Mistletoe Proposal on the Children's Ward Page 4

  Her heart gave another of those ridiculous little skips when Jamie saw her and lifted a hand in acknowledgement. Oh, for pity’s sake. She needed to get a grip.

  ‘Hey. Thanks for coming,’ she said as she reached him.

  He inclined his head. ‘How was your day?’ he asked.

  ‘Full of babies with bronchiolitis. There’s a whole bay reserved just for our RSV-positive patients, poor little loves,’ she said. ‘Though I feel even sorrier for the parents.’

  ‘Because the babies can’t tell them how they feel, and they’re tired and not eating well, and the parents are feeling utterly helpless because they can’t do anything to make their babies feel better,’ he said.

  ‘That,’ she said before she could stop herself, ‘sounds like personal experience.’

  He wrinkled his nose. ‘Observation. I did my paediatrics rotation at this time of year, and I remember what it was like.’

  But she knew she’d asked something a bit too personal. She’d better switch the subject back to work. ‘What made you become a surgeon?’ she asked.

  ‘I really enjoyed my surgical rotation,’ he said. ‘And I like working with children. Making a difference. How about you?’

  ‘It was a toss-up between obstetrics and paediatrics,’ she said. ‘Helping to bring a new life into the world—that’s so special and I loved every minute. And actually delivering a baby was so wonderful. But then I did my paediatrics rotation at Christmas, and that decided me. It’s where I feel I can make the most difference, so that’s why I chose the specialty.’ She smiled at him. ‘So. Shall we?’ She gestured to the park.

  * * *

  Jamie really didn’t want to do this.

  But he’d had the best part of two days to come up with a reasonable excuse, and he hadn’t found one. Plus, part of him wanted to be able to handle Christmas again without making his family miserable. For the last three years, he’d chosen to work over the festive season rather than join in with the family celebrations, and he used work as an excuse not to see them very often in between.

  He felt guilty for not spending time with them; but whenever he was with them, it was always so obvious how much they were trying hard not to say the wrong thing. He knew they worried about him, but he found it suffocating when they wrapped him in cotton wool. Being in a family situation reminded him so much of what he’d lost, and Christmas magnified it to the point where it was too much to handle. He knew he needed to make the effort. Just... This was going to be painful. Like picking at a scab. Bit by bit.

  Facing Christmas.

  The time of year he dreaded.

  His doubts must’ve shown on his face, because she said gently, ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

  No. He wasn’t sure at all.

  She took his hand and squeezed it briefly. ‘Look, we don’t have to walk around the Winter Festival. We can, I dunno, go back to the high street and grab something to eat, or get a takeaway and go back to mine to chill out with some old comedies on TV—and then you can meet George.’

  ‘George?’ That got his attention. He was sure Anna had said she didn’t have a partner. Or did she have a child? Was she a single mum? He hadn’t heard any rumours on the ward, but then again he always closed his ears to gossip. ‘Who’s George?’

  ‘George the Gorgeous Goldfish.’

  He looked at her, not quite sure he’d heard that correctly. ‘George is your goldfish?’

  ‘Gorgeous goldfish,’ she corrected. ‘Yes.’

  It was so incongruous that he couldn’t help smiling. ‘George the Gorgeous Goldfish,’ he repeated.

  ‘That’s right. Obviously it’s not quite like having a dog, because he doesn’t stick his chin on my knee and look up at me with big brown adoring eyes, and he doesn’t want to go for walks in the park or play ball. But I talk to him and he likes my singing.’

  Singing to a goldfish.

  That definitely wasn’t what he’d expected to hear her say.

  It was so surreal that he found himself smiling and walking into the park with her.

  And then somehow they were right in the middle of the Christmas fair, strolling up and down the path lined by little wooden pop-up shacks selling food, drink, Christmas decorations and every kind of gift you could think of, from candles to cosmetics to jewellery to hand-knitted Christmas jumpers. There were fairy lights draped over the roofs of the shacks, and garlands of greenery.

  ‘I hope you’re hungry,’ she said, ‘because I’m ravenous. I didn’t get time for lunch.’

  ‘It’s four in the afternoon,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Which is too early for dinner, but I need a Christmas cookie and a hot chocolate right now to keep my blood sugar level.’ She grinned at him. ‘Which I admit is just a terrible excuse, because I love hot chocolate and cookies.’ She found a hot drink stall, tucked her arm into his and queued up. ‘This one’s on me,’ she said.

  He accepted a coffee; she dithered about having extra cream on top of her hot chocolate, but then said, ‘No, because I’ll have another one later, laced with cream liqueur.’

  Just how long did she intend to spend at the fair? he wondered, but didn’t ask.

  Next was a cookie in the shape of a star, studded with chips of butterscotch. ‘Perfect,’ she said after the first bite. ‘You have to try this, Jamie.’ She broke off one of the arms of the star and handed it to him.

  He had no real choice but to eat it.

  When was the last time he’d eaten something and really tasted it, instead of it being simply fuel? This was delicious: buttery and sugary, zinging along his tastebuds. ‘It’s good,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And now—shopping,’ she said. ‘I need some stocking-fillers.’

  ‘You’re not buying your Secret Santa present for the ward, are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve already got that,’ she said. ‘Though you might find something here.’

  ‘But then you’ll know whose name I drew when they unwrap it,’ he pointed out.

  ‘True,’ she said. ‘OK. We’ll do this methodically. We’ll go all the way along each row and back up again, and then I’ll decide what I’m getting. I have four sisters-in-law.’

  He blinked. ‘You’re one of five?’

  ‘The middle one,’ she said. ‘Two older brothers, a younger brother and a younger sister. All married, and all with children.’

  Was it his imagination, or did a shadow just cross her face? He knew she wasn’t married and he was pretty sure she didn’t have children. But was that by choice?

  ‘And I got to be best woman at my sister Jojo’s wedding to Becky,’ she said with a smile. ‘Which was so cool. How about you?’

  ‘Youngest of three. Two older sisters,’ he said. ‘Both married with children.’

  ‘Being an aunt,’ she said, ‘is fabulous, because I get pictures drawn for me all the time and there’s always someone to play games with or read stories to or cuddle.’ She smiled. ‘We had the best family holiday ever, this summer—we all stayed at a villa in Tuscany, with Mum and Dad. And, even though we’ve got very different interests between us, we’ve also got enough in common to get on really well together. I know they always say the middle child is the peacemaker, but fortunately I don’t have to be.’

  He’d guessed right from when he’d first met Anna that she was part of a huge family; she had that confidence about her, that surety of being loved by everyone and being able to talk to anyone. She clearly adored her family, and it made Jamie feel guilty for pushing his away. He did love his parents and his sisters and his nieces and nephews; but he hated how everyone seemed to alternately tread on eggshells around him or try to jolly him into moving on. So he’d reasoned that it was easier for everyone if he tucked himself out of the way and buried himself in work, and the distance between them seemed to stretch more with every day.

 
‘Uh-huh,’ he said.

  ‘So how old are your nieces and nephews?’ she asked.

  ‘Between six and ten,’ he said. And now he felt even more guilty. Anna was clearly a very hands-on aunt. Just as Hestia had been; she’d always been happy to play games with Josh, Caitlin, Dylan and Layla, and she’d had a stock of books about ballerinas that she’d read to all four of them, saying that ballet wasn’t just for girls. She’d even taught them all some steps, and the kids had loved putting on performances on family Sunday afternoons. She’d taken them to performances, too, and they’d all been spellbound by The Nutcracker. Especially when they’d seen their auntie Hestia dancing on the stage, pirouetting and leaping.

  He’d been a hands-on uncle, too, back in those days. He’d read stories, built train tracks and done pretend tea parties with teddies. Hestia’s death had meant that the children had lost their uncle as well as their aunt, and he felt bad about that. For their sakes, he should’ve made more of an effort.

  He’d start with Christmas, he decided. This Christmas.

  He’d let Anna help him face Christmas again and get his family back; and in turn he’d help her by playing Father Christmas for the ward. OK, so he wasn’t ever going to get to the stage where he could open his heart to another partner, but he knew his family deserved much better than this. He needed to change. And he needed help to do it; on his own, he knew he’d just back away again because it was too hard to face.

  ‘Mine are a little bit younger—Will’s the oldest, at eight, and Ivy’s the baby. Literally, because she’s six months old next week,’ Anna said. ‘Mum and Dad managed to space us all two years apart, and it seems to be a tradition in my generation that you get to thirty and have a baby.’

  Except for her? There was a definite shadow in her eyes now, Jamie thought, but it felt like prying to ask. He didn’t want to hurt her, not when she was being so kind and sweet.

  She gave him a super-bright smile. ‘I’ve already bought and wrapped all their main presents so, as I said, I’m looking for stocking-fillers.’

  ‘You’ve already bought and wrapped everything? But it’s only November,’ he said.

  ‘It’s December next weekend,’ she corrected. ‘Being organised means I get to find the perfect presents without any pressure and I also have the time to wrap them. My oldest brother refuses to go shopping until the day before Christmas Eve.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘That’d drive me bananas, dealing with the heaving crowds and risking having to rethink what I’m buying because what I want is out of stock.’

  ‘So you’re a planner?’

  ‘Better believe it,’ she said with a grin. ‘I have spreadsheets, the lot. I keep a file of exactly what I’ve bought and for whom. It means I don’t accidentally buy the same thing twice for one of my nieces and nephews—or buy the same book for one of the siblings, unless it’s one that’s been loved to bits and I’m replacing it.’ She smiled. ‘Perhaps you can help me look for something.’

  Christmas shopping.

  Hestia had loved Christmas shopping. She’d loved wrapping the presents, too, all ribbons and bows and garlands. Since her death, Jamie had bought mainly gift vouchers as presents; if he had bought an actual gift, he’d done it online and chosen the ‘wrap it for me’ option rather than doing it himself.

  Now he realised how impersonal his actions must have seemed to his family, and he felt ashamed. They loved him and they missed Hestia, too. They’d all felt the loss of the little girl who hadn’t had the chance to join them. He should’ve let them grieve with him instead of pushing them away.

  ‘Perhaps you can help me, too,’ he suggested.

  She beamed. ‘I’d love to. Buying presents is my favourite thing in the world. Right. Tell me all about your nieces and nephews.’

  Uh... How did he admit that he didn’t have a clue? That he’d let so much distance creep in between himself and his family that he didn’t know what the kids were interested in any more? And children changed so much at their ages. ‘Dylan’s ten, Layla and Josh are eight, and Caitlin’s six.’

  ‘Are the girls super-girly? And do they have long hair or short?’ she asked. ‘Because hair ties and hair slides always go down well. Megan’s six and anything heart-shaped or glittery gets pounced on with absolute glee.’

  ‘Heart-shaped and glittery,’ he said. That hadn’t occurred to him. ‘I think that would be good.’

  ‘And art stuff. My nieces love paints and pens and notebooks. And books. I know they’ve got a fabulous bookstall here. Do Dylan and Josh like reading?’

  ‘I think so,’ he said carefully.

  ‘Let me show you Will’s favourite—he’s the same age as your Josh. And the bookstall people might have a good idea for something suitable for Dylan,’ she said.

  Between them, they bought bangles and hair slides and scrunchies from the accessory stall, then moved on to look at the scented candles. Anna pounced on one for her mother. ‘Look at this!’ she said gleefully. ‘Put a tealight in the middle, and the heat makes the carousel spin round with six filigree owls dangling down. My mum loves owls, so she’ll adore this.’

  He ended up with organic bath bombs and body butter for his mother and his sisters, ale from a microbrewery for his father and his brothers-in-law, books for all four nieces and nephews, a wooden duck with red Wellington boots for Caitlin, and a beautifully carved and painted wooden turtle for Layla, who he remembered loving the sea life centre when she was younger.

  ‘What do you get an eight-year-old and a ten-year-old boy?’ he asked.

  ‘Once you get them off the games console?’ she asked. ‘I’ve already bought Will one of those mini planetarium projectors. I think I saw something similar on one of the stalls earlier.’

  ‘I think Josh would like that, too,’ he said.

  ‘And I’m on the look-out for one of the magic science kits—the ones where you use all sorts of household objects to do tricks,’ she said. ‘Like adding vinegar to bicarb soda and a bit of food colouring to make lava.’

  ‘I think that would go down well with Dylan,’ Will said thoughtfully.

  Once they’d finished their shopping, she looked at him. ‘Wrapping paper?’ she asked.

  Jamie shook his head. ‘I don’t wrap.’

  She grinned. ‘Considering what you do for a living, you really can’t get away with the excuse of not being neat enough.’

  He couldn’t help smiling back. ‘There’s a big difference between surgical stitching and wrapping awkward parcels.’

  ‘Excuses, excuses, Mr Thurston,’ she teased, and made him buy beautiful gift bags and tissue paper.

  It was the first time in three years that he’d actually enjoyed something to do with Christmas. His family were all going to be in shock, he thought, when he handed over actual presents instead of the usual envelopes containing gift vouchers. But a good shock. And he might even brave going to see them after his shift on Christmas Day this year, instead of relying on his usual excuse of work. Thanks to Anna’s advice, he was pretty sure that the kids were going to love the stocking-fillers he’d bought them.

  Anna was prepared and had several foldable shopping bags in her handbag, a couple of which she lent to Jamie. The least he could do in return was offer to carry her purchases, too. And together they wandered through the fair.

  There was a huge Ferris wheel at one end, all lit up, with people queueing for a ride.

  ‘Do you want to go up on that?’ she asked.

  He nodded at their parcels. ‘Probably not with this lot.’

  But then he saw the carousel. Parents were lifting tiny children onto one of the carved wooden horses, and a fairground organ was playing Christmas songs and Christmas carols. Jamie could see the wonder on the little ones’ faces as they went round and round on the horses. If life had happened the way it was supposed to, Giselle would’ve been nearly three and the perfect
age for enjoying this.

  He was coping with this. Just.

  But then the song changed. To the one he couldn’t avoid. ‘All I Want for Christmas is You.’ The song Hestia had loved so much. She’d even got her ballet class to do a special routine to it...

  Cold stole through him, and it wasn’t just the temperature outside now the sun had set. This was a bone-deep thing. The misery was back. Big time.

  As if she noticed, she said softly, ‘Time to find dinner. What would you like?’

  ‘Anything.’

  She bit her lip. ‘Sorry. I’ve pushed you too far today, haven’t I?’

  ‘No. You’ve... It’s helped,’ he said. And it had, until he’d seen the carousel and heard that music, and loss had ripped through him again.

  ‘When I feel low,’ she said, ‘I pick things that make me feel good. Decent food—not junk, something really nutritious—music, and some fresh air. Let’s go get something to eat.’

  Again, she hadn’t pushed him to talk and she definitely wasn’t prying. But the fact that she’d admitted she felt low at times made him realise that she understood how he was feeling right now. So he followed her away from the Ferris wheel and the carousel towards the food stalls.

  ‘OK. Do you have any food allergies, and are you vegetarian?’ she asked.

  ‘No allergies, and I eat pretty much anything,’ he said.

  ‘All righty. We could have Christmas dinner in a burrito,’ she said. ‘Or a calzone with turkey, cranberry and cheese filling.’

  ‘What would you prefer?’ he asked, suddenly curious.

  ‘My go-to comfort food is macaroni cheese,’ she said. ‘But I know it’s not the best thing in the world, so I try to mix some greens and some veg in with it, to balance it out a bit.’

  ‘I don’t notice what I eat,’ he admitted. Since Hestia’s death, he’d seen food just as fuel and not as a pleasure.

  ‘My best friend made me do mindfulness,’ she said. ‘I thought it was all hype, and I admit I’ve really mocked the stuff where you’re supposed to eat a single raisin and take ages over it. It’s so extreme. But there is a point to it. If you pay attention and notice things like colour and texture and scent, it does help to ground you a bit and it takes your mind off whatever’s dragging you down. It’s a kind of breathing space.’ She shrugged. ‘Plus I happen to know a stall here where they do really, really excellent macaroni cheese.’