Single Dad In Her Stocking / A Puppy And A Christmas Proposal. Alison Roberts
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Emma handed Jenny the box of tissues. ‘I suspect you pulled a muscle between your ribs while you were wrestling with that frozen turkey,’ she told him. She put her hand on the left side of his chest. ‘Tell me if this hurts…’
Jenny stayed by the head of the bed, watched the thorough examination her husband was receiving and listened to the advice about cold and heat packs and using anti-inflammatory medication.
‘Are you sure it’s not a heart attack?’ she asked.
‘Quite sure.’ Emma smiled. ‘But you did the right thing in getting it checked out. I’m going to take your blood pressure while you’re here too, Terry.’
‘Imagine if it had been a heart attack.’ Jenny reached for another tissue. ‘Right before Christmas. I know it’s terrible at any time of year but there’s something about Christmas, isn’t there?’
‘Mmm…’ Emma stuck the earpieces of a stethoscope into place as a hint for Jenny to stop talking. She didn’t need a reminder of how much worse it was to have a tragedy at Christmas time. She placed the disc of the stethoscope over the artery in Terry’s elbow as she pumped up the blood pressure cuff.
Jenny hadn’t taken the hint. ‘It’s like the poor Cunninghams. Ruined Christmas forever for those poor boys. They used to call it “the Cunninghams’ Christmas Curse” in these parts.’
Emma knew she shouldn’t encourage gossip but it wasn’t as if she’d asked a question aloud. Her startled glance had been enough to prompt Jenny to continue.
‘Their poor mother,’ she said sadly. ‘Fought off the cancer for such a long time and all she wanted was one last Christmas with her little boys but they didn’t even get the decorations up.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And they’ve never been put up again, from what I heard. Not in that house…’
Emma let the pressure out of the cuff slowly. Concentrating on the figures as she heard a pulse begin and then disappear again didn’t stop part of her brain absorbing the information she’d just been given. What a sad house this must have been for Max—especially that first Christmas without his mother.
‘Your blood pressure is on the high end of normal,’ she told Terry. ‘Are you on any medication for that?’
‘Yes. Dr Cunningham looks after me well, don’t you worry about that. Can I get dressed again now?’
‘And then there was last year.’ Jenny handed her husband his jumper as he finished buttoning up his shirt. ‘Losing poor Andy like that. It shouldn’t have happened at all, but to have it happen in December. Another Christmas funeral…’ She clicked her tongue. ‘And now…those children… What sort of Christmas is this going to be for those poor wee mites?’
Terry’s head popped out of the jumper’s neck. ‘That’s enough, Jen,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sure Dr Moretti isn’t interested in hearing all this gossip.’
‘It’s not gossip,’ Jenny said defensively. ‘We care about each other in Upper Barnsley, that’s all. Especially our closest neighbours.’ She smiled at Emma. ‘Are you here to help Dr Cunningham, then? It’s about time he had another doctor to help him in this clinic. Young Max is brilliant but he’s always been one for an exciting life. He doesn’t want to leave that big emergency department at the hospital.’
‘I’m actually here to help at the hospital,’ Emma told them. ‘But, right now, I’m going to go and show Dr Cunningham your ECG, Terry, and let him know that you’re okay.’ She held the door open for the couple. ‘Have you got plenty of anti-inflammatories at home?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Jenny nodded. ‘And don’t go bothering Dr Cunningham with my Terry’s problems right now. I suspect he’s got enough of his own…’
‘You need to follow the directions on the tin for how many scoops. Level scoops, like this…’ Maggie scooped the formula and showed Max how to level it off with the back of a knife. ‘Put it into the bottle of warm water. Attach the nipple and ring and cap like this…and then shake it.’
Maybe baby Alice could smell the milk being prepared and she was sick of waiting. Or maybe she didn’t like the unfamiliar male arms that were holding her right now. Whatever the reason, her unhappy whimpers were steadily increasing into shrieks that were pulling the tense knots in Max’s gut tighter by the second.
‘Are you sure you can’t stay, Maggie?’
‘I’m sorry, Max, but it’s impossible. I’ve got my daughter, Ruth, arriving and she’s nearly eight months pregnant and on her own. She’ll be exhausted after that long drive up from Cornwall and I haven’t had proper time with her since that bastard of a boyfriend walked out on her a few weeks ago. We’ve got a lot of talking to do about how she’s going to cope.’ Maggie took the cap off the bottle and upended it. ‘Shake a few drops onto your wrist, like this. If it’s the right temperature it won’t feel either hot or cold. There…that’s perfect.’ She held the bottle out to Max. ‘Try that. She’s probably eating solids now as well and there’s plenty of baby food in with all that other shopping that’s in the pantry but she’ll be wanting her milk for comfort right now, I expect.’
He took the bottle and offered the teat to the baby. Alice turned her head away and arched into his arm as if she was trying to escape.
‘Take her into the drawing room with the others,’ Maggie suggested. ‘This is all new and strange for her too, and it might help if you’re sitting in a comfy chair with her brother and sister nearby.’
Max walked out of the kitchen and into an entranceway that looked like it had exploded into a collection point for a children’s charity over the last thirty minutes or so. A portable cot had a few stuffed toys and books in it. There were car seats and a pram and even a high chair, along with boxes of baby supplies like nappies and formula and suitcases that he’d been told were full of clothing. The social worker who had delivered the children and their belongings had been apologetic but in a hurry to get away before the snow started settling on the country roads and Maggie, who’d done far more than anything her part-time position with the Cunninghams had ever expected of her, was obviously worried about leaving the men to cope but also anxious to get back to her own family.
‘You go, Maggie,’ Max told her. ‘I’ve got this.’
The older woman gave him a searching look. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked quietly. ‘I don’t want to leave you in the lurch. Ruth would understand if…’
Max shook his head. ‘These children are my responsibility,’ he said. ‘Between us, Dad and I will figure it out.’ He joggled the baby in his arms and, for a merciful few seconds, the howling seemed to lessen.
‘You’ve got that lovely Emma to help, for tonight at least.’ Maggie was heading for the coat rack. ‘If you’re sure, then… I’ll come back as soon as I can in the morning if the roads are clear enough.’
As she opened the door, Max could see a car disappearing down the driveway. Emma had spent a good deal of time assessing that unexpected patient who had turned up but she hadn’t summoned an ambulance or come to find his father so he had assumed things were under control. Some things, anyway. Baby Alice was crying again as he went into the drawing room.
His father was sitting in his usual chair by the fire but Pirate had disappeared beneath the chair, which was highly unusual. On the sofa next to the chair were the two older children, Ben and Matilda. They were both sitting silently, side by side, holding hands. Six-year-old Ben was clutching a very small artificial Christmas tree in his other hand that was devoid of any decorations. Four-year-old Matilda had a toy rabbit with long legs and rather chewed-looking ears clamped under her arm. They both looked accusingly at their uncle when he came in carrying their miserable baby sister.
Max sat in the matching leather wing