Five Winters(72)

“That would be nice,” I said. “Though it might be difficult for me to plan anything very much in advance. It depends what animals I’m looking after, if any.”

“That’s okay. I haven’t made any plans, so I can be flexible. And I’m happy to come round to yours if that’s easier. Just give me a call.”

He was looking at my mouth now. God, he was looking at my mouth. The flicker of desire I’d felt before was back again, only now it felt more like a flame. For some reason I started thinking about his tattoos. I’d never dated a guy with tattoos before, but on Jake they seemed right. Did he have any more elsewhere on his body? On his chest, maybe, or his back? What would it be like to run my hands over them, to explore them? There was no rule against having red-hot sex on Christmas Day if you were single and planning to adopt, was there? Presumably, Clare hadn’t sneakily installed CCTV cameras around my flat.

Jake and I were still smiling at each other like a pair of lovesick teenagers. He could probably read my mind. It was definitely time to go.

“Well,” I said, “I’d better get to Tesco.”

“Before they run out of lasagnes?”

“Exactly. Because everyone knows zappable lasagnes are a popular Christmas dinner choice.”

He smiled. “Bye, Beth. I’ll wait to hear from you. I hope no puppies or kittens get sick in the next few days.”



Right up until Christmas Eve, it actually appeared as if I wouldn’t have any pets to look after. But then a tabby cat called Tiger was run over by a taxicab, and Clive had to perform an emergency splenectomy and leg amputation.

“Sorry, Beth,” he said. “He’s a young cat, so he should be fine to go home tomorrow afternoon, but I think we ought to keep him in overnight. I’ll come in myself to check on him later this evening and first thing tomorrow morning, but if you could pop in at lunchtime tomorrow for the family to collect him if he seems okay? Run through what they need to do for him?”

“Of course.”

“Call me if you have any doubts at all. I’ll stay off the wine until I hear all’s well.”

“Okay. No problem.”

I was actually quite glad to have an animal to take care of over Christmas, since I hadn’t made any plans. Though of course I wouldn’t have wished an accident on poor Tiger. The taxi driver had been really apologetic when he’d brought him into the surgery, even though he hadn’t been at fault—Tiger had run straight out in front of his cab.

After Tiger had been settled into his recovery cage and Clive and I had wished each other a happy Christmas, I popped round to Naomi and Tony’s with my Christmas gifts to find Naomi stressed out because Bembe had a cold and Precious was teething. Tony, who worked shifts at a local hospital, wasn’t home yet, although he had got Christmas off this year.

“Poor man,” said my friend as she opened the door to me. “His first Christmas off for two years and both the children are ill and cranky.”

Naomi herself looked flushed and tired, holding a bawling Precious in her arms. Bembe was crying somewhere in the background. It was literally Rosie’s idea of hell.

I reached out to take Precious from her. “Go and see to Bembe. I’ll hold the baby for a bit.”

Naomi looked doubtful. “Are you sure? I don’t want to give you a headache on Christmas Eve.”

I could hardly hear her over the screaming. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “My Christmas is cancelled anyway.”

“I almost wish mine was,” Naomi said wryly, heading off to see to her son.

Precious’s screaming didn’t faze me too much, though it probably would have done if she’d been my daughter and I’d been listening to it all day long.

I improvised, walking her around the living room, chatting to her about the Christmas decorations, and showing her the coloured lights on the Christmas tree and the twinkling fairy lights Naomi had arranged around the mirror. Then I sang to her—Christmas carols and Christmas songs, whatever popped into my mind—rocking her in my arms, listening to the distant sound of Naomi reading Bembe stories when her cries began to fade a little. Finally, she stopped screaming and fell asleep, and suddenly all was quiet in the flat.

I stopped singing and hummed instead, rocking the baby gently while I gazed down into her face. Naomi and Tony had chosen the perfect name for her. She was precious. So very precious.

Sometimes I thought that if only Rosie would let herself do this—hold a sleeping baby, gaze down at the perfect curl of her eyelashes, touch the silken down of her head, be the focus of a sudden, unexpected smile—she would change her opinion about having children. I couldn’t, in all honesty, imagine how anybody could be immune.

“Thank you,” Naomi said softly, coming back into the room. “Want me to take her and put her in her Moses basket?”

“I’ll hold her for just a little while longer to make sure she’s properly asleep,” I said, and Naomi gave me a knowing smile.

“Bembe’s absolutely sparko. When you can bear to let her go, we can have a little pre-Christmas drink.”

“Only a small one,” I said. “I’m officially on duty.”

Naomi stretched wearily. “You and me both,” she said. Then she looked at me, still cradling her sleeping daughter. “Are you really sure adopting a child is what you want?”