Annie Claydon - All She Wants For Christmas

Cold disappointment dripped into Beth’s heart. He was right, of course, but she still didn’t want to admit that she was reliant on the hospitality of a virtual stranger. She stared at Matt, unable to think of anything to say that sounded even vaguely rational.

‘Are there any friends or family close by that you can call?’

Beth shook her head. ‘On any other evening I’d call Marcie. But it’s her wedding anniversary tonight and she’s been planning it for weeks. And my parents are away in America, visiting my younger brother.’ She could probably make it down to Charlie’s place in London before midnight, but if she did he’d still be reminding her about this in thirty years’ time.

‘So come back to our place. The hospital’s vetted me, so the chances of me not being an axe murderer are pretty much in your favour.’ The veneer slipped and an irresistible grin broke through. ‘And my son will vouch for me.’ Jack was dozing fitfully now and didn’t seem disposed to vouch for anyone at the moment. ‘When he wakes up, that is.’

Beth’s resolve wavered. The heat of Matt’s smile was about the only thing around here that was much above freezing. ‘I don’t suppose that anywhere I want to go includes a hotel, does it? There’s one a few miles down the road.’

‘Right in one. No hotels.’

If she was going to take him up on his offer, she may as well do it gracefully. Beth smiled up at him and saw a glimmer in his dark blue eyes that looked suspiciously like triumph. ‘Then your spare bedroom sounds like a lifesaver. It’s very kind of you, thank you.’

Matt had left Jack curled up in a chair in the dining room while he had helped her wipe the puddles from the few good pieces of furniture she had and prop them up off the soaked carpets. The sofa cushions had been arranged on their ends around the sitting room so they could drain a little and he had rolled up the old rug, which was completely beyond saving, and dumped it in the back garden.

She had drawn the line at letting him into her bedroom but after seeing the waterlogged state of her bed had reluctantly called him to help her tip the mattress on one side against the wall. They had gathered up her soaking quilt and some of her clothes and put them into plastic bags in the boot of Matt’s car and Beth had picked up her photo albums and her jewellery box and tucked them away on the back seat. Almost as an afterthought she had fetched her laptop, which seemed to have survived the deluge, and had found that Matt had picked up her textphone and was carefully wiping it dry.

With one load of clothes in the washing machine and another in the dryer, Beth finally allowed herself to relax into the sofa in front of the open fire at Matt’s, watching the logs sizzle and spit as heat drove the moisture from them. Jack had claimed a place next to her and Matt had prepared soup with French bread for them all.

‘That was nice. Must be home-made, it’s got chunky bits.’

‘My mother makes it. My parents live close by and she delivers it by the gallon and puts it in the freezer.’ Matt was sitting on an easy chair, drawn up by the fire, inspecting her textphone. He had changed into jeans and a sweater and his short fair hair was dishevelled from where he had been running his hand through it, making him look even more like a grown-up version of the child that was currently dozing in her arms.

Beth tried not to look at his hands as his long fingers set to work, teasing the back off her phone. Capable hands, which looked as if they could be as gentle as they were precise. He wore no wedding ring and she wondered whether he had done once.

‘So you grew up around here?’

‘Yes. You?’

‘London.’ Beth tucked her legs under her on the sofa, letting Jack slide into her lap, feeling herself relax in the heat from the fire. ‘My family’s pretty scattered now, though. My parents moved down to the South Coast when Dad retired and my younger brother’s in the States. He’s a member of a Deaf Theatre Company over there.’

‘Sounds interesting. What does he do?’

‘He’s an actor. They’re based in New York but they take their productions all over the country. He loves it.’

‘The pull of an audience can be very seductive.’ There was an edge to Matt’s voice.

‘Oh, Nathan’s got his priorities right. He’s just married a really nice girl—she keeps him grounded.’

‘Smart guy.’ The bitterness in Matt’s tone was unmistakable now and he changed the subject quickly. ‘Are your parents deaf as well?’

‘My father is. Mum’s hearing.’ Beth took a deep breath. She may as well say it. She was proud of who she was and was damned if she was going to hide it as if it were some kind of embarrassing secret. ‘I have autosomal dominant deafness. That means …’

He silenced her with an amused look. ‘I know. One dominant gene, inherited from your father, and not a recessive gene inherited from each parent.’

Of course he knew. Genetics 101. ‘Yes. Mum and Dad knew pretty much what to expect when they had children. With the dominant gene there was always going to be a fifty-fifty chance of each of us being deaf.’ Her throat constricted suddenly as if she was being choked.

‘But your mother saw past that.’

‘Yeah. Just as well for me and my brothers.’ Pete hadn’t. Neither had his mother, who had already persuaded him that he was perfect and didn’t have much difficulty convincing him that his children should be, too.

Beth looked down at the child dozing in her lap. She was surrounded by all the things that Pete had promised her and then reneged on. All the things she had sworn she wouldn’t think about any more. She began to feel sick again.

‘Are you okay?’ Beth focused back on Matt with an effort of will and saw concern in his face. ‘You look very pale.’

‘Yes, fine.’

‘Sure you don’t feel dizzy? Or hot and cold?’

‘No. Neither.’ The room had stopped lurching now, and the heat from the fire was warming her again.

‘Nausea?’

‘No.’ The feeling had passed and Matt’s obvious frustration at her lack of symptoms was making her feel much better.

‘May I take your pulse?’

‘I’ll do it.’ Beth wasn’t sure if her heart really did beat twice as fast whenever he touched her but she wasn’t taking any chances. She counted off the beats against the second hand of the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Dead on sixty.’

‘Hmm. Very good. Excellent, in fact. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘I’m not in shock.’

‘You probably are, very slightly. Anyone would be after tonight.’ He sighed and gave up. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in offering you a non-medicinal drop of brandy.’

Beth giggled. The way this man could take her from the depths of depression back to laughter in a matter of minutes was frightening. ‘That sounds more like it. Thanks, just a splash.’

He rose and opened the glass door of a cabinet fitted in the alcove beside the chimney breast, withdrawing two cut-glass tumblers and a brandy bottle. Pouring a couple of mouthfuls into each, he placed one next to her and returned to his seat with the other. Jack stirred, reaching out for her, and Beth coiled her arm back around him. Tipping her glass towards Matt in a silent toast, she took a sip of the brandy and settled back against the cushions. Crisis over.

It made Matt smile, seeing the two of them like this on the sofa, Jack curled up in Beth’s arms, sleeping peacefully. Her eyes were luminous in the firelight and she looked even smaller, even more fine-boned in the rolled-up jogging pants and sweatshirt he had lent her.

He picked up the textphone, which lay beside his chair, and finally managed to prise the cover free. Water dribbled out over his jeans and he brushed it away, sending the drops fizzing into the fire.