So he’d flirted, made eye contact, lingered there a few moments more than he should have – just to see what might happen. To see if she felt any of that attraction at all, or if it was all on his side. He wasn’t arrogant, but he didn’t struggle with women – and this one intrigued him right up until the point where Luca’s toilet habits had interrupted. He needed to have a word with his nephew about mentioning doo-doo in front of hot women. It just wasn’t cool.
He’d thought about making up some excuse to see her again. He was in Oxford for the next few weeks anyway, and it’d be nice to have some company. Especially company that was tall and curvy and had crazy red hair you could imagine spread out all over a pillow.
But before he even had time to consider doing that, fate had stepped in – and he found himself reduced to a pile of rubble in front of the woman he’d been hoping to impress. Once a chick’s seen you in a hospital gown, he suspected, there’s no going back – you can never be alpha male again…and now, thanks to Leah and Rob’s insistence, here he was. Sitting in her shabby chic front room, being treated like a naughty child by Nurse Attila the Hun.
“She gets it,” he said, interrupting the nurse mid flow. “She’s not an idiot – she gets it. We have the meds. We have the numbers. Now for God’s sake, get lost, will you?”
Both the nurse and Maggie stared at him, looking shocked and horror-struck in the way only the English can at bare-faced rudeness – even when it is deserved.
Maggie frowned at him, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the typed-up contact list a little too tightly.
“Don’t be so rude,” she said, “or there’ll be no beer before bed time for you, Mr Cavelli.”
She turned back to the nurse, who had started recommending yet again that the patient be given no access to alcohol in his current condition, and started guiding him towards the door. Marco was sure she’d had enough too, but she was just dealing with it a whole lot better than him. He let out a little sigh as they both disappeared off into the corridor.
He had been rude. It wasn’t called for. He was just…frustrated. Pissed off. Feeling helpless and tired and in more than a little pain. He was used to calling the shots, to being in charge. To the cut and thrust of his work as an attorney. To a full and active life full of sports and friends and women and drinking a beer whenever the hell he wanted to. Being passive really didn’t suit him, and now he felt embarrassed at the way he’d reacted. Embarrassed that Maggie had seen him turn into a jackass within minutes of entering her home.
God, he thought, it was going to be a long few weeks. Physical torment, forced inactivity, and some strange compunction to be on his best behaviour around this woman. He felt like crying – but there was no way he could. He was sure Maggie was stressed enough having to console a wailing wuss as well.
He heard the front door close, and watched as the nurse walked carefully down the snow-coated path. He was on his phone – probably reporting him to the Bad Patient Police – then through the gate and away. The lucky bastard was undoubtedly going to head to the nearest pub to drown his sorrows.
He listened as Maggie closed the door, then to her footsteps coming back down the hallway. There was a pause, then she walked into the room and looked at him with a small frown, hands on her hips.
“How are you feeling?” she finally asked, after a moment of silence.
“In all honesty, like complete shit,” he replied.
“Good. Because you’re acting like one as well. I know this is difficult – for both of us. I know we’re both probably wondering why we went along with this ridiculous plan at all. And I know you’re probably feeling frustrated, and in pain. But we’ve got to find a way to make the best of it. It won’t be for long – you’ll get better, and we can both go back to our real lives just in time for Christmas. Until then, let’s at least try and pretend this isn’t completely weird. Deal?”
It was pretty much the longest speech he’d heard from her. Her body language, her eyes, her expression – they were all different than before. The little mouse had gone – all because he’d made her angry. Good to know, he thought, realising that he was kind of enjoying being told off by her. Pervert.
“It’s a deal,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was being a jerk. I’m not used to sitting around feeling weak, you know?”
“I can imagine,” she replied, her green eyes skimming over his not-usually-weak body in a way that definitely suggested more than a care-giving interest. She seemed to realise what she was doing, and reined herself in with an almost physical jolt.
“Right. You sit tight, Marco. I’ll go and get you a beer. I think I need one too.”
Chapter 10
Two hours later, Marco was in his bed, propped upright, and Maggie was on the recliner, legs tucked beneath her.
They’d navigated a few potential problems – like him getting into the loo on his own after Maggie wheeled him to the door; him refusing to take his meds until she threatened to kick him in the shin, and arguing over who was paying for the take-away pizza. And somehow, she’d felt a whole lot more settled once he’d agreed to clamber up into bed – he was a big presence, and it felt a lot more acceptable to have this large man in her territory once he was tucked away under a blanket.
Now, after a couple of beers, they’d relaxed enough in each other’s company to simply talk. Maggie had forgotten to switch the lights on or draw the curtains, and the room was bathed in the glow of the moonlight, the glittering Christmas tree and the flickering images of the muted TV.
He’d told her about his job and his life in the States; about losing his own father to a heart attack; about the death of Rob’s first wife and the turmoil that followed. The way the whole family had suffered until Leah came on the scene and saved the bunch of them. She’d told him about Ellen, and her dad, and about her shop. She’d been so comfortable – and mildly tipsy – that she’d almost told him about other things too. Things she never ever felt happy discussing with anyone, because it simply hurt too much.
Still, the whole evening was turning out to be a lot nicer than she’d possibly imagined – it was a rare novelty to have adult company in the evening. It made her realise how lonely she’d been getting; the way her changing circumstances had been creeping up on her, almost without her noticing. Ellen was studying at Godwin College – medicine, which was a horrifying thought for any future patients – and although she lived at home to save money, spent most of her nights with her friends or with Jacob.
Sian had three young kids of her own; and her dad Paddy was enjoying his second childhood with an entirely new group of friends – active grey panthers who seemed to be forever booking booze cruises and taking trips to strange places.
Most nights Maggie spent working, watching TV, reading. It was nice. It was pleasant. It was safe. But it was also, she knew, a little bit sad – she was only 34, for God’s sake. Other women were in the prime of their lives, and she was acting like an old maid in a Jane Austen novel. She’d be learning to play the bloody spinet and embroidering a home-sweet-home sign before she knew it. Counting grey hairs and collecting cats and waiting to die – it was an exciting future, and a ridiculous one to accept.
It had taken spending this one night in the comfort of her own home – in the company of one funny, intelligent, articulate man – to make her realise that just possibly, she was missing out.
Marco was telling her a story about Rob getting so drunk, he was arrested and locked in a jail cell wearing lederhosen and a pair of bunny ears, when they both heard the front door slam. There were a few choice swear words, and then a couple of loud thuds.
Marco paused in his tale, and looked at her with his eyebrows raised questioningly.
“That,” Maggie said, “will be Ellen. She’ll be drunk, and she’ll have just kicked off her boots. Now she’ll stagger through to the kitchen for some water, and then come in and torment us. Strap yourself in – or, you know, just pretend to be asleep. I wouldn’t blame you.”
“Hi mummy, I’m home!”, said Ellen, looming in the doorframe in shadow. “Bloody hell – what are you two up to? Why are you sitting in the dark? Do you want me to leave you alone?”
Maggie leaned over and flicked on one of the lamps. She’d not even noticed how dark it was until then, and her eyes blinked in the sudden glow.
Ellen took in the discarded beer bottles, and the pizza box, and walked fully into the room, picking up the one slice of pepperoni that was left.
“Excellent,” she said to Maggie, plonking herself down on the arm of the recliner. “I see you’re caring for our patient in the best possible way.”
Ellen looked over at Marco, thoughtfully chewing on a mouthful of pizza as she assessed him.
“I’m Ellen,” she said, between swallows.
“I’m Marco,” he replied. “Nice to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Ha!” she spluttered, almost choking. “I bet it was all bad! You look all right, Marco, considering you’ve just come out of hospital – though not as good as you did when – “
Maggie sharply elbowed her in the side, almost toppling her off her perch. She stared her daughter full on, and sent her a silent, pleading message: please, please don’t mention the park. Don’t mention the fact that we’ve seen him before. And whatever you do, please don’t mention the way I suggested he could eat me even if I was a bit past my best-before date.
Ellen stared back at her, a slow smile creeping onto her face.
“Not as good as you probably did before mother knocked you off your bike,” she finished. Maggie was so relieved to have escaped that especially embarrassing hurdle that she let the incorrect version of bike crash events slip.
“Actually, it was all my fault,” Marco said, obviously amused at the banter. “I was cycling too fast, on the wrong side of the road. And I was listening to Aerosmith at the time.”
“Uggh,” replied Ellen, shaking her head in mock horror. “And were you wearing that?” she added, pointing to the elf-patterned jumper lying over the arm of the chair.
Marco nodded, and pulled a face. He replied: “Yeah. My sister-in-law Leah bought me a whole set. She thinks they’re hilarious, and my nephew Luca does too, so I don’t have much choice but to wear them.”
“Well, bearing in mind your wardrobe and your taste in music, a bike crash was probably the least of your worries. So what have you two been doing all night?”
“Just talking,” both Marco and Maggie said at exactly the same time, a little too quickly. Ellen narrowed her eyes and looked from one to the other, suspiciously.
“Hmm…if you say so. Any beers left, mum?”
“I’m not sure you need any more beers, love. What’s that stain on your jeans?”
“It’s exactly what you think it is. I must have had a dodgy pint. I did use a carrier bag, but it had those little holes in it that stop toddlers suffocating or something. So annoying – don’t you think, Marco?”
“Hey, we’ve all been there,” he said, laughter in his voice. “If in doubt, double bag, is my advice.”
“It’s probably good advice in all kinds of circumstances. Anyway. You’re right – I don’t need any more. I’ll go off up to bed in a minute – I just wanted to call in and meet you, Marco, and also mum, to tell you something.”
“What’s that?” Maggie asked, feeling a ridiculous and momentary panic: was she pregnant? Was history going to repeat itself?
“No, don’t worry, I’m not pregnant,” said Ellen, wiping her now-greasy hands on her already traumatised jeans. “It’s about Christmas. Jacob and his family are going to their place in Paris for the holidays, and they’ve invited me and a few of the others to come along. Is that all right with you? I mean, you’ll have Granddad round anyway, won’t you?”
Maggie kept her face bland while she processed the news. Not pregnant = good. Her daughter’s first Christmas away from home = not so simple. Her first instinct was to say no. To refuse. To tell her she was too young. That she hadn’t known Jacob or his family for anywhere near long enough. But the reality was different…Ellen would be 19 in a few months’ time. She was already independent, strong-minded. More grown-up now than Maggie had been when she gave birth to her. And Christmas in Paris with her friends? How could she possibly compete with that – she didn’t even have the first edition to give her any more. And more to the point, how could she deny her that experience? How selfish would that be?
Not trusting herself to say anything more, and conscious of the fact that this particular mini-drama was playing out in front of a man she was supposed to be caring for, she gave Ellen a quick smile and simply said: “I’m sure we can sort something out. Let’s talk about it properly tomorrow, when both you and your jeans are a bit less tired and emotional.”
“’Kay,” said Ellen, standing up and stretching herself out. “Sounds like a plan. Goodnight you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Chapter 11
When Maggie woke up the next morning, she was greeted by a mild hangover, and the sounds of warfare wafting up from downstairs.
Guns firing, bombs exploding, and men shouting. Combining that with the dull thud behind her eyes was very confusing and made her want to hibernate. Groaning, she reluctantly pulled the duvet down from over her head, and poked one hand up into the air. It wasn’t freezing cold – which meant it was past the time she usually got up, as the heating had clicked on.
She climbed out of bed, glanced at the clock on the bedside cabinet, and saw that it was almost 10am. Shit. She had to check on Marco, take some paracetamol, make sure Ellen was still alive, and get to the shop for 11 for Isabel’s final fitting.
She struggled into her work ‘uniform’ – jeans and a T-shirt – and popped into the bathroom to brush her teeth. As she fiddled with the tube and squirted it onto the brush, she looked up and saw a yellow post-it note stuck to the mirror.
“I’m still alive!” it said, in Ellen’s messy pre-doctor scrawl. Hah. She knows me too well, thought Maggie. Or maybe I’m just an extremely predictable person.
She ripped the note off, screwed it up, and tossed it into the over-flowing rubbish bin. Housework was neither her nor Ellen’s speciality.
Looking into the mirror, she decided to whack on a bit of tinted moisturiser. Maybe a touch of blusher. Perhaps some mascara? No, that was too much. She was being silly. She hadn’t worn make-up in the day for…well, years. Unless she had a wedding to go to, anyway. What was different about this day?
Obviously, she knew exactly what was different about this day, and couldn’t bring herself to meet her reflection in the glass. She was embarrassed by her own feelings, and scurried around looking for a bobble to try and distract herself. Considering that two women with long hair used this bath room, there never seemed to be a bloody bobble lying around…she finally found one, and scooped her hair up into a pony. She didn’t bother with a hairbrush – it’d only get stuck in the tangled mass. She needed a conditioning treatment. Or a wig. Or a valium.
She pulled the pony tight, then sat on the closed toilet lid and forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down.
It was just a day like any other, she told herself. It doesn’t matter what you look like. It doesn’t matter that there’s a man downstairs. A man you like, and who you don’t find physically repulsive. It doesn’t matter, and you’re being pathetic.
She decided she’d stop being pathetic right after she spritzed on a quick squirt of perfume. Maybe it’d make up for the fact that she didn’t have time for a shower.
As she trotted barefoot down the stairs, the sounds of warfare started to be accompanied by the sounds of laught
er. Whatever was going on in there, someone was enjoying it.
She pushed open the living room door, and saw Marco, sitting upright in his bed, hunched over an X Box controller, frantically twiddling buttons. Ellen was cross-legged on the recliner, pointing at the screen and screeching with laughter. Ellen. Who wanted to go away for Christmas. Well, Maggie decided, that was one to deal with later in the day.
“You are totally crap at this!” her daughter was yelling. “You’ve just shot your own man in the head! If there’s a zombie apocalypse while you’re here, Marco, you better just hide under your bed while I kick their arses for you!”
“I just need more practice, then I’ll kick your ass!” he replied, throwing the controller down onto his lap in mock disgust and laughing.
Maggie walked properly into the room, noticing that the pizza box and beer bottles had been cleared away.
“Ah. Nothing like a bit of Call of Duty to wake you up on a winter’s morning,” she said, walking over to Marco’s table and checking his tablet box. The pills for today had been taken, which meant she could at least avoid one battle.
“Hey,” he said, smiling up at her. “How are you?”
“Fine,” she replied, her eyes narrowing as she noticed that his hair was damp, and he was wearing different clothes than the ones he’d gone to bed in. A close-fitting khaki green T-shirt that moulded over his bulk, and made him look not unlike the military figures on screen.
“Did you manage to get changed all right? I could have helped.”
Even as she said it, she was glad she hadn’t needed to. It probably wouldn’t be good for her blood pressure to see Marco without his clothes on. She might swoon, which would be embarrassing all round.
“He didn’t need your help, Mum,” said Ellen, switching the TV off and sauntering towards the door. She was still wearing pyjamas that had ‘give me coffee or die’ emblazoned on the front, and her hair was starting to be colonised by auburn dreadlocks. “He had Nanny McPhee for that. It was fun times all round while you were snoozing away. Right, gonna get a shower and turn myself into a human being…Granddad called, said he’s coming round for tea. He’ll bring the food.”
Never Kiss a Man in a Christmas Jumper Page 5