Midwives On-Call At Christmas. Tina Beckett
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‘No. I’ve never had the chimney swept. It is apparently in working order. I just never got around to it.’ He pointed to the walls. ‘I do have the original cast-iron radiators. So don’t worry. You won’t be cold.’
She shook her head. ‘Oh, I’m not worried about being cold.’ She looked down. ‘The floorboards are gorgeous too. Are they original?’ She knelt down and ran her hand along the floor. He was learning quickly that Bonnie was a very tactile person.
‘I sanded them down. It took about a year to do the whole house.’
She nodded in approval. ‘I noticed the gorgeous geometric floor tiles on the way in too. I always wanted a hallway with those.’ She looked a little lost in her own thoughts, then gave a little shrug. ‘I’d be happy just to have a hallway right now.’
‘Those tiles were hidden under the ugliest shag-pile carpet you’ve ever seen.’
She gasped. ‘Really?’ Then shuddered. ‘What a crime to cover those up.’
‘It probably saved them from being ruined. I’ve had them all coated now with something that should mean they last the next hundred years.’
She took a look around her. ‘I’ll never be able to afford a place like this. You’re so lucky.’
Lucky. Now there was a word he’d never use to describe himself. Over the course of such an eventful day he’d realised how easy it was to be around Bonnie. Now it struck him how little she actually knew him. How little most of the staff at CRMU actually knew him. He could count on one hand the people he’d actually trusted with his secret. They knew how much he’d struggled this last year. How frustrated he’d been when he couldn’t deal with patients because of the type of chemotherapy he was undergoing. How much he wanted just to get back to normal and do his job the way he always had.
Lucky. Maybe he was lucky. His cancer was treatable. Other types weren’t. He’d managed to undergo his treatment quietly with only one day off work sick. Good planning had played a huge part in that. Having a cancer treatment team who were willing to allow him to start chemotherapy on a Thursday evening, which meant the after-effects didn’t really hit until the Friday night, meant he could still work, then spend most weekends in bed to allow himself to recover.
But he still didn’t feel lucky. His mother certainly hadn’t been. She’d had the same type of cancer that he had—non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It was generally thought that it wasn’t an inherited disease. But tell that to the families where more than one person had it. There was just so much still to learn about these diseases. So many genes in the body where they still couldn’t determine their purpose.
But his last treatment was finished now. In a few weeks’ time he’d have his bloods rechecked to see if the treatment had worked and his cancer was finally gone. The whole black cloud that had been hanging over his head for the last fourteen months would finally be gone. Maybe. Hopefully.
Bonnie was still walking around. She had a little look of wonder on her face. As if she really did love the place. She stood with her back to the bay window and looked across the room. A smile lit up her face. She was obviously seeing something that he didn’t.
‘This place must be so gorgeous at Christmastime. I can just imagine it.’ She spun around and held out her hands. ‘A huge tree at this window that everyone out on the street can see.’ She walked towards the fireplace again. ‘One of those green and red garlands for the mantel, with some twinkling lights.’ She turned back to the window. ‘And some old-fashioned heavy-duty velvet curtains around the window.’ She touched the white blinds that were currently in place and gave a little frown. ‘Do you change these at Christmas? It’s such a gorgeous bay window. You should make the most of it.’
He could almost hear the shutters clanging into place in his brain. He saw it. The pictures in her head that would never be in his. Never. He didn’t do Christmas—hadn’t since he was a young boy.
She couldn’t possibly know. She couldn’t possibly understand. He and his father had literally watched the life being sucked out of his mother. She’d died around Christmastime and the season celebrations had been a permanent reminder ever since. He hated Christmas. He’d always offered to work it, and since most of his colleagues had children they’d always been happy to accept his offer. He’d never hung a single decoration in his home. He didn’t even own any.
He could see her gaze narrow ever so slightly as she looked more critically now around the whitewashed room with white window blinds. Apart from the wooden floor, the only thing that gave the room some colour was the dark leather suite.
He’d always loved his house. It suited his needs fine. He didn’t want to accommodate anyone else’s opinions or tastes.
He walked back out to the hall. Away from the look of expectation on Bonnie’s face. Away from her smiling, overactive imagination. ‘I don’t really have time for Christmas, or to decorate. There’s not much point. I’m always on duty at the hospital anyway. Come on, I’ll show you both where your rooms are.’
He didn’t even wait to see if she was following him. Just picked up the first two cases and headed to the stairs. Bonnie still had that glazed expression on her face. She touched the banister. ‘This must be beautiful with tinsel wound around it.’
He swept past her on the staircase. ‘Not going to happen. Not in this house.’ He was done being subtle. She hadn’t picked up on the first clues. He was going to have to hang a sign saying ‘No Christmas’ above the mantelpiece. What did it matter anyway—by Christmas she wouldn’t be here. Not in his house anyway.
He paused at the landing, ignoring her puzzled expression and cutting her off before she had the chance to speak. ‘There’s three bedrooms on this floor—one of which is mine—and two bedrooms and a bathroom on the floor above. I think you and Bonnie might be better up there. More privacy for you both.’
More privacy for me too. He didn’t want to wander along the hall half dressed to find a little red-haired girl with her disapproving glare.
He started up the other flight of stairs before Bonnie really had a chance to reply. The housekeeper had definitely been in today. The doors of both rooms were open and he could smell the freshly laundered linen on the beds. He put the cases in the first room that had a double bed. ‘I’m assuming you’ll sleep in here and Freya next door. There’s a single in there. Bathroom’s at the end of the hall.’ He walked along the corridor and flicked the light switch in the white-tiled bathroom. He hadn’t really thought about it before. Just about everything in this house was white.
He watched as Freya walked suspiciously into the single room, her eyes flitting from side to side. She looked at the single bed covered in a white duvet, the chest of drawers, and then turned around and walked back to Bonnie, wrapping her arms around her waist and cuddling her tight.
Her actions gave Jacob a start. There was nothing wrong with this room. It was fine. Why didn’t she like it? He took a few seconds and looked again. Maybe the room was a little stark. Maybe it wasn’t exactly welcoming for a little girl. But how on earth would he know what a little girl would like? It wasn’t as if he’d had any practice. The kids he was generally around were only a few days or hours old.
‘Maybe you’d like to sleep in with your mum?’ He had no idea where that had come from. Chances were, he’d just committed some huge parenting faux pas. He was just struggling to understand Freya’s reaction to the perfectly acceptable room.
Bonnie looked up and shot him a grateful glance. ‘We’ll play it by ear. Thank you, Jacob.’
He gave a relieved nod. ‘Sorry, I didn’t show you the kitchen or the back sitting room. It has a more comfortable sofa—and another TV and DVD player.’ A thought darted into his brain. ‘The only place I’d prefer Freya stay out of is my office downstairs.’ The place was full of research about non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Statistics for everything, including the most successful forms of treatment. Freya wouldn’t be able to read any of that but Bonnie would if she followed Freya in.