A Little Christmas Magic Read online

  Whatever it was, Emma was facing the realisation that this could possibly be the last Christmas she would ever have.

  And she was going to be sharing it with children who had no memory of what a happy, family Christmas should be all about.

  With a man who couldn’t see how precious life was and how you had to catch joy—not shut it out or allow it to be dimmed by shadows.

  The fey notion that fate had sent her here for a reason suddenly made sense. If this was going to be her last Christmas, how lucky was she that she could share it with Poppy and Oliver?

  She was going to make this the best Christmas ever.

  Starting with paper chains.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FLIGHTS OF FANCY first thing in the morning were a bit much but Emma seemed to have no control over this one.

  Here she was, standing by the kitchen bench, breaking eggs, and a single glance over her shoulder to where the man of the house was having his breakfast had been enough to trigger it.

  She could see Adam McAllister wearing a kilt. With his hair even longer than the current shaggy style so that dark, tangled waves kissed his shoulders. Standing in solitary splendour on the top of a hill, with a set of bagpipes tucked under his arm, offering a mournful lament to the universe. It was almost enough to bring a tear to her eyes. She certainly had to stifle a sigh.

  In fact, Adam was wearing a dark jumper over his shirt and tie, buttering his toast and adding marmalade, just like any normal mortal. There was no excuse for the words that popped out of Emma’s mouth.

  ‘Is there a McAllister tartan?’

  ‘What?’ Adam’s hand stopped halfway towards his mug of tea. He sounded both impatient and bewildered.

  Emma made herself walk to the fridge to get some milk for the eggs but she couldn’t look at Adam. She’d woken up a little nervous that this was the start of the weekend and she’d be seeing a lot more of the children’s father. She’d been hoping to impress him by how well she’d settled into this new job but she’d obviously annoyed him by asking a stupid question.

  ‘It’s just that I saw a man playing the bagpipes in the village yesterday and he was wearing a kilt. I know that the colours and patterns vary according to clan and I just wondered … Oh, help. Now she was prattling on. ‘If, you know, you had one for your family.’

  ‘Of course we do.’

  ‘Oh …’ Emma waited but that seemed to be the end to the conversation. ‘That’s nice.’ She poured milk into the bowl of eggs and started whisking them. The silence stretched on.

  ‘We’re a branch of Clan Donald,’ Adam said, with an air of having realised he might have been rude in giving such a terse response. ‘The tartan’s red and green with white stripes and a little bit of royal blue.’

  ‘Sounds lovely.’ Emma pressed her lips together but the question refused to stay unspoken. ‘Do you ever wear a kilt?’

  ‘Only for weddings.’ She could feel Adam glaring at her back. ‘And funerals.’

  Oh …man. She took a deep breath. This was going to be a long weekend. ‘Would you like some scrambled eggs? I’m making them for Poppy and Ollie.’

  ‘No.’ Adam’s chair scraped as he pushed it back. ‘I’m due at the medical centre. We have a Saturday morning clinic until eleven and then I’ve got my house calls to make.’ Reaching for the crust of toast he’d left on his plate, Adam divided it and gave a piece to each of the dogs, who were flanking his chair. The action was as automatic as picking up his napkin to wipe his mouth and it made Emma feel better.

  There was kindness lurking under that gruff exterior, wasn’t there?

  She almost changed her mind as he went to the kitchen door and raised his voice.

  ‘Poppy—are you out of those pyjamas yet? Oliver—hurry up and find your chanter and don’t forget your music book this time.’

  He turned back to pick up the coat draped over the arm of the old couch near the fire. ‘Do you know where you’re taking them?’

  ‘Yes.’ Emma’s nod was confident. ‘I drop Ollie at Mr McTavish’s house at nine o’clock, take Poppy to her dance class at the hall for nine-thirty, go back to get Ollie at ten and we pick up Poppy at ten-thirty.’

  Adam gave a single nod. ‘Good.’

  ‘I thought we’d go into the village after that. We can see if they’ve finished decorating the big tree and get some fresh bread to go with our soup for lunch. Will you be back by then?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ In his coat now, Adam reached for the leather doctor’s bag that had probably been his father’s before him. ‘If I am, you can have the afternoon off. And tomorrow, of course, being Sunday.’

  ‘But what would you do with the children if you got a call?’

  ‘They come in the car with me. They’re used to it.’

  ‘I don’t need a day off,’ Emma told him. ‘I’m loving being with the children.’

  Adam paused en route to the door and the look Emma received was one of surprise. Had she sounded too enthusiastic perhaps?

  Needy even?

  Or maybe he thought it was some sort of rebuke directed at how little time he seemed to spend with his children.

  Whatever was going on behind that dark, unreadable gaze, the eye contact made Emma’s heart skip a beat. How could just a look feel like a physical touch?

  It went on for long enough to make her start feeling a little peculiar and maybe he would have held her gaze even longer because Emma found herself unable to look away, but then the children burst into the room. Ollie had an instrument that looked like a recorder in one hand and a very dog-eared book in the other.

  ‘I found them, Dad. They were under my bed.’

  Poppy was right behind him. ‘And I’m all dressed now. I just need Emma to do my hair.’ Her face fell when she saw the bag in her father’s hand. ‘Are you going out now?’

  ‘You know I have to work on Saturday mornings, love.’

  Emma’s gaze had been drawn straight back to Adam’s face so she could see the softening as he looked down at his children. There was even a curl to his mouth that most would probably label as a smile but it wasn’t a real smile. Had his children ever seen his eyes crinkle with happiness or basked in the joy of hearing him laugh aloud?

  ‘I’ll be back this afternoon,’ he said. ‘We can take the dogs for a walk if it stops raining and see if there’s enough ice on the pond to go skating.’

  His son’s hair got ruffled and Poppy got a kiss on the top of her head and then he was gone. The children—and the dogs—were left staring forlornly after him.

  ‘Who wants eggs?’ Emma asked brightly.

  ‘Me. I love eggs.’ Poppy climbed up onto a chair.

  ‘I don’t.’ Oliver kicked his chair leg before sitting down. ‘I think they’re icky.’

  ‘Icky eggs.’ Poppy giggled but then cast a doubtful look towards the pan Emma was stirring.

  ‘That’s only because you haven’t tried my special scrambled eggs,’ Emma said firmly. ‘They’re from your very own hens and they look yummy. I’m going to have some too and then we’re going to get our skates on and get you to your classes on time.’

  Poppy frowned. ‘I don’t think I can dance with my skates on.’

  Emma laughed. ‘It means that we need to be quick.’ She put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Poppy. ‘To go fast, like we’re pretending to be on skates.’

  ‘I love skating.’ Poppy picked up her fork. ‘I hope the pond is all freezed up. Will you come and have a look on our walk, too, Emma?’

  The wide-eyed, hopeful look that accompanied the invitation was irresistible but Emma rapidly replayed Adam’s words in her head. He’d offered to take the children for a walk. He’d told her she could have the afternoon off. That added up to him wanting time alone with his children, didn’t it?

  ‘I might have some things I need to do,’ she told Poppy. ‘But you can tell me all about it later.’

  Adam wasn’t home by the time the soup was hot and the crusty loaf of bread h
ad been sliced and buttered.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll wait,’ Emma decided. ‘I can leave some soup on the stove to stay hot for Daddy and we’ll save him lots of bread.’

  ‘And a chocolate?’

  ‘Does Daddy like chocolate?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Poppy nodded her head enthusiastically but then frowned. ‘Not as much as me.’

  Emma eyed the small bowl on the table. ‘You didn’t open too many doors on your calendar, did you?’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘That’s Ollie’s chocolates too. Is there really one behind every door until it gets to Christmas?’

  ‘Sure is. Have you guys never had an Advent calendar before?’

  Poppy shook her head again. ‘Jeannie told me about them at school but I didn’t believe her.’

  A momentary doubt surfaced as Emma looked at the two Advent calendars now pinned to the bottom of the big corkboard, within easy reach of the children. Surely Adam wouldn’t object to them having the excitement of opening the doors to find the treat and the tiny Christmassy picture every morning?

  ‘Ollie? You can stop practising now. Come and have lunch.’

  ‘I’m going to wait for Dad.’

  ‘But we don’t know how long he’ll be. You must be hungry.’

  Sitting on the sofa, Oliver shook his head and kept blowing on his chanter, laboriously changing his finger positions over the holes. The noise was terrible. No wonder the dogs were looking unhappy.

  ‘Tell you what …’ Emma had to raise her voice to be heard over the shrill notes. ‘Why don’t you have a little bit now and then some more when Dad gets home?’

  Oliver appeared not to have heard the suggestion but when the telephone rang he dropped his chanter and ran to answer it. He came back scowling. ‘Dad says Mrs Jessop is having her baby and it’s coming too early so he has to stay and look after her until the ambulance comes and he might have to go into the hospital with her, too. He might not be home till teatime.’

  ‘Oh … Emma’s heart gave a squeeze at the small boy’s obvious disappointment. ‘We’ll just have to find something fun to do until then, won’t we?’

  Oliver’s scowl deepened.

  Emma tried hard to keep the children amused and cheer Oliver up. They all put wellies and coats on and took some carrots out for Jemima the donkey, who was very happy to have visitors. Emma scratched her woolly head and stroked the extraordinary ears.

  ‘She has beautiful eyes.’

  ‘She’s really clever,’ Oliver said. ‘She can undo knots. Dad says it’s no use ever tying her up.’

  Poppy was being nuzzled gently.

  ‘She’s kissing me, Emma. See? She loves me. She’specially loves it when I ride her.’

  ‘Really? Does she have a saddle?’

  ‘You don’t need one,’ Oliver told her. ‘There’s lots of fluff to hang onto and she never goes fast.’

  ‘How does she know where to go?’

  ‘She follows me,’ Oliver said. He stood a little taller. ‘That’s why she’s so good at undoing knots. She doesn’t like being tied up because she wants to follow me. Jemima loves me, too.’

  ‘She’s quiet now,’ Emma observed. ‘She’s pretty loud in the mornings, isn’t she?’

  ‘That’s because she’s lonely,’ Poppy said sadly. ‘Donkeys need to have a friend.’

  ‘Can we go and look at the pond now?’

  ‘Do you know where it is, Ollie?’

  ‘Up there.’ His arm waved vaguely towards the wooded hill behind the house that separated the garden from surrounding farmland. ‘Somewhere.’

  ‘Hmm.’ It was tempting to take the children and dogs off for a walk but Emma had a sudden vision of them all getting lost in the Scottish highlands. She could imagine the activation of the local search and rescue team as the snow started falling thickly and what Adam’s face would be like if she put his children into such danger.

  Maybe it was fortunate that the leaden sky overhead decided to release the first fat raindrops on top of them.

  ‘Let’s get Jemima tucked up into her nice warm stable. I’ve got something special we can do inside.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a surprise.’

  It was certainly Oliver that the donkey was willing to follow. He didn’t even need to hang onto her halter as he led her into the straw-covered stable. They closed the bottom half of the door so she could see out but the mournful braying started even before they got back to the house.

  ‘She’s lonely again,’ Poppy said. Her bottom lip quivered.

  ‘Oh … look.’ Emma wanted to distract Poppy. ‘That’s a holly hedge. Let’s pick some.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s what you do at Christmas. We need branches that have lots of lovely red berries. Let’s see how quickly we can find some and get inside before it really starts raining.’

  The rain was pouring down by the time they reached the warmth of the kitchen again. The dogs left muddy paw prints over the flagstone floor and curled up close to the fire that Emma stoked. She cleared the table and produced the packets of coloured paper she had purchased in the village the day before and showed them how to cut strips and make interlocking loops by sticking the ends together.

  ‘Do lots of different colours,’ she said. ‘And make them really long. I’ll find something to stick them up with and we’ll make the kitchen so pretty it will be a lovely surprise for when Daddy gets home.’

  The task was a novelty that the children loved. The strips were a bit wobbly and the loops a variety of sizes but it didn’t detract from the overall effect as the simple decorations grew. Emma cleaned up the lunch dishes and found a big bowl to arrange the holly branches in. She sang the Christmas carol the children had never heard about the little donkey and Poppy made her sing it again and again as she tried to learn the words.

  Then she searched cluttered drawers until she found some drawing pins and tape that she could use to hang the paper chains. This required some effort, moving the table and then standing on a chair on top of it but by the time daylight had faded completely they were able to stand back and admire the team effort.

  Rainbow chains linked all four corners of the room, dipping between the beams to give graceful curves to the lines. The whitewashed ceiling made the colours seem even brighter and the transformation from ordinary to festive was very gratifying. Who wouldn’t love it?

  The sound of singing was the last thing Adam needed when he stepped into his home after a long and difficult afternoon. The happy sound was totally inappropriate when he’d just left people who were suffering—like poor Aimee Jessop, who looked like she might lose yet another bairn.

  The clock had stopped, he noted. Because he’d forgotten to wind it.

  At least Bob wasn’t limping as much but it had been Emma who had decided to take him to the vet to have his dressing changed and receive instructions on how to care for the dog. Had Jim, the vet, made some comment about how it was just as well it wasn’t going to be left entirely in Adam’s hands?

  And it had been Emma who’d made him feel like he wasn’t doing enough for his children, too. The way she’d said how much she loved being with them this morning. He loved being with them, too, but how many others would realise that?

  He’d promised to spend the afternoon with them today and look what had happened.

  A premature labour at only twenty-seven weeks for poor Aimee. Four weeks longer than the previous two pregnancies and she’d really begun to hope that this time she would get to take her baby home. He’d tried to keep her calm until the ambulance arrived and he couldn’t have let her go to the hospital alone. Not when her husband was out on the oil rig for another two weeks.

  Not even noticing the muddy streak Benji’s paw left on his trousers, Adam kept moving. Maybe a wee dram of whisky before his tea would help. And some time with the children. He could read them a story before bed.

  The words of the song were audible now. ‘“Little donkey, little donkey,
on the dusty road …”’

  Maybe the children would prefer to hear songs than a story.

  Adam stepped into the kitchen. He was expecting warmth and the smell of hot food. The loving greeting his children always gave him and the prospect of winding down in the comfort of his favourite part of his house. He wasn’t expecting to be hit in the face with a blinding kaleidoscope of colours.

  ‘What in heaven’s name is going on in here?’

  ‘Daddy …’ Poppy flung her arms around his legs. ‘We’ve made decorations. Aren’t they bee-yoot-i-ful?’

  Adam took another upward glance at the desecration of the ancient, oak beams.

  ‘And we’ve learned a song all about Jemima.’

  ‘It’s not about Jemima.’ Oliver was right beside his sister now. ‘It’s about another donkey. The one that Mary was riding to get to Bethlehem.’

  Christmas again. How did it manage to accentuate the worst of life in so many ways? Impossible not to think about a donkey carrying the pregnant Mary. With a full-term pregnancy that everybody knew ended up with a healthy baby, despite less than adequate birthing facilities. Unlike poor Aimee who had access to the best of modern care but now had a scrap of a bairn who was on life support in a neonatal intensive care unit in Edinburgh.

  Adam tried to push the concern away. To focus on his own healthy children. Tried to centre himself by a glance around the room below ceiling level. At least that looked relatively normal. Or did it?

  ‘What …’ he actually had to swallow before he could find any more words ‘… are those?’

  The children had fallen strangely silent. Even Poppy, who could never be called a quiet child. It was Emma who answered.

  ‘They’re Advent calendars. You get to open a little door every day until Christmas Eve and there’s a new picture and a little chocolate. Very little and the children haven’t eaten them all from the doors that already needed to be opened. They saved them. For you.’

  She sounded nervous, Adam realised. He looked over the twins’ heads and looked at her properly for the first time since he’d come into the room. He still hadn’t got used to the way she looked, with that air of being a stray gypsy waif, but he was certainly letting go of the idea that she could be unreliable or unable to commit to anything. She’d thrown herself into being his children’s nanny with her heart and soul, hadn’t she? They loved her.