Christmas Wishes: From the Sunday Times bestselling and award-winning author of romance fiction comes a feel-good cosy Christmas read

by Sue Moorcroft

When the call was over it still wasn’t time to cook the peas so Nico hit Facebook, seeing a picture of his brother Mattias smooching with Felicia by the stream that splashed down the hillside outside Husqvarna Museum where Mattias worked. Looking good, Nico typed beneath.

  Next on his newsfeed was a meme from Hannah. Dear Life, before you hurl more shit my way, please give me a chance to get behind the fan. People had posted laughing emojis or Aw, what’s up, Hannah? Hannah hadn’t enlightened them. With a dart of guilt he remembered Thursday evening and her getting a ‘call home’ text from her mum. Had it been something serious?

  He stared at his phone meditatively. It provided several ways to get in touch with Hannah but that didn’t mean he should. He put it away. He’d made a decision. He’d drawn boundaries. He shouldn’t step over them.

  It was ten that night when Nico flopped on his sofa and called Vivvi.

  She didn’t apologise that she hadn’t rung as promised but answered with an enormous sigh. ‘I think I’m getting to the bottom of things. The doctor prescribed antidepressants but Loren decided she liked the feelings from depressants – barbiturates – better and got supplies via a Snapchat contact.’

  ‘Snapchat?’ Nico echoed incredulously.

  ‘A hotbed for illicit sales of prescription drugs, apparently,’ confirmed Vivvi. ‘She says she’ll talk to a counsellor but goodness knows if she will. Her head’s all over the place. Red’s feeling drained and depressed and doesn’t need this stress.’

  Nico could empathise.

  ‘Anyway,’ Vivvi said with the air of one who knew it was her duty to tell the worst. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t cope with Maria.’

  ‘Oh.’ He digested that. ‘Not even with Loren there?’

  ‘Especially not with Loren here.’ She took a big breath. ‘We’re hoping you can keep her until the situation’s sorted out.’

  Shock rippled through Nico, even though part of him had expected this. ‘Loren’s her mother, you and Redfern are her grandparents and you’re abdicating responsibility?’

  Vivvi’s voice wobbled. ‘You have a nanny. Loren’s in tears if I suggest she should make more effort with Maria. Or, for that matter, Josie.’ Softly, she began to cry. ‘I’ve been searching my heart. If you say no, I’ll have to get her officially fostered. There are lovely families who look after children while their parents are ill.’

  ‘Tilly isn’t employed full-time.’ But he knew Vivvi wasn’t listening. He closed his eyes and let his head drop onto the back of the sofa, beaten up by problems.

  ‘The child support would be sent on to you,’ Vivvi added hopefully. ‘Red and I might be able to weigh in with some money too, if that makes a difference.’ He could almost hear the rustle of straws as she clutched at them.

  Loren’s family being prepared to help with expenses emphasised how much they wanted him to agree. How cornered he was. ‘It’s not the money,’ he croaked, his throat feeling lined with sand. ‘I can’t—’ he muttered. Then he cleared his throat. ‘I can’t commit myself tonight.’

  ‘OK,’ whispered Vivvi.

  Too wired to sleep after the call ended, Nico lay on the sofa and, on his phone, pulled up a list of typical symptoms of substance abuse. His heart had been doing a lot of sinking but this weighed it down further. Withdrawal from responsibility was high on the list.

  Yep. He was becoming excruciatingly aware.

  Chapter Ten

  On Sunday, Nico had a lot to think about. On automatic, he began the day with the porridge he’d neglected to make the day before while chatty Josie entertained her sister. Nico watched them play with pastel-coloured magnetic building blocks Josie had found in the back of a cupboard.

  What the hell was he going to do? His mum was right: Maria wasn’t his responsibility – but he didn’t have the stomach for handing his daughter’s sister over to the state.

  Josie kept asking about Loren like a police officer trying to catch him out in an inconsistency. ‘Where’s Mum gone?’

  ‘She’s staying with Grandma and Grandpa till she’s feeling better. Grandpa’s recovering after his operation so we’re helping out with Maria.’ Yes, they all hoped Mum would get better. Same for Grandpa. Yes, Grandma did have a lot on her plate at the moment. But, yes, Mum would get better.

  Maria listened, glancing between Josie and Nico as if checking they were still there.

  After his thoughts going round in circles for most of the morning, Nico realised he knew someone to talk to, someone with a wealth of experience. Nan Heather, Rob and Hannah’s grandmother, had fostered many children. Correctly assuming an elderly lady would have a landline, he ascertained her number from thephonebook.bt.com and called her up while the girls played in the lounge.

  He found he didn’t have to remind her who he was. She wore her ninety years lightly.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Nan Heather’s voice reminded him of a chesty mouse.

  ‘Hope so.’ He plunged into the story of how Maria had come to be staying with him again and what had been asked of him. ‘I’m frying my brain, trying to decide what to do,’ he ended ruefully.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Nan. ‘You’ve talked of responsibility but you must also be pragmatic. Maria’s birth dad isn’t in the picture?’

  Maria’s dad. Loren’s lover. To Nico he’d never had an actual name. ‘Only financially. He’s never met Maria and I’m told Loren doesn’t have contact details.’

  Nan Heather grunted. ‘Social services will have! But let’s assume it’s not possible for him to help. Maria’s mum and grandparents can’t look after her. Do you care for her?’

  His neck tightened. Was Nan Heather one of those who viewed single dads as second best when it came to childcare? ‘Take care of her, do you mean? I think I do OK.’

  ‘I’m sure. But, care. You know. Hold in affection,’ she asked gently. ‘The overriding need for any child is to be safe and well cared for.’

  His stomach somersaulted as the various meanings of the English word ‘care’ dawned. When he’d read the phrase ‘well cared for’ he’d always assumed it related to food and shelter. Being safe from abuse. He had to sit down as he realised that he didn’t just care for Maria … he cared about her. Not just if she was shut in her room, not just whether her stomach was empty but whether it was tied in knots of fear. The reason he couldn’t bear to think of her going to strangers – including her birth dad – was that he cared whether she felt happy. He swallowed. ‘It’s hard not to. She’s a cute, engaging little thing.’

  The creaky voice on the other end of the phone softened. ‘Then before you decide if you should look after her you need to establish: can you? You won’t want to take her from one iffy, unsettled situation to another. If that were to be the case, you might have to consider letting her settle with experienced fosterers until it’s established to what extent Loren will be in her life.’

  ‘Right,’ he murmured, shaken by quite this much pragmatism. ‘You don’t think her being with Josie is valuable?’

  ‘Very,’ she said promptly. ‘And social services usually want to keep siblings together if possible, too. But it’s only one consideration. Can you arrange your life to accommodate Maria?’

  Nico deliberated. ‘Childcare would be tricky. I’m already having trouble covering Josie’s needs since Loren can’t take her at all now, my cousin Emelie wants to move out and Tilly, the nanny Josie’s had since she was tiny, has become less flexible. We’d need a 24/7 live-in nanny, which would part Josie from Tilly.’

  ‘They’re big changes.’ Nan Heather’s creaky, squeaky voice oozed sympathy. ‘If you do offer Maria a home – especially on an open-ended basis – it’s wise to inform social services. Don’t be scared of them. They’ll support a suitable friend or family member looking after a kiddie above trying to find them a home with strangers.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Nico quietly, a strange, squeezing sensation in his belly. Social services supported other people’s families. Not his. He thanked Nan Heather fo
r her insight and advice before ending the call.

  Back in the sitting room, the girls were playing a game that involved Maria pushing Josie off the sofa with pudgy little hands and Josie falling with great, put-on wails. ‘Nooooo! Nooo! Awwww, Maria, nooo!’ Musical toddler chortles filled the air. Nico watched from the doorway, scenarios flashing through his mind like sweaty nightmares. Maria going to an unknown family. Nico taking Josie on visits. Trying to explain why Maria had to be left behind. Coping with Josie’s emotions, her white, distressed face. Josie might raise her voice to Maria occasionally but she loved her violently.

  His daughter’s sister. It sounded like the title of one of those psychological thrillers.

  Fucksake. Why him?

  Awful tasks floating around him like demons in a horror movie, he phoned Emelie, reluctant to put on his big-hearted cousin who shouldn’t have to be bothering her head with his issues. ‘Is there any way you can do the early school run on Monday and have Maria until Tilly rocks up? I’ve got an unmissable meeting.’

  Like Nan, Emelie was sympathetic but pragmatic. ‘For that little time, yes. I’d love to offer to do more but I’ve got essays and stuff.’

  His insides lurched guiltily. ‘I realise I’m relying on your maturity to make up for Tilly’s rigidity and that you have a degree to get. I’m going to try for unpaid leave from Tuesday.’

  For the rest of the day Nico chewed over the Maria situation and decided it was Nan Heather’s phrase ‘open-ended’ that was holding him back. He waited until the girls were asleep, then telephoned his ex-mother-in-law.

  ‘If I took Maria it couldn’t be an open-ended situation,’ he said, hoping he was being compassionate but clear. ‘At the outside, I could have her until Josie and I go to Sweden on December eleventh.’

  Vivvi gave a strangled gasp of relief. ‘Oh, that would be fantastic. It gives us nearly three weeks. I can’t thank you enough.’

  Decision made, Nico managed a reasonable night’s sleep.

  Josie once again had the Monday Morning School Blues. She stared down at her Weetabix as if wishing she could leap into it and vanish. Emelie had to coax her into her school coat and the image stuck to Nico like a burr as he hurried to the tube station through a raw wintry morning that nipped his ears.

  He eventually reached the SLS offices in Holborn, using his pass to gain entry then hurrying up stairs tiled like a brown and cream chessboard.

  Katya followed him into his office as he hung up his black wool coat. ‘Meeting room two,’ she said. ‘Anders’s PA just put it on the electronic calendar.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He swung his laptop bag back onto his shoulder, wishing he’d had more than five minutes’ notice that the meeting was to take place two floors above.

  Anders was there before him, hooking up his computer to the wall screen. Presumably the AV was the reason he’d decided on a meeting room as there was no sign of them being joined by other staff members. Anders rocked a mixed retro look with a Seventies moustache but a Sixties short-back-and-sides. His wide-lapelled suits teamed with busy floral ties were a fashion mystery.

  As soon as Nico set foot on the dark carpet Anders snapped, ‘We need to get this project going.’

  The filter coffee machine was emitting an appetising fragrance and Nico headed for it. ‘There’s a lot to be said for scheduling it for January. What’s the client’s rush? Do you know?’

  Anders pulled up a presentation on the screen. ‘Here’s what we sent them.’

  ‘Yes,’ Nico agreed drily, watching black coffee pouring from jug to cup. ‘I put it together. But at no time did we discuss turning around the promo material in four weeks – especially when I have annual leave for one of them.’

  A reproving frown creased Anders’s forehead. ‘It’s an important new client, Nico.’

  ‘We don’t have contract approval. The acquisitions team hasn’t—’

  Anders took his eyes from the screen and fixed Nico with a glare. It was a technique he practised often. It was meant to make people back down.

  Nico was not easily intimidated. He strolled to a seat at an angle to his boss’s and returned a steady gaze. ‘Is there a reason for the rush?’

  ‘Is there a reason for us to underperform?’ Anders returned coldly.

  ‘Rushing when we don’t need to might lead to our underperforming.’ Irritation tightened Nico’s shoulders. Anders’s main leadership weakness was entrenching himself and refusing to budge. You could term it having the courage of his convictions or you could call it blind stubbornness. Sometimes it made his team step up; sometimes it made them flap about frantically and, to use his word, underperform.

  Anders steepled his fingers and narrowed his eyes. ‘The client and I have shaken hands on these dates.’

  Nico felt his jaw drop. ‘You’ve agreed an unrealistic delivery with my client on my project?’ He was aware he wasn’t speaking in the respectful manner Anders considered his due but the prospect of achieving such a target loomed over his head like an anvil with ‘stress’ painted on it. Anders clumsily sticking his fingers into Nico’s carefully tended pies was disrespectful.

  ‘The wrong’ wasn’t a place Anders occupied comfortably and his frown grew darker. ‘We met socially. Happenstance. You have a problem with it?’

  The air in the room was now so cold that Nico expected icicles. ‘All those I’ve already mentioned,’ he retorted. ‘Especially as I need to request dependants’ leave to take me up to my annual holiday.’ He started to apprise Anders of the latest issues with Loren and Maria.

  Anders interrupted. ‘What?’

  Shocked that his boss wasn’t even making a pretence of hearing him out, Nico tried a fact or two. ‘It’s lawful for me to request dependants’ leave—’

  ‘Twice in a few weeks?’ Anders sliced in.

  ‘I took the last lot as paid leave.’ Nico felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. ‘It’s a reasonable request when I’m in difficult circumstances.’

  White around his lips, Anders switched his gaze to his laptop. Very slowly, he closed it. ‘I’ll talk to HR and come back to you.’ His contempt was plain, probably meant to elicit a stammering apology and retraction.

  Nico felt something snap inside him. ‘You have to go to HR? Management make decisions, not HR. You’re beginning to make my position untenable.’ He worked bloody hard and now Anders acted like an arsehole when asked for unpaid leave to deal with a tricky situation concerning the well-being of a toddler. Any reasonable employer would show compassion. Shaking with rage, he jumped to his feet, gaining satisfaction when Anders flinched. ‘You’ve left me no alternative but to consider my position.’ On those words he stalked from the room and worked furiously on conference calls before he left.

  When he reached home he discarded his mood along with his coat, smiling his way through the evening, chatting with Josie, reading to Maria. Once Maria was sleeping and Josie listening drowsily to an audiobook in bed, he poured himself a glass of scotch and sat down calmly to work through his options with pen and paper. It didn’t take long.

  Stressed out

  Poor work/life balance

  Single dad with, presently, two kids to look after

  Childcare for two-year-old different ballgame to childcare for eight-year-old

  Tilly cannot/will not help with Maria

  Emelie moving out – no longer able to help with either child except occasional babysitting

  Anders being a twat, he added, unprofessionally. Fundamental professional differences. Personally dislike one another but did expect a reasonable hearing.

  He took a gulp of scotch and wrote his conclusion:

  I need to reassess lifestyle with a view to making myself happier and responsive to current childcare. He paused and studied the list for a few moments.

  Then he wrote his resignation letter.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was lovely to be back amongst the cosy cottages and windswept lanes of Middledip. It was just that at fir
st Hannah was too preoccupied to realise it.

  Autumn seemed to have decided not to bother this year and winter had swept in as if from Narnia. Iron-hard frosts stripped the colour from the landscape, bleak but beautiful, but the ruthless removal of Hannah from her life in Sweden made her feel as if she were seeing it through a dirty window. Her two big suitcases were in the spare room, cramped by the jumble Nan collected between village hall sales. Mo and Jeremy had rumbled off in The Bus the day after Hannah arrived. They’d offered to put off their departure because Nan, sporting a plaster cast that looked too heavy for her twiggy arm, was grey with the shock of her injury.

  ‘The Eurotunnel and your first two camping grounds in France are booked,’ Hannah had argued. ‘I’ll take Nan to appointments and shopping. You two clear off on the retirement trip you’ve been planning for years.’

  Mo had given her a cuddle. ‘But you won’t dwell on Albin’s cold treachery, will you? Keep busy, see your old mates. Visit The Three Fishes and The Angel Café.’

  ‘I will.’ Hannah gratefully accepted the use of Mo’s old white Volvo and, finally, waved off the pea-soup-coloured bus.

  Soon, Mo and Jeremy were travelling down the east side of France to a campground in Strasbourg’s urban natural park, where the city of Strasbourg was almost on the doorstep. Rob and Leesa were halfway through their honeymoon in Goa. Excepting Nan, the family members who usually lived here were away while Hannah, who usually lived away, was here. She shopped, prepared meals and, late on Wednesday afternoon, took the jumble to village hall stalwart Carola so she had room to unpack.

  When she hurried home through the yellow door into the warm kitchen she actually managed a smile because Nan exclaimed, ‘Hello, honey bunny!’ as if Hannah were still a child. Nan added, with a flash of her old self, ‘How about we enjoy being single and go to the pub?’

  Hannah giggled, enjoying this sign that her grandmother might be getting used to her injury as well as the loss of Brett. ‘Let’s. I’d love a big, fat pint of Ruddles County.’