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‘That’s really nice,’ he said gruffly. ‘Does it taste good?’
‘Mumum,’ he said, shoving it back in his mouth with a delicious chuckle, and Jake clenched his teeth and gave a tiny huff of laughter that was more than halfway to a sob.
What was it about kids that they got through your defences like nothing else on earth?
‘You’re going to be a proper little charmer, aren’t you?’ he said softly, and was rewarded with another spitty little chuckle. Then he threw down the toy and held out his hands, and it was beyond Jake to refuse.
He held out his hands, hoping his broken wrist was up to it, and Thomas grabbed his fingers and pulled himself up with a delighted gurgle, taking Jake’s breath away.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Not really,’ he said a little tightly, massively relieved to see Amelia reappear. ‘Um—could you take him? My hand—’
‘Oh, Jake! Thomas, come here, darling.’
She gently prised his fingers off Jake’s, and the pull on the fracture eased and he sank back with a shaky sigh, because it hadn’t only been the fracture, it had been that gummy, dribbly smile and the feel of those strong, chubby little fingers, and he just wanted to get the hell out. ‘Thanks. That was probably a stupid thing to do, but—’
‘You couldn’t refuse him? Tell me about it. Look, I’ve brought you something lovely!’
‘I don’t really want a cup of juice,’ he said softly, and she laughed, the sound running through him like a tinkling stream, clean and pure and sweet.
‘Silly. Your tea’s there, with the painkillers.’
He found a smile. Actually, not that hard, with the warmth of her laughter still echoing through him. ‘Thanks.’
‘And chocolate biscuits, and shortbread!’ Edward said, sounding slightly amazed.
‘Goodness. Anyone would think it was Christmas,’ he said in mock surprise, and Kitty giggled and then, before he could react or do anything to prevent it, she climbed onto his lap and snuggled up against his chest with a smile.
‘It is Christmas, silly—well, it is tomorrow,’ she corrected, and squirmed round to study the tree. ‘We need to put everything else on it.’
‘Biscuits first,’ he said firmly, because he needed his painkillers, especially if Kitty was going to bounce and fidget and squirm on his bruises. And his arm was really aching now after all the silly things he’d done with it that day.
So they ate biscuits, and Kitty snuggled closer, and he caught the anguished look in Amelia’s eye and felt so sad for them all that it had all gone wrong, because Kitty’s father should have been sitting somewhere else with her on his lap instead of hiding from his responsibilities in Thailand, and he should have been there with Rachel and Ben, and none of them had deserved it—
‘Right. Let’s do the tree,’ he said and, shunting Kitty off his lap, he got stiffly to his feet and put the baubles where he was told.
He was being amazing.
She couldn’t believe just how kind he’d been all day. He’d been so foul to her yesterday, so sarcastic and bitter, but somehow all that was gone and he was being the man Kate had talked about, generous to a fault and the soul of kindness.
He was so gentle with the children, teasing them, humouring them, putting up with their enthusiastic nonsense, and then, when the tree was done and she’d swept underneath it to pick up the needles that had fallen out of it while they’d decorated it, they went into the kitchen and she cooked supper while she danced around the kitchen with tinsel in her hair, singing along with the Christmas songs on the radio and making Thomas giggle.
And then she’d looked up and seen Jake watching her with an odd look on his face, and she’d felt the breath squeeze out of her lungs. No. She was misreading the signals. He couldn’t possibly want her—not a destitute woman with three children and a smelly, expensive little dog.
So she pulled the tinsel out of her hair and tied it round the dog’s neck, and concentrated on cooking the supper.
Sausages on sticks for Kitty, with roasted vegetable skewers in mini pitta pockets so she could pretend she was having kebabs, followed by the sort of fruit Millie couldn’t afford to buy, cut into cubes and dunked into melted chocolate. He’d put little pots on the top of the Aga with squares of chocolate in, and they’d melted and made the most fabulous sauce.
And the children had loved every mouthful of it. Even Thomas had sucked on a bit of sausage and had a few slices of banana and some peeled grapes dipped in chocolate and, apart from the shocking mess, it was a huge success.
‘Right, you lot, time for bed,’ she said.
‘Oh, but it’s Christmas!’
‘Yes, and it’ll come all the earlier if you’re in bed asleep,’ she reasoned. ‘And Father Christmas won’t come down the chimney if you’re still awake.’
‘But he won’t come anyway, because of the fire,’ Kitty said, looking suddenly worried, but Jake rescued the situation instantly.
‘Not a problem,’ he said promptly. ‘There’s another chimney in the dining room, and he’ll come down that.’
‘But he won’t know where to put the presents!’ she argued.
‘Yes, he will, because he knows everything,’ Edward said with an air of patient indulgence that made Millie want to laugh and cry all at once. ‘Come on, let’s go up to bed and then he’ll come.’
‘Promise?’ Kitty said, staring at her hopefully.
Oh, Lord, there was so little for them. They were going to be horribly disappointed. ‘Promise,’ she said, near to tears, but then the doorbell rang, jangling the ancient bell over the breakfast room door, and Jake got to his feet.
‘I’ll get it, it’s probably Kate,’ he said, and she followed him, meaning to say hello if it was Kate or take the children up to bed if not, but as he reached for the door they heard the unmistakable sound of a choir.
‘Carol singers,’ he said in a hollow voice, rooted to the spot with an appalled expression on his face.
‘I’ll deal with them,’ she said softly, and opened the door, meaning to give them some change for their tin and send them away. But he was still standing there in full view and the vicar, who was standing at the front, beamed at him.
‘Mr Forrester! We heard you were back and that you’d been injured, so we thought we’d come and share some carols with you on the way back from evensong—bring you a little Christmas cheer.’
Jake opened his mouth, shut it again and smiled a little tightly. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and he probably would have stood there with that frozen smile on his face if Amelia hadn’t elbowed him gently out of the way, opened the door wide and invited them in, because after all there was no choice, no matter how unhappy it might make him.
‘You’ll freeze,’ she said with a smile. ‘Come inside and join us.’ And Jake would just have to cope, because anything else would have been too rude for words. And apparently he realised that, because he found another smile and stepped back.
‘Yes—of course, come on in by the fire,’ he said, and led them to the drawing room, where they gathered round the fire and sang all the old favourites—Silent Night, Away In A Manger and O Come All Ye Faithful, and then the vicar smilingly apologised for not having a chorister to sing Once In Royal David’s City, and beside her Amelia felt Edward jiggle and she squeezed his shoulder in encouragement.
‘Go on,’ she murmured, and he took a step forwards.
‘I could do it,’ he offered, and the vicar looked at him and smiled broadly.
‘Well—please do. Do you need the words?’
He shook his head, went over to them and started to sing.
Jake was speechless.
The boy’s voice filled the room, pure and sweet, and he felt his throat close. It brought so much back—the pain of his childhood, the respite that music had brought him, the hard work but the immense rewards of being a chorister.
And when Edward got to the end of the first verse and everyone joined in, he found himself singing, too, found the voice he’d grown into as a man, rusty with lack of use and emotion, but warming up, filling him with joy again as he sang the familiar carol. And Edward looked at him in astonishment and then smiled, as if he’d just discovered something wonderful.
And maybe he had.
Maybe Jake had, too, because Edward had a truly beautiful voice and it would be a travesty if he didn’t get the opportunity to develop and explore this musical gift. And if there was anything he could do to help with that, he wanted to do it, even if it was just to encourage him to join the school choir.
But in the meantime he sang, and the choir launched into God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, which was perfect for his baritone, and so for the first time in years he dragged the air deep down into his lungs and let himself go, and the old house was filled with the joyful sound of their voices.
And Edward grinned, and he grinned back, and beside him he could see Amelia staring up at him in astonishment, her eyes like saucers, and Kitty too. When they got to the end they all smiled and laughed, and Amelia ran down to the kitchen and came back with a tray of mince pies she’d made earlier, and he offered them a drink to wash them down but they all refused.
‘Sorry, we’d love to, but we have to get home,’ was the consensus, and of course they did. It was Christmas Eve, and he’d been fitted in as a favour. A favour by people he didn’t know, who’d heard he’d been hurt and had come to bring Christmas to him, and deep down inside, the fissure that was opening around his heart cracked open a little further, letting the warmth seep in.
‘Thank you so much for coming,’ he said with genuine feeling as he showed them out. ‘The children have really enjoyed it. It was extremely kind of you, and I can’t thank you enough.’
‘Well, there’s always the church roof,’ the vicar joked, and he laughed, but he made a mental note to send him a cheque. ‘And if the boy wants to join us …’
‘Ah, they’re only visiting,’ he said, and the words gave him a curious pang, as if somehow that was wrong and vaguely unsettling. ‘But—yes, I agree. He could be a chorister.’
‘As you were once, I would imagine. You could always join us yourself. The choir’s always got room for a good voice.’
He smiled a little crookedly. ‘My choir days are over—but thank you. Have a good Christmas, all of you. Good night.’
They left in a chorus of good-nights and merry Christmases, and he closed the door and turned to see Edward standing there staring at him.
‘Did you really sing in a choir?’ he asked warily, and Jake nodded.
‘Yes, I did. When I was about your age, and a little older. My voice started to break when I was twelve, which rather put a stop to singing for a couple of years, and I never really got back into it after that, but—yeah, I went to choir school. What about you? Do you sing in a choir?’
‘We didn’t really have a choir at the school, but the music teacher said I ought to have a voice test somewhere. I was supposed to sing in the school carol concert last week, but we had to move to Auntie Laura’s and it was too far away, so I couldn’t. And I’d been practising for weeks and weeks.’
‘I can tell. What a shame. Still, you did it for us, and it was great. You did really well. Here, come with me. I’ve got something to show you.’
‘Is it a picture?’
‘No. It’s a film of me when I was in the choir. I had to sing Once In Royal David’s City myself at the start of the carol service when I was twelve, just before my voice broke.’
And it had been televised, but he didn’t mention that because it was irrelevant, really. He took Edward into his sitting room, found the DVD he’d had the old video copied onto, and turned it on.
‘Wow,’ Edward said at the end of his solo, his voice hushed. ‘That was amazing. You must have been so scared.’
He laughed. ‘I was pretty terrified, I can tell you. But it was worth it, it was fantastic. It was a good time all round. Hard work, but lots of fun, too, and I wouldn’t have swapped it for the world.’
He told him more about it, about the fun, about the pranks he’d got up to and the trouble he’d got in, and 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 you cared about and wondering how on earth it had happened, how one minute they’d been there, and the next they’d been gone for ever.
If you want a son.
Pain seared through him. Oh, Ben, I want you. I want you every day. What would you have been like? Would you have loved singing, like me, or would you have been tone-deaf like your mother? Tall or short? Quiet or noisy? I would have loved you, whatever. I’ll always love you. He glanced out of the window and saw a pale swirl of snow, and his heart contracted. Are you cold tonight, my precious son, lying there in the churchyard?
Oh, God.
A sob ripped through him and he stifled it, battening it down, refusing to allow it to surface. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She hadn’t known about Ben, hadn’t realised what she was saying. And maybe she was right. Maybe he’d overstepped the mark with Edward.
He needed to talk to her, to go and find her and apologise—but not yet. Not now. Now, he needed to get himself under control, to let the pain recede a little.
And then he became aware of Rufus, standing just a few inches away from him, his tail down, his eyes worried, and when he held out his hand, the dog’s tail flickered briefly.
‘Oh, Rufus. What’s happened to us all?’ he murmured unsteadily, and Rufus came and sat down with his side against Jake’s thigh, and rested his head in his lap and licked his hand.
‘Yeah, I know. I need to talk to Amelia. I need to tell her I’m sorry. But I can’t—’
He bit his lip, and Rufus licked him again, and he ruffled his fur and waited a little longer, until his emotions were back under control, because he owed Amelia more than just an apology. He owed her an explanation, and it would mean opening himself to her, to her pity, and he never ever did that. It was just too damned hard.
But eventually he couldn’t leave it any longer, so he got stiffly to his feet, found the whisky and limped down the hall to the breakfast room and pushed open the door.
She was sitting in front of the fire, her legs drawn up and her arms wrapped round her knees, and he could tell she’d been crying. Her face was ravaged with tears, her eyes wide with distress. He went over to her, poured two hefty measures of spirit and held one out to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have thought—should have asked you before showing it to him.’
‘No. You were only being kind. I was so rude—’
‘Yes, you were, but I’m not surprised, with everything going on in your life. You’re just fighting their corner. I can’t criticise you for that.’
And then, before his courage failed him and he chickened out, he said, ‘I had a son.’
She lifted her head and stared at him.
‘Had?’ she whispered in horrified disbelief.
‘Ben. He died five years ago—five years yesterday, just a month after his second birthday. He’d been Christmas shopping with my wife, Rachel, and they were by the entrance to the car park when someone mounted the kerb and hit them. They were both killed instantly.’
‘Oh, Jake—’
Her voice was hardly more than a breath, and then she dragged in a shuddering sob and pressed her hand against her lips. Dear God, what had she said to him? If you want a son … then get your own. And all the time—
‘Oh, Jake, I don’t know what to say—’
‘Don’t say anything. There’s nothing you can say. Here, have a drink. And please don’t worry about the presents, they really are nothing. It was just a gesture, nothing more. They aren’t lavish, I promise, so you don’t have to worry. I wouldn’t do that to you. I just … it’s Christmas, and I’d expect to give something small to any child who was staying here. And I promise not to say anything more to any of them that might give you a problem later on. So come on, drink up and let’s go and stuff the turkey, otherwise we’ll be eating at midnight.’
She hauled in a breath, sniffed and scrubbed her cheeks with her hands. ‘You’re right. We’ve got a lot to do.’ And just then she couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t say another word or she really would howl her eyes out, and so she sipped the whisky he pressed into her hand, feeling the slow burn as it slid down her throat, letting the warmth drive out the cold horror of his simple words.
No wonder he didn’t do children. No wonder he hadn’t been pleased to see them in his house, on the very anniversary …