LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

ONE

      WHAT EMMA SINCLAIR needed right now was a magic wand.

      One that she could wave over the calendar on her wall and simply make the month of December vanish.

      Turn it into January and the start of a new year. A new life.

      Or not.

      Maybe she could use the wand not to wish time away but to freeze it. To make it always early December, with her feeling so well she could imagine the last few years had been nothing more than a very bad dream.

      It was getting a little stuffy in her tiny London apartment. Emma moved to crack open the window to let some fresh air in for a moment. Very fresh air. The sky was a dark slate and that cloud cover clearly swollen with moisture but it wasn’t likely to start falling as pretty snowflakes. A bit of stinging sleet, maybe. Or freezing fog.

      London could be so grey at this time of year.

      So bleak. It was only mid-afternoon but already there were lights on everywhere. In the street below and in the windows of the apartment buildings she looked out onto. Not just ordinary lights either. Some people already had their Christmas trees up and the row of shops at street level had them in their front windows with multi-coloured lights flashing and twinkling. Somebody was dressed as Father Christmas on the street, too, handing out flyers to passers-by, probably offering a discount on some seasonal service or product.

      There were lots of people hurrying about their business, wrapped up in coats and scarfs. Umbrellas were opening as the clouds decided to let go of some of the moisture. Mothers made sure their prams were well covered and tried to juggle parcels and small children to keep them sheltered.

      So many people.

      Families.

      Funny how a crowd could make you feel so much more alone.

      The phone ringing was a welcome distraction.

      ‘Sharon … What’s the weather like in sunny California?’

      ‘Gorgeous. Doesn’t feel right when it’s December. And how did that happen? It feels like yesterday that I was having my summer wedding in good ol’ Blighty. Is it all grey and freezing?’

      ‘Sure is.’ She would need to remember to close the window as soon as she’d finished talking to her closest friend. She stepped closer to the friendly glow of her small, gas fire.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Right at this minute? I’m looking at one of your wedding photos on my mantelpiece. You were the world’s most beautiful bride. You look so happy.’

      ‘Aww … I had the best bridesmaid. That helped.’

      Emma laughed. ‘You were marrying the love of your life—that’s what helped. How’s Andy?’

      ‘Gorgeous. We were talking about you last night and he told me to ring. We want you to come and have Christmas with us.’

      ‘Ohhh …’ The sound was a mix of frustration and regret. ‘I can’t. I have to be here for when they call me in. The three-month mark will be late December and they’ll have to squeeze me in when they get a space. Jack told me I’d better not go too far away.’

      ‘I feel awful I can’t be with you for that. It’s such a horrible procedure to have to go through on your own.’

      ‘I’ll cope.’

      ‘I want to be with you. To drive you home afterwards and make sure you take your painkillers.’

      ‘I know. It’ll be okay, Sharn.’

      ‘You could put it off until the new year … I’m sure that adorable Dr Jack of yours would be happy to oblige.’

      Emma had closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. ‘The waiting’s hard enough without making it longer. I … don’t think I could handle that.’

      ‘I understand … It’s rotten timing but the sooner it happens, the better. You’ll let me know, won’t you? The instant you have news?’

      ‘Of course. You’ll be the first to know.’

      ‘It’ll be good news. I’m totally sure of that.’

      ‘No. It won’t be good.’ Emma had to swallow hard now. ‘It’ll either be the best news ever or the worst. No middle ground this time. If it hasn’t worked it’s the end of the road. Nothing more they can do. Just a matter of time …’

      Her words went all wobbly and Emma kicked herself mentally for giving in to voicing her deepest fear. Maybe the uncharacteristic weakness had sneaked up on her because her gaze was resting on other photographs on her mantelpiece. The father she’d lost long ago. Her beloved mother who’d died just over a year ago now.

      ‘You need distraction,’ Sharon told her. ‘Being cooped up all by yourself isn’t helping.’

      ‘You’re right. I’m thinking of getting a job.’

      ‘Really? Are you feeling that good?’

      ‘I am. And there are plenty of temporary jobs that come up at this time of year. Do you remember the year that I was an elf?’

      ‘One of Santa’s helpers.’ Sharon was laughing. ‘I’m sure I’ve got a photo of you in that outfit somewhere. I’d better not show it to Andy or he might think he married the wrong girl.’

      ‘Yeah, right …’ But Emma was grinning. ‘Or I could busk …’ She shifted her gaze to a far corner of the room. ‘My poor guitar’s just gathering dust at the moment.’

      ‘Sounds cold. Being an elf would be more fun.’

      ‘Yeah …’ It was getting cold in the apartment now. Definitely time to close the window. To get moving properly, even. ‘You know what? I’m going to go down to the corner shop and get some papers. See what’s being advertised under the situations vacant.’

      ‘Go, you! Keep me posted.’

      ‘I will.’

      ‘Love you. Miss you heaps.’

      ‘Same.’

      When the call ended, all Emma could hear was the soft hiss of her fire and the patter of rain on the window. After the joy of conversation it was an unpleasant quietness.

      A very lonely one.

      Threatening. If she stayed in here it would pull her back into her pity party so allowing it to continue wasn’t an option. Latching the window, Emma shrugged into her warmest coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. She slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up her umbrella as she let herself out the door. She wouldn’t get the papers at the corner store. She’d walk all the way to the high street and get the bonus of a decent bit of exercise on her mission.

      ‘Ouch … That hurts, Daddy.’

      ‘Sorry, pet.’

      Adam McAllister suppressed a growl of frustration. Fine blonde hair was refusing to co-operate. How could his fingers be so deft when it came to removing a foreign object or stitching up a wound so that it barely left a scar but be seemingly incapable of braiding a small girl’s hair?

      ‘How about a wee ponytail instead?’

      ‘No.’ The headshake pulled the almost finished braid from his fingers and what had already been accomplished unravelled at the speed of light. ‘Jeannie always has plaits and I want to look the same.’

      ‘Dad? Where’s my shoe?’

      ‘Where you left it, I expect, Ollie.’ Adam picked up the hairbrush again and the movement made him notice the face of his watch. ‘It’ll have to be a ponytail, Poppy, otherwise you’re going to be late for school and I’ll be in trouble with Mrs Stewart at the clinic. The waiting room will be full of cross people

Скачать книгу