Christmas Miracle. Линда Гуднайт

about the hard work and the gruelling schedule of rehearsals, but also about the amazing thrill and privilege of singing in the cathedral.

      ‘I’d love to do that,’ the boy said wistfully.

      ‘Would you? It’s a big commitment. I had to go to boarding school, but then I wasn’t very happy at home, so actually I enjoyed it,’ he found himself admitting.

      ‘Why weren’t you happy?’ Edward asked.

      ‘Oh—my parents used to row a lot, and I always seemed to be in the way. So it was quite nice when I wasn’t, for all of us, really. But you are happy, aren’t you?’

      He nodded. ‘And I couldn’t leave Mummy, because she needs me.’

      ‘Of course she does—but, you know, she also needs you to be happy, and if it made you happy—anyway, you don’t have to go away to school. Most schools have a choir, and certainly the bigger churches do. I’m sure they’d be delighted to have you. You’ve got a good voice.’

      ‘But we don’t live anywhere properly, so we don’t have a church or a school,’ he said, and Jake’s heart ached for the poor, uprooted child.

      ‘You will soon,’ he consoled him, hoping it was true, and he turned off the television and got to his feet. ‘Now, you’d better run up to bed or I’m going to be in trouble with your mother. You sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, Edward.’

      ‘Good night,’ Edward said, and then without warning he ran over to Jake, put his arms round him and hugged him before running out of the door. And Jake stood there, rooted to the spot, unravelled by the simple spontaneous gesture of a child.

      Amelia stood in the shadows of the hall, scarcely able to breathe for emotion.

      The sound of his voice had been exquisite, the sort of sound that made your hair stand on end and your heart swell, and she’d stood there and listened to it, then to his gentle and revealing conversation with her son, and her eyes had filled with tears. Poor little boy, to have felt so unwanted and unloved. And thank God for a choir school which had helped him through it, given him something beautiful and perfect to compensate in some small way for the disappointments of his young life.

      She’d taken Kitty and Thomas upstairs when she’d seen Edward deep in conversation with Jake, knowing he missed the influence of a man in his life, and she’d bathed them quickly, tucked them up and gone back down—and heard the pure, sweet sound of a chorister coming from Jake’s sitting room.

      She hadn’t known it was him until she’d heard him talking to Edward, but she wasn’t surprised. It had been obvious when he’d joined in with the carol singers that he’d had some kind of voice training, as well as a beautiful voice, deep and rich and warm. It had shivered through her then, and it had done the same thing now, hearing him as a child.

      And he was talking to Edward about it, treating him as an equal, encouraging him, giving him hope—

      But too much hope, and it was pointless doing that, because there was no way she could afford any lessons or anything for him, so it was cruel of Jake to encourage him. It was easy if you had money. Everything was easier, and it wasn’t fair to Edward to build him up. She’d have to talk to Jake, to stop him—

      She dived into the kitchen and scrubbed the tears away from her eyes while she cleared up the aftermath of their supper, and then she took the presents she’d brought downstairs with her through to the drawing room—the few things she’d bought the children, and the ones from Kate, and of course the beautiful and inevitably expensive ones from her sister—and, by the time she got there, there were some others waiting.

      They must be Jake’s, she thought. Presents from friends, if not family, and people like Kate, who was bound to have given him a present.

      But they weren’t. They were for the children, and for her, and, of all things, for Rufus. Her eyes flooded with tears, and she sat back on her heels and sniffed.

      Damn him, how could he do this? Squandering money on them all because it was so easy for him, not realising how much worse it made it all, how much harder it would be when it was all over and they came down to earth with a bump. He was even spoiling the wretched dog—

      ‘Amelia?’

      ‘What are these? You shouldn’t—’ she began, but he just shook his head.

      ‘They’re nothing—’

      ‘No. They’re not nothing,’ she corrected tautly. ‘They’re nothing to you, but believe me, you have no idea what nothing’s like. Nothing is not having anywhere for your children to live, having to take them away from school just before the carol concert your son’s been practising for for weeks, having to tell them that Daddy doesn’t have any money and he’s not even here to see them because he’s run away from the law—except of course I can’t tell them that, can I, because it wouldn’t be fair, so I have to pretend he’s just had to go away and lie to them, and I’m sick of lying to them and struggling and the last—absolutely the last damn thing I need is you telling Edward he should go to choir school. I’ll never be able to afford it and you’ll just build his hopes up and then they’ll be dashed and it’s just another disappointment in his life—’

      She couldn’t go on, tears streaming down her cheeks, and he gave a ragged sigh and crouched awkwardly down beside her, his hand gentle on her shoulder, his eyes distressed. ‘Amelia—Millie—please don’t,’ he murmured softly. ‘It wasn’t like that. I didn’t build his hopes up, but he’s good, and there are places—’

      ‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ she raged. ‘We have no money!’

      ‘But you don’t need money. He could get a scholarship, like I did. My parents didn’t pay. If someone’s got talent, they don’t turn them away—and there are other things. It doesn’t have to be choir school. Just because I went there doesn’t mean it’s right for everyone. It’s very hard, and the hours are really long, and you work every Sunday, Christmas Day, Easter—you have to be dedicated, it’s a massive commitment, and it’s not for everybody—’

      ‘No, it’s not, but even if it was for him, it’s not for you to decide! He’s my son, Jake—mine! It’s none of your business! You have no right to take him off like that and fill his head with ideas—’

      ‘It wasn’t like that! He was asking … I just thought …’

      ‘Well, don’t! If you want a son to follow in your footsteps, then get your own, Jake, but leave mine out of it! And we don’t need your flashy presents!’

      And, without giving him a chance to reply, she scrambled to her feet and ran into the kitchen, tears pouring down her face and furious with herself as well as him because, whatever he’d done, whatever he’d spent or said, they were in his house against his wishes, and he’d busted a gut today to make their Christmas Day tomorrow a good one, and now she’d gone and ruined it for all of them …

       CHAPTER SIX

      IF YOU want a son …

      His legs gave way and he sat down abruptly on the rug in front of the tree, her words ringing in his ears.

      It had never occurred to him he was doing any harm by talking to Edward, showing him the recording. He was just sharing an interest, taking an interest—and not because he wanted a son to follow in his footsteps. He’d been there, done that, and lost everything. She thought he didn’t know what nothing meant? Well, he had news for her.

      Nothing meant waking up every morning alone, with nobody to share your day with, nobody to help you live out your dreams, nobody to love, nobody to love you in return.

      Nothing meant standing in a cold and lonely churchyard staring at a headstone bearing the names of the only people in the world