All I Want For Christmas (5 page)

‘Shipped over there! She's a child, not cargo,' Lauren protested.

She was silent for a moment. This would be her first Christmas completely alone, without her grandmother.

Knowing she was breaking all the rules, she said quickly, ‘Would you let Zoe stay with me?'

He glanced across at the little girl who had wandered off and was picking up fallen leaves from a collage on the wall. Then his gaze returned to Lauren and she saw a glimmer of humour in the blue of his eyes.

‘From eight-thirty in the morning until six at night?' he queried.

Colour flooded Lauren's cheeks. ‘She's welcome to stay for the three days. It seems silly to keep trundling her backwards and forwards.'

‘That sounds like a very nice idea. I shall envy her.'

Lauren stared up at him, surprised by the note in his voice. Was it regret? ‘You're very welcome to come too,' she began, but he cut in quickly.

‘I shall have my Christmas here in the hospital. You'll have enough to do with Zoe around.'

‘I'm sure Zoe would very much like you to be there with her, when you are off duty.
Please
say yes.'

‘Then I'll talk to her when we got home, and see what reaction I get.' He looked at his watch. ‘Come on, little one, it's way past six o'clock. We'll be in trouble if we stay any later. Say goodbye to Lauren.'

After they'd gone, his smile still warmed her. Then the realisation of what she'd done swept over Lauren. What on earth must he think of her? Inviting, almost coercing, him to spend Christmas with her! Maybe he had other plans. With those looks, he must have a queue of women to choose from.

* * *

Zoe, obviously, was full of approval for the idea and ran in the next day shrieking, ‘I'm coming to stay with you for Christmas, Lauren!'

From the doorway, her father smiled and raised his dark eyebrows. There was no need for any other statement.

As the days until Christmas flew by, excitement in the creche increased. And once she reached home each evening, Lauren spent most of her time preparing for it.

She was determined Zoe would have the best Christmas yet. After all, she wouldn't remember those with her mother. She'd been too young. This was going to be one she would remember for ever.

The
town shops stayed open until late every Thursday during December and Lauren toured them, buying decorations and masses of food.

Rather late, she made a cake and iced it to resemble Father Christmas's face, complete with red hat and twirly beard.

A tree stood, potted, in the shed, ready to be brought indoors at the last minute and decorated. As for presents, she wasn't sure what to do. What was Dr Trevissick buying his daughter? Did he even have time?

Should she offer to help, or would he be offended? Maybe Clare, the pregnant neighbour, would be the one to ask, but Lauren hadn't seen her for several days. She wondered whether the baby, or babies, had arrived.

Helen made no bones about her feelings on the matter.

‘You're being most unfair to the other children, Ms Mallory, singling out one for special treatment. In this job there shouldn't be favourites. It's completely unprofessional.' Her long nostrils twitched.

‘Do you think I should invite them all home for Christmas then, Helen?'

‘In theory, yes.'

‘Rubbish!' Lauren retorted. ‘Zoe's the only child who won't be spending the day surrounded by family. Haven't you listened to them? Every child is full of which aunty, uncle,
cousin,
grandma or grandpa they're going to visit, or having to stay. At least Zoe can now join in, even if it is only about me.'

‘You're not doing that child any good at all, Ms Mallory. As my mother used to say, “It will all end in tears”.'

And probably mine,
Lauren thought regretfully, catching one small toddler as he ran past, before he tripped over the end of his trailing sock.

The creche finally closed on the twenty-third at six o'clock. But before it did, the children put on a nativity play for those of their parents who could come. Many who were on duty took their tea break then. The ten minutes it lasted was quite enough, both for the children and staff.

Every child took part, even the babies, who were cherubim with tinsel haloes above their buggies. The most placid was chosen for the crib, two four-year-olds were Joseph and Mary, while the rest were shepherds, wise men and angels. There was quite a surfeit of angels. Zoe was one of them and proved to have a clear voice and good memory, leading the carols.

The children had spent the preceding days helping the staff create costumes, crowns and wings. Lauren felt sorry for all the parents who must have been pestered with requests for bits and pieces of this and that.

On the day, the room was crowded. In the
end
Sarah left the door open into the corridor so that the overflow could cram its entrance, joined by every passing nurse or visitor.

Lucy and Emma played recorders as accompaniment. The room was darkened apart from one end as a stage, softly lit by lanterns, and the sound of tiny wavering voices soon had the audience dabbing their eyes.

When the placid baby decided to rebel and cry, it produced worried faces among the band of angels surrounding him, until Zoe knelt beside the crib and gave him a kiss. The sparkle of her tinsel halo so fascinated the infant, so that he lay, kicking, clutching her finger for the rest of the performance, evoking ooh and aahs from the whole audience.

Watching the wonder on Zoe's small face as she smiled down at the baby created a lump in Lauren's throat, too, and she felt the burn of tears behind her eyes. If only Zoe's father could see her now.

And looking across the darkened room, she saw him, hands deep in the pockets of his white coat, silhouetted in the doorway. For a moment he stood there, then as the last notes of the carol died away, he was gone.

* * *

As Dr Trevissick was off duty until the late night shift on Christmas Eve, Zoe was to arrive in time for tea that afternoon. During the
morning,
Lauren brought the tree into the lounge and started to decorate it, while she was waiting for some mince pies to cook.

When Lauren was a child living with her grandmother, after her parents' divorce, decorating the tree was a very special occasion. Lots of tinsel and sparkling baubles, along with little gingerbread figures they made together.

The box of glass baubles must still be somewhere in the loft, Lauren decided and, taking up a stepladder, went to find them.

So much clutter,
she thought, gazing round at piles of old books, a faded rug, two worn leather suitcases far too heavy ever to use, and several old shoeboxes, some of which were filled with photographs and others with letters and postcards. Her grandmother had always been such a hoarder.

Eventually, having brushed off the cobwebs, Lauren found what she was looking for—an old chocolate box tied with once-red velvet ribbon. Carefully, she carried it back down the ladder.

Unwrapping each one from its crumple of tissue paper, she placed half a dozen spun-glass coloured birds on the table beside the tree. Then, blowing the dust off each one, she hung them on its branches, where the tiny lights created a myriad rainbows glinting.

And suddenly she was a little girl again, kneeling beside her grandmother on that faded rug, watching as each bauble was placed
in
exactly the right position—knowing that when she came downstairs the following day, a pile of parcels would be waiting.

Would Zoe have the same feeling of magical excitement? she wondered.

For the seventh or eighth time that afternoon, Lauren checked Zoe's bedroom. It wasn't exactly a child's room. Would she mind? The bed was high with a wooden headboard, but Lauren had bought a new flower patterned cover for the single duvet with pillowcases to match, which brightened it up a little. The wallpaper was a pale pink stripe and the curtains a deeper shade of velvet, but the furniture was heavy, dark wood. It was next to Lauren's own room, so that if the little girl called out, she could hear her.

Just after four o'clock, when she was in the kitchen pouring jelly into a rabbit-shaped mould, the doorbell rang. Wiping her hands on a towel, Lauren went into the hall and opened the door.

Dr Trevissick stood on the step, with a rucksack slung over one shoulder and Zoe hopping up and down beside him.

‘Are we too early?' His blue eyes looked anxiously into hers. ‘You said teatime, but not what time you had your tea.' Lines crinkled upwards from his mouth as he smiled. ‘And we didn't dare to be late.'

Zoe was gazing up at the paper garlands decorating the hall, her face glowing with
delight.
‘We haven't got any shiny ones like those,' she told Lauren, tugging at the zip of her anorak. ‘Daddy did hang my paper chains in the dining-room but they didn't reach all the way, did they, Daddy?'

He ducked his head as he came inside and lowered the rucksack to the floor. ‘I hope everything's in there,' he said, giving it a doubtful look. ‘Zoe helped me pack it, and wanted her entire wardrobe included.'

‘Shall we take it upstairs, Zoe? See where you're going to sleep?'

Lauren expected Dr Trevissick to say goodbye, but when he didn't she led the way up the stairs, with him following closely.

‘Look, Daddy! There's flowers on my duvet,' the little girl shrieked. ‘Lots and lots of flowers. And a really, really grown-up bed, too.' She skipped round the room, examining everything. ‘And really, really grown-up curtains. And a grown-up cupboard with dangly golden handles.' She sat on the dressing-table stool and gazed in the mirror. ‘My bedroom at home has all baby things, hasn't it, Daddy?' She frowned at her reflection. ‘With pink rabbits on. I like these flowers best.'

Her father looked ruefully at Lauren. ‘I hadn't thought to change anything. It's the same as when she was born. Anna chose it all.'

His face became more angular when he said his wife's name.

‘Will
you stay for tea, Dr Trevissick?' Lauren asked quickly. ‘Or are you due at the hospital?'

‘Not until eight.' He hesitated for a moment. ‘And don't you think it's time we dropped the Dr Trevissick bit, Lauren? My name is Matthew.'

CHAPTER FOUR

Lauren repeated the name in her head.
Matthew.
It suited him. She realised he was looking at her intently, one eyebrow raised, in a way she was beginning to recognise.

‘I think we can drop the formalities away from work, if that's okay?'

Lauren smiled. ‘Of course, Dr Trevissick,' she said, and saw his mouth curve upwards.

Zoe was already leading the way downstairs, eager to discover more about her temporary home. Her mouth widened with pleasure when she opened the door and went into the decorated lounge.

‘Shall we make the tea now, Lauren? Daddy's very hungry.'

‘Just what I was going to suggest. Do you like mince pies?'

‘Do I, Daddy?'

‘Probably,' Matthew replied, his gaze travelling the room, taking in the sweet-
smelling
little tree with its twinkling lights and glittering glass baubles, the holly-wreathed pictures, and mantelpiece hung with swathes of pine and red ribbons. ‘Everything looks very festive,' he commented, sinking down into one of the comfortable armchairs.

‘You can have a little sleep, Daddy, while Lauren and me's getting tea. Come on, Lauren.'

Matthew threw Lauren a despairing look, which she countered with a grin and, taking Zoe with her, went into the kitchen.

‘Right, Zoe,' she said, rapidly undoing plastic containers and setting some large plates on the kitchen table. ‘Will you put these mince pies and sausage rolls out for me, while I make the sandwiches?'

Keeping a wary eye on the little girl, she buttered slices of bread and filled some with ham and tomato and the rest with cheese and pickle.

‘Do you think Daddy will like these?' Lauren asked.

Engrossed in carefully arranging sausage rolls round the edge of a plate, Zoe nodded. ‘My Daddy likes everything. So do I. The sausage has fallen out of this roll. Can I eat it?'

With everything loaded onto a tea trolley—her grandmother had always insisted on using it for visitors—Lauren wheeled it, rattling, along the uneven boards of the hall and into the lounge to find Matthew, head leaning back
against
the chair, eyes closed. All lines of tension were smoothed away from his forehead, thick dark lashes feathering his eyes, lips slightly parted, his body completely relaxed. Lauren stood in the doorway, gazing across at him, her heartbeat racing.

‘Daddy! Wake up! It's teatime!'

Slowly, he yawned, stretching his arms above his head, easing his shoulders, twisting his neck sideways and round, as his eyes opened. Then his wide mouth curved into a smile as he saw the laden tea-trolley.

‘After the lecture I had in the canteen the other week, I'm interested to see what you eat at home, Lauren.' He shook his head gravely. ‘Remind me to give you a cholesterol test sometime.'

‘Well, it is Christmas,' Lauren declared. ‘And sausage rolls and mince pies are part of the tradition.'

‘Now, little Zoe, from the crumbs around your mouth, you've been sampling already. What do you recommend?'

‘Everything! Lauren made it all.'

‘Ah, well, it must be good,' Matthew said, and began to fill his plate.

‘You have to have a serviette,' Zoe insisted, unfolding one and placing it over his long legs. ‘Look, there's Father Christmas and robins and bells and everything on them.' She gave a big sigh. ‘I like Christmas. And I really, really like having it in this house with Lauren, don't
you,
Daddy?'

Matthew didn't reply and Lauren bent her head over the teapot as she poured more into her cup, not wanting to read his expression.