His Christmas Acquisition. CATHY WILLIAMS
have the new date updated onto your phone. So …’
‘So, you can run along and nurse your stress in private,’ Ryan drawled.
‘I will.’
But she spent the entire journey back to her house dwelling on the tone of his voice as he had said that. She wondered what he was thinking of her. She didn’t want to, but she did.
The barrier she had imposed that clearly defined both their roles felt as though it was crumbling around her like a flimsy pack of cards, and all because he had happened to catch her in a vulnerable moment.
Thanks to Jessica.
It was pitch-black and bitterly cold as she walked from the Underground station to her house. London was in a grip of the worst winter weather for twelve years. Predictions were for a white Christmas, although it had yet to snow.
In her house, however, the lights were on. All of them. Jamie sighed and reflected that, on the bright side, at least Jessica had managed to locate the key in its secret hiding spot under the flower pot at the side of the house. At least she had made it down to London from Edinburgh safe and sound, even if she brought with her the promise of yet more stress.
CHAPTER TWO
‘BUT you don’t understand …’
Jamie took time out from loading the dishwasher to glance round at her sister, who was wandering in a sulky fashion around the kitchen, occasionally stopping to pick something up and inspect it with a mixture of boredom and disdain. Nothing in the house was to her taste; she had made that very clear within the first few minutes of Jamie pushing open the front door and walking in.
The place, she’d announced, was poky. ‘Couldn’t you have found something a little more comfortable? I mean, I know Mum didn’t leave us with much, but honestly, Jamie!’ The furnishings were drab. There was no healthy stuff in the fridge to eat and, ‘What on earth do you do for alcohol in this place? Don’t tell me that you while away your evenings with a cup of cocoa and a good book for company?’
Jamie was accustomed to the casual insults, although it had been so long since she had actually set eyes on her sister that she had forgotten just how grating they could be after a while.
Their father had died when Jamie was six and Jessica still a three-year-old toddler and they had been raised by their mother. Jamie had been a bookworm at school, always studying, always mentally moving forward, planning to go to university. She left Jessica to be the one who curled her hair and painted her fingernails and, even at the age of thirteen, develop the kind of wiles that would stand her in very good stead with the opposite sex.
Jamie had never made it to university. At barely nineteen she had found herself first caring for her mother—who, after a routine operation, had contracted MRSA and failed to recover—then, when Gloria had died, taking on the responsibility of looking after her sixteen-year-old sister. Without Jamie even noticing, Jessica had moved from a precocious pre-teen to a nightmare of a teenager. Where Jamie had inherited her father’s dark looks and chosen to retreat into the world of literature and books, Jessica had been blessed with their mother’s striking blonde looks. Far from retreating anywhere, she had shown a gritty determination to flaunt as much of herself as was humanly possible.
A still-grieving Jamie had suddenly been catapulted into the role of caretaker to a teenager who was almost completely out of control.
What else could she have done? Gloria had begged her to make sure to keep an eye on Jessica, to look after her, ‘Because you know what she can be like—she needs a firm hand …’
Jamie often wondered how it was that she hadn’t turned prematurely grey from the stress of it.
And now, after all that muddy water under the bridge, stuff she still could hardly bear to think about, here was Jessica, back on the scene again, as stunning as ever—more, if that was possible—and already making Jamie grit her teeth in pointless frustration.
‘I understand that you have responsibilities, Jess, and they may be getting to you but you can’t run away from them.’ Jamie slammed shut the dishwasher door with undue force and wiped her hands on a tea towel.
Dinner had been a bowl of home-cooked pasta with chicken and mushrooms. Jessica had made a face and flatly refused to eat any of the pasta because she was off carbs.
‘It’s all right for you!’ Jessica snapped, scooping up her poker-straight blonde hair into a ponytail before releasing it so that it fell in a heavy, silky curtain halfway down her back. ‘You don’t have to deal with a bloody husband who works all the hours God made and expects me to be sitting around with a smile pinned to my face, waiting for him to return for a nice hot meal and a back massage! Like some kind of creepy Stepford wife.’
‘You could get a job.’
‘I got a job. I got eight jobs! It’s not my fault if none of them suited me. Besides, what’s the point me going out to work for a pittance when Greg earns so much?’
Jamie didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to think about Greg. Thinking about Greg had always been a downhill road. Once upon a time he had been her boss. Once upon a time she had fancied herself in love with him—a secret, pleasurable yearning that had filled her days with sunlight and made the burden of looking out for her younger sister more bearable. Once upon a time she had actually been stupid enough to think that he would wake up one day and realise that he cared for her in the same way she cared for him. Unfortunately, he had met Jessica and it had been love at first sight.
‘Have you thought about volunteer work?’ she offered, fed up.
‘Oh, purr … leese! Can you really see me doing anything like that, Jamie? Working in a soup kitchen in Edinburgh? Or arranging flowers in the local parish church and doing fund raisers with the old biddies?’
She had dragged one of the chairs over and was sitting with her long legs propped up on the chair in front of her so that she could inspect her toenails which were painted a vibrant shade of pink.
‘I’m bored,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m bored and I’m fed up and I want a life. I’m too young to be buried in the outskirts of Edinburgh where it rains all the time, when it’s not snowing, hanging around for Greg, who only cares about sick animals anyway. Did you know he’s got a fan club? The dishiest vet in town—it’s pathetic!’
Jamie turned away and briefly squeezed her eyes tightly shut. It had been years since she had last seen Greg but she remembered him as clearly as if it had been yesterday. His kind face, the way his grey eyes crinkled when he smiled, his floppy blond hair through which he constantly ran his fingers.
The thought of her sister being bored with him filled her with terror. In the end, Greg had been her salvation. He had taken over the business of worrying about Jessica. Jessica might not need him, but she, Jamie, most definitely did!
‘He’s crazy about you, Jess.’
‘Loads of guys could be crazy about me.’
Jamie felt her body go cold. ‘What does that mean? Have you? You’re not doing anything stupid, are you?’
‘Oh, don’t be such a prude.’ But she sighed and leaned back against the chair, letting her head flop over the back so that she was staring glassy-eyed up at the ceiling. ‘No, I’m not doing anything stupid, if by that you’re asking me whether I’m having an affair. But the way I feel …’
She allowed that possibility to take shape between them and it was all Jamie could do not to slap her sister. However, years of ingrained caretaking papered over the passing temptation. This, she felt, was a subject best left alone in the hope that it might just go away. She was busy wondering what topic she could choose that might be safer when the doorbell rang.
‘Someone flogging something,’ she muttered, relieved for the distraction. ‘Please, Jess, just give Greg a call. He must be worried sick about you.’
She