Читать книгу Twins For Christmas - Алисон Робертс - Страница 13

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 hall committee and from your daddy.’

The bright glow of the idea dimmed for Emma. Neither authority was likely to be too enthusiastic about this inspiration but she suspected Adam would be the hardest to convince.

But he was okay with the paper chains now, wasn’t he? And the Advent calendars and the holly? Maybe another small push forward would help get him into feeling the goodwill of the season more. When they passed a man selling Christmas trees off the back of a lorry on their way home, Emma stamped on the brakes.

‘I think we need a tree,’ she said aloud. ‘What do you think, kidlets?’

The twins were silent.

‘We could put it in the big living room,’ Emma suggested. ‘And we could make decorations for it. And then your presents can go underneath it on Christmas Eve. Is that what you usually do?’

‘We don’t have a tree.’ Poppy’s voice was very small. ‘We only go and see the tree by the church and the one in Gran’s house.’

A glance in the rear-view mirror revealed an expression on Oliver’s face rather like the one that had been on Caitlin’s when Emma had suggested adding Jemima to the junior school’s play. As if she was completely crazy.

‘Maybe that’s because Daddy gets too busy at Christmastime. Would you like to have a tree, Poppy?’

Poppy thought about this for a long moment. ‘Jeannie has her very own tree.’

‘So does Jamie,’ Oliver said. ‘And Ben and … and everybody.’

Emma channelled Catherine McAllister. It was up to her to make Christmas happen for these children, even if the thought of the repercussions of this step were more than a little scary.

‘Right, then.’ She reached for her wallet. ‘Come on. You can help me choose the best one.’

‘No.’

‘But, Daddy … I want Jemima to be in our play. Please …’

‘No.’ Adam’s fork clattered against his plate in the silence that followed the resoundingly negative response.

It was just as well that Emma had waited until dinner was almost finished before broaching the subject of including the largest family pet in the nativity play. Her appetite evaporated in the face of the atmosphere that instantly filled the McAllister kitchen—her favourite room in this grand old house. That single word had somehow created an impenetrable barrier and Adam was clearly angry. Was he even tasting the casserole he was forking into his mouth?

The last of the wonderful meals Catherine had left in the freezer, Emma had noted with some alarm. She would have to cook the evening meals herself from now on.

The children began simply pushing pieces of food around their plates with as little enthusiasm as Emma.

‘Eat your dinner,’ Adam ordered, ‘or there’ll be no ice cream.’

‘I don’t want ice cream.’ Poppy’s voice wobbled. ‘I want …’

No, Emma begged silently. Don’t say it.

‘I want Jemima to be in our play.’

Adam dropped his cutlery and his chair scraped back with a screech that made Emma flinch.

‘It’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard,’ he snapped. ‘And it’s not going to happen. I don’t want to hear another word about it.’ The stern glare Poppy was being subjected to was transferred to Oliver. ‘From either of you.’

Then it was Emma’s turn to get the look. ‘I expect this was your idea in the first place?’

For a heartbeat she felt frightened. It wasn’t just about potentially getting fired from a job she was coming to love far more than she’d expected. It was more about the glimpse into what Adam McAllister would be like if he lost control. She was sensing the depth of emotion hidden away in this man for the first time and who knew what might happen if it broke through those rigid, self-imposed constraints?

But then Emma was aware of something she rarely felt.

Anger.

She could see that the children really were frightened. Sitting there, like small statues, with pale faces and probably holding their breath. Scared that their daddy didn’t love them any more because they’d done something bad.

Was it so bad to dream of doing something a bit out of the ordinary? Okay … a lot out of the ordinary, but this was about Christmas, wasn’t it? About making a little bit of magic?

So she held Adam’s angry glare and lifted her chin.

‘Yes,’ she said clearly. ‘It was my idea. And Caitlin McMurray loved it. She said she’d talk to the hall committee about getting permission and that she could probably arrange transport to get Jemima into the village for the evening.’

Adam was on his feet now. He crumpled his serviette into a ball and threw it down beside his unfinished plate of food.

‘Have you seen the state of the village hall? It’s crumbling inside. The floorboards all need replacing. Quite apart from the public-health issues of an animal needing to relieve itself indoors, there would be the danger of the floor giving way. Imagine the panic that would create? Not only could Jemima get injured but so could anybody who was unfortunate enough to be sitting anywhere nearby. Like my children. You’re suggesting that I allow you to put them in danger for the sake of a school play?’

‘It’s a Christmas play.’ Emma was not going to let her voice wobble like Poppy’s had but it was a close call. ‘It’s special.’

‘Ach …’ Adam turned and strode towards the door. ‘I’m going to find somewhere I can get away from this nonsense. And I don’t want to hear anything more about it. From any of you.’

Bob followed his master from the kitchen but his head was hanging low. Benji started to follow Bob but then stopped and slowly slunk back beneath the kitchen table.

Emma swallowed a gulp. She reached out with one hand to squeeze Poppy’s hand. She would have squeezed Oliver’s too, but he promptly put both his hands in his lap to avoid her touch.

‘It’s okay,’ she told them with as much confidence as she could muster. ‘Daddy just needs time to get used to the idea. He’s a little bit cross but he’ll get over it, you’ll see.’ She found a smile. ‘Why don’t we all have some ice cream?’

‘We’re not allowed,’ Oliver informed her. ‘We haven’t eaten all our vegetables.’

‘I’ll bet Benji would eat them if we put them in his dish.’

The children looked astonished. Was an adult actually suggesting something naughty?

It wasn’t the first time that Emma had been struck by how like his father Oliver was. He was deep, this little boy, and there was a sadness in him that shouldn’t be there. It made her heart ache.

‘Sometimes,’ she said softly, ‘we all need a cuddle. And having a treat like ice cream—it kind of gives us a cuddle from the inside and makes us feel better. A tummy cuddle.’

Poppy climbed off her chair and onto Emma’s lap. She wound her skinny arms around Emma’s neck and buried her face on her shoulder. Emma happily gathered the little girl closer and rocked her a little as she cuddled her. She held out her other arm in an invitation for Oliver to join them but he stayed where he was with his head bent as if he was staring at his hands.

They heard the roar from Adam all the way from the living room. Oh … dear Lord … Emma had forgotten the tree they’d installed in there as soon as they’d got home, thanks to the clever stand the Christmas-tree man had sold her along with the spruce the children had declared the best.

They could hear the furious footfalls as he came storming back into the kitchen.

‘Whose idea was that, as if I couldn’t guess?’

It was Emma receiving the full force of the glare this time.

‘It has to stop, do you hear me? I won’t have it.’ Adam didn’t have to reach far above his head to grab hold of one of the paper chains. And it didn’t take much of a tug to have it break and drift down in pieces.

‘We don’t do Christmas.’ He wasn’t shouting but the quiet words were chillingly final. ‘Not in this house.’

Poppy burst into tears. Oliver was staring at the falling paper chains and Emma just knew she was going to see this staunch little boy cry for the first time, too. But the sound that came out of his mouth was more like a cry of fear.

‘Daddy …’ His pointing was urgent and Emma turned her head automatically, in time to see the flames from the paper chain that had landed on top of the stove.

With a vehement curse Adam flung himself towards that side of the kitchen. He grabbed a tea towel, put it under the cold tap and then covered the pile of burning paper. It was all over in seconds.

Except that it wasn’t over. Both the children were sobbing and this time Oliver had no objection when Emma gathered him under her free arm and took both children out of the kitchen and away from their father.

They were still sobbing by the time she’d got them bathed and into bed. Poppy fell asleep almost instantly, totally worn out by her misery. When Emma went back to check on Oliver again, she found he was also asleep—a tight ball of child entirely covered by bedding, with only his nose poking out. She bent and kissed the cold little nose.

‘It’ll be okay,’ she whispered, just in case he wasn’t really asleep. ‘I promise.’

She would just have to make it okay, she decided as she forced herself to go back downstairs instead of going to hide in her room, which was what she would have preferred.

Somehow she would have to put things right.

Adam didn’t hear Emma coming down the stairs but he knew she was on her way by the subtle change in the dogs. The way they pricked their ears and Benji’s tail made an almost apologetic sweep of the tiles that he couldn’t suppress.

He didn’t look up, however, so he was still sitting there at the table with his forehead resting on one hand and a whisky glass encircled by the other as she came into the kitchen. He hadn’t cleaned up the mess of charred paper yet and all he’d done with the plates of half-eaten food had been to push them to one side to make room for the whisky decanter and two glasses.

Two glasses?

Well … he had to start somewhere, didn’t he?

‘I’m sorry.’ It was harder than he’d expected to get the words out. A shame it made it sound like he didn’t really mean it but he did. He was absolutely appalled at how he’d behaved. And in front of the children …

He shoved the empty glass towards the closest chair at his end of the table. ‘Help yourself.’

She probably didn’t even drink whisky, he thought, as he remembered her refusal the other night. The night when he’d had the impression that she understood exactly how he was feeling.

Could he make her understand this?

The fact that she sat down in the chair and then reached to pull the stopper out of the decanter gave him a glimmer of hope. At least she was prepared to listen. He waited until he’d heard her pour herself a dram and then the clink of the stopper going back. He still couldn’t look up to meet her gaze, however.

‘It was the tree,’ he said. ‘It was in the same place. Exactly the same place.’

There. He’d said it. Only maybe it wasn’t enough because all he got back was an expectant silence. He risked a glance up from the amber liquid he was swirling in the bottom of his glass.

Blue eyes, she had. With a hint of grey, like the sea when there was a storm on the horizon. Right now they looked as big as oceans, too. She looked as though she could already see all she needed to know but she wanted to hear the words as well.

Adam took a sip of the warmed whisky and felt the fire trickle down his gullet.

‘The tree was right there beside the fire,’ he said finally. ‘When I got back home on Christmas Eve. It was covered with all its decorations and the lights were still flashing as though nothing had happened. All the presents were underneath, waiting for the bairns in the morning.’

Still Emma said nothing.

‘I’d had to go all the way to Edinburgh,’ Adam continued. ‘To identify Tania’s body. I’d been thinking all the way that she would be terribly burned and it would be the worst thing I’d ever seen but there wasn’t a mark on her, apart from the soot in her hair and around her nose and mouth.’

It had still been the worst thing he’d ever had to deal with, though. The shock of seeing his dead wife had been terrible enough. To be told she hadn’t been alone in her bed had been an additional blow he hadn’t been able to handle.

The police had been so understanding. Apologetic, really, at having to deliver the extra blow. Sympathetic. It could be kept quiet, if that’s what he would prefer.

Of course he would. Nobody would ever know. Emma certainly didn’t need to know, even though it was tempting to tell her, thanks to the look of appalled empathy in her eyes. Did he want her to really understand? To feel … sorry for him?

No.

He cleared his throat. ‘She’d died from the smoke inhalation, not the flames.’

Flames. How shocking had it been to see that paper chain erupt? The children must have been terrified and it was all because he hadn’t known what to do with that dreadful surge of feelings that had been unbearable.

‘It was very late by the time I got back. My mother was asleep upstairs with the children and it was the early hours of Christmas Day. The day I would have to tell my bairns that their mummy wasn’t coming home.’

‘I’m so sorry, Adam.’ The words were a whisper and when he looked up again there were tears rolling down the side of Emma’s nose.

‘It’s not your fault.’ He wanted to reach out and catch one of those tears with his thumb and wipe it away. He wanted to go upstairs and kiss his children and tell them he was sorry and that they would never see him like that again. He would do that. Soon. Even if they were asleep. And then he’d do it again tomorrow.

‘None of this is your fault,’ he told Emma. ‘It’s me.’

‘It’s me who’s tried to force you to bring Christmas into the house. I’m so sorry. For your loss and for the hurt I’ve caused. I was thinking about the children and their Christmas and I lost sight of how much it might hurt you.’

Emma was clearly not a practised whisky drinker. She took a gulp that made her cough and splutter and Adam had to resist the urge to pat her on the back.

To smile even.

‘I’ll get rid of everything,’ she offered. ‘I’ll explain to the children that you’re not ready to celebrate Christmas yet. That we can go and see the tree in the village and we don’t need to have one in the house. We can take the paper chains to school and I’m sure Caitlin will let us put them up in the classroom. And I’ll—’

Adam reached out and put his hand over hers. Only because she wasn’t looking at him and he wanted her to stop talking.

It worked. Emma went very still but Adam didn’t take his hand away from hers. It felt tiny and soft and warm under his and he liked it.

‘No,’ he said softly. ‘What you can do is show me how to make a paper chain. I want to fix this one so it’s right for when the children come down in the morning. And tomorrow I’ll go up into the attic and find the box of decorations for the tree.’

‘Oh …’ There was a sparkle in those blue-grey eyes that looked like more than the remnants of tears. And her hand moved under his. Turned and twisted so that her fingers were grasping his palm. Squeezing it. ‘Really? You’ll let us have a real Christmas? In the house?’

‘Aye.’ It was impossible not to catch a little bit of that childlike enthusiasm. The sheer joy that was breaking through. ‘Three years of grief is enough, I’m thinking. We’ll do this for the children.’

‘Oh …’ Emma jumped to her feet and Adam found himself standing up, too. Had he guessed that she would stand on tiptoe and throw her arms around him?

‘Thank you, Adam. Thank you so much …’

‘I’ll talk to the hall committee too, about Jemima being in the play. I still think it’s a bit daft but if they know it’s for the children—for the first real Christmas they’re going to celebrate since their mother died—they might just come on board.’

She was beaming up at him. Impossible not to smile back. She was so loving, this gypsy waif of a woman. So full of joy.

It was he who should be thanking her. He knew that but somehow the words wouldn’t form themselves. Instead, he felt his arms go around her. How long had it been since he’d felt the soft curves of a woman like this?

Three years—that’s how long. He’d actually forgotten how good it could feel.

He smiled back at her and she stretched up even more and kissed him on the cheek. Except that he moved his head somehow and it was the corner of his mouth that her lips brushed.

And, heaven help him, for a heartbeat he wanted her to do it again. To kiss him.

And not on his cheek.

Maybe Emma had sensed the longing. She sprang away from him. ‘I’ll get the sticky paper,’ she said. ‘There’s plenty left.’

Oh … help …

She hadn’t intended to kiss Adam at all and she certainly hadn’t been aiming anywhere near his mouth, but he’d moved somehow and her lips had been aware of exactly where they’d landed, albeit so briefly.

She’d dismissed the tingle that had run right through her body as embarrassment but it wasn’t going away as they sat cutting strips of coloured paper. It was more than embarrassment at being so inappropriate, wasn’t it? And hadn’t the lines between employer and employee been blurred beyond recognition by Adam talking about something so personal?

So incredibly sad …

Emma could understand completely how Adam felt about celebrating Christmas now and yet he was prepared to put his own feelings aside for the sake of the children.

How brave was that?

She stole a glance at the man sitting at the table with her. Such a serious face. And skilful hands that could probably do all sorts of incredibly intricate medical procedures but were currently being used with intense concentration to manipulate strips of rainbow-coloured paper. It was ridiculous but she actually felt … proud of Adam? For putting his children first. For being staunch.

And that seemed to intensify the lingering tingle. Emma needed to distract herself before she said or did something else that might overstep a boundary that was becoming more difficult to identify. She looked at what Adam was doing. He had made two loops. Separate loops.

‘Once you’ve made one loop, you need to thread the next strip through before you stick it into a loop. That’s how they join up. Like this … see?’

‘Oh … aye …’ Adam made a face. ‘I was distracted by the taste. I might need another wee dram to wash it away soon.’

He looked happier when he had three and then four loops joined together. ‘I can see why the children enjoyed doing this. It’s quite satisfying, isn’t it?’

Emma nodded, smiling as she remembered how much the twins had loved the activity. ‘Poppy and Ollie are easy to entertain,’ she told him. ‘They’re gorgeous children.’

‘You manage them very well. For someone who’s never been a nanny, you’re doing a good job, Emma.’

It felt like high praise. Especially when it came with a smile and a softening of those dark eyes. Yes … the lines of those boundaries had definitely been blurred. Where exactly did they stop now?

Inexplicably, that silent query kicked the tingle up by several notches. In a kind of backwards trickle that went through her limbs and pooled somewhere deep inside.

‘How do you know how to get on so well with kids? You said you didn’t have any younger brothers or sisters, didn’t you?’

She nodded again. ‘I did have a kind of older brother, though. Jack.’

‘A kind of brother?’

‘He was the son of my parents’ best friends. A lot older than me but we got on really well. Still do. He’s … important in my life.’

That was an understatement but Adam had obviously picked up on the vibe.

‘Your boyfriend?’

‘Heavens, no …’ Emma almost smiled at the question but there was something in Adam’s tone that she couldn’t place. Did he want her to have a boyfriend? So that those boundaries were clearly flagged? What would happen when he knew the truth?

‘I love Jack dearly,’ she said quietly, ‘but definitely in the brother category. And he’s happily married now with his first baby on the way. No … he’s even more special now because he became a doctor and then a specialist in oncology. He kept Mum going for a lot longer than she might have had otherwise and she had a good quality of life until … the end.’

And he’d been her primary physician ever since her own diagnosis. How many people were lucky enough to get a doctor who cared so much? Who was so determined to succeed?

‘How long ago did you lose your mother?’

‘Just last year.’ Emma met his sympathetic gaze. The boundary lines were totally invisible now. It felt like she was sitting here talking to a friend, not her employer. ‘And I miss her terribly. You’re very lucky to have your mum as part of your life.’

‘I know. But she does too much. It’s not fair …’ For a heartbeat, as Adam held her gaze, it seemed like he was going to say something else. About his mother? About her?

Something that might reveal he was feeling the extraordinary connection that had Emma slightly stunned?

No. Emma couldn’t tell if it was relief or disappointment that coursed through her as Adam frowned and looked away. Normal service was being resumed. Maybe a breathing space was a good idea. For both of them. Or maybe she’d just been imagining that connection.

He held up his paper chain.

‘Will this be long enough, do you think? When it’s joined to yours?’

By the time breakfast was ready the next day, the paper chains were back in place as though nothing had happened last night.

Poppy and Oliver had bounced back to normal in the delightful way children could. Not only was Adam apparently forgiven for his outburst, the twins were impressed that he had fixed the paper chain himself.

‘All by yourself?’ Poppy asked.

‘Emma showed me what to do.’

Emma looked up from where she was spooning porridge into bowls and grinned at him. ‘I expect you could have worked it out all by yourself,’ she said generously. ‘Coffee?’

‘Please.’ It made him feel good to remember their time together last night. Talking about things he would never normally share. Feeling as if he was in the company of someone he could talk to about anything at all. Adam began to smile back at her but he was aware of the intense scrutiny of the children so he smiled at them instead.

‘It makes your mouth taste funny after a while, doesn’t it? Licking the sticky paper?’

‘Aye …’ Oliver nodded solemnly as he climbed onto his chair. ‘It does at that.’

Adam’s mouth twitched into a wider smile at the adult turn of phrase from his small son but then it faded as he caught the glance slanted in his direction as Oliver reached for his glass of milk. There was a hint of wariness in those brown eyes that were so like his own. Ollie was on his best behaviour, wasn’t he? Just in case …

And that hurt. How often had his children tiptoed around him? he wondered. To stop him being cross.

Or sad.

The resolution to put the years of mourning behind this family and move forward had seemed more of a mountain to climb when he’d woken this morning after a somewhat disturbing dream that had included the new nanny but Adam had gathered it back and shored it up.

Things were going to change around here.

And Christmas was the perfect time to start.

‘Tonight,’ he told his children, ‘when I get home from work, we’re going to have an expedition.’

‘What’s an exposition?’ Poppy looked at the bowl Emma put in front of her. ‘I don’t like porridge.’ She frowned. ‘It’s icky.’

‘Not when you put a little bit of cream and some brown sugar on it. Here, I’ll help you.’

‘An expedition is an adventure,’ Adam told his daughter. ‘And when I get home, we’ll get the ladder out and go up into the attic.’

Oliver stopped making roads through his porridge with his spoon. ‘The attic? Where the ghost is?’

‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ Adam said firmly. ‘It’s where the box of Christmas decorations is. We’re going to find it and then decorate your tree.’

Poppy’s gasp was one of pure excitement. She had to climb off her chair, onto her father’s lap, throw her arms around his neck and plant a kiss—sticky with brown sugar—in the middle of his cheek.

The dogs caught the excitement. Benji barked and chased his tail over by the fire and staid old Bob’s tail was waving like a flag. Even studious little Oliver was grinning widely.

Adam could almost taste the sweetness of the sugary kiss Poppy had bestowed but when she returned to her own chair he looked across to where Emma was sitting with her own bowl of porridge. He might have expected to see her beaming at him with that infectious joy she had but, instead, her smile was poignant and there was a sparkle in her eyes that reminded him of when they had been full of tears.

She knew how much of an effort he was making here. That things were going to change and that this was going to be the best Christmas he could manage for the twins.

The memory of that butterfly’s-wing touch of Emma’s lips on the corner of his mouth came flooding back. And that peculiar moment when he’d caught her gaze after she talked about her mother and he’d had the disconcerting notion that he was actually falling into those blue pools. And that merged into a remnant of his dream that he couldn’t quite catch and probably didn’t want to anyway, but something was hanging in the air between him and Emma.

Yes. Things were changing. Had he thrown a pebble into a still pond and the ripples were only just beginning?

That was disturbing. Adam fed his crust to the dogs and drained the last of his coffee.

‘Time for me to go to work,’ he announced gruffly, careful to avoid any more eye contact with Emma that might add to the alarming impression that he might have started something that could get completely out of control.

‘You won’t forget, will you, Dad?’

‘What’s that, Ollie?’

‘About the adventure. In the attic.’

‘No, son.’ He ruffled Oliver’s hair. ‘I won’t forget. I promise.’

He kissed Poppy and nodded farewell to Emma. And it only took that microsecond of a look to realise that there were other things he wasn’t about to forget either.

However much he wished he could.