Twins For Christmas. Alison Roberts
been busy all day.’
‘I did my practice, too. D’you want to hear what I learned today, Dad?’
‘Aye. Let me get my coat off, son. And I need a wee something to drink.’
He glanced across at Emma, feeling like he should apologise, although he wasn’t quite sure why. ‘D’you drink whisky, Emma?’
She shook her head but smiled. ‘Let me find one for you while you listen to Ollie’s new tune. You’ve had a long day. Dinner will ready in no time.’
There was no recrimination in her tone that she’d been left with the children all afternoon and that they’d been left without their promised walk or time with their father. No … Both the tone and the way she was looking at him gave him the odd feeling that she knew exactly how hard his day had been. He didn’t have to say anything about what had happened but she was still willing to try and make it better.
Even more oddly, it was starting to feel better. He could almost dismiss the edge of panic at seeing how Christmas was invading his house again. Maybe that was because the decorations were so obviously made by children with their wobbly shapes and sizes. Tania might have gone overboard with decorations but she would never have tolerated something so far less than perfect. Even the bunch of holly on the table was real instead of a perfect, plastic replica.
This was different. This was Emma, not Tania. Couldn’t be more different, in fact. Maybe it would even be okay.
‘Thank you.’ It felt like the first time Adam had ever smiled at Emma but surely that wasn’t the case?
Maybe it was because he’d never seen her smile quite like that. A slow, delighted curl to her mouth that lit up her face and gave her a faint flush of colour on those pale cheeks.
She was pretty, he realised. Not flaky looking at all. Too young for her years, still, and too thin, but … yes … pretty.
Beautiful even.
EMMA HAD A lot of time to herself on Sunday because Adam didn’t get called out, although he seemed to spend a lot of time on the phone and she overheard a snatch of conversation about a sick baby who was in Intensive Care. The children—and the dogs—got their long walk to see whether the pond was frozen and Emma was glad of the time on her own.
She sat in her room, with her laptop and her guitar, working on her Christmas gift for Sharon. She was writing a song about friendship and the strength it could give someone to get through hard times, and she intended to record it as a background to a slide show of all the best photos she and Sharon had taken over the last few years. She might even use the very private ones—like the one in her hospital bed where she’d been so swollen by the steroids she’d been taking and completely bald from the chemo. Sharon had insisted she needed a photo so that Emma would be able to look back and see how far she’d come and then she’d said something about eggheads and made Emma laugh, and that was the moment she’d captured.
She’d been so right. It was hard to believe how far she’d come. And maybe—Emma squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a heartbeat—she would be able to look back from the distance of many more years. But if she couldn’t, Sharon would have this gift from her heart for ever.
Back in the routine of the school week again, Emma was delighted to feel so at home with the routine of her new job. She was loving her time at the school, helping with the music classes, and the new friendship with the junior-school teacher, Caitlin, promised to be something special.
It was a bonus that Oliver took so long to find everything he needed to take home after school because it gave the young women a few minutes extra to chat.
‘I was telling Moira Findlay that you have one of the most amazing voices I’ve ever heard,’ Caitlin confessed on Monday afternoon. ‘She said they might consider offering you an invitation to join the village choir.’
Emma grinned. ‘I take it that’s a huge honour?’
‘You’d better believe it. Normally you have to be second-generation Braeburn, at the very least.’
‘Did you tell her I’m only here till Adam’s mother gets back?’
‘No.’ Caitlin’s face fell. ‘I’m kind of hoping you’ll fall in love with the place and decide to stay. He’s still going to need a nanny, isn’t he, and the last few have been disasters—especially that Kylie, who was far more interested in her boyfriend than the children.’
Emma backed away from the conversation fast. ‘My plans are totally up in the air for next year. I couldn’t commit to anything and Adam hasn’t mentioned the possibility, either. I …’
The urge to say something more was strong but this wasn’t the time or place. Caitlin must have sensed something big but her curious glance lasted only a moment. Poppy was tugging on Emma’s hand.
‘Sing Miss McMurray the new song, Emma. The Christmas one.’
‘We’ve got lots of carols we’re learning already, Poppy,’ Caitlin said.
‘But this is Jemima’s song. About Mary.’
‘“Little Donkey”,’ Emma supplied.
‘Oh …’ Caitlin’s eyes shone. ‘That’s one of my all-time favourite Christmas songs. How could I have forgotten it?’ She began to hum but then stopped. ‘That’s the chorus. How does it start again?’
Emma could see that Oliver had been totally distracted from finding his reading book by watching the goldfish in their bowl on the science table so she sang the first few lines about the little donkey on the dusty road, plodding on with its precious load.
Poppy beamed and Caitlin sighed happily. ‘Imagine our play with our Mary coming in on a donkey with Joseph leading her, and all the children singing that.’
‘I’m Mary,’ Poppy reminded her.
‘I know, pet.’ Caitlin patted her head.
‘And I’ve got a donkey.’
‘I know that, too. But Jemima’s a real donkey. We can’t use her in our play.’
‘Why not?’ Emma was caught by the image. Adam would be there in the audience, wouldn’t he? How amazing would that be, to see his two children and their pet creating Christmas magic for the whole village? She could take photos and give them a new memory that would always remind them of a joyous moment.
Caitlin was staring at her as if she had lost her mind.
‘She’s a very good donkey,’ Emma continued. ‘And Poppy’s used to riding her.’ From the corner of her eye she noted that Oliver had stopped watching the fish and was now watching them. ‘Would she still follow you in a strange place, Ollie? Would you be able to lead her?’
Oliver scowled at her. ‘‘Course I would.’
‘They could just come down the centre aisle and then the children could take their place on the stage and someone could take Jemima out the side door.’
‘Ohh …’ Caitlin was clearly completely captured. ‘How would we get her to the hall, though?’
That was a problem. ‘It is too far to walk,’ Emma agreed.
‘My brother’s girlfriend’s aunt runs a donkey sanctuary not far from here,’ Caitlin said thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if we could borrow a float?’
Poppy was bouncing up and down on her toes. ‘Hooray … Jemima’s going to be in our play.’
‘Hang on,’ her teacher warned. ‘Don’t get too excited. And don’t tell anybody else about it. We’ll have to get all sorts of permission, like from the