Christmas Miracle. Линда Гуднайт

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