All I Want For Christmas (6 page)

How must he feel, she wondered, seeing his little daughter settling in so happily here? What memories must he have of past Christmases, spent with his wife Anna and their baby? Was he thinking that this is how it might have been, if Anna hadn't died? The three of them, together, in their own home sharing the joy of Christmas?

‘May I have a slice of that sponge cake? It looks fantastic.'

Lauren realised that Matthew was speaking to her and quickly cut a slice for him, watching, fascinated, as cream covered his lips, to be licked away with a flick of his pointed tongue.

‘Delicious,' he said, somewhat muffled. ‘And now, regretfully, I'll have to go. Off to bed when Lauren tells you, Zoe, and no dragging out the time with extra-long stories.'

Zoe pushed out her lower lip and pouted. ‘It's not my bedtime yet: Daddy. Not for hours and hours.'

Matthew rose to his feet, his dark head brushing one of the silvery garlands decorating the ceiling, and he stooped to avoid it.

‘Don't stand for any fuss, Lauren.' His mouth widening into a grin. ‘Not that I think you will.'

Lauren
led the way into the hall and watched as Zoe threw her arms round his neck and gave him a kiss.

‘Make all the people better for Christmas, Daddy, won't you?'

‘I'll try,' he said, kissing the top of her silky hair.

Then, to Lauren's amazement, his hand cupped her own chin, raising her face while his lips brushed her forehead, leaving a trail that blazed her skin. The door opened, letting in a rush of freezing air, then closed swiftly again, and Matthew was gone. Lauren heard his Range Rover roar into life, before it throbbed away into the distance.

It wasn't a kiss,
she told herself.
It definitely wasn't a kiss. A mere goodbye-and-thank-you-for-having-me gesture. People do it all the time.

So why is my whole body feeling as if Matthew had just made passionate love to
me?

Zoe was already running back into the lounge to continue her tea, and Lauren slowly followed, her thoughts whirling.

I'm acting like a teenager. What on earth is the matter with me?
It wasn't a kiss.

And if it had been, she decided, there'd be a perfectly good reason. After all, she was looking after his daughter for Christmas. No wonder he was thankful. It had taken a load off his mind. He was showing his appreciation. It wasn't a kiss.

A flame of anger flared through her. Men
like
Rick did that all the time. Why should Matthew be any different?

She began to gather up the plates and cups, piling them onto the tea trolley. Cream and jam daubed Matthew's crumpled serviette. She stared at it, remembering how he'd looked, sitting so relaxed in the armchair, his lean face no longer tense and strained. Something she'd never seen before.

Leaving Zoe doing a jigsaw puzzle she'd found when in the loft, Lauren went to the kitchen to wash up and put the remaining food into containers.

Why didn't I give some to Matthew to take with him?
she thought, snapping on the plastic lids. With a long night looming, he'd probably have been glad of them to eat.

She raised her hand to her forehead, recalling the sweep of his lips across her skin, then, annoyed with herself, plunged her fingers into the frothy hot water and began to scour a plate.

* * *

‘How will Father Christmas know where I am?' Zoe asked as Lauren bathed her later that evening.

Lauren smiled down into the child's worried eyes. ‘Father Christmas knows everything,' she soothed. ‘He'll know exactly where you are.'

‘But how?' Zoe persisted, standing up to be
wrapped
in a warm towel and lifted over the side of the bath. ‘Who will tell him?'

‘The Christmas robin,' Lauren replied, gently drying the little girl's hair. ‘Every garden has a robin. Haven't you noticed? And they let Father Christmas know all that's happening.'

‘Is that why there's robins on Christmas cards? And your tree?'

‘I expect so.' Lauren picked up Zoe's pyjamas from the towel rail, then buttoned her into them.

‘Can I have the story about the snowman?' Zoe asked, sliding her feet into her slippers.

‘If you hop into bed, I'll read to you, then it's off to sleep before Father Christmas gets here.'

‘When's my Daddy coming back?'

Lauren switched on the bedside lamp and pulled back the flowered duvet. ‘Tomorrow. He's working at the hospital all night.'

Zoe wriggled down into the covers, her brown eyes troubled. ‘You won't go away, will you?'

‘Of course I won't, sweetheart. My bedroom's right next to yours.'

‘Will you leave my door open in case I have nasty dreams? They sometimes come in the night.' Zoe's fingers were clenching into the fabric of the duvet. ‘When my Daddy's not there.'

Lauren stroked the little girl's cheek. ‘Of course I will, poppet. And Daddy's not far,
only
a phone call away. Now, shall we have that story?'

She'd hardly read two pages when the phone rang. Leaving Zoe with the book, Lauren picked up the extension in her bedroom.

The voice was unexpected. Matthew's. He sounded worried.

‘Lauren, it's Zoe's presents. I've still got them in the car. I meant to bring them in when she wasn't looking, but with all the excitement, I forgot. By the time I come off duty in the morning, it's going to be too late. She'll be awake by then and devastated if Father Christmas forgets her.'

Lauren lowered her voice in case Zoe could hear. ‘It's all right, Matthew. I've made up a stocking for her. Just little things. I wasn't sure . . .'

‘That I'd even remember?' Matthew questioned, and she could imagine the hurt expression in his blue eyes. ‘You don't have a very high opinion of me, do you, Lauren?'

‘Well, you do have a lot on your mind all the time.'

‘I suppose I deserve that reply.'

Lauren's brain was already racing ahead. ‘Zoe can have her stocking first thing, then we'll have the rest of the presents round the tree later—when you get here. You can slip into the lounge and add yours while I distract her. It won't be difficult. She loves helping me
in
the kitchen.'

She heard him chuckle. ‘I guess she's making the most of it. There's not a lot of preparation with a take-away. I'll have to go. Someone's paging me. Say goodnight to Zoe for me. ‘Bye.' The phone clicked into silence.

‘Who was that?' the little girl asked, when Lauren returned.

‘Your Daddy. He phoned to say goodnight to you.'

‘But he didn't,' Zoe protested.

Lauren bit her lip. ‘One of the patients wanted him, so he had to go.'

Zoe pouted. ‘I want him. I always want him.'

Putting her arm round the child, Lauren sighed. ‘I know, sweetheart, but looking after sick people in the hospital is Daddy's job. He'd much rather be here with you, but he has to stay there instead. Now, where were we up to with the snowman story?'

Quickly distracted, Zoe turned to the page and snuggled down again while Lauren continued to read.

‘He won't forget, will he?'

‘Daddy?' Lauren asked, her mind still on the missing presents.

‘No! Father Christmas! He won't forget I'm here, will he?'

‘Of course he won't. Look, you've hung your stocking on the end of the bed. When you wake up in the morning, it should be full.'

‘Promise?'

‘Promise,'
Lauren replied. ‘Do you want me to leave the light on?'

Zoe wrinkled her nose while she thought. ‘Just this little one with the pink hood. That'll stop the nasty dreams coming.' She lifted her head from the pillow for Lauren's kiss, then said, ‘You won't shut the door, will you?'

‘Wide open, or just a bit closed?'

‘Wide, please. And your door, too. Night, night.'

It was nearly midnight before Lauren got to bed, but by the time she did the turkey was wrapped in foil and waiting in the oven, with the timer preset. In all tomorrow's excitement, it would be fatal to forget.

She mentally listed the menu she'd planned for Christmas lunch, hoping it would appeal to both Zoe and her father. Orange and grapefruit slices for starters. The turkey with all its accompaniments. A rich fruit Christmas pudding she'd made herself, and another of ice cream that Zoe might prefer. Mince pies. Assorted cheeses and biscuits and fresh fruit.

Wine was something she wasn't sure about. What would Matthew like? Rick always went for red, but she had no idea of Matthew's taste. She knew so little about him, it was difficult even to try to guess. Taking the advice of the local off-licence, she'd bought two different reds and the same of white wine. Hopefully, one of them would appeal.

And while her brain was puzzling over this,
Lauren
remembered Matthew's kiss. She was still remembering it when she finally fell asleep.

* * *

Mist hung in shrouds over the hilltops, clinging to the rough escarpments in wisps. The windscreen wipers of the car sliced to and fro, desperately trying to clear the streaming glass.

Momentarily through gathering raindrops, Lauren could see the narrow road, one side close to the towering rock, the other falling away in a tumble of scree. Then it was hidden again as the windscreen blurred.

She could hear the drone of the engine. The rhythmic swish of the wipers. The thud of puddles against the car as it travelled through them.

Beside her, she knew, was Matthew, but all she could see were his hands, white-knuckled fingers clasped round the steering wheel. She tried to turn her head to see his face, reach out to touch his hand, but it was as if her body was stone.

Words strained in her throat, hurting to be released.

The mist was thicker now, like a grey wall in front of them. She felt the car suddenly slow. Heard stones grind under its wheels, spattering.

And then a brilliance of lights blazed, slicing
into
her eyes, while the road and the hills and the rocks and the whole world spun.

Her own scream woke her, and she lay in bed, heart pounding, trying to catch her breath. A small pale face was gazing down at her, eyes wide with anxiety. Warm little fingers touched her cheek.

‘Don't cry, Lauren,' Zoe whispered. ‘I'll stay until your nasty dream's gone away. That's what my Daddy does.'

Touched, Lauren slipped her arm round the child. ‘Thank you, poppet.' The vivid horror of the nightmare still clung to her. Was this Matthew's nightmare, too? How his wife had died?

‘It's morning-time,' Zoe whispered into her ear. ‘There's a bit of sun outside your curtains.'

Lauren leaned sideways to read the clock on her bedside table. Seven forty-five. It couldn't be!

‘Merry Christmas, Zoe,' she said, pushing back the duvet and switching on the light, forcing away her dream.

The child beamed a smile, and then let out a shriek. ‘Father Christmas! My stocking! Has he been?'

In a tangle of arms and legs, she slid off the bed and out of the door. Lauren pulled on her dressing-gown and, picking up the video camera she'd loaded ready the night before, followed the child.

Zoe
was standing, her face white with excitement, staring at the bulging red felt stocking lying on the end of her bed.

‘Aren't you going to look inside?' Lauren asked.

‘Can I?'

Lauren laughed, directing the camera as she spoke. ‘Of course you can.' The stocking was tipped upside down and shaken vigorously, sending a tumble of ribboned packages over the flowered duvet. Carefully, Zoe untied the first one and peeled off the gold paper.

‘Crayons! I needed some of those. My other wax ones have all snapped.' The paper came more rapidly off the second parcel, and by the time Zoe reached the last gift, its wrappings were torn off without even looking. Watching her, Lauren wished Matthew was there to see his daughter's happiness. At least she'd caught it all on film for later.

It wasn't difficult to keep Zoe away from the Christmas tree in the lounge. As always, she was Lauren's shadow, insisting on helping with everything.

‘I'll do the tablecloth . . . I'll do the mats . . . I'll do the knives and forks and spoons . . . Ooh, I'll do the crackers.'

And all the while, the little girl's excitement and impatience grew. ‘When's my Daddy coming?' she repeated every five minutes or so, echoing Lauren's own thoughts. ‘Is it time for our special dinner soon?'

‘Daddy's
got lots to do at the hospital, Zoe,' Lauren told her. ‘And we'll eat when he arrives.'

She wondered what kind of night he'd had. The workings of the hospital were still a puzzle to her. As the crèche was her domain, there was no need to get involved in anything outside that.

She didn't even know what status Matthew held.
I really must find out,
she decided, pouring a carton of cream into a bowl and starting to whip it. Fancy working there for all these weeks and not knowing.

‘I'll do that for you, Lauren.'

Zoe's small hand closed round the handle of the whisk, and Lauren rapidly had to think of a way to distract her eager little helper.

She was just basting the turkey for its final time, when the doorbell shrilled, making her almost drop the spoon.

‘Daddy!' Zoe shrieked, sliding down from the kitchen stool and running into the hall. ‘Come and let him in.'

Hoping he wasn't laden with his daughter's presents, Lauren inched open the door, shielding the gap with her body, shivering when she met the frosty air.

‘Am I allowed inside? It's freezing out here,' Matthew enquired, the corners of his mouth tilting into a smile.

Before Lauren could reply, Zoe was already tugging back the door to fling her arms round
her
father's knees. ‘Come and see what Father Christmas put in my stocking, Daddy. Lots and lots and lots.'