Twins For Christmas. Alison Roberts

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      ‘I take it she’s gone, then?’

      ‘Aye …’ Gratefully, Adam pushed the hairbrush into his mother’s hand. ‘I’ve almost got the bags ready. I’d better go and see what Ollie’s broken.’

      ‘Little minx. I can’t believe she’s run off like that. With no notice.’

      ‘She’s nineteen. In love. Getting pregnant probably made the decision a wee bit urgent.’

      ‘What’s pregnant?’ Poppy had stopped crying and was standing very still while her grandmother rapidly braided her hair.

      ‘It means that you’re going to have a baby.’

      ‘Auntie Marion’s going to have a baby.’

      ‘Aye … she is. So’s Kylie.’

      ‘But Kylie looks after us. She’s coming back, isn’t she?’

      ‘No. She’s going to Australia—where her boyfriend comes from.’

      ‘What’s Australia?’

      ‘It’s a country a long way away.’ Adam had gone as far as the door to see that the standard lamp had fallen in the living room, sweeping a photograph from the corner of the mantelpiece onto the hearth. Nothing life-threatening. He could sort it out later when he had a minute to spare. Stooping, he picked up an abandoned shoe.

      ‘Ollie? Where are you? It’s time for school.’

      A small, tousled head with wide eyes appeared slowly from behind the sofa.

      ‘Come and see your gran. You need your hair brushed too.’

      ‘It’s even further away than Canada.’ By some miracle, his mother had found ribbons to tie on the ends of Poppy’s plaits. ‘Where Aunty Marion lives.’

      She looked up as Adam came back with Oliver in tow but then her gaze shifted to take in the pile of books and papers on one end of the kitchen table. A milky spoon from a bowl of cereal was sitting on top of a school book. Turning her head to look at the dishes piled up on the kitchen bench, she clicked her tongue.

      ‘I can’t do it,’ Catherine McAllister said. ‘I’m no’ going to take off for Canada and leave you to cope with this lot alone.’

      ‘You have to. Marion needs you. The bairn’s due next week.’

      ‘She’ll understand.’

      ‘This is my sister we’re talking about.’ Adam’s smile was wry. ‘She’d never talk to me again. She’d say I’ve had years of your help and she only needs you for a few weeks. It’s not her fault my nanny’s run off to Australia.’

      Catherine raised her gaze to the old clock on the wall. ‘You’d better go, son. Or you’ll be getting the evil eye from Eileen Stewart. She’s bad enough when an emergency comes in and puts out all the waiting times. I’ll get these wee lambs off to school.’

      ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Adam pushed his arms into the sleeves of a coat that hadn’t made it off the back of a kitchen chair last night. ‘And you’re not to even think of cancelling your trip. I’ve got ads in papers everywhere for a temporary nanny. I’ll find help for while you’re away at least, and then we can worry about something more permanent.’

      ‘We’ll see about that.’ Catherine sounded unconvinced. ‘My flight’s not till Tuesday. If you haven’t found help by then, I’m staying and that’s an end to the matter.’

      The train from London to Edinburgh arrived on time. The connecting train Emma needed to get out into the middle of a Scottish nowhere was clearly less reliable. The wicked draught coming into the waiting room was chilling her to the bone and Emma huddled between the backpack full of clothes and her guitar case.

      How crazy was this?

      But that Dr McAllister had sounded so enthusiastic on the phone yesterday. Said he’d pay for her travel if she could come up for an interview and he was sure she’d be suitable so she might as well bring what she needed for the next few weeks and that way, if she was happy to take the position, she wouldn’t need to go all the way back to London again.

      And it all sounded so perfect. She already had the image of a pretty, old Scottish village with the stone buildings softened by a layer of fluffy snow and the sound of Christmas carols being sung by rosy-cheeked village children. What better place to spend these few weeks of the unbearable waiting? It wasn’t as if she would have the responsibility of caring for a tiny baby or something. Looking after six-year-old twins—how hard could that be?

      A piercing whistle and then a squeal of brakes announced the arrival of her new train. Emma picked up the straps of her backpack with one hand and the handle of the guitar case with the other. Then she put it down again to fish in her coat pocket. To make sure she had the appointment details for the meeting later this afternoon.

      Yes. Four p.m. at the medical centre in the village of Braeburn. Only a short walk from the station, apparently. Across the square at the end of the high street and down the street. She couldn’t miss it but if she got as far as the village hall she needed to turn around. She’d be able to meet not only the nice-sounding doctor but the children and their grandmother.

      Gathering her courage, Emma got herself and her belongings stowed into an eerily empty train carriage. Braeburn didn’t appear to be a very popular destination. With no one to distract her with conversation, there was plenty of time to think about what lay ahead in her immediate future.

      That last addition of the grandmother to the interview panel was the one that made her a little uneasy. Her imagination could conjure up a fierce, elderly Scot with no trouble at all. Short and wiry, with a hairnet keeping the corrugated-iron waves of her hair in place and a disapproving glare that would miss nothing remotely unsuitable about an applicant.

      She’d be the one to convince.

      Emma rested her head back on the faded seat and watched green hills and paddocks and the occasional river drift past. Beautiful country. A long, long way from London and big hospitals and fear of what the new year might bring.

      She couldn’t go back.

      She had to get this job. It would be a reprieve from the fear. Time out. A family to spend Christmas with even, and wouldn’t that be magic?

      A touch to her hair reassured her that the unruly curls were suitably restrained. How good was it that her hair had grown back so enthusiastically after all the chemo? It would have been better to have had the time to buy some new clothes, though. She didn’t have a skirt or dress to her name and, having lost so much weight, she was swimming in her jeans and pullover. Hardly the outfit to make much of an impression with but it was personality that mattered, wasn’t it?

      And this Dr McAllister sounded perfectly nice, with his deep voice and broad Scottish accent. A bit brusque maybe. Possibly a little terse after she’d replayed the conversation in her head a few times but he’d definitely sounded keen.

      Almost … desperate?

      Maybe the children were little monsters that ate nannies for breakfast and the granny СКАЧАТЬ