Christmas Miracle. Линда Гуднайт

      And it all, suddenly, got much easier because he could concentrate on amusing Thomas—and that actually was probably the hardest part. Not that he was hard to entertain, quite the opposite, but it brought back so many memories—memories he’d buried with his son—and it was threatening to wreck him. Then, just when he thought he’d go mad if he had to look at that cheerful, chubby little smile any longer, he realised their system wasn’t working.

      The trolley wasn’t getting fuller and, watching her, he could see why. She was obviously reluctant to spend too much of his money, which was refreshing but unnecessary, so he gave up and shoved the trolley one-handed into the fray while she was dithering over the fresh turkeys.

      ‘What’s the matter?’

      ‘They’re so expensive. The frozen ones are much cheaper—’

      ‘But they take ages to defrost so we don’t have a choice. Just pick one. Here, they’ve got nice free-range Bronze turkeys—get one of them,’ he suggested, earning himself a searching look.

      ‘What do you know about Bronze turkeys?’ she asked incredulously.

      He chuckled. ‘Very little—but I know they’re supposed to have the best flavour, I’m ethically comfortable with free range and, anyway, they’re the most expensive and therefore probably the most sought after. That’s usually an indicator of quality. So pick one and let’s get on.’

      ‘But—they’re so expensive, Jake, and I feel so guilty taking your money—’

      He gave up, reached over and single-handedly heaved a nice fat turkey into the trolley. ‘Right. Next?’

      ‘Um—stuffing,’ she said weakly, and he felt a little tug at his sleeve.

      ‘You said we could have sausages and cook them and have them on sticks,’ Kitty said hopefully.

      ‘Here—traditional chipolatas,’ he said, and threw three packets in the trolley, thought better of it and added another two for good measure. ‘Bacon?’

      ‘Um—probably.’ She put a packet of sausagemeat stuffing in the trolley and he frowned at it, picked up another with chestnuts and cranberries, which looked more interesting, and put that in, too.

      ‘You’re getting into this, aren’t you?’ she teased, coming back with the bacon.

      So was she, he noticed with relief, seeing that at last she was picking up the quality products and not the cheapest, smallest packet she could find of whatever it was. They moved on, and the trolley filled up. Vegetables, fruit, a traditional Christmas pudding that would last them days, probably, but would at least be visible in the middle of the old refectory table in the breakfast room, and a chocolate log for the children. Then, when they’d done the food shopping and filled the trolley almost to the brim, they took it through the checkout, put it all in the car and went back inside for ‘the exciting stuff’, as Kitty put it.

      Christmas decorations for the tree they had yet to buy, little nets of chocolate coins in gold foil, crackers for the table, a wreath for the door—the list was nearly as long as the first and, by the time they got to the end of it, the children were hungry and Thomas, who’d been as good as gold and utterly, heart-wrenchingly enchanting until that point, was starting to grizzle.

      ‘I tell you what—why don’t you take the kids and get them something to eat and drink while I deal with this lot?’ he suggested, peeling a twenty pound note out of his wallet and giving it to her.

      She hesitated, but he just sighed and shoved it at her, and with a silent nod she flashed him a smile and took the children off to the canteen.

      Which gave him long enough to go back up the aisles and look for presents for them all. And, because it had thinned out by that point, he went to the customer services and asked if there was anyone who could help him wrap the presents for the children. He brandished his cast pathetically and, between that and the black eye, he charmed them into it shamelessly.

      There was nothing outrageous in his choices. There was nothing outrageous in the shop anyway but, even if there had been, he would have avoided it. It wasn’t necessary, and he didn’t believe in spoiling children, but there was a colouring book with glue and glitter that Kitty had fingered longingly and been made to put back, and he’d noticed Edward looking at an intricate construction toy of the sort he’d loved as a boy, and there was a nice chunky plastic shape sorter which he thought Thomas might like.

      And then there was Amelia.

      She didn’t have any gloves, he’d noticed, and he’d commented on it on the way there when she was rubbing her hands and blowing on them holding the steering wheel.

      ‘Sure, it’s freezing, but I can’t do things with gloves on,’ she’d explained.

      But he’d noticed some fingerless mitts, with little flaps that buttoned back out of the way and could be let down to tuck her fingers into to turn them into mittens. And they were in wonderful, ludicrously pink stripes with a matching scarf that would snuggle round her neck and keep her warm while she walked the dog.

      He even bought a little coat for Rufus, because he’d noticed him shivering out on their walk first thing.

      And then he had to make himself stop, because they weren’t his family and he didn’t want to make them—or, more specifically, Amelia—feel embarrassed. But he chucked in a jigsaw to put on the low coffee table in the drawing room and work on together, just because it was the sort of thing he’d loved in his childhood, and also a family game they could play together.

      And then he really did stop, and they were all wrapped and paid for, together with the decorations, and someone even helped him load them into the car and wished him a merry Christmas, and he found himself saying it back with a smile.

      Really?

      He went into the canteen and found them sitting in a litter of sandwich wrappers and empty cups. ‘All set?’

      She nodded. ‘Yes. We were just coming to find you. Thank you so much—’

      ‘Don’t mention it. Right, we’d better get on, because we need to take this lot home and then get a tree before it’s too late, and at some point today I need to go to the hospital and have a proper cast put on my arm.’

      ‘Wow! Look at the tree. It’s enormous!’

      It wasn’t, not really, but it was quite big enough—and it had been a bit of a struggle to get it in place with one arm out of action in its new cast, but just the look on the children’s faces made it all worth it—and, if he wasn’t mistaken, there was the sheen of tears in Amelia’s eyes.

      They’d put it in pride of place in the bay window in the drawing room, and lit the fire—a great roaring log fire in the open hearth, with crackling flames and the sweet smell of apple-wood smoke—and, between the wood smoke and the heady scent of the tree, the air just smelled of Christmas. All they had to do now was decorate the tree, and for Jake it was a step too far.

      ‘I’m going to sit this out,’ he said, heading for the door, but Kitty shook her head and grabbed his good hand and tugged him back, shocking him into immobility.

      ‘You can’t, Jake! You have to help us—we’re all too small to reach the top, and you have to put the lights on and the fairy and all the tinsel and everything!’

      Why was it, he wondered, that children—especially earnest little girls—always talked in italics and exclamation marks? And her eyes were pleading with him, and there was no way he could walk away from her. From any of them.

      ‘OK. I’ll just go and put the kettle on—’

      ‘No! Lights first, because otherwise we can’t do anything until you get back, and you’ll be ages!’

      Italics again. He smiled at her. ‘Well, in that case, I’ll put the lights on first, but just the lights, and then we’ll