Never Kiss a Man in a Christmas Jumper

by Debbie Johnson

  Maggie turned back to Marco, who was swinging his legs round to the side of the bed and using the controller to lower it. He grimaced slightly as he moved, and she knew he must still be in a lot of pain.

  “Nanny McPhee?” she asked, now even more confused.

  “Yeah. Or Doris, as she’s actually called. Leah was true to her word – she managed to find the oldest nurse in Britain to come and help me out in the mornings. So I’m clean, changed, and ready to rock – just help me into the wheelchair, will you?”

  Maggie moved to his side, and Marco slung one arm around her shoulder. She made sure he had a tight grip, and when he was ready, helped him hop the two steps into the chair. He landed safely and with a slight wheeze of effort that he immediately tried to hide.

  “It’s okay,” she said, crouching down in front of him to adjust the footrests. “I know it hurts. You don’t have to pretend to be Superman for my benefit.”

  “But what if I want to pretend?” he replied, grinning at her. “What if I need to try and get my macho back after Nanny McPhee emasculated me with her evil sponge bath techniques? Can’t you at least pretend to be impressed by my manly toughness?”

  She glanced up at him, still kneeling down on the floor, and met his eyes. He was joking. Mainly – but there was something real there, in his expression. Something that told her it wasn’t all a joke.

  She gave his plaster cast a gentle pat, and stood up straight.

  “I tell you what – if you survive a morning in a wedding dress shop with me, I’ll be impressed. There’ll be bows and veils and satin and silk and you’ll have to make tea for me all morning. There might even be crying women on the premises. Is your manly toughness up to coping with all that? Your alternative is staying home getting humiliated in virtual battle by a teenaged girl.”

  “Wow,” said Marco, grimacing. “That is a truly awesome set of options. Could I possibly just wheel myself off a cliff instead?”

  “There are no cliffs near here, I’m afraid, or I’d be happy to oblige. I’ll get your coat. We can call at the bakery on the way and get coffee and croissants – assuming that’s not too girly for you?”

  “Nah. Carbs and caffeine. That’s pure man-cave stuff. Can I bring my laptop? I have the lecture at the Law Institute to prepare for. I might get some extra sympathy points now I’m a cycling war veteran, but I still need to do some more work on it. And make the arrangements for getting there.”

  “That’s all sorted,” said Maggie, walking into the hallway and grabbing his jacket. It was dark blue and super-padded, which was a good thing as the snow had settled overnight. She took hold of one of his arms – nice – and started to slip it into the sleeve as she spoke.

  “I’ve got the Marco Mobile outside,” she said as she worked, “and Rob’s already explained you’ll need lift access and a ramp up onto the stage and…stop wriggling! I’m just trying to help!”

  “I can put my own coat on, thanks,” he snapped, “I have a broken leg, my arms are working just fine! Go and get some socks on, woman – leave me alone!”

  Maggie backed up, leaving him to work the zipper. He was looking flustered and annoyed, and he did have a point – barefoot in the snow sounded pretty, but would probably result in the surgical removal of all her toes. She nodded, left him alone with his grouch, and ran up the stairs.

  As he heard her footsteps padding upwards, Marco sighed out one big, long, frustrated breath. He pulled the zipper up, and shook his head in annoyance. He’d come close to losing his temper again then – and it wasn’t even close to being her fault.

  But he was sitting there, feeling like a big fat useless baby, while she tried to manoeuvre him into his jacket – which had involved her leaning so close into him that her chest was thrust into his face. Seriously, one slight move forward, and he’d have been able to bury his head in her breasts.

  She was reaching behind, stretching the jacket over his shoulders, completely unaware of the fact that she was jiggling around in front of him, crippling him with the kind of feelings that were only ever going to result in some major league embarrassment all round. His leg wasn’t working – but other parts of him definitely were, and that wasn’t something he wanted to confront her with first thing in the morning. Certainly not before she had her coffee.

  He could hear her moving around upstairs, and knew he only had a few moments to calm himself down. He brought back to mind the arrival of Nanny McPhee, complete with warts and sensible shoes, in an attempt to calm the savage beast. Sometimes it really sucked being a man – it was like his body came with two brains, and only one of them responded to reason. The other response to having a pretty woman thrust her curvy bits at him.

  He’d slept well, soothed by beer, painkillers, and the far more pleasant than anticipated night he’d spent talking with Maggie. He’d known he found her attractive – but hadn’t expected to like her as well. It made his body’s reaction to her booby trap even more embarrassing. She was kind, and gentle, and good – the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable. Marco had the feeling that Maggie didn’t even see herself as a sexual being, as a desirable woman – she’d spent so much of her adulthood as a mother, she’d missed out on the usual one-night stands and dates and flirting that other women experienced. That type of confidence was missing in her – and he’d really prefer not to physically poke her in the eye with evidence that she was wrong.

  By the time she came back into the room, suited and booted and wrapped up in a woolly hat and gloves, he was feeling more in control. But just to be on the safe side, he’d leaned over and grabbed up his laptop bag, placing it on his knees and keeping a tight hold.

  “Ready?” she said, her eyes flicking over him to check he was okay. “No…wait. You’ll be too cold. Let me get you a scarf.”

  She dashed back out into the hallway, and returned with the kind of crazy patchwork-knit affair that he’d seen in re-runs of old Doctor Who episodes. She leaned down, obviously planning to wrap it around his neck for him, but he gently took hold of both her hands.

  “It’s all right, Maggie,” he said softly, not wanting to freak out again. “I can do it. Thanks.”

  She simply nodded, gave him a little smile, and said “Tally ho!” as she wheeled the chair down the hallway - out into the brilliant sunlight, and a whole new day.

  Chapter 12

  Marco was used to snow – he lived in Chicago, where they seemed to live under feet of it every winter – but it rarely looked so pretty as it did here in Jericho. Just outside the city centre, it wasn’t as grand as the Oxford colleges and libraries, but still gorgeous. To his American eyes, everything seemed magical – like a scene from Harry Potter, with the Victorian terraces and quaint boutiques and tree-lined streets. Especially when it was coated in snow, and especially when it came with a running commentary from Maggie – pointing out the best local cafes; the best deli; the little school that Ellen used to go to; the passageway that led up to St Giles and the pub where Tolkien used to call into when he was writing Lord of the Rings…it was all amazing.

  He just wished he could climb out of the chair, and explore it himself. He’d been here for a week already when the accident happened – he’d used the lecture as a reason to take an extended vacation, to catch up with Luca, and to be here for the Christening – but he’d never really seen the place through a local’s eyes.

  Maggie brought everything to life for him, chattering away as she pushed him along in the snow, huffing and puffing slightly as she negotiated kerbs, until they reached her shop. She pulled her gloves off, and fished around in her pockets for the keys.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, standing back and surveying him. His cheeks were rosier than normal thanks to the icy breeze, and there were snowflakes caught on his eyelashes, but other than that she thought he looked all right. Better than all right, in fact. “I’m sorry – I’ve not shut up, have I? You could have been screaming for help and I was waffling on about the lady over the r
oad who makes her own chocolates!”

  Marco reached up, took hold of one of her now-shaking hands in both of his, and gave them a gentle squeeze.

  “I’m 100% great. I like you ‘waffling on’. Now, let’s get inside, so I can start my new job as your unpaid tea boy…weird, isn’t it? When I called in here that time, we’d never seen each other before. And now you get to tuck me in at night!”

  Maggie felt her face do a predictable meltdown. The curse of the ginger strikes again, she thought. Because that hadn’t been the first time she’d seen him, and somehow that very small, innocent fact made her blush every time it popped into her mind.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Weird.”

  Abruptly, she turned away, and unlocked the door, pushing it open with a jingle and flicking the lights on. She wheeled Marco in, and looked on as he glanced around. It was exactly as she’d left it the day before – clean but messy, uber-feminine, and still smelling of the roses that Leah had brought her. The sewing machine was still on a table in the corner; the Christmas tree was still draped with the decorations the pixies had made, and the floor was still strewn with thread and scraps. It was ever thus.

  The only difference this time was that it felt smaller – mainly because of the large man she’d brought with her.

  She bit her lip sharply, and started to take off her coat and hat. Marco struggled out of his, and she left him to it, taking it from him and hanging it up on the pegs in the kitchen. She propped open the door to the room in the back, and pointed through to it.

  “Everything you’ll need is through there, when you feel the need for tea. It’s all at waist level, and there should be enough room for you to get in and out. The loo’s back there as well, so just tell me if you need help – I know you don’t want to, but believe me it’ll be far less macho if you end up falling, and I have to try and heave you back into that chair with your pants round your ankles. I’ll nip out for the croissants and coffee in a bit…you can set yourself up with the laptop over in the corner there – I’ll just get rid of those magazines – and…poo, actually I need to get a dress ready…Isabel will be here soon…”

  “Isabel? Is she the bride to be?” asked Marco, experimentally pushing his wheels backwards and forwards, wondering how long it would take before he could do it entirely by himself.

  “She is. And this one is…special. Well, they all are, but Isabel and her fiancé particularly. Michael has leukaemia. He’s in remission, but he’s still not well. Not back to normal. They have to go back and forward for blood tests all the time, and it’s so not fair. They’re the nicest couple you’ll ever meet.”

  “Jeez. How old is this guy?” asked Marco.

  “Only 32. It’s bonkers, isn’t it? They found out just after they’d set the date, and he went straight into treatment. They held on to the wedding though – I don’t know, it’s like it gave them something to aim for. Something to give them hope.”

  As she disappeared off into another room at the back, Marco reflected on the story – and promised himself he’d remember it whenever he felt he was heading back towards self-pity city. There were far worse fates than being stranded in a beautiful city with a beautiful woman and a broken leg. There was nothing wrong with him that time and some pretty strong painkillers wouldn’t mend. He needed to remind himself of that when he was turning into a hobbling Christmas Grinch – or when Nanny McPhee returned with her Sponge of Evil.

  He wheeled himself over to the table, and piled the wedding magazines into a corner. Yikes. Even touching them made him feel less of a man, with all their glossy covers and flowery text and picture-perfect brides smiling up at him with dazzling teeth.

  Pulling the laptop up and out of the bag, he noticed two people approaching the shop front. They paused – the man tall and thin, the woman petite and blonde – and hugged each other before they came in.

  Still laughing at some private joke, they stopped dead when they saw him sitting there, looking up at them. The woman frowned, and the man stood protectively in front of her, even though he was using a cane and looked like two strong puffs of wind could blow him over.

  “Hi,” said Marco quickly, “you must be Isabel and Michael? I’m Marco – it’s nice to meet you.”

  He held out his hand – keen to reassure them that Maggie’s shop wasn’t being burgled by an invalid with a bridal magazine fetish – and smiled as the man walked over to shake it.

  “Long story short, Maggie’s looking after me while I get back on my feet. Literally,” he said, gesturing down to his plastered leg.

  Isabel closed the gap between them and shook his hand as well, looking down at the leg and grimacing in sympathy.

  “Oooh. Nasty. Did you need plates?”

  “No, thank God. Hopefully I’ll be up and around in a few weeks…well, they say months, but I have other plans.”

  “I bet you do! You show ‘em who’s boss, Marco!” said Michael, laughing as he lowered himself tentatively into the chair opposite him. He looked about 20 years older than he should, his face thin and gaunt, his hands trembling as he placed his fingers on the table top. Marco noticed that Isabel was sneaking peeks at her fiancé, doing that thing Maggie kept doing to him – as though she could assess his vital signs just by looking. Maybe these women had secret X-ray vision or something.

  On cue, Maggie bustled back into the shop front, dashing over to give both Isabel and Michael huge hugs. Her face had lit right up when she saw them, and he felt a flood of affection flow through him. She was so genuine. So full of humanity. So completely different from the women he usually dated. It kind of made him realise how shallow his own life was – something his mother had been nagging him about for years now.

  Mrs Cavelli used to focus on Rob, but as he was now married, blissfully happy, and dutifully popping out heirs to the throne, she’d turned her beady eyes onto her second twin. The one who’d never brought home a serious girlfriend, never mind come close to marrying one. Eden had been the nearest he’d ever had to a proper relationship – he’d been in his late 20s, she’d been great, and maybe things would have developed in that direction given enough time. But after his father had died, everything changed. His priority had been his mother, and the family business. Everything else had taken a back seat.

  Since then, nothing. Friends, sure, and a lot of fun, a lot of work. But nothing more serious. Marco didn’t know why. He’d not actively avoided it. He didn’t have some set-in-stone agenda to become and aging playboy. He’d simply never met anyone who affected him that much – and the aftermath of Rob’s first wife, Meredith, dying, had crushed any latent desire he had to settle down. The flip side of loving someone that much was hurting that much – and seeing Rob go through years of pain and trauma had pretty much convinced Marco that that path wasn’t for him. Even the happy ending Rob now had wasn’t quite enough to erase the torture of those lost years – of wondering if every time he saw his brother might be the last.

  It had taken time – and Leah – to bring Rob back to the land of the living. And until that miracle happened, Marco knew with hindsight, both himself and his mom had put their own lives on hold, waiting and hoping and watching as Rob self-destructed. He’d been like a time bomb – and had unintentionally sucked everyone else into the downward spiral with him.

  Now, looking at Isabel and Michael, the way they so obviously adored each other, looking at Maggie and thinking of her relationship with her daughter, he was starting to wonder if he might just be missing out on something. If the golden apple could be worth reaching for after all.

  Or maybe, he thought, shaking his head to clear away the thoughts, I’m just on too many damn drugs…

  Chapter 13

  “So,” said Maggie’s dad, a plate of Chinese noodles on his lap. “How are you liking it here so far, Marco?”

  Paddy O’Donnell was in his 60s, and bore a close resemblance to Father Christmas. His beard was full, bushy and white, and his belly heaped over his belted trousers in a celebratio
n of all things beer. His eyes – a sharp, probing blue – were crinkled in the folds of his face, and currently giving Marco a thorough fatherly once-over.

  Marco himself was standing next to his bed, practising staying upright with the use of his crutches. Maggie was looking on, one eye on her food, the other on her patient. Maybe she was worried that if he toppled over, he’d land on the huge Christmas tree, taking it down like a Yeti coated in tinsel.

  “It’s as good as it can be under the circumstances, Mr O’Donnell,” Marco replied, starting to feel the strain on his right leg and wondering how long he could manage. “Your daughter is a saint for putting up with me.”

  “Call me Paddy, son,” he replied. “And she is that – don’t know if she told you, but I went right off the rails for a while a few years back. Booze. Black-outs. Loose women.”

  “Dad!” squealed Maggie, outraged. “There are some things nobody needs to hear about! Keep your loose women stories to yourself, for goodness’ sake!”

  “Anyway,” he continued, grinning at her response. “She was the one that pulled me out of it eventually. Don’t know how she coped – her mum going, the baby arriving, me toddling off down the road to nowhere…”

  “I don’t think I exactly helped the situation by getting pregnant, Dad,” said Maggie, her voice quiet and soft. Still, after all these years, so conscious of the upheaval her one night of drunken fun had caused. Even after all the joy that Ellen had brought them, she still shuddered when she remembered sitting in the family bath room, crying over the three pregnancy test sticks that all stubbornly refused to be negative. Shocked and sobbing, and wishing more than anything that her mum was there to talk to.

  “Well, it didn’t seem like good news at the time, did it?” said Paddy, putting his plate down. “But she was a blessing in disguise, that child. And you’ve done a great job raising her, love. Where is she anyway? Out larking, is she? I see there’s a new addition to the tree this year…”