All I Want For Christmas (3 page)

Even as she spoke, Lauren hated herself. Only one person was suffering from their petty arguing. Zoe.

It was too late to apologise. He was halfway across the car park, splashing through puddles until he reached the Range Rover. Lauren's back stiffened, seeing it parked directly behind her own Mini, where there was no official parking space, completely boxing it in against the wall. If he hadn't arrived to drive away . . .

How
a
man with no consideration for others can become a doctor, amazes me,
she fumed. Then she recalled how he'd mentioned oversleeping and arriving late.
Only for me to beat him to the one and only space.

The engine roared as he revved it, swinging the Range Rover in a tight half-circle, before shooting out of the gates. Waving at Zoe, Lauren stood, watching the red glow of its taillights disappear into the distance, leaving a strange silence around her.

* * *

Now it was late, the traffic had eased and Lauren made the journey home swiftly. Empty darkness greeted her as she unlocked the front door, and stepped inside to switch on the light. Only a few weeks before her grandmother would have been there to welcome her, with a hug and a kiss, the smell of the meal she'd cooked filling the warm air of the hallway.

Now,
Lauren thought sadly,
that part of my life is over.
So many changes, one after another. First the divorce. Then coming back to live with Gran for those last months of her life. And now the challenge of this new job.

Tugging off her jacket, she hung it up, catching the reflection of her face in the wall mirror. Even that had changed.
Once,
she remembered,
I was pretty. That's why Rick married me, he said. And now, just look at
me.

Through dark eyes, smudged with tiredness, she watched her fingers brush across the sharply etched cheek bones, down past the deep hollows below them, to where her mouth dipped at the corners. A face full of sadness and despair.

Angrily, she glared at the reflected image.
Well
, she decided,
once you've reached rock bottom, you can either give up completely or climb back up again—and there's no way I'm giving up.

The
past was behind her now. This job was the new start in life she needed, and she was determined to make a success of it. Stepping into the kitchen, she opened a cupboard, took out a tin of baked beans, tipped them into a saucepan, and began to make toast, wondering what Dr Trevissick and Zoe were eating for their evening meal.

* * *

She allowed herself an extra half-hour for the journey the following morning and arrived to find the car park almost empty. Dr Trevissick's distinctive green Range Rover, she noticed, had yet to arrive.

Would he bring Zoe with him? she wondered. She supposed he had no choice. How on earth did he cope with a four-year-old and hospital hours? She knew how overworked doctors were. His life must be constant juggling. How could he give proper attention to either his child, or his job? Work here bore no comparison to the nine-to-five jobs many single parents held down.

There was Zoe's mother, of course. Perhaps she took over when he was on duty. Not that she'd showed up yesterday evening. It must be difficult though, if she had a new family to care for as well.

Poor little scrap,
she thought. It wasn't surprising Zoe was so insecure—shunted
between
parents like that. Lauren wondered how long ago they'd split up, and why. It must be at least a year, judging by the advanced state of her mother's pregnancy. Or maybe that was the reason? Fed up with the unsocial hours her doctor husband worked, she'd found someone else?

Lauren's mind was still fixed on Zoe and her family when she reached the crèche. Being so early, she'd even beaten Sarah, and switched on the kettle so that it would be boiling by the time her colleague arrived.

Helen's remark about Sarah being the reason for Catherine Knolls' departure intrigued her. What could the girl have said, or done, to cause that to happen? Sarah was a bit tactless, but knowing that, surely no one who worked with her would take offence.

And as for Helen herself—she'd made her resentment of Lauren's position quite plain. Lauren had learned from Sarah that Helen and Ms Knolls had worked together many years before. And having worked for the longest time in the crèche, she'd automatically assumed she would become its manager when Catherine Knolls left.

I must
have
come as a horrible shock,
Lauren decided.

She was in the little kitchen, pouring boiling water onto the coffee in her mug, when she heard the door open. Guessing it was early-bird Sarah, she took down a second mug and
began
to fill it.

Small arms flinging themselves round her knees threw her off-balance; the kettle tilted, and sent scalding water across her wrist.

‘Zoe!' Dr Trevissick's roar came in unison with Lauren's cry of pain and the child's whimper of dismay. But as Lauren bent to soothe the frightened little girl, she found her elbow gripped by strong fingers and her arm thrust under the running cold tap.

‘Forget Zoe!' Dr Trevissick ordered. ‘You're the one who needs attention. If we don't see to this quickly, you'll have a very nasty burn.'

‘It's all right, Zoe. It wasn't your fault.' Lauren's other hand smoothed the child's hair, trying to comfort her. ‘I didn't hear your feet on the carpet.'

The icy water was numbing her wrist, taking away the pain almost before it began. She shivered.

‘You're not going to faint, are you?' Dr Trevissick's gaze remained on her wrist when he spoke, but one long leg stretched out sideways, his foot hooking forward a chair. ‘You'd better sit down.'

‘I'm okay,' she insisted, trying to ease her arm from his grip.

‘Which of us is the doctor?'

‘But I need to get on. The children will be arriving any second.'

‘You'll keep that wrist under the tap until I tell you to stop,' he replied, picking up the
second
mug of coffee and starting to drink it. ‘Where are the rest of your staff?'

‘I was in very early.'

She saw the corners of his eyes crinkle above the rim of the mug, and guessed he was smiling.

‘To make sure of a space in the car park?' he teased.

Lauren ignored the remark and turned her attention to Zoe, who was watching them with frightened eyes.

‘It's all right, sweetheart,' she said. ‘I'm quite better now.'

‘I didn't mean to hurt you, Lauren,' Zoe whispered, her mouth quivering.

‘I know you didn't, Zoe. I should have been more careful when I was holding a hot kettle. Can you unzip your anorak and hang it up?'

As the child slid her arms from the jacket, Lauren noticed that her bright red jumper was inside out, with the label at the front under her chin.

Dr Trevissick noticed it, too. ‘Oh, Zoe,' he groaned. ‘Didn't you look in the mirror when you were combing your hair?'

‘You know it's too high, Daddy, and you said you'd comb my hair. And tie my shoe laces 'cos I can't do bows yet.'

‘I don't think your Daddy looked in the mirror to comb his own hair either, Zoe,' Lauren observed dryly.

‘He never does comb it,' Zoe confided
wickedly.
‘His fingers do.'

‘You horror!' her father said with a grin. ‘Telling tales to teacher.'

‘She's not teacher, Daddy,' Zoe protested. ‘She's Lauren.'

As the rest of the staff came into the kitchen, their gaze was instantly on Dr Trevissick, leaning against the sink, drinking coffee. Immediately, he bent his head, scrutinising Lauren's wrist, before turning off the still-running tap.

‘I think we've caught that in time, but it if begins to cause any discomfort, Lauren, go straight down to Casualty. Tell them I sent you.'

He dried his hands on a paper towel and tossed it into the bin.

‘And don't forget—cold running water is the best way to deal with a scald—provided you do it instantly. Bye, Zoe. Bye, Lauren. Be good.'

In a couple of strides he was out of the kitchen and heading towards the door, leaving Lauren to wonder whether it was she or his daughter who was meant to follow his last instruction.

* * *

Lauren had made a strong point to her staff about taking a proper lunch hour and having both a meal, and rest, in the hospital canteen. Working in the crèche was exhausting. Small
children
need constant watching. And with such a variety of ages—the youngest being only four months and the eldest four years—a great deal of care had to be taken to avoid accidents.

Only that morning, a crawling baby discovered one of the three-year-olds threading cotton-reels onto a long lace, and sat fascinated. When the older child grew bored and moved on to play on the slide, the tiny one decided to see what the lace tasted like. Only Sarah's prompt intervention to remove two or three inches of it from the baby's mouth had prevented a disaster.

Needing to set an example herself, Lauren made sure she took a full lunch hour. The canteen meals were good, with plenty of salads.

She was reading a paperback while she ate, deeply involved in its plot, when the chair opposite her scraped across the floor. Balancing a tray with one hand, while he dragged out the chair, was Dr Trevissick.

‘Let me see that wrist.' It was a command rather than a request.

Meekly she eased away the cuff of her sweatshirt and stretched out her palm. His fingers drew her hand closer. But the rush of heat that travelled up her arm at his touch had nothing to do with the scalded skin.

‘Is it sore?' he asked, studying it carefully.

‘Not very.'

One
eyebrow curved into a question mark. ‘How not very?'

‘I'm aware of it, but it's not too painful.'

‘I don't think it's going to blister, but we'll keep an eye on it. Let me know if it starts to get uncomfortable.'

‘Yes, doctor.'

His blue eyes stared deeply into hers. ‘Not mocking me, are you?'

‘Would I? Now may I have my hand back? I'd like to eat this apple.' She eyed his meal. ‘How can you eat all that stodge?'

‘Stodge?' he demanded, looking down at his tray. ‘Good, wholesome, filling food. Essential on a chilly day like this. What's wrong with it?'

‘Well, the vegetable soup is probably okay, but really, Dr Trevissick, you should be the first to know that two fried eggs, three chipolatas, fried bread and chips is the way to a coronary. Let alone a chunk of steamed syrup pudding and custard.'

‘I'll soon work that off during the day,' he protested.

‘Will you? Rushing about, stressed up—I bet you suffer from indigestion half the time.'

‘It's certainly doing me far more good than a plate of rabbit's food,' he retorted. ‘I hope that's not what you feed my daughter in your crèche.'

‘Your daughter had just had fresh orange juice, two fish fingers, carrots, peas and mashed potato, followed by—I think it was
strawberry—yoghurt.
She's very keen on fish fingers, Sarah says.'

Dr Trevissick turned down his lower lip wryly. ‘She does have them fairly frequently,' he admitted. ‘My culinary efforts don't run to exotic cooking.'

‘Chicken isn't difficult to roast and you can have it cold for a couple of days after. I'm sure Zoe would like that. Even a sandwich made with wholemeal bread would be better for her than some of the meals she's been telling me about. And most children love fruit yoghurt.'

‘Ugh!' Dr Trevissick pulled a face.

‘Have you ever tried it?'

‘No, and I don't intend to.' He put down his soup spoon and started to slice into one of the eggs. ‘You really are a bossy-boots, aren't you? Always telling others what to do. Can't I enjoy my lunch in peace?'

Lauren snapped shut her book and stood up. ‘You chose to sit at this table, Dr Trevissick. And don't forget—the creche closes at six o'clock.'

* * *

‘Thank goodness you're back, Lauren,' Sarah greeted her, with one of the babies tucked into a sling on her back while she carried a second one in her arms. ‘Zoe's been going beserk!'

‘Why? What's wrong? Has she hurt herself?'

‘You weren't around—that's all,' Helen
remarked
dryly, joining them. ‘You really must be very careful or it will become a problem, Ms Mallory. Zoe has to realise you're not here purely for her benefit. If you're going to pull your weight, you can't devote yourself to just one child.'

‘Until she settles, I shall do exactly that, Helen. All the other children are perfectly happy, and manageable too, so I don't think it will affect the running of the crèche if I spend a little extra time with Zoe. Where is she?'

‘Asleep,' Sarah replied, shifting the baby onto her other hip. ‘She cried so much, she made herself sick, then dropped off to sleep on Lucy's lap. They're over there in the corner.'

‘You're making a rod for your own back, Ms Mallory,' Helen warned. ‘That child must learn not to cling. It won't do her any good in the future.'

Lauren began to understand why Helen hadn't been promoted to creche manager. Her attitude was so wrong. But she didn't have time to argue. All the children had a rest after lunch, and already one or two were waking.

Three mothers arrived to breastfeed and change their infants, an essential part of the bonding process when they saw so little of them during the day. Others were coming off or on duty and collecting or leaving their offspring—something that happened constantly.

Lauren wanted to be nearby when Zoe woke, despite what Helen advised. But she
knew
the older woman was right when she said that if the child became too attached to her, it could become a problem.