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‘I’m not dressing up. I’m organising everything.’
‘So this Christmas won’t be as chaotic as last… ’ He bit his tongue but it was too late. The cat had clawed its way out of the bag and ushered something that looked suspiciously like an elephant into the room.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
She was blushing furiously, refusing to meet his gaze. She remembered. And from the look of things she was no more indifferent to it than he was. Greg could barely suppress his grin.
‘I meant that… the weather will probably be better.’
‘Yes. I expect so. Last year was quite unusual.’ She was backing towards the door now. ‘It’s late. I’d better be getting home.’
‘See you tomorrow?’
‘Yes… Maybe.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’ The door banged behind her, and Greg settled back into his chair. Just another ten minutes, to settle his jumbled thoughts, then he’d go home. Last Christmas…
The dream seized Greg with all the colour and immediacy of a memory, which had shadowed him for the last thirty years. The large, opulent room and the child, sitting on a thick, intricately patterned rug on the floor.
He was making something. Without having to look, Greg knew what it was. The Christmas card was for his father, the picture on the front a wishful representation of a family—father, mother and their five-year-old son—under a Christmas tree. It was almost painful to watch his younger self, so absorbed in this task, so careful with the picture and the wording inside the card, because Greg knew what was to come.
The lavishly wrapped presents from America had been no substitute for his father’s arrival, but the child had believed all the excuses that Christmas. It had taken years of broken promises to finally squash Greg’s faith and make him realise that the time his father gave so freely to the company and the people he worked with was doled out like a miser’s shilling to his family.
‘It’s not your fault.’ Greg breathed the words to his younger self, wondering if there was any way he could comfort the boy. Apparently not. His own memories still tasted of the bitterness of dreams that had never been smashed but had just dissolved under the weight of reality.
The boy was growing, though, almost before his eyes. Finding his way in the world. A first kiss on a sun-strewn hillside in Italy, where he had been holidaying with his mother’s family. The letter to his father, telling him that he was going to medical school, which had gone unanswered. The party that his mother and stepfather had thrown for him before he’d left home. The hard work, the weary nights and the smile of a woman he’d saved. She’d been the first, and from then on he’d known that this was what he was supposed to do.
Greg was reeling from the vivid clarity of the thoughts and memories flashing in front of him. Faces, dreams. The soft touch of a woman’s skin. Jess. She’d been the last, delicious taste of the life that he’d left behind. Maybe not a perfect life, there had been the usual mistakes, the usual disappointments, but it had been his and he had a singular affection for it.
Finally, the parade of images slowed. Stopped. It was last Christmas, in the dark, deserted courtyard outside the hospital, and Greg could see himself, talking to Jess. Although he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he knew well enough. Knew what was coming, too, and he held his breath, afraid that in some way he might alter history and divert their path away from that sweet outcome.
She must have been as back-breakingly tired as he was, but she still shone. Still wore that red sparkly headband that had brought a little Christmas cheer into an A and E department that had been in a state of siege after a cold snap, accompanied by snow, had filled the waiting room, and a flu bug had thrown the holiday rota into chaos.
Greg saw himself grimace. They’d got to the goodbye. Jess had worked for him for two years, and was leaving soon, to take up a post in Cardiology. It was what she wanted to do and he was pleased for her but even now, ten months later, the sudden feeling of loss stabbed at him.
There it was… Greg watched as his former self leaned forward, a brief kiss on the cheek. Saw her flinch back in surprise as he went to kiss the other cheek, and knew that he’d whispered something about a single kiss not being enough, using his Italian heritage as an excuse for his own craving to feel her skin against his again.
More talk, their bodies seeming to grow closer by the second, and then he’d caught her hand. Pressed her fingers against his lips, smiling when she didn’t draw back. And then Greg had heedlessly trashed the first of the three rules he’d lived by up until that moment. He’d gone ahead and kissed her, despite the fact that Jess was still a member of his team for another week, and he always, whatever the circumstances, kept it strictly professional at work.
‘Think you’re in control of this, don’t you?’
He murmured the warning and his former self took no heed of it. Jess would show him differently, any minute now. Greg watched as she pulled away for a moment and then kissed him back, her hand sliding over the stubble on his jaw and coming to rest on his neck, in the exact place that had suddenly and inexplicably seemed to control the whole of his body.
She’d torn his breath away, taken everything that he was and made it hers. What was the second rule again? Don’t let your love life get out of control? That had dissolved in the wash of pleasure that had been engulfing him, without anything more than a slight pop. This had been uncharted territory. He’d known no more about Jess’s personal life than she had about his, and if that wasn’t out of control he didn’t know what was.
It was Jess who had come to her senses. Down-to-earth, dependable Jess, who had always seemed so immune to his charm.
‘This might not be such a good idea. We work together… ’
She’d given him a way out, and he’d stubbornly refused to take it.
‘Not for much longer.’
‘I suppose I won’t be seeing so much of you after next week. When I take up the post in Cardiology.’
There had been a gleam of mischief in her smile.
The third rule had flared and burned in the heat of her touch. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.
‘You’ll see me. I’ll find you.’
He had kissed her one last time, just to let her know that he would. And she had clung to him, to let him know just what his welcome would be like when he did.
‘Happy Christmas, Greg.’
‘Happy Christmas, Jess.’
Greg’s eyes opened and he found himself staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t even looked for her, let alone found her. In the week between Christmas and the New Year the call had come, telling him that his father was gravely ill. Instead of going to Jess’s goodbye drinks, Greg had been on the motorway, on his way to his father’s house. Too late, he’d realised that he’d left no message to tell her why he couldn’t be there.
Days had turned into weeks. Every moment that Greg hadn’t been at work had been spent either on the road or at his father’s bedside. He’d known that he was dying, but somehow it had seemed all wrong when the man who had capitulated to no one gave way to death. Then the will had been read, and Greg’s world had been turned upside down. He’d packed his bags and gone to America to try and sort it all out, knowing that it was too late to seek her out.
Maybe she’d forgiven him. She certainly hadn’t forgotten him. And maybe now he could do what he’d neglected to do before, and had been regretting for the last ten months. Get to know Jess. Find out whether that kiss had been just an aberration, something that had happened which had never been meant to be, or whether it might, just might have been the start of something.
CHAPTER TWO (#udcd41815-2e96-55b8-b291-43726b4ce8df)
GREG BREEZED INTO Cardiology as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and he was simply looking for something he’d misplaced.
‘Ah! Just what I needed.’ The coffee that he’d bought for Jess was whipped from his hand, and Gerry lifted the take-away cup to his lips.
Best brazen it out. ‘Thought you might.’ Greg leaned against the reception desk and opened his own coffee.
‘So, welcome to Cardiology. And who might you be?’ Gerry’s Irish accent was always broader when he was smiling.
‘Feeling neglected, are we?’
‘Not me.’ Gerry tipped the coffee cup towards him as if in a toast. ‘I’m easily pleased, though. Maura wants to know when you’ll be coming over for dinner.’
‘Soon. I’m on lates at the moment. But I can pop in at the weekend, see the kids. I’ve something for them from America.’ Something that his father’s personal assistant had procured from the toy store. Greg hadn’t needed to ask whether Pat had done the same each time his own birthday or Christmas had rolled around. The meticulously wrapped presents for Jamie and Emma bore the same careful folds that he’d examined and practised himself as a child, thinking that this, at least, would be something he’d learned from his father.
‘… .last time. By the time Jamie’s old enough for that remote-controlled car you sent him, I’ll have worn it out.’ Gerry’s voice filtered back into his consciousness.
‘I thought you’d like it. And I’ve got something a bit more age appropriate this time.’ Greg would rewrap the parcels himself. Then at least he’d know what was inside them. ‘I had some help in choosing. My father’s PA is great with things like that.’ He’d always loved his presents and had no reason to suppose that Pat had lost her touch. As long as the kids were happy, did it really make so much of a difference?
‘Yeah? How are things going over there? You weren’t exactly communicative when we spoke last time.’
‘I know. It’s complicated.’
Gerry bared his teeth in a wry smile. ‘What, there’s a woman involved?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘That’s generally your definition of complicated.’
‘Never make assumptions.’ Greg wondered what kind of rumours had been circulating about his protracted absence. Went as far as hoping that Jess hadn’t heard them and then decided not to go there. ‘Is Jess around?’
‘I think she’s doing a ward round.’ Gerry flipped an enquiring look at the receptionist, who nodded. ‘She’ll be back soon. Can I help?’
‘Not unless you’re in charge of the Christmas pageant.’ Gerry wouldn’t question the excuse. Jess wasn’t ‘his type’. It occurred to Greg that perhaps it was the women he usually dated who weren’t his type.
‘So she’s got you involved with that, has she?’
‘Not yet. I thought I might lend a hand, though. Anything that involves you in chains has got to be worth a look.’
Gerry chuckled. ‘Yeah. Think I got lumbered there.’ Something caught his eye and he gestured. ‘Jess. You’ve got a new recruit.’
By the time Greg had turned, her initial reaction to his presence, if indeed there had been one, was under control. He’d never seen her in anything other than scrubs or jeans before, but today she wore a skirt and blouse under her crisp white coat. Hair tied back, showing off the curve of her neck, and, though it came as no particular surprise to Greg that Jess had legs, somehow he couldn’t drag his eyes away from them.
‘Don’t eye my staff up, mate.’ At least Gerry had the grace to lean in close so no one else could hear him. Greg shot him a warning look, and Gerry laughed, turning to the receptionist, who immediately gave him something else to do.
‘You want to help with the pageant?’ Jess’s voice next to him was uncertain.
‘Oh. Yeah, I thought if you wanted a hand… ’ He stopped. Suddenly it seemed crass to just breeze in, as if the last ten months hadn’t happened.
‘Yes. Always.’ She twisted her mouth. ‘Greg, I… It was such a surprise to see you last night, and I didn’t… ’ She took a breath. ‘I just wanted to say that I heard about your father. I’m very sorry. I should have made sure that I got the chance to say that before now.’
He stared at her. He’d left her hanging, without a word, and she was the one who seemed to feel she had something to explain. ‘Thanks. And… I was the one who wasn’t around, not you.’
‘That’s understandable.’ Suddenly they weren’t talking about his father any more. It was all about Greg and Jess. And that kiss. No, not the kiss, that had been just fine. The promise he’d made and then broken.
‘You think so?’ Calling her, from his father’s place or long distance from America, had seemed somehow indefinably wrong. Now he was back in London, it felt wrong that he hadn’t.
She shrugged. ‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.’
That was all he needed. ‘Well, in that case, do you want to meet up? To talk about the pageant, I mean. I could buy you lunch perhaps.’
She pursed her lips. ‘You might like to reconsider that. I can think of a lot of jobs in the time it takes to eat lunch. Maybe just a coffee.’
He wanted so badly to push her, not to take no for an answer. But he didn’t have the right. Thinking about her for the whole of the last ten months didn’t count as any form of contact, unless she happened to be psychic. ‘Whatever suits you. Would you like me to call you?’
She nodded, pulling her phone out of her pocket. ‘What’s your number?’
She thumbed in the digits as he recited them and his mobile sounded, one ring from his back pocket. ‘There, you’ve got mine now. If you want to risk lunch, I’ll make a list of things we need help with.’
He grinned. Jess had come through for him yet again. This time he wouldn’t let her down.
Are you free for lunch on Sunday?
Jess wasn’t about to admit that those seven words were the ones that she’d been waiting for ever since she’d last seen Greg. She texted back with the minimum of information.
Yes.
Come over to mine. I’ll make lunch. You can give me a rundown on what you want me to do.
‘Don’t tempt me… ’ She hissed the words between her teeth, but couldn’t help smiling to herself. He might have left her hanging, and it might have hurt, but Jess wasn’t quite sure what she would have done if he hadn’t. If Greg had come knocking on her door, she might just have taken fright and pretended she wasn’t home.
Sounds good. What time?
I’ll pick you up at twelve.
No, that was one step too far for the moment.
Send me your address. I’ll make my own way.
There was a pause, and then her phone beeped again. His address, along with an electronic smile. Nothing like his real smile. Good. It was far too early to start thinking about all the things his smile did to her.
The climb up to the top floor wasn’t anywhere near long enough to make her feel dizzy, but then Greg answered the door. A blue shirt, open just far enough to show improbably smooth, olive skin and jeans that fitted him like a glove. Dark hair, and dark eyes, which were even more striking here than in the fluorescent glare of the hospital. Couldn’t he give a girl a break?
‘That smells fabulous. What is it?’ When she followed him through to the large, sleek kitchen, the smell curled around her like a warm, comfortable blanket.
‘One of my mother’s secret recipes.’ Greg had clearly come to the same conclusion that Jess had. The easy humour they’d shared at work was the best way to forget that they were alone together in his flat. ‘You know the score. If I tell you what’s in there, I… ’
‘Yeah, I know. You have to shoot me.’
‘Yep. Or challenge you to a duel.’
‘You prefer hand-to-hand fighting?’
‘Every time.’ He surveyed the pans on the stove, gave one a stir and then turned his attention back to her. ‘Don’t you like to be able to look straight into the other man’s eyes?’
‘Of course. How else would I know exactly what he was thinking?’
He barked out a sudden laugh. ‘Touché. So tell me all about this Christmas extravaganza of yours.’
It wasn’t really hers and it wasn’t much of an extravaganza, but it was something to talk about over their meal. Greg chuckled when she told him about the plan for carol singers, dressed up as characters from Dickens, and loved the idea for storytellers in the children’s wards.
‘That’s a great idea. Aren’t you going to go through to the general wards as well?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jess shrugged. ‘I didn’t really think of doing that.’
‘Adults love to be read to as well. There’s evidence to suggest that it’s beneficial for stroke patients. I imagine that a good storyteller could capture a lot of interest with the elderly as well.’
‘Hmm. Yeah, worth thinking about.’ She should have known that Greg would be able to add something to the value of the project.
‘So what else?’
‘As it’s the hospital’s two hundredth anniversary this year, we’re going to do a small exhibition in the main foyer. How things were then. There are loads of old documents in the basement, and I was thinking of making a model of the building.’ He was giving her the same look that everyone gave her when she got to this bit. ‘It’s not as crazy as it sounds. It’s going to be done properly, I’m not thinking of just gluing a couple of empty cereal packets together. It’ll be 1:87 scale, like the model trains.’
‘Trains?’
