Five Winters(8)

We exchanged smiles, and then I saw him and his toolbox to the door.

“See you at Christmas,” he said, kissing my cheek.

“Yes, see you at Christmas. And thank you again for my wonderful shelves.”

“You’re more than welcome. Bye, love.”

“Bye, Richard.”

I closed the door behind him and went to decide which of my treasured items to display on my new shelves. It was a difficult choice. I had several pretty bowls and vases, as well as lots of animal sculptures and knickknacks that people—including Mark—had given me as presents over the years. It probably wasn’t a good idea to display Mark’s gifts. Not just yet. Perhaps I should have a shifting display. Yes, I could be the curator of my own rotating exhibition. And, since it was almost Christmas, I could start with a Christmas theme.

By the time I left for work the next morning, each cube in the shelving unit contained a different tinsel-adorned item. I’d even managed to make an interesting piece of driftwood I’d found on a Cornish beach look festive.

The festive theme didn’t stop when I reached the vet’s practice where I worked. Clive, my boss, was a total Christmas fanatic who wore a Santa hat constantly from the first of December onwards. The other veterinary nurses and I were charged with the task of festooning the waiting room with glitzy, over-the-top decorations at an indecently early date. Christmas music played in the waiting area, there was a display of festive pet outfits and dog toys, and the air was frequently filled with the smell of heated-up mince pies.

It was only a small veterinary practice—seven staff members worked there, and at the moment we were down one because Naomi, one of the other veterinary nurses, had recently gone on maternity leave, and Clive hadn’t got round to replacing her yet. We were a close-knit team, but despite counting each and every one of them as a friend, I’d so far managed to keep my feelings about Mark to myself. Work was a sanctuary—somewhere I could lose myself. I suspected my colleagues had different theories about why I was still single at thirty-five, though, and they were definitely all united by a common desire to change that state of affairs—matchmakers, the lot of them, no matter how much I might protest that I was quite happy as I was.

“Morning, Beth,” Tia said in greeting from reception when I arrived. “How was the wedding? Did you meet anyone interesting?”

I put my umbrella in the drip tray by the door. “I might have had an interesting chat with a guy at the wedding reception,” I teased. “A long, interesting chat.”

Tia’s eyes lit up. “Go on,” she said. “I want to know everything.” But just then the phone began to ring, and the first customer of the day walked in with a cat basket, so the chance for her to quiz me was lost. Not that I was naive enough to think she would forget about it. Tia was like a dog with a bone where romance was concerned, though the interrogation was delayed by Naomi turning up at lunchtime with her newborn. At Dalston Vets, we were all suckers for puppies and kittens, stopping whatever we were doing to ooh and ahh whenever any were brought in. So it was no different with Naomi’s baby. Even Clive, who was on his way out to do a house call, stopped to take a look.

“I hope you’ve given him a suitably festive name?” he said. “Noel, perhaps?”

Naomi looked at her boss, the baby cradled in her arms. “We have, actually. He’s called Rudolph.”

Clive’s face lit up. “Is he?”

“Er, no, Clive,” Naomi said. “We wouldn’t do that to him. He’s called Bembe.”

We all laughed, even Clive. “Well, he’s a beauty, whatever he’s called. Well done.” Clive looked at his watch. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. Is that man of yours looking after Bembe so you can come out ice-skating with us later?”

Naomi shook her head. “I think my ice-skating days are on hold for a while, Clive. But have fun. And happy Christmas.”

After he’d gone, she gave a shiver. “If that man thinks I could go ice-skating a week after giving birth, he’s lying about having three children,” she said.

“Don’t forget, he didn’t actually give birth to them,” Tia said.

Bembe woke up and began to cry. Naomi undid her top, and he latched on straightaway. We stood around watching for a while with smiles on our faces, as if breastfeeding were some kind of weird spectator sport, and then Tia remembered the wedding again.

“Beth met someone on Saturday at the wedding she went to.”

“Naomi doesn’t want to hear about that,” I said quickly, but Naomi looked up from her son.

“I bloomin’ well do,” she said. “I’m desperate to think about anything other than breastfeeding, poopy nappies, and sleeping patterns, believe me. Go on, who was it? Spill!”

So I told them about Jaimie, but all the while I was talking, I was watching the gorgeousness that was Bembe feeding and remembering Jaimie’s face when he’d spoken about his girls.

“He was a nice guy,” I finished up. “If he does call me, I’ll definitely see him again. We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we? Anyway, Naomi, how’s Tony taking to fatherhood?”

Naomi smiled. “Tony is a man in love,” she said. “Totally besotted. He’s been great, which is just as well, you know? Because it’s all quite . . . well, all-consuming, I suppose, this parenting thing.”