Christmas Down Under: Six Sexy New Zealand & Australian Christmas Romances

by Rosalind James

  “Miss you too. But the note helped. Seeing your handwriting, somehow.”

  “It did?” she asked, pleased. “I don’t want to tell you how much it cost to send that envelope to Ireland.”

  “Worth every penny.”

  “Then I’ll have them do more,” she decided. “It helps them, too, makes them feel closer to you. Not to mention scaring away the taniwha.”

  * * *

  She wished she had someone to scare off her own taniwha as she lay on the table the next day while the doctor did her exam. Her lost pregnancy hung over her like a shadow, making her breath come short as she awaited the verdict.

  “We’ll do a blood test,” the doctor said, straightening up and snapping off her gloves, rolling her stool closer to Jenna’s head. “But there’s no doubt about it. You’re pregnant.”

  “Does everything look … all right?” Jenna asked.

  “Just the way it should,” the doctor assured her. “Now, do you have a midwife you’re planning on using? Or do you want a recommendation?”

  “I need a recommendation.” She didn’t know whom to ask anyway. She couldn’t tell Natalie, or Siobhan. Not when Finn didn’t know yet.

  The doctor wrote a name and phone number on a prescription pad as Jenna sat up and draped the sheet over herself.

  “You should begin taking prenatal vitamins as well, if you haven’t already,” the woman said. “No alcohol, no caffeine. And what about the dad? Is he in the picture?”

  “I don’t know.” Jenna forced herself to answer honestly. “He doesn’t know yet.”

  “Sooner rather than later would be good,” the doctor advised. “In my experience.”

  Crying Over Spilt Milk

  Thud.

  Jenna whirled just in time to watch the three-liter container of milk begin to spill out over the kitchen floor. A lake of white swiftly covered the tiles, to the accompaniment of Harry’s wailing cry. She stepped across, unable to avoid the mess, and grabbed the jug before it could spill any more. Not enough left, she saw with dismay, to avoid a trip to the dairy this afternoon. And she’d just bought groceries that morning. Setting the depleted jug down on the kitchen bench, she grabbed three tea towels from the drawer, tossed one each to Harry and Sophie.

  “OK, guys. Not a disaster. Help me wipe this up. Harry, please stop crying. It was an accident.”

  “Why do I have to help?” Sophie complained from her spot at the kitchen table. “I didn’t spill it. And I’m reading.”

  “Because we’re all cleaning up,” Jenna snapped. “Get up and help.”

  She regretted her tone as she saw Sophie’s face grow mutinous, Harry continuing to sob quietly. She crouched down to begin wiping up the mess, glad to see Sophie rising reluctantly to obey. The movement, and the smell of the milk, brought nausea in its wake. She’d never thought of milk as having a smell, she thought irrelevantly, trying to push the sickness away. Harry was wiping willingly, if inexpertly, Sophie was helping now too, and the lake was becoming a puddle.

  “OK.” She got up, had to steady herself against the fridge door, give herself a moment. “Go sit at the table, both of you, out of the way. I’ll mop the rest of it.”

  “My feet are all milky,” Harry sniffed.

  “I’ll clean them in a minute. Go sit down.”

  Sophie protested again at the trip to the dairy. “I have homework. Can’t I stay home?”

  “You aren’t old enough,” Jenna told her. “Come on. We’ll call it a walk.”

  “Why can’t we drive?” Sophie complained. “We’ve walked enough today. Courtney’s mum drives her to school. Why do we always have to walk?”

  “Because it’s six blocks. And only four blocks to the dairy,” Jenna said. “I am not driving four blocks. Get your shoes on.”

  She could hear Sophie muttering as she stomped off. She was clearly having a bad day, and Jenna would need to get to the bottom of that later, she thought wearily. They were well into their third week without Finn, and the strain was showing on both children, especially Sophie. And on herself, she admitted.

  The smell of roasting chicken in the dairy’s tiny rotisserie assaulted her before they stepped through the door. She took a deep breath of outside air, tried to hold it as she walked past the prepared food area and made her way to the chiller case. No queue, she saw with relief. She’d pay fast, and get out of here before she was sick.

  “Can we get Tim Tams?” Sophie was in front of her, holding out the package of chocolate biscuits.

  “No. Put them back, please.” Jenna held onto her patience with an effort, set the milk on the counter. “We have biscuits at home.”

  “Only digestives,” Sophie complained. “I hate digestives. I want Tim Tams.”

  Jenna swiped her card to pay for the milk, took the plastic bag with a word of thanks. “Put it back, Sophie. We’re going.” She had to get out of here, she thought desperately.

  Sophie stomped over, threw the packet back on the shelf. Jenna grabbed Harry’s hand and headed for the door, Sophie following thunderously behind.

  “Why are you so mean?” Sophie burst out from behind her before they’d even gone a block. “You never let me have anything I want! Daddy would let me have Tim Tams! Nyree would let me!”

  “Nyree isn’t here, though.” She was snapping again, Jenna knew, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She’d been sicker than ever, today, had spent thirty minutes in the bathroom after walking the kids to school. She’d thought that was the low point. Unless she got home and sat down, though, she was going to be sick again. She reached for a digestive from her purse, bit off a piece and chewed it slowly.

  “You’re eating biscuits,” Sophie accused. “Why do you get what you want, and I don’t? You’re not our mum! You work for us! You’re just a nanny!”

  Jenna stopped dead, turned to glare down at Sophie. The little girl looked up at her defiantly, but Jenna could see the trepidation in her eyes. It didn’t matter, though. Because it was all too much.

  “Nobody talks to me like that,” she told Sophie furiously. “I’m a person. I deserve to be treated with respect.” She couldn’t help the tears that began to spill over. “I know you’ve had a bad day, and you know what? I’m sorry, but I’ve had a bad day too!” She could feel her voice rising, found herself unable to control it. “I’m sick, and I’m tired, and I’ve had just about enough of you! You’re acting like a spoilt brat, and I am sick of it!”

  She was sobbing now as she held the bag of milk with one hand, Harry’s hand with the other. “And I don’t want to hear anything else. We’re going home, and I don’t want to hear another word out of you till we get there, do you understand?”

  Both children were crying now as well. Somehow, they made it the final three blocks home, Jenna grabbing Sophie’s hand at the corners, ignoring her attempts to pull away. When they reached the house again, Jenna kicked her shoes off, shoved the milk into the fridge, grabbed three paper towels and handed one each to Sophie and Harry, wiped her own face with the third.

  She took a deep breath. “We are all going to our rooms now,” she said, keeping her voice calm with an effort. “We’re going to have some quiet time. And then we’re going to have a talk.”

  “I didn’t do anything, though,” Harry sobbed. “Why’re you angry at me?”

  “I’m not angry at anyone now,” Jenna promised. “And you didn’t do anything, Harry. But I’m tired, and I feel sick, and we all need to be quiet for a few minutes. Can you go play with your animals, please?”

  To her relief, Harry nodded and made his subdued way to his bedroom. Sophie gave her a scared look and followed suit.

  She should talk to her now, Jenna knew. But she couldn’t. She’d lost it, and she couldn’t even care. She went to her own room, shut the door, and lay face-down on the bed, finally giving in to the sobs that overcame her.

  It wasn’t fair. She was doing her best, she was sick, she was alone, and nobody cared. She knew in one part of her brain t
hat she was overreacting, that she was worn out, hormonal, and overemotional, but she was past being rational. She sobbed until she’d cried herself out, then sat on the bed, wiping her face and blowing her nose, trying to get herself back under control.

  She left her bedroom at last, spent another five minutes in the bathroom with a cold cloth on her face, then finally went next door to Harry’s room. He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by dinosaurs, softly narrating a scene as he moved Tyrannosaurus closer to a herd of plant-eaters.

  “Hey, buddy.” She dropped to the floor and put a hand on the back of his neck. “How’re you doing?”

  Harry looked up at her cautiously. “Are you done being angry?”

  “I’m done,” she promised. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” She reached out to hug him, and he came gratefully into her arms.

  “I don’t like yelling,” he told her. “It hurts my ears, and it makes me sad.”

  “I don’t like it either,” she agreed. “I hate losing my temper, in fact. But I guess Sophie had a bad day, and I did too. I lost my patience, and then I lost my temper. I’m sorry about that, and I’ll bet Sophie’s sorry, too. We’re going to have a nice quiet evening. We’ll have dinner, and if you both get yourselves ready for bed, we’ll watch a DVD together.”

  “The Lion King?” he asked eagerly.

  Jenna smiled. “I think maybe not The Lion King.” That would be all Sophie needed. Watching Mufasa being killed was guaranteed to set her off again. Too bad they’d watched Finding Nemo so recently. That would have been perfect. “We’ll choose something good. I’m going to go talk to Sophie now. And then I’ll start fixing tea.”

  He nodded and went back to his dinosaurs. One down. And the tricky one still to go.

  She tapped on the closed door of Sophie’s room. “Come in,” came the muffled voice.

  Jenna stepped inside cautiously, saw Sophie stretched out on her bed, face buried in the pillow. Exactly as she herself had looked, fifteen minutes earlier. She sat down on the bed next to the still form. “Hey,” she said softly, reached out a hand and stroked Sophie’s hair. “How’re you doing?”

  Sophie rolled over, lifted a swollen, tear-stained face. “Do you hate me?”

  “Oh, sweetie. Of course I don’t hate you.”

  Sophie’s tears started again. “I didn’t mean to be spoilt and … and mean. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

  “Hey, now.” Jenna lifted Sophie to sit next to her, reached for a tissue to clean her up. “I’m sorry too. I lost my temper. We both had a bad day, and we said some things that came out of those bad feelings.”

  “Mrs. Ferguson yelled at me for not listening. And Caitlin played with somebody else, at recess, and I didn’t have anybody. And I miss Daddy.”

  The sobs intensified as Jenna held her closer, her hand going again to smooth Sophie’s hair. “Shhh. I know you do, sweetheart. I know.” She pulled Sophie into her lap, rocked her as if she were a baby. “It feels like he’s been gone a long time, and you miss him so much.”

  Sophie nodded vigorously against her, burrowing closer.

  “He misses you too,” Jenna told her. “He loves you, and he’s missing his girl. But he’s doing what he has to do. He’ll be home, just as soon as he can. And we’ll watch him on Sunday morning, right?”

  “Right,” Sophie said, her sobs easing a bit. “I’m his good luck charm. I have to watch.”

  “That’s right,” Jenna encouraged her. “Your dad loves you so much. And I have an idea. Why don’t you write him a letter, right now? Tell him how you’re feeling. Tell him about your day. Because your dad’s always with you, you know,” she said gently, pulling away a bit so she could look into Sophie’s woebegone face. “He’s always in your heart. You hold him there. And he holds you in his.”

  “Really?” Sophie asked, her eyes searching Jenna’s.

  “Really,” Jenna promised. “And there’s nothing in this world that can ever take him out of your heart, or take you out of his.”

  Sophie sniffed, then got up and went to her desk. “I’m going to write to him, then. And tell him about my bad day.”

  Jenna got up too. “You do that, and we’ll put it into the parcel we send him tomorrow.”

  She let herself out of the room, seeing Sophie already engrossed in her task, and headed to the kitchen. She still felt shaky, but less like an abject failure. Baked potatoes and fish fingers tonight, she decided. She might be able to eat a baked potato.

  * * *

  Jenna reached for the remote to pause the DVD as the phone rang. Seven-thirty. Finn, then, almost certainly.

  Harry got to the phone first. “Daddy!” He listened a moment, then said, “No, we had a very, very bad day. Sophie yelled, and Jenna yelled. They hurt my ears. And everybody cried. Jenna cried and cried, Dad. It was really scary. And then we all had time out.”

  He held out the phone. “Daddy wants to talk to you, Jenna.”

  She’d just bet he did. “Hi,” she said to Finn. “Let me start out by saying we’ve all calmed down considerably since then.”

  “What happened?” he asked with concern. “Something with Sophie, eh.”

  “Yeah. Rough day,” she sighed, moving into the kitchen where she could talk more freely. “And I’m afraid I didn’t handle it as well as I could have. I let her push my buttons. Harry was right. I yelled. But we’ve had a good talk, and she’s written you a letter to go in your next parcel. She’s missing you, that’s all.”

  “It must have been quite the scene, to make you yell,” he commented. “I’ve never heard that before.”

  “Not my best moment,” she agreed. “I apologized, and so did she. I think we’re all good. I’m going to turn the phone over to her now, though, let her tell you. She may still have things to get off her chest.”

  She walked back into the lounge, held out the phone. “Sophie, why don’t you go into the other room to talk to your dad? That way you can tell him everything that’s on your mind.”

  * * *

  “Dad?” Sophie’s voice was tentative.

  “Sophie Bee,” Finn said. “Sounds like you’ve had quite a day.”

  “Did Jenna tell you what I said?”

  “Nah. Do you want to tell me?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Not if you don’t want to. Jenna said you two had worked it out, and that you were both feeling better now. Anything you do want to say to me, though?”

  “I miss you, Daddy,” she burst out. “I want you to be here, with us. I wish you were here. It’s not fair.”

  “I wish I were there too, tonight,” he said truthfully. “Would you want me not to be on the squad, though?”

  “No!” she said with shock. “You’re an All Black, Dad.”

  “Too right I am. And you know what that means. It means I have to go where they tell me, do my best for the team wherever I am. And it means that I need my family to help me do that. You can be sad that I’m not there. And when you are, you can talk to Jenna about it. You can write and tell me, too, or tell me on the phone the way you’re doing now. But you aren’t allowed to say mean things to Jenna.” His voice was firm now. “She’s doing her best to take care of you. You need to do your best to help her. Because that’s how you help me. Will you promise to do that?”

  “I promise, Dad. I didn’t mean to make her cry. D’you think she still likes me?” He could hear the tears again now, and his heart melted.

  “You’re a good girl. Jenna knows you’re trying hard, and I know too. She still likes you, I promise. Jenna said you wrote me a letter, eh. Will you draw me another picture, too, put that in my next parcel? You may want to draw Jenna one as well. That would make her feel better, I’ll bet. Can you do that?”

  “Yeh,” Sophie promised. “I’ll draw both of you a picture tonight. I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you too, Sophie Bee. Now put Jenna back on, OK?”

  “You must feel like a referee,” Jenna commiserated. “Don’t you nee
d to get on the bus?”

  “In a minute. You sure you’re all right? I keep hearing about all this crying, and it’s got me worried.”

  “Just a bit off color today,” she admitted. “It’s made me weepy. We’re watching Beauty and the Beast now, and we’ve all cheered up. Tomorrow’s another day.”

  “After we ring off,” he ordered, “I want you to ring Miriam, arrange for her to come tomorrow.”

  “I don’t need to do that. The kids will be in school.”

  “You need an evening off,” he said. “And tomorrow’s only … Thursday there. Days to go till Monday, and the weekend coming up. Have Miriam get the kids their tea. Go spend the evening with your friend, or go to the pub, or something. And, Jenna. Go to the spa tomorrow, get a massage, or a … a facial, or whatever it is you do. Put it on my bill. It’s time for a mental health day, I reckon.”

  “Miriam may not be available, though.”

  He sighed. “Then arrange one of those playdates. You’ve had other kids over enough, you must be due some time of your own. Promise me you’ll arrange it, one way or another. I’m going to ring you tonight and ask,” he threatened. “You’d better say you have.”

  “Or what?” she asked with a smile.

  “Hmm. Wish I had something better to offer than I do, on that score,” he admitted. “But we’re only halfway through this thing. I need you fit for the rest of it. Do you promise to arrange all that?”

  “I promise. I will. And thanks.”

  She hung up, wiped away the tears that had surfaced at his kindness. She’d worried, on some level, that he’d blame her for what had happened. She hadn’t been any too pleased with herself. But he’d seemed to understand how far her patience had been stretched today. She wondered for the hundredth time if she should tell him. And for the hundredth time, quailed at the prospect of breaking the news on the phone. It was only a couple weeks. And it would be so much better when they could talk face to face, when she could read his expression, see what he was really feeling.

  She picked up the phone again and punched the speed dial for Miriam. A massage, and an evening off. She felt her spirits lift at the prospect, her doubts and fears receding.