Midwives' Christmas Miracles: A Touch of Christmas Magic / Playboy Doc's Mistletoe Kiss / Her Doctor's Christmas Proposal

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE HOUSE WAS looking truly magical. Freya was watching from the window, the excitement almost too much for her.

Today had been a quiet day. It was odd. It was a few days into December already and there were still no decorations in the house. Bonnie had always been the type to put her decorations up on the first of the month. Any later made her antsy.

Yesterday, a few tree decorations had arrived that she’d ordered online. Along with a personalised stocking for Freya and some Christmas candles.

This morning she’d had a look in some of the cupboards around the house, expecting to find a few cardboard boxes of decorations that she and Freya could put up. But there was nothing. Not even a single strand of tinsel.

Maybe Jacob hadn’t bothered because he lived alone? He’d already told her he worked at the hospital most Christmases. He’d made a few fleeting remarks about not really doing Christmas. But nothing definite. Nothing that he’d actually explained.

So, this morning she and Freya had hatched the master plan. Jacob was working today. It was a Saturday and there were a few patients in the hospital that needed to be reviewed, so she was sure he would be kept busy.

It gave her and Freya time to visit the local hardware store and stock up on Christmas decorations. The kind that she’d always wanted to buy. Her credit card had trembled as she’d entered the store and fainted on the way out.

She’d never bought a real tree before. But the hardware store could deliver on the same day, and only an hour after they’d left the store the delivery driver arrived. He was great. He carried the tree up the front steps and into the front room. It had already been mounted for them and he made sure it was straight before he left.

Freya had been jumping for joy as they’d plugged the twinkling star lights in to check they worked before winding them around the tree. By four o’clock it was already starting to get dark. Bonnie pulled the blinds in the front room. She didn’t want Jacob to see the tree from the street. She wanted him to come through the front door and get the full effect.

A thick green and red garland was wound up the banister on the stairs. Another, set with red twinkling lights, was adorning the mantelpiece in the front room. The fire was burning in the hearth and she’d switched off the main lights so only the twinkling lights and flickering flames warmed the room.

Freya wound her hands around Bonnie’s neck. ‘It’s so beautiful, isn’t it, Mummy?’

‘Yes, honey, it is.’

She so wanted Christmas to be perfect for her daughter. It was beginning to look as if they wouldn’t have found somewhere else to stay by then. Her ex hadn’t even tried to make contact with his daughter—not even once—since they’d moved down here.

It was no real surprise. He hadn’t bothered when they’d stayed in the same town. But she was worried about the effect on her little girl. How must it feel for Freya to know her daddy didn’t love her? Not the way he should.

They finished unpacking the last of the deliveries. A carved wooden nativity scene that Freya helped set out on one of the side tables. Everything really did look perfect.

She heard a car door slam outside and Freya ran and peeked under the blinds. ‘Jacob’s coming. He’s coming, Mummy.’ She jumped up and down on the spot clapping her hands.

Bonnie couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. She stood in the corridor, just at the entrance to the front room—waiting for him to appear.

It only took a few seconds. He walked through the front door, dropping his case and hanging his jacket on the coat stand.

‘Hey, Jacob.’ She smiled.

He smiled back. ‘Hey, yourself,’ then started to frown. He gave a little start, his eyes fixed on the banister behind her.

‘We’ve got a surprise,’ yelled Freya, running through the door.

Bonnie’s skin prickled, her hairs standing on end. He didn’t look happy. He didn’t look anything like happy. Her blood felt as if it were running cold.

All of a sudden she got the feeling that she’d done something very wrong.

Jacob strode past her and into the front room, virtually ignoring Freya.

His face fell as soon as he walked into the middle of the floor, holding his hands out as he spun around, taking in the full effect of the room. She loved it. It was beautiful and really captured the spirit of Christmas with the flickering flames and twinkling festive lights.

Anyone would love it.

Anyone but Jacob, that was.

He looked as if he’d just been sat down in his worst possible nightmare. He walked over to the fireplace and tugged harshly on the beautiful green and red garland, pulling part of it free. ‘What on earth have you done?’ His voice was incredulous. ‘Tell me you’re joking. You’ve done this everywhere? This?’

He stared at the greenery in his hand, then dropped it to the floor. Freya’s mouth was hanging open. She was stunned—as was Bonnie—but, what was more, she looked a little frightened.

He walked over and grabbed the tree, knocking some of the carefully hung red and green ornaments to the floor, one of them breaking with a crash. ‘Who on earth said you could do this? What made you think you could decorate my house without my permission?’ In a surge of anger he pushed the tree to the floor, scattering the decorations everywhere and making the lights flicker dangerously.

He was furious. Really furious. So angry he was trembling. Bonnie had never, ever seen Jacob like this. And although she was bewildered, she wasn’t afraid; in fact, she was angry. But he wasn’t finished. He leaned over the fallen Christmas tree and started yanking the tinsel from it. The harshness of his movements meant the sitting-room air and floor quickly filled with tiny ripped-off strands of multicoloured tinsel all around them. ‘I hate this. I have to tolerate this stuff everywhere else—but not in my house!’

She walked over and put her arm around Freya’s shoulder. ‘What is wrong with you, Jacob? We wanted to do something nice for you—to surprise you.’

But it was almost as if he hadn’t heard her. He was still shaking his head at the twinkling lights. He crossed the room and flicked the switch on one of the plugs, plunging that part of the room into darkness.

Almost as dark as your mood was her fleeting thought as he turned on her again.

‘How dare you do this? Didn’t I tell you I don’t celebrate Christmas? I don’t even like Christmas.’ The words were said with such venom she actually found herself pulling back a little. But it only lasted a second. Because after that the red mist started to descend.

All the hours of work and preparation. The build-up of excitement between her and Freya all day. And he was ruining it all with some angry words and some hand movements. Destroying all their hard work.

She dropped her arm from around Freya’s shoulder and stepped right up to his face. ‘Oh, I get that. I get that you don’t like Christmas. Enough, Jacob!’ she snapped. ‘You’ve made your point. You don’t like Christmas. Well, pardon me for not being a mind reader. And pardon me, and my daughter, for trying to do something to say thank you for letting us stay. We won’t make that mistake again!’

She turned at the sound of a little sob behind her and dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around Freya’s little body. She would kill him. She would kill him with her bare hands for his pathetic overreaction.

Jacob flinched. It was as if reality had just slapped him on the forehead and he realised the impact his reactions had had on Freya. For the tiniest second he seemed to hesitate, but Bonnie glared at him, furious with him for upsetting her daughter, and he spun on his heel and stalked back along the corridor, slamming the front door behind him.

The blood was pounding in her ears. She’d never been so angry with someone—not even her pathetic husband when she’d found him in bed with her so-called friend. Freya’s shoulders were shaking and her head was buried into the nape of Bonnie’s neck.

Over Christmas decorations? Really?

She didn’t care that this was his house. She didn’t care that on every other occasion Jacob had been a kind and hospitable housemate. This blew everything else out of the water.

He’d upset her daughter.

Jacob Layton was about to find out that hell hath no fury like an angry mother.

* * *

‘Isn’t it about time you went home?’

He lifted his head from the bar and the barman gestured his head towards the clock. The guy obviously wanted to close up.

The old guy shrugged. ‘Can’t be that bad.’

Jacob picked up the now-warm remnants of beer and washed them down. ‘You have no idea.’

He looked out through the murky window. It had started to snow. He didn’t even have a jacket. In his haste to leave the house he hadn’t stopped to pick one up.

How far had he walked? He had no idea. He’d never even been in this pub before. Let alone nearly fallen asleep at the bar.

He gave the barman a little nod and shivered as he walked out of the door and the wind whistled around his thin jumper. With his suit trousers and business shoes it was hardly winter gear. But he hadn’t stopped to think about much before he left.

That was the trouble. He couldn’t think. He’d taken one look at all those Christmas decorations and a whole host of unwanted memories had come flooding back.

It was ridiculous. It was pathetic. He’d spent every year of his life around Christmas decorations.

But not in his space. Not in his home. In other places, they were bearable. In other places there were other things to do, other things to think about. At home, they would be right under his nose constantly—forcing him to think about things he’d long since pushed to the back of his mind.

The cold wind started to penetrate through his thin jumper, making him shiver. His insides were cringing.

Freya.

Her little face had crumpled and she’d started to cry.

He was ashamed of himself. Ashamed of his behaviour. He hadn’t even stopped to think about her. And everything about that was wrong.

What embarrassed him even more was the fact that if it had been just Bonnie, he might not be feeling so ashamed. It had taken a five-year-old to teach him what acceptable behaviour was. What kind of human being did that make him?

The kind that had spent the last three hours in a bar, like some sad and lonely old drifter sitting on a bar stool alone, nursing one bottle of beer after another.

Pathetic. Was that really the kind of man he wanted to be? Was that the kind of man that would have made his mother proud?

All of a sudden he wasn’t feeling the cold any more. All of sudden he was lost in distant memories as his feet trudged through the snow, his dress shoes getting damper by the second as the memories of his mother burned deep in his mind.

She had complemented his closed-off father beautifully with her calming good nature. She was always able to put a smile on his father’s often grumpy face, or give a measured argument against his forceful opinions—skills that Jacob hadn’t seemed to inherit.

If his mother had still been alive he would never have ended up at loggerheads with his father over his refusal to follow the family tradition into the military. His mother would have argued peacefully, but successfully, for his entry to medical school and the opportunity to pursue his own career options.

His father had never really accepted his decision—particularly when Jacob had opted to become an obstetrician. It wasn’t heroic enough for his father. It wasn’t front line enough, or pioneering enough. He didn’t see the joy in bringing life into the world, compared with so many other specialities that frequently dealt with death. Just as well his mother had left him enough money, not only to put himself through medical school, but also to allow him the freedom to place a deposit on a house and have the option of being part of one of the finest universities and hospitals in the country.

She would be proud of him. She should be proud of him. She would love what her son had achieved.

But she would also expect him to treat everyone with the same respect he’d given her. With the love and compassion he’d given her.

The long street ahead was coated with snow. The orange streetlights cast a warm glow across the snow-topped cars. People spilled out of the pub ahead of him, laughing and joking. Full of cheer.

When was the last time he’d been in Cambridge city centre on a Saturday night? He couldn’t even remember. Now he looked around him, Christmas was everywhere. Every shop window was decorated and a few of the flats on the main street had glistening trees in their windows.

He hung his head as the cold bit harder. Festive cheer. It should be spreading warmth through his soul. What on earth was he going home to?

His footsteps quickened as a horrible thought shot through his head. What if they’d left? What if they’d left because of his behaviour?

The beer sloshed around in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten at all in the last few hours and that last thought made him feel physically sick.

The thought of going home to an empty house after a month wasn’t at all appealing. It was strange how things had changed without him really noticing. Please don’t let them leave. He would much prefer it if Bonnie was waiting at home ready to tell him exactly what she thought of him. He could take it.

He might even try and explain why he’d behaved like that—if, of course, she gave him a chance to speak.

The snow was getting heavier. It was kicking up under his feet and lying on his shoulders and eyelashes. His feet moved even quicker. How far had he walked?

It was a relief to finally turn into his street. Only a few windows were uncovered, letting their warm light spill out onto the snow-covered street. From a distance, he could see his tightly pulled white blinds.

He swallowed. His mouth had never felt so dry. Drinking beer certainly hadn’t helped. More than anything right now he just wanted to know what lay behind his door.

He had to stop himself from breaking into a run. His brain was spinning. What would he do if they’d left? What would he say if they’d stayed? A thousand excuses and explanations were running through his brain. But somehow he knew they wouldn’t wash with Bonnie.

Nothing but the truth would do for her.

He pulled his key from his pocket as he walked up the steps. He paused at the door. The house was silent. Not a single sound from inside.

The traditional door handle was icy cold. He pushed down on it and the door clicked open.

Relief. Pure and utter relief. If Bonnie had left, the door would have been locked.

He brushed the snow off his shoulders and hair and kicked it from his damp shoes.

Still nothing.

He walked silently down the corridor. The light was out in the kitchen and in the back sitting room. His stomach twisted. The green and red garland was gone from the stairs. There was no sign it had even been there.

He held his breath as he stepped into his front room. His completely bare front room.

All signs of Christmas were gone.

The tree. The lights. The garland. The nativity.

Just one small lamp was lit in the corner of the room, reflecting the bare white walls back at him. He’d never realised just how sparse this room was.

Bonnie was sitting on the sofa. She didn’t even turn her head towards him. She was staring at the now unlit fire. Her jaw was set. In one hand she held a glass of wine, the fingers of the other hand running up and down the stem of the glass.

He braced himself, but she said nothing.

‘Bonnie,’ he acknowledged. An elephant had just decided to sit on his chest. At least that was what it felt like.

She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. It was almost as if he weren’t even there.

He swallowed again. He really, really needed a drink of water. His mouth had never felt so dry. But he took a deep breath and sat down next to her on the sofa.

‘Let me try and explain,’ he said quietly.

‘Oh, you’d better.’ Her words dripped ice. Any minute now she was going to pick up the bottle of wine at her feet and launch it at his head.

Jacob had never really been lost for words before. This was a first for him. He didn’t talk. He didn’t share. Ever since his father had packed him off to boarding school once his mother died, there just hadn’t been anyone to share with. Not like that. Not like the way he used to with her.

The truth was, he always felt that no one else had ever been that invested in him. Building walls around yourself as a child protected you as an adult. At least, that was what he’d always thought.

His behaviour tonight had been over the top. He had to explain. He hated what she might think of him right now. What Freya might think of him right now.

‘I’m sorry I upset Freya tonight. I never meant to do that.’

‘Well, you did. And it will be the first and last time.’

Bonnie’s voice had no hesitation. The line was very clearly drawn in the sand.

‘Let me be clear. Freya is my first and only priority. Every. Single. Day.’

He could feel prickles down his back. She was worse than mad.

‘I know that.’

He leaned back against the sofa. This was going to take some work. He wasn’t used to talking about himself. And he had no idea what Bonnie’s response might be to his words.

For a tiny second he squeezed his eyes shut. They were still here. That must mean something.

He licked his dry lips. ‘I haven’t told you much about my past.’

Her fingers continued to stroke up and down the wine-glass stem. It was almost as if she was using it as a measure of control. ‘No. You haven’t.’

She was wearing those jeans again and a soft woollen jumper. Right now he wanted to reach out and touch her. Right now he wanted to feel some comfort. Saying these words out loud wasn’t easy.

‘My mother died when I was ten.’

There. It was out there. The light in the corner flickered inexplicably and he heard her suck in a breath.

‘She was the heart of our family. I was an only child and my father spent most of his life in the military. When my mother died it was almost as if all the life was just sucked out of us both.’

She turned a little towards him. ‘What did you do?’

He shrugged. ‘What could I do? I was ten. I’d spent most of my time with my mother. We’d shared everything. My relationship with my father had always been a little strained. I just think he didn’t know how to relate to kids.’

As he was talking he’d moved to face her and as he finished his last sentence her eyebrows lifted. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Like father, like son. And he was struck by the realisation that was the last thing he wanted.

He fixed on her blue eyes. ‘My dad sent me to boarding school.’

‘Do those places even exist any more? I thought they only ever existed in Enid Blyton books.’

He shook his head. ‘Oh, they exist all right. And they’re just the place to send a ten-year-old whose mother’s died.’ He couldn’t keep the irony or the bitterness out of his voice. ‘I hated every second of it. The education part was fine. The school activity part was fine. But to go from living with your mother, to living there, with nothing really in between...’ His voice tailed off.

‘Why did he send you there?’

Jacob sighed. ‘There was no one else to look after me. I’m an only child and so were my father and mother. Both sets of grandparents were already dead. My father had another posting abroad with the military and there was no question that he wouldn’t go. He told me later that he’d always planned on sending me to boarding school.’ He pushed up the sleeves of his wet jumper.

She tilted her head to one side. ‘Had your mother stopped that?’

He shook his head. ‘I have no idea.’ He groaned and sagged back against the sofa. ‘There were so many things that I wished I had asked her. So many conversations I wish I could remember. Most of it is just all caught up in here.’ He waved his finger next to his head. ‘Sometimes I think that things I remember I’ve just made up.’

‘How did she die?’

Jacob hesitated, then took a deep breath. ‘Cancer. Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It was brutal—it sucked the life right out of her.’

She licked her lips. ‘Did you go to your mother’s funeral?’

He nodded. ‘It was full of people I didn’t really know. No one really spoke to me. And because of the time of year it was bitter cold and lashing with rain. We were only at the graveside for around five minutes.’

A little spark of realisation shot across her face. ‘When did your mother die, Jacob?’

This was it. This was the important part. He felt his eyes fill up and was instantly embarrassed. Men didn’t cry. Men shouldn’t cry.

But no matter how hard he tried not to, one tear escaped and slid down his cheek. His voice was hoarse. ‘She died three days before Christmas. I came home to a house we’d decorated together, that would never feel the same again.’

‘Oh, Jacob.’ Bonnie’s tears fell instantly, and she reached up to his cheek to brush his away. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine what that felt like.’

Now he’d started he couldn’t stop. He felt safe. He felt safe talking to Bonnie. Someone he’d known only a month and invited into his home. There was nothing superficial about Bonnie Reid. She was all heart and soul. He’d never met anyone like her before. Or if he had, he’d never taken the time to get to know them.

It felt right to tell Bonnie about his mother and why his insides were so messed up about Christmas.

‘I felt like when we buried my mother, we buried a little bit of ourselves. My father was never the same. I can’t remember ever seeing my father smile once my mother died. Our relationship was non-existent. I’m embarrassed by it. I’ve no idea if he just couldn’t cope. If it was all just grief. Or, if my mother had brought out another side of him, and when she died he just reverted back to how he normally was. All I know is that from the age of ten, happiness just didn’t feature in our house.’

Bonnie’s tears were free-flowing. ‘That’s awful. You had no one? No one else you could turn to?’

He shook his head. ‘Christmas felt like a curse after that. That’s why I hate it so much. I try not to be bitter. But it just doesn’t evoke the happy memories in me that it does for others. I do have good memories of Christmases with my mother. But they were so long ago. Sometimes I wonder if they even existed.’

‘Oh, Jacob.’ Bonnie reached over, her hand stroking the top of his. She left it there and squeezed gently, the warm sleeve of her jumper touching his forearm.

It was the touch. The heat of her hand, coupled with the act of compassion. Something he hadn’t felt in such a long time. Or maybe it was the relief?

The relief of reaching thirty-seven and finally being able to share with someone. It was as if a whole dark weight had lifted off his shoulders. He couldn’t rationalise it. It didn’t make any sense. But saying the words out loud, to someone who might actually understand, was a whole new concept for Jacob.

These last fourteen months had been so hard. The next few weeks probably the hardest while he waited for his results. The outcome of whether he’d come out the other side of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, or he’d succumb like his mother. Bonnie and Freya had been good for him. They’d brought some light back into his life at a time when he needed it most.