Christmas Miracle: Their Christmas Family Miracle

She took a gulp and felt it scorch down her throat. What had it done to him, to come home and find them all there? His words had been cruel, but not as cruel as their presence must have been to him. And her own words—they’d been far more cruel, so infinitely hurtful, and there was nothing she could do to take them back.

‘What I said—’

‘Don’t. Don’t go there, Amelia. You weren’t to know. Forget it.’

But she couldn’t, and she knew she never would. She couldn’t bear the thought that she’d hurt him with her words, that their presence in his house must be tearing him apart, but there was nothing she could do about it now— the words were said, the children were sleeping upstairs, and all she could do was make sure it all went as well and smoothly as possible, and kept the children away from him so they didn’t rub salt in his wound.

‘I’m going to get on,’ she said, and she set the glass down and stood up, brushed herself off mentally and physically, and headed for the kitchen.

‘We still haven’t dealt with the decorations in here,’ he said from behind her, and she looked up at their makeshift decorations in the light fitting over the breakfast table, still half-finished and looking bedraggled and forlorn.

Damn. ‘I’m sorry, I meant to take them down,’ she said, tugging out a chair, but he just shook his head.

‘No. Leave them. The children made them.’

She stopped, one foot on the chair, the other on the table, and looked down at him.

‘But—you said it was tat. And you were right, it is.’

‘No. I’m sorry. I was just feeling rough and you took me by surprise,’ he said, master of the understatement. ‘Please, leave them. In fact, weren’t there some more bits?’

She nodded and climbed slowly down off the chair. ‘Edward put them out of the back door.’

‘Get them and put them in—finish it off. And I’ll put the wreath we bought on the front door. And then we ought to do the things you need help with, and then I’m really going to have to turn in, because I’m bushed, frankly. It’s been a long day, and I’ve had enough.’

She felt another great wave of guilt. ‘Oh, Jake—sit down, let me get you another drink. I can do everything. Please—just sit there and rest and keep me company, if you really want to help, or otherwise just go to bed. I can manage.’

He smiled wryly. ‘I’m sure you can. I get the feeling there’s not a lot you can’t manage. But I’m OK.’

And he helped her, even though he must be feeling pretty rough, because she got the distinct impression that he didn’t give up easily. So she made them both a cup of tea, and finished off the decorations in the light fitting while he put the wreath on the door. Then he sat down in the chair to drink his tea while she stuffed the turkey and wrapped the sausages in bacon, and the next time she looked he’d leant back and closed his eyes, with Rufus curled up on his lap and his legs stretched out in front of the fire. She made another batch of mince pies and peeled potatoes and carrots and trimmed the sprouts while they cooked, and then she woke him up and sent him to bed.

It was almost Christmas Day, she thought as she tiptoed into the children’s room and hung their stockings on the end of their beds. Nothing like what they’d had last year or the year before, but they were good kids and they understood, in their way, and thanks to Jake they had tiny oranges and chocolates and little bits of this and that to add to her offerings.

And at least they were alive, unlike Jake’s little boy.

She stared down at Edward. He was a little older than Ben would have been, she realised with a pang. How painful it must be for Jake, knowing that. How could she have said what she did? How did he cope with the terrible loss? How did anyone?

Edward’s face blurred, and she kissed him lightly on the cheek, snuggling the quilt up round him, then tucked Kitty in and went to check on Thomas. He didn’t have a stocking, but he was only eight months old, he didn’t even know what Christmas was yet. And at least he was in a warm, comfortable house.

They were so lucky. They could have been anywhere, and instead they were here, warm and safe—and, without Jake, it would have been so much worse. He’d done so much for them, and she’d repaid him by throwing his kindness back in his face. And not just his kindness.

If you want a son …

Tears scalded her cheeks, and she scrubbed them away. She could never take those words back, but she owed him more than she could ever repay, and she vowed to do everything in her power to make it right.

Starting with giving him a Christmas to remember …

‘Mummy—Mummy, it’s snowing!’

She opened her eyes a crack, but it was still dark—except for a strange light that filtered through the gap in the curtains.

‘Kitty, whatever’s the time?’ she whispered.

‘It’s nearly six—Mummy, get up and come and see! It’s so pretty!’

She let Kitty drag her out of bed and over to the window, and sure enough, the garden was blanketed with snow, thick and crisp and brilliant white, eerie in the moonlight.

Whatever time was it? The last thing she wanted was for the children to disturb Jake in the middle of the night! She peered at her watch anxiously. ‘Kitty, it’s only half past five!’

‘No, it’s not, it’s after, ‘cos I waited! And we’ve got stockings! Come and see!’

‘Is Edward awake?’

‘Of course I’m awake,’ her sleepy, rumpled son said as he came in. ‘She’s been whispering at me for hours! Happy Christmas, Mummy,’ he added with a smile and went into her arms, hugging her hard.

She bent her head and pressed a kiss to his hair, knowing the time for such liberties was probably numbered and enjoying it while she could, and then she scooped Kitty up and kissed her, too, and carried her back into their bedroom, closing the door to keep the noise down.

She snuggled into Amelia’s side for a moment, but then wriggled down and ran to her bed. ‘Can we open our stockings now?’ she asked excitedly.

‘All right,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘But just the stockings. Nothing under the tree until later.’ Much later!

‘Are there presents under the tree? Did you see them?’ Kitty asked, wide-eyed and eager, and Millie could have kicked herself for mentioning it.

‘I expect there might be,’ she said. Unless there have been burglars. ‘But you can’t go down and look until much, much later, in case you disturb Jake.’

And that wasn’t going to happen if she had anything to do with it.

‘How much later?’ Kitty asked, persistent to the last, and she rolled her eyes and laughed softly.

‘Half past eight,’ she said, ‘and that’s only if Jake’s awake. And if you wake him by making too much noise, then you’ll have to wait till ten,’ she added, trying to look stern.

‘Ten?’ Kitty wailed softly, and scrambled onto the bed. ‘I’ll be very, very quiet,’ she vowed. ‘Edward, don’t make a noise!’

‘I haven’t said a thing!’ he whispered indignantly, climbing onto his own bed and sliding a hand down inside his stocking. ‘You’re the one making all the noise—’

‘Stop that, or the stockings go.’

There was instant silence, broken only by the tiny squeals of excitement from Kitty and the murmured, ‘Oh, brilliant!’ from Edward when he found a page-a-day diary. He flashed her a huge smile, and she felt a lump in her throat. It was such a little thing, but since David had left he’d kept a diary every day, and she knew he was using it as a way of working through his feelings.

He was such a good kid—and Jake was right, he deserved every chance. She’d look into getting him that voice test, but she was so afraid of tempting fate, of dangling something under his nose and then having it snatched away yet again.

‘A chocolate Father Christmas!’ Kitty said in delight, delving deeper. ‘And a satsuma! Can I eat them now? Pretty please with a cherry on top?’

She sat down with a chuckle on the end of the bed and watched as her children found innocent pleasure in the simplest things. Then Edward looked up with hopeful eyes and said, ‘Can we make a snowman?’

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, Of course, when she remembered it wasn’t her garden, and she smiled ruefully.

‘We’ll have to ask Jake,’ she said.

Edward nodded and went back to his orange, peeling it meticulously and savouring it segment by segment. He was so thorough, so methodical in everything he did. So very unlike his father, who rushed into everything without thought. And out of it again. Like marriage. And fatherhood.

No, she wasn’t going to think about that now. She could hear Thomas starting to stir, and she went back and scooped him out of his cot and gave him a hug. ‘Hello, my little man!’ she crooned softly. ‘Happy Christmas. Look, Thomas—it’s snowing!’

And, lifting the curtain aside, she looked out into the garden and saw Jake standing out there with Rufus, racing around in the snow and barking his head off as he tried to bite the snowflakes, while Jake laughed at him.

She chuckled and stood there for a moment watching them. Then, as if his eyes had been drawn to hers, Jake turned and looked up and waved.

She waved back and went in to the children. ‘Jake’s awake,’ she said, ‘so I’m going to go down and make a cup of tea and get a bottle for Thomas. Why don’t you try and get back to sleep?’

‘But we have to say Happy Christmas to Jake!’ Kitty said, and ran for the stairs before Amelia could stop her. Edward followed, the two of them thundering and whooping down through the house, and she trailed after them with Thomas, hoping that the onslaught of the children wouldn’t prove to be too much for him. Especially now that she knew—

She felt the shadow of his grief fall over the day, and paused a moment to think of a little boy she’d never known and would never have the chance to meet, and the woman who should have been greeting her husband and son here in this house this morning.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘So, so sorry.’

And then she followed the others downstairs to the kitchen.

It was freezing outside, but there was something wonderful about standing in the snow while Rufus raced round like a puppy and chased the snowflakes.

And as he went back in, the children tumbled into the kitchen, eyes sparkling with excitement, and Kitty ran over to him and reached up. He bent and hugged her, feeling the warm, damp kiss land on his cheek. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she said, her arms tight around his neck for a second, then she let him go and laughed, and he looked up and met her brother’s eyes and remembered last night’s spontaneous hug and smiled at him.

‘Happy Christmas, Kitty. Happy Christmas, Edward,’ he said.

His reply was drowned out by Kitty, plucking at his sleeve and giggling. ‘You’re all snowy!’ she said. ‘Like a snowman! Can we make a snowman?’

She was jumping up and down, her enthusiasm infectious, and he grinned down at her. ‘Sure. It’s great snow for that. It’ll stick together. We can do it after we’ve opened the presents and had breakfast. Well, if that’s all right with your mother—’

He looked up and met her eyes, and felt warmth uncurl deep inside him at her smile.

‘Of course it’s all right. It’ll be fun. We can do it whenever you like. But maybe we need to get dressed first.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, it might be fun for the little cats on your pyjamas to play in the snow,’ he teased, and a soft wash of colour swept her cheeks.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, a trifle breathlessly, and he felt a totally inappropriate surge of longing.

‘Can we make a really huge one?’ Edward was asking, and Jake nodded, touched at the grin that blossomed on his usually serious young face.

‘The biggest.’

‘In the world?’ Kitty said, her eyes like saucers, and he laughed.

‘Well—maybe not quite.’

‘He’ll need a hat.’

‘I might have a ski hat he can borrow,’ Jake suggested. ‘And a scarf.’

‘And some coal for his eyes and a carrot for his nose—Mummy, have we got a carrot?’

Amelia threw up her hands and laughed. ‘Kitty, slow down! Yes, we’ve got a carrot. You watched me buy them.’

‘Awesome,’ she said. ‘So can we open the presents now? You said we had to wait till Jake was awake, but he’s awake already, so can we go and do it now, and then we can get dressed and go and build our snowman?’

Catching the look on her face, Jake intervened rapidly. ‘No, it’s too early. Let your mother have a cup of tea and feed the baby. I tell you what,’ he went on, watching their faces fall, ‘why don’t you go and see if you can guess what they are? We’ll come through in a minute.’

And, as they ran excitedly out of the room, he met Amelia’s eyes and they both let out their breath on a soft laugh.

‘Kids,’ he said, and she nodded, her smile touched with sadness. On his behalf, he realised, and wanted to hug her. Nothing to do with those crazy cat pyjamas under a baggy old jumper that made him want to peel it off over her head and unwrap her as his very own Christmas present.

He cleared his throat. ‘Right, how about that tea?’

‘Sounds great. What on earth are you doing up this early, by the way?’ she added as he went over to the kettle, and she sounded slightly amazed.

‘Making tea, letting the dog out.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear him.’

‘He didn’t make a sound, but I was awake and I wanted to see the snow.’

‘You surprise me. I wouldn’t have thought you were best friends with snow at the moment.’

He chuckled. ‘It wasn’t the snow’s fault. It was the idiot skiing up above me, but we were well off piste and if I hadn’t had an avalanche kit with airbags to help me float on the snow cloud, it would have been very different. So, not the snow at fault, just someone who didn’t know what they were doing, and anyway, it isn’t often we have a white Christmas. Besides, I was already awake.’

She made a soft sound of sympathy. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

‘On the contrary,’ he told her, pouring their tea. ‘I didn’t think I’d sleep, but actually I slept better than I have for ages.’

‘It must have been the whisky.’

‘Maybe,’ he agreed, but he knew it wasn’t.

It had been the warmth—the human warmth from having a family in a house so obviously built with families in mind. And the fact that it had been a good day, and he’d enjoyed it. Well, most of it. The supermarket had been pretty hellish, but even that had had its high points. ‘Here—’ he said, handing her some tea, ‘and there’s a bottle for the baby cooling by the sink.’

‘Oh, you star, thank you,’ she said softly, sounding stunned. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

‘I knew he’d be awake soon. I made it according to the directions, so I hope it’s all right and not too weak or strong. And it might still be a bit hot.’

‘No, it’s fine,’ she said with a smile that threatened to send him into meltdown. Damn. Last night she was ripping him to shreds, and today he just wanted to undress her and carry her off to bed.

He took a step away and pretended to check the temperature on the Aga. ‘What time do you want to put the turkey in?’

‘It needs four hours in a moderate oven.’

He frowned at her. ‘What does that mean?’ he asked, and she laughed, the soft sound running through him like teasing fingertips.

‘It means not too hot and not too cold. I’m sure it’ll be fine. We’ve got ages. Why don’t we go and see what the children are doing before they “accidentally” tear the paper?’

He chuckled and followed her, the dog trotting between them, not sure if he should be with the woman who fed him and loved him, or this new friend who’d taken him out in the magical white stuff and played with him. It occurred to Jake that he was having a good time—that, although he’d thought this would be his worst nightmare, in fact he was enjoying himself.

And that, in itself, was an amazing Christmas present.

He’d been wrong.

His presents weren’t nothing. They were thoughtfully chosen, simple but absolutely perfect. Laura’s had been extravagant, as she’d guessed, and just made her feel guilty and inadequate, and Kate’s were very simple and sweet, the children’s handmade by Megan, and an outrageous pair of frivolous lacy knickers for her to cheer her up, apparently—only she’d opened them in front of Jake and turned bright red with embarrassment and stuffed them in her pocket.

Her presents to the children had been things they needed, because there simply wasn’t the money for anything else, but his—they were just fun, and the children were delighted.

‘Oh, Mummy, look! It’s that book I wanted!’ Kitty said, eyes sparkling, and Millie looked up and met Jake’s wary eyes and smiled apologetically.

‘So it is. You’ll have to be careful with the glitter, it goes everywhere. Say—’

But she didn’t need to finish, because Kitty had thrown herself at Jake and hugged him hard. Very hard—hard enough to make him wince, but he was smiling, so she didn’t think he minded.

‘Edward, what’s that?’ she asked, watching her meticulous son peel away the last bit of wrapping and reveal his present.

‘It’s a kit to build all sorts of things—it’s brilliant. Thank you, Jake!’ her son said, and although he didn’t hug him, his eyes were shining and she could see Jake was pleased that he’d got it right.

So very, very right. ‘Thomas, look at this!’ she exclaimed, unwrapping the shape sorter and giving it to him, and he picked it up and shook it and laughed happily.

‘Tull!’ he said, and Jake’s face creased in bewilderment.

‘Tull?’

‘He thinks it’s a rattle,’ Edward explained. ‘Look, Thomas, it opens, and you can put these bits in. See this one? It’s a square. Look!’

And Thomas stared, fascinated, as the little shape went into the hole as if by magic, and Jake stared, just as fascinated, it seemed, and Millie blinked away the tears and looked back under the tree. There were still two presents there, and Kitty dived under and pulled them out.

‘This is for Rufus, and this one’s for you,’ she said, handing Millie a soft, squashy parcel.

‘Me?’ she said, horribly conscious that she hadn’t bought him anything, or made him anything or in fact done anything except make his already difficult life even harder.

She swallowed and met his eyes, and he smiled tentatively. ‘Go on, open it. It’s only silly.’

‘I haven’t—’

‘Shh. Open it.’

So she did, and when she saw the fingerless mitts that could turn into proper mittens, her eyes filled. He’d listened to what she’d said about not being able to do anything with gloves on, and he’d found her a solution.

A silly, crazy pink solution, with a matching scarf that was soft and cosy and gorgeous, and her eyes flooded with tears that she could no longer hold back.

‘You’ve made Mummy cry,’ Kitty said, staring at her, and Edward looked at her worriedly, but she dredged up a smile and scrubbed her cheeks with the heels of her hands and met Jake’s eyes.

‘I’m fine, really. Thank you, Jake. Thank you for everything.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘What about the dog’s?’

‘I hope it’s not food.’

‘It’s not food. Here, open it,’ he said, handing it to her, and she knelt up beside him and tore off the paper and her eyes filled again.

‘It’s a coat!’ she said, choked. ‘Oh, thank you, he’s been miserable in the cold and he hates the rain. Oh, that’s lovely.’

And then, because she couldn’t hold back any longer, she leant over and hugged him. Not as hard as Kitty, careful of his bruises, but hard enough that he would know she really meant it.

And he hugged her back, his arms warm and hard and strong around her, and it would have been so easy to sink into them and stay there for the rest of the day.

The rest of her life.

No!

She straightened up, blinking away fresh tears and scrambling to her feet. ‘Right, let’s put all this paper in the bin and tidy up, and then we need to get dressed, and come back down and have breakfast, and then we’ve got the world’s biggest snowman to build!’

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT WAS the most magical day.

They’d all gone upstairs to wash and dress, and Jake had called her back and asked her to help him.

‘I could do with a shower, but I don’t want to get the new cast wet and I didn’t do so well yesterday. Could you tape this bag over my arm?’

‘Of course,’ she said, putting Thomas on the floor, and he handed her the bag and some tape, and then shucked off his robe so he was standing in front of her in nothing more than snug-fitting jersey boxers that sent her heart rate rocketing. Until she saw his bruises, and they took her breath away.

‘Oh, Jake—you’re black and blue!’

He smiled wryly. ‘Tell me about it. Still, I’m alive. It could have been worse. And it’s better today.’

She wasn’t convinced, but she stuck the bag on his arm and stood back, trying not to look at him and not really succeeding, because her eyes were relentlessly drawn to his taut, well-muscled chest with its scatter of dark curls, to the strong, straight legs with their spectacular muscles and equally spectacular bruises. ‘Can you manage now?’ she asked, trying to sound businesslike and obviously failing, because his right eyebrow twitched.

‘Why?’ he asked, his voice low and his eyes dancing with mischief. ‘Are you offering to wash my back?’

‘On second thoughts,’ she said and, scooping Thomas up, she left him to it and concentrated—barely—on dressing her children and making breakfast for them all before she put Thomas down for a nap and they wrapped up warmly and went out into the snow.

The snowman was huge—probably not the biggest in the world, but huge for all that—and Jake had found his old ski hat and scarf and they’d raided the fridge for a carrot—and two sprouts for his eyes, ‘because,’ Kitty said, ‘they’re too disgusting to eat.’ Edward found a twig that looked like a pipe to stick in his mouth. Then, when the snowman was finished, standing in pride of place outside the breakfast room window so he could watch them eat, they came back inside, hung their coats in the boiler room to dry, and settled down by the fire in the drawing room to watch a film while they warmed up.

She flitted between the film and the kitchen, making sure everything was set in motion at the right time like a military operation and laying the table in the breakfast room, because, as Jake said, the dining room was too formal for having fun in. Not to mention too beautiful for Thomas to hurl his dinner across the room or for Kitty to ‘accidentally’ shoot peas off the edge of her plate for the dog to find, and anyway, it was a long way from the kitchen.

So she put out the crackers and the cutlery and the jolly red and green paper napkins with reindeer on, and a big white pillar candle they’d bought in the supermarket standing on a red plate. In between doing that and checking on the meal, she sat with her family and Jake, squeezing up next to Edward, while Thomas sat wedged between him and Jake, and Kitty had found herself a little place on Jake’s lap, with his arm round her and her head on his shoulder and her thumb in her mouth. The next time she came in he had Thomas on his lap instead, standing on his leg and trying to climb over the arm of the sofa.

‘I think he’s bored,’ Jake said softly, and Thomas looked up at her and beamed and held up his arms, and she scooped him up and hugged him.

‘Hungry too, probably.’

‘Is it lunchtime yet?’ Kitty asked hopefully. ‘I’m starving!’

‘Nearly.’

‘Can I help?’

Could he? Could she cope with him in the kitchen, that strong, hard, battered body so close to hers in the confined space?

She nearly laughed. What was she thinking about? It wasn’t confined, it was huge—but it had seemed confined this morning, while he was making her tea and she was in the pyjamas he’d teased her about and he was in a robe with melted snow on the shoulders and dripping off his hair and those curiously sexy bare feet planted squarely on the tiled floor.