A Christmas Wish (7 page)

She swallowed and composed herself, running a mental checklist and grateful not to have landed splat down on the tarmac. ‘I think I’m okay!’ She giggled with relief as a large bruise started to spread up her arm and thigh.

‘You silly cow! You frightened me,’ he snapped.

‘I was only mucking about. You’re not the boss of me.’ She shook her hand free.

Martin Cricket cupped her face in his hands and spoke in a voice so low, she had to concentrate to hear. ‘I never want to be the boss of you, but I do love you. I always have and I always will. If I even think about you getting hurt, I feel sick. I want to take care of you, Poppy Day, and I want you to take care of me. I want you to marry me and I want us to live together until we get old and die.’

‘What?’ Poppy shook her head. Maybe she was concussed.

‘Will you marry me, Poppy Day?’

She had stared up at him and considered what it would be like to be looked after by this man she loved. Then she had smiled, knowing that this was where she belonged, right by his side. Nodding, she’d kissed his palm with a shaking hand. ‘Yes, yes, I’ll marry you.’

Peg thundered into the room and jumped on the bed. ‘Happy Christmas, Mummy!’

‘Happy Christmas, my darling.’ Poppy kissed her daughter, who jumped off and lifted Max up onto the mattress. All three snuggled under the duvet, kicking their feet, bubbles of excitement filling their stomachs.

‘Has Father Christmas brought you presents, Max?’

‘Yes!’ Max grinned. Poppy ran her fingers through his blonde hair, sticky with sleep and juice that had splashed from his sippy cup.

‘There is a pillowcase full of presents at the bottom of my bed and Max has one too and I honestly think that Father Christmas left them for me, Mum! I really do.’ She beamed at Poppy.

‘Well, good.’ Poppy didn’t want to find out how the conversation might progress.

‘Can we go downstairs and open our presents?’ Peg now bounced up and down.

Poppy rubbed her eyes and scraped her hair into a scrunchie. ‘We can go downstairs but I don’t want us to disturb Granny Claudia just yet.’ She was sure Peg’s hollering could have been heard back in Larkhill, but wanted to give Claudia a moment alone on this joyous and difficult day. ‘Why don’t we tiptoe downstairs and give her another half an hour? Do you think we can do that?’

Both kids nodded, Peg with a slight look of irritation.

They threw on their dressing gowns and padded into the sitting room, where the Christmas tree lights were on and a fire roared in the grate. Claudia must have been up early – if she had slept at all. Peg bent down and gathered two little square boxes from under the tree; each had an oversized label attached to it, one saying ‘Peg’ and the other ‘Max’.

Peg shook hers beside her ear and heard a faint tinkling. ‘Who are these from, Mummy?’

Poppy turned the box over in her hand. ‘I haven’t a clue, darling.’ She looked at the label: it was Claudia’s handwriting. ‘Put them back under the tree and we’ll wait for Granny Claudia.’

‘No, it’s okay, Poppy, they can open those now.’ Claudia’s voice came from the kitchen. She beamed. ‘Happy Christmas, my loves!’

‘Happy Christmas! You’re up early! Are you okay?’

‘I’m more than fine.’ Claudia enveloped Poppy in a hug and as she pulled away from her, took the scrunchie from her hair, allowing it to fall in a coppery curtain against her neck. ‘You have beautiful hair, Poppy, you should show it off more.’

Poppy smiled, embarrassed, and tucked the loose tendrils behind her ears.

‘Can we open these now then?’ Peg shook the little box; the suspense was nearly killing her.

‘Yes!’ Claudia clapped. ‘Open them right now!’

Peg tore the paper to reveal a little brown box, then did the same for Max. She lifted the lid to reveal a shiny bell, the kind that sat snugly on handlebars. Peg stared at Max, dying to speak, but knowing she mustn’t blow the surprise. ‘Oh, a bell! That’s lovely, thank you very much, Granny Claudia.’ She smiled sweetly.

‘Yougranicordiya!’ Max grinned.

Peg gave a small cough, as if waiting to be led to her shiny new bike or scooter. She hoped it was a scooter, with silver wheels and a blue sticker and rubber foot pads, the same as Jade McKeever’s.

Poppy stared at Claudia, slightly puzzled by the little gift. Although mentally two steps behind her daughter, she was starting to suspect there was more to this present than met the eye.

‘It’s going to be a chilly old day, who thinks we might need to fetch more logs from the garage?’

Peg nearly burst with anticipation. ‘I definitely think we need more logs!’ She jumped up and down on the spot.

Poppy shook her head, trying to keep up.

‘What about you, Maxy, do you think we need more logs?’

He nodded vigorously.

‘Be a dear, Poppy, take them out for me while I make some tea.’ Claudia sniffed.

‘Sure.’ Poppy opened the side door and gasped as the wave of cold air filled her lungs. There had been a fresh fall of snow in the night and the garden looked like a winter wonderland. The birdbath, lights and wicker chairs had all been sprinkled with a powdery dusting. It was quite beautiful.

Poppy lifted Max as they approached the garage. Peg raised the latch and pushed open the side door. No one moved for a second or two, each paralysed with shock and surprise. Then the surge of adrenalin hit. Peg screamed and then she cried, unable to stop the sobs that built in her chest and escaped loudly. Poppy gasped as the tears rolled down her own face, and Max wriggled to the ground and toddled across the room.

It wasn’t new bikes or scooters that waited for Peg and Max in the garage. There in the soft lamplight, with a tartan blanket over his legs and cocooned in the moth-eaten armchair that had never quite made it to the tip, with sand in his boots and dust on his uniform, sat their daddy.

Mart stood and rushed forward, crushing Poppy to him and with his spare arm around Peg as Max clung to his leg.

‘I heard my girl needed me,’ he whispered into her hair.

‘She did.’ Poppy placed her mouth against his cheek, inhaling the scent of him, confirming he was real.

‘I’ll always come when you need me, you know that.’ Mart kissed her on the mouth and then bent down to lift his children, one in each arm. They stood just like that for a minute or so, happy to be reunited, a little family.

As they made their way back inside the house, Claudia stood at the back door, simultaneously crying and laughing. She hurried over to Poppy. ‘I couldn’t tell you. He swore me to secrecy!’

Poppy wrapped her in a hug, too emotional to speak. She stared at her husband, propped against the sink, holding a mug of tea between his palms. She shook her head, unable to take it in. He was in the kitchen! He had come home!

‘How, Mart?’ she eventually managed.

‘They told me a few weeks ago that they might cut our tour short. I didn’t want to say anything in case it didn’t happen – you know how these things work.’

She nodded. She knew, better than most.

Mart continued. ‘I wasn’t sure if I could get back, even when they did cut the tour. I didn’t want to raise your hopes, or mine. I only knew for certain I was coming home when they confirmed there was a seat for me on a helicopter and then a plane and then another plane. It all happened very fast. I can’t tell you how happy I was to touch down at Brize.’

Poppy smiled at him, sharing recollections of the place that held such strong memories for them both. It meant home, safety.

‘When did you get here?’

‘About four this morning. Claudia waited up for me. I kipped on the sofa until we heard you all.’

‘Do you have to go back?’ Poppy chewed her lip, hardly daring to ask.

‘No, that’s it. Back in Larkhill now – you’re stuck with me.’ He squeezed his wife’s hand.

Peg hugged her dad tightly around his middle. ‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you too. You’ve grown, you both have!’

‘I’m going to try and be register monitor next term, Dad.’

‘That sounds good.’ He smiled.

‘Can I get a pet? I would really like a guinea pig called Toffee.’

Mart laughed. ‘Well, I don’t see why not.’

Poppy sighed and rolled her eyes at Claudia.

Peg reached up and pulled her dad’s neck forward until his ear was level with her mouth, so that he alone could hear her whisper. ‘I prayed and wished you home to me, Daddy, and it worked, didn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered back, looking from her to his wife and son, smiling. ‘It worked.’

We hope you enjoyed this book.

If you haven’t already read the other stories in Amanda Prowse’s gripping
No Greater Love
sequence, read on or click the links below for previews of

Poppy Day

What Have I Done?

and

Clover’s Child

and

A Little Love

Or

To find out about Amanda Prowse, click
here
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To discover more books by Amanda Prowse, click
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For an invitation from the publisher, click
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Poppy Day — Preview

Read on for the first chapter of

How far would you go to bring home the one you love?

A gripping story of loss and courage from army wife Amanda Prowse.

The major yanked first at one cuff and then the other, ensuring three-eighths of an inch was visible beneath his tunic sleeves. With his thumb and forefinger he circled his lips, finishing with a small cough, designed to clear the throat. He nodded in the direction of the door, indicating to the accompanying sergeant that he could proceed. He was ready.

‘Coming!' Poppy cast the sing-song word over her shoulder in the direction of the hallway, once again making a mental note to fix the front door bell as the internal mechanism grated against the loose, metal cover. The intensely irritating sound had become part of the rhythm of the flat. She co-habited with an orchestra of architectural ailments, the stars of which were the creaking hinge of the bedroom door, the dripping
bathroom
tap and the whirring extractor fan that now extracted very little.

Poppy smiled and looped her hair behind her ears. It was probably Jenna, who would often nip over during her lunch break. Theirs was a comfortable camaraderie, arrived at after many years of friendship; no need to wash up cups, hide laundry or even get dressed, they interacted without inhibition or
pretence
. Poppy prepped the bread and counted the fish fingers under the grill, working out how to make two sandwiches instead of one, an easy calculation. She felt a swell of happiness.

The front door bell droned again, ‘All right! All right!' Poppy licked stray blobs of tomato ketchup from the pads of her
thumbs and laughed at the impatient digit that jabbed once more at the plastic circle on the outside wall.

Tossing the checked tea towel onto the work surface, she stepped into the hallway and looked through the safety glass at the top of the door, opaque through design and a lack of
domesticity
. Poppy slowed down until almost stationary, squinting at the scene in front of her, as though by altering her viewpoint, she could change the sight that greeted her. Her heart fluttered in an irregular beat. Placing a flattened palm against her
breastbone
, she tried to bring calm to her flustered pulse. The surge of happiness disappeared, forming a ball of ice that sank down into the base of her stomach, filling her bowels with a cold dread. Poppy wasn't looking at the silhouette of her friend; not a ponytail in sight. Instead, there were two shapes, two men, two soldiers.

She couldn't decide whether to turn and switch off the grill or continue to the front door and let them in. The indecision rendered her useless. She concentrated on staying present, feeling at any point she might succumb to the maelstrom within her mind. The whirling confusion threatened to make her faint. She shook her head, trying to order her thoughts. It worked.

She wondered how long they would be, how long it would all take. There were fish fingers to eat and she was due back at the salon in half an hour with a shampoo and set arriving in forty minutes. Poppy thought it strange how an ordinary day could be made so very extraordinary. She knew the small details of every action, usually forgotten after one sleep, would stay with her forever; each minute aspect indelibly etching itself on her memory. The way her toes flexed and stiffened inside her soft, red socks, the pop and sizzle of her lunch under the grill and the way the TV was suddenly far too loud.

She considered the hazy outlines of her as yet unseen visitors and her thoughts turned to the fact that her home wasn't tidy.
She wished she wasn't cooking fish. It would only become curious in hindsight that she had been worried about minutiae when the reason for their visit was so much more important than a cooking aroma and a concern that some cushions might have been improperly plumped.

Columbo
was on TV. She hadn't been watching; it was instead a comforting background noise. She had done that a lot since Martin went away, switching on either the TV or radio as soon as she stepped through the door; anything other than endure the silence of a life lived alone. She hated that.