Kitabı oku: «Twins For Christmas», sayfa 3
CHAPTER THREE
‘SO MRS MCALLISTER’S likin’ Canada, then?’
‘Aye.’ Adam glanced over his shoulder, reaching for the file on the end of Eileen’s desk, as his next patient joined him for the short walk to his consulting room. The waiting area was still full, and while the women amongst the group seemed busy with their knitting or magazines, he knew perfectly well that they’d all been discussing his business while he’d been taking Shona Legg’s blood tests.
Or, to be more accurate, they’d been comparing notes on the new arrival in the village. Emma had been here for a few days now and there was nothing like a bit of new blood to stimulate opinions.
Eileen had overheard the comment by way of greeting from the elderly woman who was moving slowly beside him. She sniffed audibly.
‘Don’t hold wi’ havin’ Christmas in foreign parts,’ he heard her mutter. ‘It’s no’ natural to be away from your home.’
Adam suppressed a sigh as Miss McClintock’s progress slowed even more as she turned her head. ‘Canada’s no’ so foreign,’ she informed Eileen. ‘And Christmas is about people, no’ places. Dr McAllister’s sister’s there and she’s having a bairn. It’s where the first Mrs McAllister should be.’
‘Come in, Joan.’ Adam closed the door firmly behind them. ‘And tell me what’s brought you here today.’
‘I’m a bit peaky is all.’
‘Oh?’ Adam smiled encouragingly but his heart was sinking. It had been, ever since that reference to the first Mrs McAllister. The title had come from the need to distinguish Catherine from the new woman with the same name—Tania. This was really what that overfull waiting room was about, wasn’t it? It had happened all those years ago, too, when he’d brought his new wife home from the bright lights of Edinburgh. Who knew what interesting piece of information he might let slip when faced with the relentless curiosity of people who’d known him all his life?
They loved him. He knew that. They’d been prepared to accept and admire Tania, too, despite her being a foreigner from the bright lights of Edinburgh, and the excitement that her pregnancy and the birth of the twins had generated had kept the older biddies happy for months. So had the tragedy of her death. They’d closed ranks around him now and anyone who might pose even the smallest threat was going to be regarded with deep suspicion.
How on earth was Emma coping with that side of village life?
‘What sort of peaky?’
Joan McClintock removed her hat. Adam obediently took it and placed it on his desk as she began unwinding her hand-knitted scarf from around her neck.
‘I don’t feel quite right,’ his patient said vaguely. ‘A wee bit giddy in my head when I stand up sometimes.’
Adam’s nod was brisk. Blood pressure first, then. Possibly an ECG to check for an arrhythmia. At the very least a review of the medications Joan was taking. It was unlikely he’d be finished within the fifteen-minute slot that Eileen would have allocated in her appointment schedule but he would have to try.
‘I saw the bairns in the square yesterday,’ Joan told him as he helped her off with her thick coat. ‘Watching the decorations go up on the tree. It’s such a blessing they don’t remember, isn’t it?’
‘Aye.’ The agreement was as terse as Adam could make it without causing offence. A warning that discussing his private life was not an option. ‘No, you don’t need to take off your cardigan, Joan. We can just roll up your sleeve for me to do your blood pressure.’
It was a blessing that his children couldn’t remember the dreadful Christmas of three years ago. Had Emma been given the story in lurid detail, as she’d done her chores in the village over the last few days? December wasn’t just about a season of goodwill in Braeburn. It marked the season of remembrance for Tania McAllister.
His mother was lucky she was in Canada. She was getting a reprieve from being the unspoken centre of attention when family was being celebrated. Away from a village where Christmas had a distinct flavour of being a shrine to someone who had been elevated to the status of a saint.
Dear Lord … if they only knew the truth …
But he hadn’t known so why should they? Oh, they’d all seen how she’d escaped the village more and more often but, while eyebrows had been raised about her time away from the children, it had been accepted as part of a glamorous woman’s life and it had been forgiven and forgotten after her tragic death.
What none of them knew was that she probably hadn’t been alone on any of those trips away.
He’d only found out because fate had stepped in and provided the evidence and Adam had made sure that the scandalous information had gone no further.
Maybe that was the real blessing here. That the village—and therefore his children—would never know.
It was his burden and that was only fair, wasn’t it? If he’d been a better husband, Tania wouldn’t have needed anyone else. And it was a burden he was getting used to carrying. In many ways it was getting easier and he could hope that some time in the future he’d be able to cope with this particular time of year. Enjoying it was too much to ever hope for but another few weeks and things could get back to normal. A normality he would never have chosen, of course, but he could live with it.
He had no choice.
‘That English lassie was wi’ them.’ Joan only just managed to wait until Adam was removing the stethoscope from his ears. ‘I hear she’s made friends with Caitlin McMurray at the school?’
His grunt was intended to express a lack of interest in his temporary nanny’s social life. Why did some people assume that a monosyllabic response simply needed more effort on their part?
‘I hear she’s been singing.’
‘Aye.’ Adam was still having difficulty getting used to the sound of Emma singing. She did it all the time. When she was busy with some mundane task, like doing the dishes or sorting laundry, and a session of songs with the children was already a favourite part of their evening routine. She probably thought the nursery wing was far enough away from the rest of the house for him not to notice but she was wrong. He’d heard her late last night, too, well after the children were sound asleep. Alone in her room, playing her guitar and singing softly.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like the sound. It was just … different. Nothing like normal.
‘She’s no’ a teacher.’ Joan clicked her tongue. ‘What’s she doing at the school every day?’
It was the tone that did it. Adam was jolted out of his automatic defence mechanisms by the unexpected urge to defend his new employee. ‘She has been a music teacher and she plays the guitar. The school’s piano is apparently broken and the children want to learn carols. Now … stand up, please, Joan. I’m going to take your blood pressure again to see if position makes any difference.’
Joan levered her ample frame out of the chair. ‘We knew about the piano. The committee’s talking about whether to use the hall fund to replace it, but if we don’t fix the hall it’s going to get condemned and what would we do without the village hall? Where would the children put on their Christmas play?’
Adam resorted to his customary grunt and put the earpieces of his stethoscope into place to signal an end to the conversation. As he held the disc over Joan’s elbow and pumped up the cuff, he took a quick glance at the clock on his wall and remembered the number of people in the waiting room.
It was going to be a long day.
The conversation stopped as soon as Emma entered the general store that was between the greengrocer and the bakery. She lifted her chin and put on her brightest smile.
‘Good morning. I’m looking for some coloured paper. Do you have the kind that’s sticky on the back?’
The blank stare made Emma reconsider her decision to shop in the village instead of driving for half an hour to get to the nearest larger town. It wasn’t easy to keep the smile on her face.
‘I want to make paper chains,’ she explained. ‘For Christmas decorations.’
The women exchanged heavily significant glances.
‘Christmas decorations?’ one of them murmured. ‘In Dr McAllister’s hoose?’
The subtext was in capital letters. You couldn’t really celebrate Christmas in the McAllister house. Not without being duly reluctant anyway. Even the children were all too aware of that and it wasn’t fair. She’d taken them to watch the big tree in the square being decorated yesterday and Poppy’s eyes had been huge.
‘I love Christmas trees,’ she’d whispered. ‘They’re so pretty.’
‘We’ll make your Christmas tree just as pretty at home, you’ll see.’
‘We don’t have a tree at home,’ Oliver had said. ‘Gran says it’s because it makes Dad sad.’
‘It makes me sad,’ Poppy had said, ‘not having a tree.’
Emma had lain awake last night, mulling this over. She was here for the children, wasn’t she? And she was here for Christmas.
And Christmas was for children.
It was a no-brainer, really. Surely she could find a way to persuade the taciturn Dr McAllister to put up with a few decorations? When Catherine had called from Canada early that morning to talk to the children before they went off to school, Emma had gathered her courage and asked quietly if it would be such a terrible thing to do.
‘It would be the best thing to do,’ Catherine had assured her. ‘It’s no guid for anyone, being stuck in the past. I’ve tried but …’ The sigh said it all. ‘Maybe you’ll succeed, pet. He can’t afford to chase you away, can he? Not before Christmas, anyway.’
The tone that suggested it wouldn’t be an easy task was being heavily underlined by the shocked look these women were now sharing.
‘It’s for Poppy and Oliver,’ Emma said firmly. ‘They’ve been making decorations at school and they want to make some at home, too. Paper chains are what I always made when I was their age.’
The mention of the children made one of the women nod. ‘Aye,’ she sighed. ‘It should be all about the bairns, shouldn’t it?’
‘The paper’s over yon,’ the shopkeeper told Emma. ‘Beside the magazines.’
The conversation didn’t stop this time as she returned to the counter.
‘Poor man,’ one was saying. ‘To lose the love of his life so young.’
‘Like a princess, she was,’ another agreed. ‘Always so well dressed.’
Emma felt the collective scrutiny of her jeans and oversized jumper beneath her puffy anorak and she was perversely delighted that she was wearing her Tibetan knitted hat with its rainbow stripes and ear covers that trailed into long tails she hadn’t bothered tying. That would really give them something to disapprove of at length as soon as she went out the door.
Her bravado faded as she picked up the guitar case she’d left by the umbrella stand at the shop door and went out into the chilly, grey afternoon, however. If making a paper chain or two was such a big deal, maybe she was only going to make things worse? How happy would the children be if their father was even more upset by someone who wasn’t prepared to spend Christmas in a kind of muted mourning?
The Christmas tree in the square had taken days to decorate but it was looking magnificent now, with big, coloured lights and enormous red and silver baubles. Despite the cold, Emma perched on a bench near the church. She had half an hour before she was due at school. Checking her watch, she made a quick calculation. They were about eight hours behind Californian time and that meant that Sharon was probably at home. She hit the speed dial.
‘Emma … I was just thinking about you. Is it snowing in Scotland?’
‘Feels like it could be any second. I’m in the village square and it’s absolutely freezing.’
‘Ohh … I’m homesick. It’s too warm to be Christmastime here. It’s just wrong. But … you shouldn’t be sitting out in the cold. Go and find somewhere warm, for heaven’s sake. You have to take care of yourself.’
‘I’m fine. It’s too cold for bugs to survive here and my immune system is pretty much back to full power. I’m just killing some time before I go to the school for carol practice.’
Sharon laughed. ‘I got your email. I can’t believe you’ve got involved with village life that fast. No … on second thoughts, it doesn’t surprise me at all. You’ll be starring in the Christmas pantomime by next week.’
‘No. That’s Ollie and Poppy. They’ve been chosen to be Joseph and Mary for the school nativity play. They’re so excited. I’m going to have to make costumes for them.’
‘Uh-oh … Do they know you can’t sew?’
Emma laughed. ‘No. They don’t even know I can’t cook yet. Their gran left so much food in the freezer I’ve been able to keep my lack of talent well hidden.’
‘Imagine if you gave the only doctor in town food poisoning?’
‘Hey … that only happened once. I give chicken a wide berth now.’
‘Good thinking. He wouldn’t be happy.’
‘He’s not happy anyway. Do you know I haven’t seen him smile once yet?’
‘He’s Scottish. He’s supposed to be dour.’
‘He still wears his wedding ring and it’s three years since his wife died.’
‘Hmm. He must have loved her.’
‘Who wouldn’t? From what I’ve heard, she was either a princess, an angel or some kind of saint.’
‘Nobody’s that perfect. People just forget the bad stuff when they’re dead.’
Emma smiled but couldn’t help wondering if Sharon would forget about the food poisoning incident if …
‘Oh, my God … what is that horrendous noise?’
Laughter chased away the dark thought. ‘There’s an old guy in a kilt near the Christmas tree. He’s warming up his bagpipes.’
‘What? Sounds like a tribe of donkeys braying.’
‘No. That’s even worse. You should hear Jemima waking us all up in the mornings. She’s very cute but remind me that I never want a donkey as a pet in the future, will you?’
‘What was that? I can hardly hear you.’
‘I’d better go, Sharon. I’m due at school. Talk soon. Love you.’
The piper was playing a real tune by the time Emma tucked her phone into her pocket and, instead of the brisk walk she had intended to get her circulation moving again, she sat there and listened for a minute.
It was such an evocative sound with a haunting edge that was a song of what … courage? Loneliness?
Maybe it was just the quintessential Scottishness of it but it made her think of Adam McAllister.
Did he ever wear a kilt?
The notion gave her an odd curl somewhere deep in her belly.
What was it about men in kilts that could be such a sexy image?
Or was it the image of Adam in the attire that was making her feel a little odd?
It was easy to dismiss such a ridiculous idea because something else was happening in her head.
Or maybe her heart.
Perhaps it was the Christmas tree she was looking at in combination with the haunting music. Or maybe it had something to do with that moment in her phone call to Sharon when she’d wondered if her friend would only remember the good things.
Whatever it was, Emma was facing the realisation that this could possibly be the last Christmas she would ever have.
And she was going to be sharing it with children who had no memory of what a happy, family Christmas should be all about.
With a man who couldn’t see how precious life was and how you had to catch joy—not shut it out or allow it to be dimmed by shadows.
The fey notion that fate had sent her here for a reason suddenly made sense. If this was going to be her last Christmas, how lucky was she that she could share it with Poppy and Oliver?
She was going to make this the best Christmas ever.
Starting with paper chains.
CHAPTER FOUR
FLIGHTS OF FANCY first thing in the morning were a bit much but Emma seemed to have no control over this one.
Here she was, standing by the kitchen bench, breaking eggs, and a single glance over her shoulder to where the man of the house was having his breakfast had been enough to trigger it.
She could see Adam McAllister wearing a kilt. With his hair even longer than the current shaggy style so that dark, tangled waves kissed his shoulders. Standing in solitary splendour on the top of a hill, with a set of bagpipes tucked under his arm, offering a mournful lament to the universe. It was almost enough to bring a tear to her eyes. She certainly had to stifle a sigh.
In fact, Adam was wearing a dark jumper over his shirt and tie, buttering his toast and adding marmalade, just like any normal mortal. There was no excuse for the words that popped out of Emma’s mouth.
‘Is there a McAllister tartan?’
‘What?’ Adam’s hand stopped halfway towards his mug of tea. He sounded both impatient and bewildered.
Emma made herself walk to the fridge to get some milk for the eggs but she couldn’t look at Adam. She’d woken up a little nervous that this was the start of the weekend and she’d be seeing a lot more of the children’s father. She’d been hoping to impress him by how well she’d settled into this new job but she’d obviously annoyed him by asking a stupid question.
‘It’s just that I saw a man playing the bagpipes in the village yesterday and he was wearing a kilt. I know that the colours and patterns vary according to clan and I just wondered … Oh, help. Now she was prattling on. ‘If, you know, you had one for your family.’
‘Of course we do.’
‘Oh …’ Emma waited but that seemed to be the end to the conversation. ‘That’s nice.’ She poured milk into the bowl of eggs and started whisking them. The silence stretched on.
‘We’re a branch of Clan Donald,’ Adam said, with an air of having realised he might have been rude in giving such a terse response. ‘The tartan’s red and green with white stripes and a little bit of royal blue.’
‘Sounds lovely.’ Emma pressed her lips together but the question refused to stay unspoken. ‘Do you ever wear a kilt?’
‘Only for weddings.’ She could feel Adam glaring at her back. ‘And funerals.’
Oh …man. She took a deep breath. This was going to be a long weekend. ‘Would you like some scrambled eggs? I’m making them for Poppy and Ollie.’
‘No.’ Adam’s chair scraped as he pushed it back. ‘I’m due at the medical centre. We have a Saturday morning clinic until eleven and then I’ve got my house calls to make.’ Reaching for the crust of toast he’d left on his plate, Adam divided it and gave a piece to each of the dogs, who were flanking his chair. The action was as automatic as picking up his napkin to wipe his mouth and it made Emma feel better.
There was kindness lurking under that gruff exterior, wasn’t there?
She almost changed her mind as he went to the kitchen door and raised his voice.
‘Poppy—are you out of those pyjamas yet? Oliver—hurry up and find your chanter and don’t forget your music book this time.’
He turned back to pick up the coat draped over the arm of the old couch near the fire. ‘Do you know where you’re taking them?’
‘Yes.’ Emma’s nod was confident. ‘I drop Ollie at Mr McTavish’s house at nine o’clock, take Poppy to her dance class at the hall for nine-thirty, go back to get Ollie at ten and we pick up Poppy at ten-thirty.’
Adam gave a single nod. ‘Good.’
‘I thought we’d go into the village after that. We can see if they’ve finished decorating the big tree and get some fresh bread to go with our soup for lunch. Will you be back by then?’
‘I don’t know.’ In his coat now, Adam reached for the leather doctor’s bag that had probably been his father’s before him. ‘If I am, you can have the afternoon off. And tomorrow, of course, being Sunday.’
‘But what would you do with the children if you got a call?’
‘They come in the car with me. They’re used to it.’
‘I don’t need a day off,’ Emma told him. ‘I’m loving being with the children.’
Adam paused en route to the door and the look Emma received was one of surprise. Had she sounded too enthusiastic perhaps?
Needy even?
Or maybe he thought it was some sort of rebuke directed at how little time he seemed to spend with his children.
Whatever was going on behind that dark, unreadable gaze, the eye contact made Emma’s heart skip a beat. How could just a look feel like a physical touch?
It went on for long enough to make her start feeling a little peculiar and maybe he would have held her gaze even longer because Emma found herself unable to look away, but then the children burst into the room. Ollie had an instrument that looked like a recorder in one hand and a very dog-eared book in the other.
‘I found them, Dad. They were under my bed.’
Poppy was right behind him. ‘And I’m all dressed now. I just need Emma to do my hair.’ Her face fell when she saw the bag in her father’s hand. ‘Are you going out now?’
‘You know I have to work on Saturday mornings, love.’
Emma’s gaze had been drawn straight back to Adam’s face so she could see the softening as he looked down at his children. There was even a curl to his mouth that most would probably label as a smile but it wasn’t a real smile. Had his children ever seen his eyes crinkle with happiness or basked in the joy of hearing him laugh aloud?
‘I’ll be back this afternoon,’ he said. ‘We can take the dogs for a walk if it stops raining and see if there’s enough ice on the pond to go skating.’
His son’s hair got ruffled and Poppy got a kiss on the top of her head and then he was gone. The children—and the dogs—were left staring forlornly after him.
‘Who wants eggs?’ Emma asked brightly.
‘Me. I love eggs.’ Poppy climbed up onto a chair.
‘I don’t.’ Oliver kicked his chair leg before sitting down. ‘I think they’re icky.’
‘Icky eggs.’ Poppy giggled but then cast a doubtful look towards the pan Emma was stirring.
‘That’s only because you haven’t tried my special scrambled eggs,’ Emma said firmly. ‘They’re from your very own hens and they look yummy. I’m going to have some too and then we’re going to get our skates on and get you to your classes on time.’
Poppy frowned. ‘I don’t think I can dance with my skates on.’
Emma laughed. ‘It means that we need to be quick.’ She put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Poppy. ‘To go fast, like we’re pretending to be on skates.’
‘I love skating.’ Poppy picked up her fork. ‘I hope the pond is all freezed up. Will you come and have a look on our walk, too, Emma?’
The wide-eyed, hopeful look that accompanied the invitation was irresistible but Emma rapidly replayed Adam’s words in her head. He’d offered to take the children for a walk. He’d told her she could have the afternoon off. That added up to him wanting time alone with his children, didn’t it?
‘I might have some things I need to do,’ she told Poppy. ‘But you can tell me all about it later.’
Adam wasn’t home by the time the soup was hot and the crusty loaf of bread had been sliced and buttered.
‘I don’t think we’ll wait,’ Emma decided. ‘I can leave some soup on the stove to stay hot for Daddy and we’ll save him lots of bread.’
‘And a chocolate?’
‘Does Daddy like chocolate?’
‘Mmm.’ Poppy nodded her head enthusiastically but then frowned. ‘Not as much as me.’
Emma eyed the small bowl on the table. ‘You didn’t open too many doors on your calendar, did you?’
Poppy shook her head. ‘That’s Ollie’s chocolates too. Is there really one behind every door until it gets to Christmas?’
‘Sure is. Have you guys never had an Advent calendar before?’
Poppy shook her head again. ‘Jeannie told me about them at school but I didn’t believe her.’
A momentary doubt surfaced as Emma looked at the two Advent calendars now pinned to the bottom of the big corkboard, within easy reach of the children. Surely Adam wouldn’t object to them having the excitement of opening the doors to find the treat and the tiny Christmassy picture every morning?
‘Ollie? You can stop practising now. Come and have lunch.’
‘I’m going to wait for Dad.’
‘But we don’t know how long he’ll be. You must be hungry.’
Sitting on the sofa, Oliver shook his head and kept blowing on his chanter, laboriously changing his finger positions over the holes. The noise was terrible. No wonder the dogs were looking unhappy.
‘Tell you what …’ Emma had to raise her voice to be heard over the shrill notes. ‘Why don’t you have a little bit now and then some more when Dad gets home?’
Oliver appeared not to have heard the suggestion but when the telephone rang he dropped his chanter and ran to answer it. He came back scowling. ‘Dad says Mrs Jessop is having her baby and it’s coming too early so he has to stay and look after her until the ambulance comes and he might have to go into the hospital with her, too. He might not be home till teatime.’
‘Oh … Emma’s heart gave a squeeze at the small boy’s obvious disappointment. ‘We’ll just have to find something fun to do until then, won’t we?’
Oliver’s scowl deepened.
Emma tried hard to keep the children amused and cheer Oliver up. They all put wellies and coats on and took some carrots out for Jemima the donkey, who was very happy to have visitors. Emma scratched her woolly head and stroked the extraordinary ears.
‘She has beautiful eyes.’
‘She’s really clever,’ Oliver said. ‘She can undo knots. Dad says it’s no use ever tying her up.’
Poppy was being nuzzled gently.
‘She’s kissing me, Emma. See? She loves me. She’specially loves it when I ride her.’
‘Really? Does she have a saddle?’
‘You don’t need one,’ Oliver told her. ‘There’s lots of fluff to hang onto and she never goes fast.’
‘How does she know where to go?’
‘She follows me,’ Oliver said. He stood a little taller. ‘That’s why she’s so good at undoing knots. She doesn’t like being tied up because she wants to follow me. Jemima loves me, too.’
‘She’s quiet now,’ Emma observed. ‘She’s pretty loud in the mornings, isn’t she?’
‘That’s because she’s lonely,’ Poppy said sadly. ‘Donkeys need to have a friend.’
‘Can we go and look at the pond now?’
‘Do you know where it is, Ollie?’
‘Up there.’ His arm waved vaguely towards the wooded hill behind the house that separated the garden from surrounding farmland. ‘Somewhere.’
‘Hmm.’ It was tempting to take the children and dogs off for a walk but Emma had a sudden vision of them all getting lost in the Scottish highlands. She could imagine the activation of the local search and rescue team as the snow started falling thickly and what Adam’s face would be like if she put his children into such danger.
Maybe it was fortunate that the leaden sky overhead decided to release the first fat raindrops on top of them.
‘Let’s get Jemima tucked up into her nice warm stable. I’ve got something special we can do inside.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a surprise.’
It was certainly Oliver that the donkey was willing to follow. He didn’t even need to hang onto her halter as he led her into the straw-covered stable. They closed the bottom half of the door so she could see out but the mournful braying started even before they got back to the house.
‘She’s lonely again,’ Poppy said. Her bottom lip quivered.
‘Oh … look.’ Emma wanted to distract Poppy. ‘That’s a holly hedge. Let’s pick some.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s what you do at Christmas. We need branches that have lots of lovely red berries. Let’s see how quickly we can find some and get inside before it really starts raining.’
The rain was pouring down by the time they reached the warmth of the kitchen again. The dogs left muddy paw prints over the flagstone floor and curled up close to the fire that Emma stoked. She cleared the table and produced the packets of coloured paper she had purchased in the village the day before and showed them how to cut strips and make interlocking loops by sticking the ends together.
‘Do lots of different colours,’ she said. ‘And make them really long. I’ll find something to stick them up with and we’ll make the kitchen so pretty it will be a lovely surprise for when Daddy gets home.’
The task was a novelty that the children loved. The strips were a bit wobbly and the loops a variety of sizes but it didn’t detract from the overall effect as the simple decorations grew. Emma cleaned up the lunch dishes and found a big bowl to arrange the holly branches in. She sang the Christmas carol the children had never heard about the little donkey and Poppy made her sing it again and again as she tried to learn the words.
Then she searched cluttered drawers until she found some drawing pins and tape that she could use to hang the paper chains. This required some effort, moving the table and then standing on a chair on top of it but by the time daylight had faded completely they were able to stand back and admire the team effort.
Rainbow chains linked all four corners of the room, dipping between the beams to give graceful curves to the lines. The whitewashed ceiling made the colours seem even brighter and the transformation from ordinary to festive was very gratifying. Who wouldn’t love it?
The sound of singing was the last thing Adam needed when he stepped into his home after a long and difficult afternoon. The happy sound was totally inappropriate when he’d just left people who were suffering—like poor Aimee Jessop, who looked like she might lose yet another bairn.
The clock had stopped, he noted. Because he’d forgotten to wind it.
At least Bob wasn’t limping as much but it had been Emma who had decided to take him to the vet to have his dressing changed and receive instructions on how to care for the dog. Had Jim, the vet, made some comment about how it was just as well it wasn’t going to be left entirely in Adam’s hands?
And it had been Emma who’d made him feel like he wasn’t doing enough for his children, too. The way she’d said how much she loved being with them this morning. He loved being with them, too, but how many others would realise that?
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