beach. Drinking wine. Too much wine.

Her body tensed as she remembered.

His face wasn't handsome then. Skin flushed. Eyes dull. Only one thought in his mind. She tried to shut out the memory, her fingers clenching round the handle of the knife she was using to peel potatoes.

The first time it happened, the fierceness of his lovemaking had excited her. Looking back, it was unbelievable that she could have been so naïve.
Did Rick ever love me? Or was it just that I was there? Adoring. Available. I thought it was love.

She sliced down hard into the potato, chopping it into tiny bits.
Once I was a stupid little fool, won over by a good-looking face and charming manner. But no man is ever going to treat me like that again. Never, Never. Never.
The knife sliced down, repeatedly punctuating each word, while slivers of potato scattered.

* * *

‘Shall we start the kids making paper-chains?' Sarah suggested a day or so later as they drank
their
early-morning coffee. ‘Then we can decorate the room and buy a suitable tree. After all, it's only three weeks away.'

Christmas. Lauren hadn't given it a thought. Her time was filled with running the crèche.

‘There's a box of tinsel and stuff in a cupboard, but we usually have quite a few home-made decorations that the children do. They love that. Even the tiddlers can stick silver-paper stars on coloured paper for cards.'

‘Toddlers, you mean,' Helen corrected.

Sarah grinned. ‘Tiddlers is more appropriate for some of them. Potty-training is my biggest hate.'

‘Really, Sarah!' Helen snapped. ‘There's no need to be coarse.'

‘I'm not being coarse,' Sarah protested. ‘Just honest. The crèche closes for three days, Lauren—Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day.'

‘But what about the parents who work over the Christmas break?'

Sarah shrugged. ‘They have to make other arrangements. Most of them take holiday, so they can have the time off. The admin departments are all closed in any case, and there aren't any clinics. It's only the wards that have to carry on, and they send as many patients home as they possibly can.'

Lauren hadn't had a chance to speak to Dr Trevissick since his outburst. He'd brought Zoe to the door and, surprisingly, had been
there
on the dot of six to collect her again.

The little girl still made a beeline for Lauren on arrival, but was settling down well and mixing with other children. Lauren watched her colouring a nativity scene that Sarah had drawn on stiff paper to make into a card.

‘Is that for your daddy?' Lauren asked, bending down beside the table.

Zoe nodded, tongue sticking out as she concentrated.

A scribble of black coloured the head of Joseph. ‘That's the daddy,' she explained, and the crayon continued down the rest of the body. ‘I'm not colouring the beard 'cos my daddy hasn't got one.'

The baby on the straw was next, carefully outlined in red.

‘That's me when I was very little.'

Two wobbly green circles appeared under the baby. ‘And my buggy.' Lauren waited, but the picture was pushed to one side.

‘Aren't you going to finish colouring it in?' she asked the child gently.

Zoe looked at her with surprised eyes. ‘I have finished.'

‘What about Mary, Jesus's mummy?'

The paper was dragged back across the table and Zoe studied it with pouting lips. Then, carefully, she picked up a thick black wax crayon and blacked out the figure.

‘Just the daddy and the baby,' she declared.
‘No
mummy.'

The matter-of-fact way in which the little girl spoke stung Lauren. To Zoe, there were only two people in a family. A father and a child.

Lauren closed her eyes for a second and swallowed hard. She'd been twelve when her parents finally divorced. An impressionable age. Not an adult. Not a child. But maybe any age was an impressionable one.

The
only dependable character in my life was Gran. Always there when I needed her. And as for my father—another good-looking charmer. The story of my life. I loved him so much. Then he was gone.

It always happened. Her chin jutted. And the only way to avoid such heartbreak was never to grow close to anyone.

Her hand rested lightly on Zoe's dark hair, and the little girl looked up with a smile. So like her father's, Lauren reflected, with a twist of regret.

* * *

When Dr Trevissick arrived to collect his daughter that evening, Lauren was standing beside her. ‘What have I done wrong now?' he asked wearily. ‘It's only a minute past six— look.'

Lauren gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Nothing,' she said. ‘But we're starting to
prepare
things for Christmas and I wondered what you and Zoe will be doing?'

‘I haven't given it a thought yet.'

‘It is only three weeks' time, Dr Trevissick.'

His eyebrows arched. ‘As soon as that? Yes, I suppose it must be.'

‘Are you going away?' Lauren asked.

‘No, I shall be on duty.'

‘And Zoe?'

‘I expect my neighbour will have her. Clare, who brings Zoe in when I'm on duty. Zoe always stays there overnight.'

‘Isn't her baby due very soon?'

‘Around December the twentieth.'

‘Won't she have enough to cope with, without worrying about another child? Besides, if it's late, she might be in hospital for Christmas.'

Dr Trevissick's blue eyes clouded. Almost grey, like the sea on a sunless day, Lauren thought.

‘I suppose it could happen. Isn't the crèche open over Christmas?'

‘We need holidays, too, Dr Trevissick.'

He pulled the hood of Zoe's anorak up around her face and adjusted the zip, then caught her hand in his. When he stood up again, Lauren saw a deep line of worry creased between his thick eyebrows, and felt a pang of guilt for causing it.

‘What happened last year?' she asked.

‘We spent it with my sister and her family,
but
they've moved to France now—her husband's job. I suppose I could get Zoe shipped over there.'