Christmas Wishes Page 17

  Kids got you by the heart. Nico was so touched by her grimly positive attitude that he stopped to hug her. ‘We’re visiting today but new friends will come next.’ He was desperate that she’d settle at this school and the white, trying-to-be-brave face he’d grown to loathe would be a thing of the past.

  She frowned up at him from his encircling arms. ‘When I’m at school, what will you do?’ Getting her head around him not being at work was proving a task. Nico had always worked. Josie’s care had always been shared. He wondered whether she thought he wasn’t up to the task without Tilly, Emelie and Loren on board.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he answered. ‘But you won’t stay at school today. After the visit we’ll go shopping for a table. It was OK for you and me to eat on our laps last night but I think Maria pretty much rolled in her macaroni cheese.’

  Josie giggled. ‘And the curtains for our room. You’ll let us help choose?’

  ‘Yep. I promised.’ They set off again and he steered the buggy through the black iron school gates. Josie’s attention was taken by children waving goodbyes and filing into school with their teachers, doors to the outdoors from each classroom meaning each class could enter simultaneously.

  Josie fell suddenly and ominously silent.

  ‘Right,’ said Nico brightly. ‘There’s the sign for reception. We’re to report to Miss Anderton, take a tour and meet the year three teacher, Mr Hodge.’ He hoped Josie wouldn’t decide Hodge was a funny name as she’d decreed Calcashaw to be.

  Josie halted.

  Nico stopped, too. ‘Let’s go in then,’ he said stroking her hair encouragingly.

  The expression on her face was wooden. ‘Is Maria coming in?’

  Surprise made him frown. ‘Of course.’

  ‘When’s she going back to Mum?’

  ‘When we go to Sweden, I think,’ he answered reassuringly. ‘And when we come back you’ll carry on seeing her.’ At least, there was no reason he knew of that she wouldn’t.

  She stared at him with a younger version of the eyes he saw in the mirror every day. He wished he could plug her into his computer and download whatever was going on behind those eyes to understand hidden worries. He’d assumed today’s concerns would be about an unfamiliar school or life somewhere other than Islington but, of course, to Josie it was only one of the changes that had tossed her around lately. Gently he added, ‘Don’t worry.’

  Josie nodded and they went together to reception, met Miss Anderton and then the head, Mrs Morrison. Josie smiled and chatted. Then Mrs Morrison escorted them along the corridors, peeping into the school hall and the central garden courtyard. They paused at Mr Hodge’s classroom, where children were grouped around square tables, heads bent over workbooks, hands clutching pencils. On the walls, paintings and drawings were grouped around labels in the form of think bubbles. The classroom smelled of paint and pencil lead and the sound of young voices rippled like water in a brook.

  A man of around Nico’s age straightened and picked his way between the children, cautioning those who looked up, ‘We don’t stop work because visitors have entered the classroom, do we?’ He pushed back brown hair and, as Mrs Morrison made the introductions, said, ‘Hello! Nice to meet you.’ He directed the comment first at Josie, as if she was the most important of the group. ‘Over there you can see Miss Lewin, our teaching assistant.’

  Miss Lewin lifted a closely cropped dark head and smiled at them before returning her attention to a child beside her.

  Maria, who’d quietened during the school tour, began shouting fiercely, ‘Out! Out! Wanna get out!’ A ripple of laughter ran through the class, the children seeing another excuse to look up from their books.

  Josie laughed too and a girl on a nearby table said, ‘Is she your sister?’

  Smiling shyly, Josie nodded. ‘She’s Maria. Say “hello”, Maria.’

  ‘’Ullo,’ said Maria, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘I’m Zelda,’ said the girl. ‘You’re sweet.’

  Maria shook her head emphatically. ‘I’m Maria.’

  The children laughed again and Nico felt himself relax. Mr Hodge chatted to Josie for a few minutes more, then Mrs Morrison showed them back to reception.

  Nico thanked her. ‘I’ll apply for a place immediately.’

  She beamed down at Josie. ‘If the local authority sanctions it then the school has ten days to offer a place. We hope to see you in the new year.’ Meanwhile, Josie was off school, into which time the trip to Sweden slotted neatly.

  Soon they were outside in the winter sunshine. Josie was relaxed, considering she’d just met an entire class full of new children, and Nico suddenly realised that he was the one feeling odd and unsettled. The village street was quiet now the school run was over and unlit Christmas lights swung between leafless trees that were bent and gnarled like arthritic old men.

  Then he realised what felt amiss – he wasn’t in a hurry.

  He wasn’t rushing to the tube. He wasn’t squeezing in emails between meetings. The only tasks he absolutely had to do today were shopping, caring for the girls and providing meals.

  ‘Out, out!’ shouted Maria, jerking forward against her harness.

  ‘OK,’ said Nico, obligingly. He unfastened the clip and lifted her onto her two feet. ‘Hold my hand.’

  Maria tucked hers into her armpits. ‘Nooooo.’

  He grabbed the hood of her coat to stop her charging off. ‘Hand or buggy?’

  Maria peeped at him to check he meant it then reluctantly gave him her miniature, chilly hand. He had to lean sideways to hold on to her so it wasn’t a fast or comfortable walk home but Josie looked happy enough pushing the buggy while Maria paused to examine every stone or gate post and shouted, ‘’Ullo!’ to a beagle looking out of a window.

  He spent the saunter home, apart from answering Maria’s stream of ‘Look!’ or ‘What’s dat?’ musing on the speedy succession of events over the past week or so.

  On November twenty-fourth, the day after his disastrous meeting with Anders, he’d emailed his resignation and phoned an agog Katya to explain. The HR manager had invited him in for a chat, which he attended in the late afternoon when Tilly could look after Maria alongside Josie.

  The HR manager had talked about ‘a potential solution that might be agreeable to all’. Nico imagined he’d already quoted SLS’s policy on dependants’ leave at Anders, which perhaps didn’t entirely accord with the stance Anders had so far taken. Along with lots of legal jargon, the HR manager had broached a settlement agreement. Nico had been unsurprised: he’d held a senior role with access to client data and contacts and was about to resign owing to his boss’s less than sympathetic behaviour.

  He’d been wide open to a sum of money and an agreed reference in exchange for waiving his right to take the company to tribunal. The settlement sum reflected holidays owed and the twelve-month non-compete clause in his contract and, in view of his circumstances and childcare difficulties, he wasn’t expected to work his notice but would be paid until his official leaving date of the thirty-first of December. The relief had unstrung every one of his tense muscles.

  He’d talked to Josie about changing schools. She had concerns, naturally, but had soon said she’d like to try living in the country if it meant no Mrs Calcashaw and no St Kits kids. The next day he’d picked up the phone to Ratty and agreed the six-month tenancy on Honeybun Cottage.

  He’d also informed Cambridgeshire County Council of his temporary responsibility for Maria and had already chatted via telephone to a Gloria Russell from Children’s Services, ‘assigned to Maria’s case’. He’d shrunk from the phrase. Maria, ‘a case’? Gloria had also called Loren and Vivvi, presumably to check they were on a similar page to Nico, and said she’d visit Honeybun Cottage soon. Loren had passed along to Nico that Maria’s birth father had been approached but indicated his inability to care for his daughter. Big surprise.

  Emelie had moved into Bruno’s flat in Highbury. It had been a wrench to hug her goodbye becau
se she’d lived with them for more than two years. ‘Don’t tell anyone in Sweden yet,’ he’d warned her. ‘I don’t want to tell my parents until I’m safely settled.’

  ‘OK.’ She’d beamed. ‘Leave it to you. Maybe I can visit you after Christmas.’

  Tilly had been stunned to learn Nico was moving the family to the country. ‘Just like that?’ she’d kept saying. ‘Just like that?’

  He’d heard regret in her voice as well as shock. ‘I’m afraid so,’ he’d answered. ‘I’m downshifting. If I need a nanny in the future then it will be someone in Cambridgeshire, obviously.’

  ‘But—’ she’d begun twice, then her dark eyes had shone with sudden tears. ‘Is it because I didn’t go full-time while you had Maria?’

  Considering their bumpy relationship recently, he’d felt unexpectedly sorry to sever ties. ‘It’s because I’ve left my job and I’m moving away.’ Then honesty compelled him to add, ‘But it’s true that as you couldn’t help me with one solution, I had to find another. I’m happy with choosing a new direction, though, so let’s part as friends, eh? I’m sure Josie would like to stay in touch.’

  He’d received the settlement offer on the twenty-sixth, agreed its terms, cleared things with Josie’s old school and moved to the village five days later.

  Now, he felt as if he’d been dumped into a reality TV programme without knowing the rules. However, logic dictated that as well as the tasks he’d shared with Emelie, Tilly and Loren now being all his, he could enjoy the novelty of strolling down a street of frosty cottages and fairy lights with two happy, healthy children.

  At home, Nico made snacks then Maria accidentally closed herself in the sitting room and howled to be freed. Josie obliged while Nico googled furniture stores. Finding a promising warehouse of Italian furniture between Bettsbrough and Peterborough he took the girls to help him make a selection.

  Maria approved his choice – a black metal base, round black shiny surface and four see-through chairs that she declared to be ‘glass’. Josie said, ‘Purple’s better than black.’

  Nico answered, faux regretfully. ‘No purple option.’ He suspected the highly contemporary style wouldn’t go with Honeybun’s rustic kitchen but enjoyed buying something to his taste alone, remembering Loren’s penchant for velvet love seats and spindle-back rocking chairs.

  The girls behaved well, Maria accepting a queenly perch on his shoulders and tapping his head when she wanted him to look at something, so he took them to a nearby toy shop. Josie got a Christmas card craft set and a PVC tablecloth decorated with long-lashed dragons to protect the new table from glue, Maria a backpack with walking reins attached. Face shining, she chose a unicorn design with a silver horn. Josie grabbed the rein and became a princess with Maria as her pet magic unicorn. ‘Hold on tightly,’ Nico called. All he had to do was stroll behind as the princess and her unicorn trotted along the pavement. Who would have thought a pet magic unicorn moved so much faster than a two-year-old girl?

  ‘Let’s stop at this shop and buy a box of chocolates for Nan Heather because she’s hurt her arm,’ Nico called.

  ‘That’s the little old lady from the wedding, isn’t it?’ Josie demanded, slowing her unicorn to look round enquiringly.

  ‘That’s right. Hannah’s come home from Sweden to look after her.’ How hurt must Nan Heather be for Hannah to take weeks away from her boyfriend and business? Her blank surprise at seeing him yesterday had probably matched his blank surprise at seeing her … swiftly followed by a burst of heat he’d resolutely tamped down.

  He drove home with Bastille playing and Maria lustily adding her own backing track of ‘Neh, neh, noo, noo, noo,’ as they purred into the village past a speed camera on which someone had painted a sad face, which Nico took as a warning that the camera was loaded and dangerous. Not remembering the number of Nan Heather’s house in The Cross, he paused at the garage to check with Ratty, whose oil stains stretched from his hands to the first tattoo on his forearm. Then he returned to Honeybun Cottage and put the table together, Maria ‘helping’ by poking her head between him and whatever he was trying to see and posting his spanner beneath the black range cooker so that he needed a coat hanger to hook it out.

  After lunch, they pulled on their coats against a keen December wind and went out on foot, Nico happy to leave the buggy behind and let Josie be in charge of Maria’s reins.

  Josie tapped the chocolate box under Nico’s arm. ‘Do you think Nan Heather will share?’

  ‘You’ve just had lunch,’ Nico reminded her. Josie looked at him as if wondering what his point was.

  Nan Heather opened the side door before they’d knocked. Her curls fluffed atop her head like a punk-rock sheep and her plaster cast stuck out from her sleeve. ‘I saw you through the window. Hannah said you’d moved here, Nico. And the little girls, too! Hello, my ducks! Come in out of the cold. Would you like hot chocolate? Or orange juice?’

  ‘Juice, p’ease.’ Maria bustled happily over the threshold.

  Josie followed. ‘Hot chocolate, please.’

  Nico followed on into Nan Heather’s small yellow kitchen with white-painted cabinets and old-fashioned appliances. Cacti grew in a row on the windowsill like green hedgehogs marching from one rose-strewn curtain to the other and a row of Christmas cards glittered prettily from the dresser.

  When he presented Nan with the chocolates, she beamed, faded eyes looming through her glasses. ‘You didn’t have to do that!’ Then, in the same breath, ‘Let’s get them open.’ The girls clustered around her as she lowered herself carefully onto a kitchen chair.

  Hannah appeared from the next room. ‘This is a nice surprise.’

  Nico had known he might see her this time so her smile didn’t hit him in the groin so much as last night. Soon she was boiling milk for hot chocolate, pouring juice and making coffee. Through the doorway, he could see an open laptop and a notepad on the table.

  ‘We’ve disturbed you,’ he said apologetically, when she handed him a steaming mug.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said quickly. ‘Nan’s obviously delighted to see your kids.’ She faltered as if wondering whether to revisit the term ‘your kids’ but he gave her an understanding smile and she went on. ‘I’ve unexpectedly picked up a project. A local rich kid, Simeon, converted old stables into a courtyard of crafty, cutesy shops and a tea room. He’s occupied elsewhere so I’m getting the traders into their units and doing the PR for the opening on the nineteenth. Simeon’s mum, Cassie, employed me but his dad, Christopher … It’s as if he suspects me of forcing Simeon to go so I can step into his shoes.’ Her blue-green eyes were alight as she talked. Her hair was piled on top of her head and tendrils escaped as if shaken free by a busy day.

  ‘Do you mind if I continue?’ she went on. ‘I’m creating a mammoth spreadsheet and I’m not quick at working out functions and sums.’ She took her cup of coffee and disappeared into the other room. He was left to muse that she’d have missed most of the Christmas build-up in her own shop by the nineteenth.

  Nan found things to interest Josie and Maria in the dresser drawers and Nico could see exactly why she’d made such a fantastic foster carer. Josie was soon cutting out ladies from magazines and Maria stirring a ‘pudding’ of pasta shapes in a bowl. He watched them absorbed in their activities.

  From his seat he could see Hannah gazing at her laptop. Taking his coffee, he stole into the dining room to join her. ‘I’m pretty handy with functions and sums,’ he offered, making her jump.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I can make the columns and rows add up but I need to separate out the VAT so we can reclaim conversion costs.’

  He pulled out a chair. ‘Just the VAT on the total? Wouldn’t it be easier to analyse each sum ex-VAT and then total the VAT column?’

  She tutted in exasperation. ‘I’ve forgotten how to do the basics. With Hannah Anna Butik I had accounting software but I’ve cancelled the monthly fee.’

  ‘I can help you with a template.’ He paused to sip his
cooling coffee thoughtfully. ‘You’re talking in the past tense about Hannah Anna Butik.’

  Her hands froze over her keys. Then she sighed, letting them drop. ‘I lost the shop.’ Her smile was so bright it almost, but not quite, outshone the tears in her eyes. She had to swallow before adding, ‘So when this project fell in my lap I thought I’d do it while I’m here with Nan.’

  Nico nodded, the tears on her lashes hitting him beneath the breastbone. ‘I’m sorry. That’s … horrible.’ He wanted to hug her. Was it financial trouble? She’d been delighted when he’d merchandised Hannah Anna Butik. Her takings were supposed to have shot up but maybe it had been too little too late. That would explain her scrabbling around for work in England while she cared for Nan Heather. But where did the rich boyfriend fit into that …?

  ‘It is what it is.’ Her voice was rough with emotion but she transferred her gaze back to her computer screen, giving him the message that she didn’t want to say more about the business she’d loved. ‘I wish I had a magic wand. Simeon hasn’t prepared a basic financial forecast – just listed bills with “monthly” or “annually” scribbled alongside.’

  His heart squeezed at her obvious determination to battle through her problems. ‘I love spreadsheets,’ he heard himself saying. ‘Why don’t you bring your laptop round after the kids have gone to bed? You can tell me what you need and I’ll do the magic.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’ she croaked. The wintry dusk had fallen as they’d talked and her face was illuminated by her screen. ‘I’d love help, thank—’ Her words caught and she swallowed hard.

  He patted her shoulder, pushing aside any concerns about whether spending time with a woman he should stay away from would be good for his emotional health. ‘I’m a non-working man, remember. Happy to help.’

  Hannah arrived at Honeybun’s kitchen door at nine-thirty. Freezing fog had eerily blanketed the village and moisture beaded the coat she hung up. Along with a blast of chill winter air, she brought in her backpack, her laptop, paperwork, a bottle of white wine and a packet of Oreo biscuits. ‘You bought a table,’ she observed, straightening a soft blue jumper that clung. She glanced at the English farmhouse units and brass handles. ‘It’s not scrubbed pine or pippy oak but I like its clean lines.’ She patted the black table top.