Never Kiss a Man in a Christmas Sweater

Leah listened to her spluttering, and fixed her with a no-nonsense amber stare.

“Of course you want to see him, Maggie,” she said firmly. “Why ever else have you been hanging round here for the last three hours? It certainly wasn’t for the coffee.”

Chapter 6

“I could hire a nurse,” said Rob, frowning at his still doped brother.

“Well, make it a hot one…” Marco mumbled in reply, his eyes slowly focusing on Maggie, who was lurking in the doorway, leaning on the frame and looking decidedly uncomfortable being there at all. His eyes were still a little fuzzy, and she looked like a giant blob of red hair stuck on top of a body.

“No – we’re going to find the nastiest, meanest, ugliest nurse in Britain,” added Leah, who was sitting at the end of the bed looking at his medical chart. “It says right here that you need someone over 70 with facial warts.”

“Hey – I have a generous spirit when it comes to women,” answered Marco, struggling with the remote control to his bed until he was semi-upright. “I could find that hot. I could find anything hot right now, I’m on so many drugs. Maggie – that’s your name right? Come on in. How’s your ass?”

She walked slowly into the room, trying to ignore Leah’s little snigger at the question, and sat carefully down on the spare chair next to him. He was wearing a puke-green hospital gown that was way too small for him, and he certainly wasn’t glowing any more. He was hooked up to various beepy machines, and had a drip attached to his arm by one of those horrible spiky things that always made her cringe. She could see the outline of his plaster-cast leg beneath the sheet, which was equally cringey. The crash hadn’t been her fault – but she still felt guilty.

“My ‘ass’ is wonderful, thank you,” she replied, placing one hand on the edge of the bed. He quickly covered it with one of his own, luckily not the one with the spiky thing in it. “How’s yours?”

“It’s hanging out of this gown, for one thing…hey, Maggie? Thanks for sticking around. Thanks for calling these guys. And I’m so sorry about the accident. I’m glad it’s me who ended up here, not you.”

“So am I,” she said, linking her fingers into his and giving them a quick squeeze. She’d been aiming for friendly and reassuring, but found herself in such a tight grip that it started to feel entirely different. Maggie tried to pull her hand away, but he held on, and winked at her as she struggled. His eyes were clouded with pain and drugs, but they still managed to have enough sparkle to make her tummy contract. She remembered those eyes so well from his visit to the shop. The way they looked at her for just a little bit too long; the way they’d made her feel exposed and cornered and just a little bit gooey inside.

It wasn’t just the eyes, of course. The face was pretty gorgeous as well. The wide smiling mouth; the cheekbones. The ridiculously impressive arms bulking out of the green gown. It was very inappropriate to notice such things at the side of a hospital bed – but she wasn’t blind. Or dead. Just very, very…jittery. Yes. That would be the word. Not horny at all – that would be sick, under the circumstances, and she wasn’t sure she’d recognise it even if it was true. She was just…jittery. In some very strange places.

“Maybe you could be my nurse,” said Marco, grinning at her, a flash of brilliance on a pain-wracked face.

“She’s not ugly enough,” interjected Leah, looking up from charts she couldn’t even understand.

Hmm, Leah thought. Medical charts, I don’t understand. But the way Marco’s looking at Maggie, and the way Maggie’s trying so hard not to look back at him? That, I do understand. Leah switched her narrow-eyed gaze over to Rob, and saw from the one quizzically raised eyebrow that he’d noticed too. For anyone who knew Marco, it was hard to miss.

Leah snapped the file shut, and leaned back in the chair. She loved it when a plan came together. Now she just had to convince everyone else she was Hannibal Smith, and get started on that imaginary cigar.

Chapter 7

Maggie’s living room had been transformed into a scene from Casualty. Normally spacious, with high ceilings and a huge bay window that flooded it with light, the whole space was now dominated by a recliner chair and a hospital-type bed.

A hospital-type bed that Leah was busy decorating with tinsel, looping the strands around the rails and making small coo-ing noises as she stood back and took in the overall effect.

“What do you think?” she said, glancing up at Maggie, and gesturing at the bed in a ‘ta-da!’ gesture.

I think, said Maggie to herself – completely silently – that I’ve made some kind of terrible mistake. I think I want my house back. I think I’m just not a nice enough person to do this.

“I think,” she said out loud, “that I feel a very large gin and tonic coming on.”

“Ha! I am so jealous…just wait til I’ve popped this one out, and I’ll be back to visit – me and you will go and paint the town red, Maggie!”

Maggie couldn’t help but smile at the idea. There was something about Leah – something infectiously happy – that was hard to resist. In fact, it was all because of that infectious quality that her beautiful Victorian cottage living room had been hi-jacked at all. That and – just possibly, she had to concede – the fact that she did give at least a teeny tiny Christmas fig about what happened to Marco Cavelli. The Hot Papa from the Park. The Man with the Tux. The idiot who’d crashed his way into her life – and now, apparently, taken it over.

It was five days since the accident, and two days since Leah had turned up at Ellen’s Empire bearing a huge bouquet of white roses, and an equally huge box of very posh chocolates. Rob had come in first, opening the door with its customary jingle, and they’d found Maggie sweeping up. As usual. Specifically she was trying to get at a card of hooks and eyes she’d dropped behind the sewing machine.

There was a tape measure draped around her neck, and her hair was swept up into a wild bun. Tiny strands of ivory cotton were stuck like linty limpets to the front of her black T-shirt, and she’d tied a ribbon made of discarded satin around her wrist to remind her to buy milk on the way home. It was her version of writing a note on the back of her hand.

“Wow,” said Leah, smiling at her, “you look like Cinderella.”

“And you’re my fairy godmother?” replied Maggie, propping the brush up against the wall and walking forward to take the gifts. She instinctively sniffed at the flowers, and was rewarded with a deep, decadent whoosh of rosy gorgeousness going up her nose. One of her favourite smells ever.

“Depends on your point of view,” added Rob, looking around the ultra-feminine shop with the air of a sea creature stranded in the Sahara Desert. “If you listen to her long enough, the wicked stepmother starts coming more to mind…”

Leah made a fake-outraged harrumph and poked him in the stomach, just as the door to the fitting room opened. Out of it walked Lucy Allsop, wearing one of the most beautiful dresses Maggie had ever worked on.

Lucy was tall and slender with deep brown hair and sunkissed skin, and her dress fitted her like…well, like it had been made just for her. Which it had, with a great deal of care. The A-line shape skimmed over her slim waist, a v-neck hinted at curves but stayed within the boundaries of classy, and the whole gown was covered in lace applique. The arms and the back were made of sheer lace that gave it all a vintage feel, and Lucy’s colouring made her one of those rare brides who could pull off pure white without a hint of anaemia.

She looked absolutely stunning – and also a little stunned, as she emerged into a room to be confronted by a heavily pregnant woman who’d need the world’s biggest frock, and her devastatingly attractive husband.

“Oh my gosh!” said Leah, breaking the ice and scurrying over towards her, “you look completely gorgeous – like a foxy Kate Middleton!”

“Umm…thank you?” replied Lucy, running her hands nervously over the lace. “You don’t think it’s a bit…tight?”

Maggie’s heart sank at the words. She’d heard variations on them many times before. Always from jittery brides who secretly wanted nothing more in the world than a six pack of Wagon Wheels, terrified that they’d made some terrible couture cock-up, freaking out about the whole thing. It was rarely about the dress itself –more about the impending life-changing event. She might be a dressmaker, but she also sidelined as life coach, best friend and anxiety management expert.

Lucy, in particular, was under pressure – from her own parents, from in-laws, from the huge wedding that had grown from a family gathering into a huge, sprawling mass of a thing. She’d completely lost control of it all, and several of the recent fittings had been accompanied by tears, and on one occasion a bottle of emergency Prosecco.

“No, no, no! It’s perfect – you’re perfect – everything about it is perfect, and you’re going to have the most perfect day!” gushed Leah, looking at Rob for back-up. Leah’s personality was huge, but Maggie had noticed how often she involved her husband in her conversations – he seemed to be her other half in pretty much every way.

“You look wonderful,” said Rob on cue, the American accent making Lucy’s eyebrows pop up a fraction of an inch. “And whoever the lucky guy is, he’s going to be lost for words when he sees you walking down the aisle.”

Lucy stared at him for a moment, a slow blush managing to creep its way up her cheeks, and nodded.

“Good. That was the idea. Maggie, I’ll just go back in and try on some of the jewellery, okay?”

“Lovely – I’ll be in in a few minutes to help you out of it. And they’re right Lucy – you look fantastic. You and the dress are both breathtaking.”

Lucy gave her a small, sad smile, then flicked one more glance in the direction of Rob – tall, dark, glamorous and pretty hard not to look at – before retreating back into the fitting room, apparently reassured. Phew, thought Maggie. Good save.

She laid the flowers and chocolates down next to the Christmas tree – the one Luca had been so fascinated with – and walked back to her unexpected guests.

“Thanks for that,” she said, tucking her always-straying red hair back behind her ears. “Lucy’s had a hard time. And the brides…well, they get nervous.”

“I remember,” replied Leah. “I felt exactly the same. The lady who made my dress – second time round, the first dress was as much of a disaster as the wedding I never quite made it to - was near to a breakdown by the time I’d finished with all my whinging – I was so desperate for it all to be perfect.”

Maggie had the bare bones of their story now, told in fits and starts by Leah, Rob and his brother: Leah had been all set for a fairy tale wedding of her own, on Christmas Eve three years ago, until she found her fiancé in a deeply compromising position with one of the bridesmaids. She’d driven away in horror, suffered a very serendipitous vehicle malfunction, and ended up stranded in a snow storm outside Rob’s cottage in Scotland – still wearing the dress. The rest, thought Maggie, taking in the giant tummy and the magnificently happy woman who wielded it, was very romantic history.

“You’d have looked perfect to me if you’d walked into the room wearing a clown outfit, with a big red nose and huge shoes,” said Rob, giving her a smile that would have made every woman in a three-mile radius melt a little inside. “Even if you’d sprayed my face with water from a fake flower.”

God. They were just so in love, thought Maggie. In a way she’d never, ever experienced. The irony wasn’t lost on her – the way she made her living creating beautiful dresses for women about to marry their great loves. She’d never been married. Never even been in love. Never experienced that contented glow that Leah radiated, enjoying a pregnancy rather than being ashamed of it; with a deeply committed man beside her side every step of the way, instead of an embarrassed and terrified 17-year-old kid who was doing his best but was really still a child himself. It was like looking into a different world.

“How is he?” asked Maggie, a little abruptly. She needed to break the spell. Stop feeling sorry for herself. Help Lucy out of the dress. Go and buy milk. Continue to go about a life that might not be all hearts and flowers, but was perfectly satisfactory, thank you very much.

“Good,” replied Leah, finally dragging her eyes away from her husband. “He’s coming out in a couple of days. We’ve got to head back up to Scotland soon to carry on arranging the Christening, and hopefully he’ll be able to follow us up in time for Christmas Eve. He just needs a bit of TLC between now and then and he’ll be fine – the doctor’s say for the first three weeks, he should try and stay put and recuperate so he’s ready to travel. In fact, that’s kind of why we’re here…”

And somehow – from the start of that conversation – Maggie had found her life and her home turned completely upside down and inside out.

At first she’d said no. And at second, and at third, and at fourth. But somehow, somehow, she’d been convinced. Leah’s approach had been emotional, predictably enough. Marco didn’t really know anyone here; he needed company, and – the big finale – she, Leah, heavily preggers and distressed as she was, just wouldn’t feel safe leaving him in the hands of a stranger. If it wasn’t for the impending arrival of Baby Bella, and needing to look after Luca, and the Christening, she’d have stayed herself – and she couldn’t bear the thought of poor, lonely Marco being abandoned to some unfamiliar Nurse Ratched figure.

Maggie had listened to it all, knowing she was being manipulated, but grudgingly admiring the way it was being done. Then Rob had started in, with a lot more common sense. It would only be for a few of weeks. They could pay for anything she needed – equipment, extra care if necessary, a vehicle big enough for the wheelchair. Marco wasn’t used to being laid low, and was likely to need a firm hand – he’d be trying to do way too much too soon, and he already knew Maggie. Felt responsible for what had happened. Would be less likely to ignore her advice than he would hired help. They could also compensate her financially if it affected her work, pay her whatever the going rate was.

It was at that point she’d held up her hands, accidentally throwing the tape measure over one shoulder, and said: “Enough! I’ve heard enough. Leah, lovely as you are, I can recognise bullshit when I hear it. And Rob – I’m not after money. I only have one final dress to sort out before Christmas so I won’t be losing work. The issue here is…well, I have a daughter at home, I have a father who’s not as young as he was. I have responsibilities. I have a life of my own.”

At least some of that was a lie, she knew even as she said it. Ellen was way too busy to need her, and her dad was 68, fit as a fiddle, and had a better social calendar than both of them put together. As for her own life…she could pretty much jot down her engagements on the back of a matchbox, once she removed work. So, what was the real reason? Did she even have the answer herself?

“I’m really sorry for what happened to Marco, but I’m not sure I’m the right person to be helping him out in his hour of need. I’m not a nanny – I’m a dressmaker. And what makes you think he’ll want to stay with me anyway? He was looking for a hot nurse last time I saw him! What makes you think he’ll listen to a word I’ll say?”

Rob and Leah looked at each other, and to Maggie’s surprise it was Rob who replied.

“I just have a feeling about it,” he said. “That he’ll get better quicker if he’s with someone he knows – if he’s with you. And I’ve learned over the years to trust my instincts. I’m asking you to trust them as well.”

Chapter 8

And so it had come to pass, against all her better judgment, that Marco Cavelli was to be her unexpected houseguest for the next few weeks.

Maggie had half hoped that Ellen would object, and give her the perfect excuse to say no – but once her daughter had stopped laughing, she was all in favour of the idea.

“It’ll give you something to do,” she’d said, “other than drink gin and watch Christmas cooking shows. Last year’s obsession with goose fat still haunts me. Now you can drink gin and watch him instead. Invite Sian round, and those women from the park. It’ll be like a Chippendales’ party. I’m fine with it as long as he stays out of my stuff.”

Her dad, Paddy, had been just as annoyingly supportive.

“It’s the Christian thing to do, love,” he’d said, “a stranger in need and all that. Especially at this time of year. Beside, it’ll keep you busy, won’t it?”

Both responses had highlighted one very unpleasant fact to Maggie: that her nearest and dearest obviously saw her as a sad, lonely being floating through life with nothing to occupy her other than work and them. The even more unpleasant fact was that they might just be right.

She’d always been secretly proud of how she’d coped with the challenges life had thrown at her. Losing her mum when she was 14. Getting pregnant not that long after. Abandoning her hope to go to University when she chose to keep the baby. The trauma of the birth and the surgery that followed it. The long, sometimes difficult years that had come after.

She’d raised her child – who had, despite her acid tongue, turned out beautifully – and had managed to make a living from what had always been a hobby. She’d kept them fed and housed and happy – mostly all on her own. She’d learned to be independent and smart and strong, looking after her dad when he needed it and making sure Ellen had everything a girl could wish for.

But now the landscape of her life was changing. Paddy was well out of his dark days, the days when he viewed life through the bottom of a glass, and Ellen…well, Ellen was starting to create the landscape of her own life. Which was good – it was the way it was supposed to be; you raise a child well enough, confident enough, capable enough, and you get rewarded by seeing them fly the nest. It was the natural rhythm of life – but one that perhaps, Maggie had to acknowledge, she hadn’t been quite prepared for.

Caring for Marco might be ever so slightly terrifying – but it would indeed keep her busy.

Leah had finally left, having hustled and bustled her way through the house making sure everything was ‘just perfect’ – which mainly seemed to involve adding Christmas decorations, riding up and down on the recliner chair while making small excited noises, and stocking the fridge with Marco’s favourite beer. She’d headed back up to Scotland with Rob and Luca, full of promises to stay in touch, giving Maggie a massive hug on the doorstep before she disappeared off into the snow.

The snow that was still falling – coating the front garden like icing on a very large cake, where it remained, pure and untouched. Not so long ago Ellen would have been out there making snowballs and ambushing passing postmen. Now, she was out at the pub, saying a fond farewell to her super-posh boyfriend Jacob and drinking cider.

Maggie looked out of the window. Looked at her watch. Almost 6pm. He was due any minute, and she had no idea what she was going to do with him. The main living room was now kitted out for him to use, and a nurse was going to come every morning to help him with his ‘personal care’. Even the words made her blush, so she hadn’t pondered that one too closely. There was a TV, she had DVDs, and there was a downstairs loo – which he’d definitely need if he drank all that beer Leah had bought. The second living room – usually draped with fabric samples, patterns and bridal magazine cuttings – had been tidied and cleared so that Maggie had her own space to retreat to.

Upstairs – due to the annoying but convenient broken leg – would be completely out of bounds for Marco. Probably a good thing – the only man Maggie had ever lived with had been her own father, and Ellen had never lived with one at all. He’d probably faint at the sight of their hoards of undies, make-up, and never-put-away tampon boxes. There’d never been any need to man-proof that part of the house, and Maggie was glad there still wasn’t. She remained convinced that one puff of testosterone would result in the whole bathroom exploding.

A few minutes after six, a car drove up outside. It was one of those boxy van-type things, and Maggie knew it had been hired for her to use, to ferry Marco around if he needed it. Her own car – a little Fiat 500 – probably wasn’t big enough for him even without the broken leg.

She watched as a man in uniform walked to the back, and pulled out a folded wheelchair. He set it up, then walked round to the side of the van and slid the doors open. Marco immediately tried to stand up, using the frame of the car for support, and she looked on as the nurse told him off, insisting instead that he waited until he could help ease him into the chair.

Marco’s face as he did it was a picture of frustration and clenched anger. Maggie bit back a smile – looked like Rob was definitely right about one thing. He was indeed going to be a difficult patient.

She jumped off the window seat and ran round to the front door, opening it wide. Luckily there were no steps, it opened right out onto the path, and she stood there with chattering teeth as her new ward was wheeled towards her, the chair making parallel tracks in the snow as it moved.

He looked a lot better than the last time she saw him, which probably wouldn’t have been difficult. The tanned skin had regained its healthy glow; his poor face was starting to heal, and he was wearing loose-fitting sweat pants rather than a puke green hospital gown. His left leg was in plaster and propped upright, and he had a laptop case resting on his knees.

His eyes met hers as he was pushed up the pathway, and he gave her a little lopsided grin that added to the goosebumps. She had the sneaky feeling this man could be coated head to toe in plaster and still make her tummy feel odd.

The nurse came to a stop outside the door, his face creased with a massive frown. It had clearly been a fun ride from the hospital for both of them.

“So,” said Marco, looking up at her, “we meet again. Any chance of a beer? My grandma back here refused to stop on the way.”

Chapter 9

Jeez, thought Marco, as he listened to that damn nurse go through his ‘patient aftercare checklist’ for the third time. The man needed to take a chill pill. He’d gone on and on and on. Explaining the meds, explaining the chair, explaining the warning signs. When to up the dosage. When to call the doctor. When to bring him to the emergency room. He talked about him as though he wasn’t there, wasn’t sitting right in front of him, wasn’t ready to stagger straight out of this nifty gadget of a recliner and whack him over the head with his crutches.

He’d had broken bones before. It was no big deal – it hurt like hell, but he’d heal. This guy, though – he was talking to Maggie as though she was about to take on the care of whole platoon of war veterans. The poor woman was looking more flustered by the second as she tried to take it all in.

He hadn’t even wanted to come here. He understood that Leah and Rob needed to leave, but he saw no reason why he couldn’t have simply gone back to his own flat. He’d have been far more comfortable with some hired help. Then, if the mood took him, he could swear, curse, bully, and generally misbehave with no consequences at all other than a mild dose of self-loathing afterwards.

He couldn’t behave like that with Maggie – it just wasn’t in him. Considering the fact that he’d only met her twice – and that on one of those occasions he was distracted by the business of going unconscious – he cared just a little bit too much about what she thought.

Even when he was lying in the hospital bed doped up on morphine, he’d been concerned about her. Worried about her injury. Mildly embarrassed that she was seeing him flat out and vulnerable. It wasn’t exactly how he’d planned to see her again.