Christmas Miracle. Линда Гуднайт

that seemed to dig right down inside him and tug at something long forgotten.

      It was the kids he found hardest, of course, but it was the kids he was most concerned about, because their mother was obviously struggling to hold things together. And she wasn’t coping very well with it—or maybe, he thought, reconsidering as he poked the tea bags with the spoon, she was coping very well, against atrocious odds. Whatever, a staple diet of bread and eggs wasn’t good for anyone and, as he knew from his experience with the cheese sandwich, it wasn’t even decent bread. Perfectly nutritious, no doubt, but closely related to cotton wool.

      He put the milk down and poured two glasses of filtered water for Edward and Kitty. ‘Hey, you guys, come and get your drinks,’ he said, and they ran over, Edward more slowly, Kitty skipping, head on one side in a gesture so like her mother’s he nearly laughed.

      ‘So—what are kebabs, really?’ she asked, twizzling a lock of hair with one forefinger, and he did laugh then, the sound dragged out of him almost reluctantly.

      ‘Well—there are different kinds. There’s shish kebab, which is pieces of meat on skewers, a bit like you’d put on a barbecue, or there’s doner kebab, which is like a great big sausage on a stick, and they turn it in front of a fire to cook it and slice bits off. You have both in a kind of bread pocket, with salad, and your mother’s right, the doner kebabs certainly aren’t very healthy—well, not the ones in this country. In Turkey they’re fantastic.’

      ‘They don’t sound disgusting,’ Kitty said wistfully. ‘I like sausages on sticks.’

      ‘Maybe we can get some sausages and put sticks in them,’ Edward said, and Jake realised he was the peacemaker in the family, trying to hold it all together, humouring Kitty and helping with Thomas and supporting his mother—and the thought that he should have to do all that left a great hollow in the pit of Jake’s stomach.

      No child should have to do that. He’d spent years doing that, fighting helplessly against the odds to keep it all together, and for what?

      ‘Good idea,’ he said softly. ‘We’ll get some sausages tomorrow.’ He gathered up the mugs in his right hand and limped through to the breakfast room and put them down on the table near Amelia. She looked up with a smile.

      ‘Thanks,’ she murmured, and he found his eyes drawn down to the baby, sleeping now, his chubby little face turned against her chest, arm outflung, dead to the world. A great lump in his throat threatened to choke him, and he nodded curtly, took his mug and went back to the other room, shutting the door firmly so he couldn’t hear the children’s voices.

      He couldn’t do this. It was killing him, and he couldn’t do it.

      He’d meant to sit with her, talk to her, but the children had unravelled him and he couldn’t sit there and look at them, he discovered. Not today. Not the day before Christmas Eve.

      The day his wife and son had died.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      WELL, what was that about?

      He’d come in, taken one look at her and gone.

      Because she’d sat in his chair?

      No—and he’d been looking at Thomas, not her. And had she dreamed it, or had there been a slight sheen in his eyes?

      The glitter of tears?

      No. She was being ridiculous. He just wanted to be alone. He always wanted to be alone, according to Kate, and they’d scuppered that for him, so he was making the best of a bad job and keeping out of the way.

      So why did he want to eat with them? Or was he simply having the same food?

      She had no idea, and no way of working it out, and knowing so little about him, her guesswork was just a total stab in the dark. But there had been something in his eyes …

      ‘I’m just going to put Thomas to bed, then I’ll cook you supper,’ she told the children quietly and, getting up without disturbing the baby, she took him up to the attic and slipped him into his cot. She’d change his nappy later. She didn’t want to risk waking him now—not when he’d finally settled.

      And not when Jake had that odd look about him that was flagging up all kinds of warning signals. She was sure he was hurting, but she had no idea why—and it was frankly none of her business. She just needed to feed the children, get them out of the way and then deal with him later.

      ‘Right, kids, let’s make supper,’ she said, going back in and smiling at them brightly. ‘Who wants to break the eggs into the cup?’

      Not the bowl, because that was just asking for trouble, and she sensed that crunchy omelettes wouldn’t win her any Brownie points with Jake, but one at a time was all right. She could fish for shell in one egg.

      She looked out of the window at the herb garden and wondered what was out there. Sage? Rosemary? Thyme? It was a shame she didn’t have any cheese, but she could put fresh herbs in his, and she remembered seeing a packet of pancetta in the fridge.

      She cooked for herself and the children first, then while she was eating she cooked his spicy potato wedges in a second batch, then sent the children up to wash and change ready for bed.

      ‘I’ll come up and read to you when I’ve given Jake his supper,’ she promised, kissing them both, and they went, still looking a little uncertain, and she felt another wave of anger at David for putting them in this position.

      And at herself, for allowing him to make them so vulnerable, for relying on him even after he’d proved over and over again that he was unreliable, for giving him the power to do this to them. He’d walked out on them four years ago, and letting him back again two years later had been stupid in the extreme. It hadn’t taken her long to realise it, and she’d finally taken the last step and divorced him, but their failed reconciliation had resulted in Thomas. And, though she loved Thomas to bits, having him didn’t make life easier and had forced her to rely on David again. Well, no more. Not him, not any man.

      Never again, she thought, vigorously beating the last two eggs for Jake’s omelette while the little cubes of pancetta crisped in the pan. No way was she putting herself and her family at risk again. Even if Jake was remotely interested in her, which he simply wasn’t. He couldn’t even bear to be in the same room as her—and she had to stop thinking about him!

      She went out and picked the herbs by the light from the kitchen window, letting Rufus out into the garden for a moment while she breathed deeply and felt the cold, clean air fill her lungs and calm her.

      They’d survive, she told herself. They’d get through this hitch, and she’d get another job somehow, and they’d be all right.

      They had to be.

      She went back in with Rufus and the herbs, made Jake’s omelette and left it to set on the side of the Aga while she called him to the table.

      She tapped on the door of what she was beginning to think of as his cave, and he opened it almost instantly. She stepped back hastily and smiled. ‘Hi. I was just coming to call you for supper.’

      He smiled back. ‘The smell was reeling me in—I was just on my way. Apparently I’m hungrier than I thought.’

      Oh, damn. Had she made enough for him?

      He followed her through to the breakfast room and stopped. ‘Where are the other place settings?’

      ‘Oh—the children were starving, so I ate with them. Anyway, I wasn’t sure—’

      She broke off, biting her lip, and he sighed softly.

      ‘I’m sorry. I was rude. I just walked out.’

      ‘No—no, why should you want to sit with us? It’s your house, we’re in your way. I feel so guilty—’

      ‘Don’t.