Single Dad In Her Stocking

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ua9d20931-ebe3-5ddf-a4cf-bfd586ff28e4)

‘OH, NO...YOU can’t be serious.’

‘I’m so sorry, Dr Cunningham, but there it is. I’m sure you understand that acute appendicitis isn’t something we can plan for. We’re doing our very best to find someone else to fill the position but, realistically, that’s not going to happen until after New Year. People want to be with their families over the festive season and...it’s such late notice. It’s the twentieth of December, for heaven’s sake. Christmas is only a few days away, you know.’

Of course he knew. There was tinsel in all sorts of odd places in his emergency department here at the Cheltenham Royal Hospital and there was a small Christmas tree in the waiting room. Some staff members had taken to wearing earrings that had flashing lights or headbands with reindeer antlers or little red hats with pompoms attached and he kept hearing people humming Christmas carols. They’d even had a man in a Santa suit come in by ambulance earlier today after suffering a suspected heart attack as he coped with all those small people wanting to sit on his knee and have their photographs taken in the town’s largest department store.

And, of course, he knew that people wanted to be with their families. Or felt obliged to be. It was precisely the reason why Max Cunningham always worked right through the holiday season to make sure as many people as possible in his department could have time at home with their loved ones. He’d done it for so many years now he was quite comfortable ignoring the commercial hype that tried to make it compulsory for happy families to gather and have an over-the-top celebration as they enjoyed each other’s company. It was as much of a myth as Santa Claus as far as he was concerned—or it was for the Cunningham family, at any rate.

Everybody knew that. He could just imagine how much of a field day any gossips of Upper Barnsley would have when the news of a third December tragedy to hit the Cunningham family filtered out. Talk about history repeating itself.

It’s struck again, they’d probably say. The Christmas Curse of the Cunninghams...

He’d been too young to do anything but cope the first time when his mother had died. Last time had been gutting when he’d lost his only brother but he’d got through it. Somehow. Life had gone back to normal. But this year was different. This year, his entire world was being tipped upside down and the phone call he’d just taken meant that Max could expect even more disruption. So much more, he wasn’t at all sure he knew what to do about it and feeling less than confident was as new and uncomfortable a sensation as any of the changes that were about to happen in his life. Nothing was ever going to go back to normal now, was it?

‘Hey...it can’t be that bad.’ The Royal’s senior nurse in the emergency department, Miriam, came into Max’s office. ‘Here, have a chocolate. I thought I’d bring you one before they all got scoffed by those gannets in the staffroom. Look, how cute are these? Like little plum puddings.’

Max shook his head. ‘No, thanks. I’m not really in the mood for chocolate. I’ve got a bit of a problem, to be honest.’

Miriam’s face creased in sympathy. ‘I did hear that something was going on. To do with your brother? And his children...?’

‘My brother Andy died just over a year ago. A car accident.’ It was a testament to how Max managed to keep his private life private that nobody here was aware of the full story but Miriam was trustworthy—the kind of motherly type that inspired confidence from both her patients and her colleagues. A great listener, too, with enough life experience to offer sage advice in almost any situation. Max could do with some advice.

‘It was his wife, this time,’ he added. ‘Or, I should say, his ex-wife. I haven’t seen his children since his funeral. I didn’t even know that there was a third one.’

‘Oh?’ Miriam’s eyebrows rose as she sank into the chair in front of Max’s desk. ‘Why ever not?’

Max sighed. ‘His marriage had broken down and he was dealing with difficult custody issues. He didn’t know that his wife was pregnant when she left and she obviously wasn’t too keen to keep in touch with the rest of his family after he died. She moved all the way up to somewhere north of Glasgow.’

‘And she’s the one who’s just died?’

‘Yes. She was taking the oldest one to school. Ben. He’s six. Icy road and an elderly driver must have panicked when he went into a skid and put his foot down on the accelerator. She managed to shove the baby’s pushchair out of the way but got killed instantly herself. There was an elderly aunt or someone who made funeral arrangements but she couldn’t take care of the children. They were all put into foster care while they tried to track down any other family.’

‘And you’re the children’s guardian?’

‘So it would seem. Maybe it was a legal document that got overlooked in the separation and then Andy died so a formal divorce never happened. It’s a good thing. It would have been appalling if Andy’s kids had been left in foster care when they’ve got an uncle and grandfather who are quite willing and able to take care of them.’

Well...being willing was one thing. Being able could prove to be a lot harder.

‘Your dad’s the GP in Upper Barnsley, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. And he lives in a house that’s ridiculously big for one person, but the house has been in the family for generations and he says the only way he’s leaving it is feet first when they carry out his dead body.’ Max found a smile. ‘That’s also a good thing because there’s plenty of room for the children. His housekeeper is happy to help out a bit more than doing her usual weekly shop and clean and I’d made arrangements for a live-in nanny who was going to get here tomorrow, in time for when the children arrive.’

‘Sounds like you’ve got things well under control.’

Max rubbed at his jaw. ‘I thought I had. But I’ve just had a call from the agency and the nanny got rushed into hospital a couple of hours ago with acute appendicitis. She’s probably on an operating table as we speak...and they have no one else available until after New Year.’

‘Oh...no...’ Miriam’s despairing tone was an exact echo of the one he’d used on receiving that news. ‘I wish I could offer to help but I’ve got family coming from all over the country this year. Christmas dinner for fourteen people and I’ve only got one day off to do the rest of the grocery shopping. It’s going to be a bit of a nightmare.’ But the older woman’s smile suggested that she was rather looking forward to the chaos.

‘I do have an idea, though,’ she added a moment later.

Max was open to any ideas because he had none of his own. He could even feel an edge of panic hovering—as if he was about to go into a skid that he wouldn’t be able to control—like the unfortunate one that had killed his ex-sister-in-law a few weeks ago. Who was going to get injured by this one? Himself or his father? His nieces or nephew? He was about to become the father figure to children who had suffered unimaginable loss of both their parents and their home. Their whole world. Was he about to stumble at the first hurdle of this new journey? No...he couldn’t allow that to happen.

‘What’s your idea?’ he asked.

‘There’s an agency we’ve used before. London Locums. They’re a specialist medical recruitment agency and they might be worth a try even with such short notice and at such a difficult time of the year. I could ring them if you like?’

‘But I need a nanny, not a locum doctor.’

Miriam’s smile was gentle. ‘Don’t you think it would be better for those poor children to have family looking after them instead of strangers? Why not get a locum to cover you? That way, you could be with the children to help them settle in. They must be so scared by all the changes happening around them.’

Max swallowed hard. He was a bit scared himself, to be honest. It wasn’t that he didn’t like children. He had enjoyed being an uncle and welcoming his brother’s first two children into the world and he got on very well with the small people who came through the doors of his emergency department. He just hadn’t ever planned to have any of his own.

Ever.

The disintegration of his own happiness when he was a child, after losing his mother—the sun of their family universe—had left an indelible stain. He had watched his father grapple with a sadness that meant he had no resources to provide for the emotional needs of two young boys and it had been Max who had tried to help his younger brother. That the sadness had morphed into a lasting depression that his father would never admit to or seek help for had cemented the deeply absorbed knowledge that the fallout of a family breaking apart for whatever reason was simply not worth the risk.

Max Cunningham had finally discovered the delicious balance of his passion for working hard and as brilliantly as possible with playing just as hard outside of work hours and that time almost always included a beautiful woman as a playmate. Max was confident that he had honed his skills in making a woman feel very, very special but only for a limited amount of time, of course. He wasn’t ever going to get caught in the trap of having his happiness depend on a family, only to have his world destroyed. If his own childhood memories hadn’t been enough, his brother’s death last year had more than reinforced his belief that the risk was far too great. He hadn’t ever intended to be responsible for the happiness of others either, by trying to create and protect the safety of a family unit or to patch up the fragments of a world that had been irreparably broken.

But, here he was, about to attempt exactly that and the responsibilities about to land on his doorstep were more than daunting. Who knew how traumatised these children already were? The girls might be too young to remember losing their father last year but little Ben was six and maybe he was already trying to wear the mantle of the oldest child and look after his siblings and Max knew how hard that could be. And Miriam was right. The children had been in the care of total strangers since they’d lost their mother and that wasn’t acceptable. Max might think his world was being upended but for his nephew and nieces the only world they knew had just vanished for ever.

‘And it’s Christmas,’ Miriam added softly, as she got to her feet—as if that settled the matter. ‘They’re family. And they need you.’

‘Emma?’

‘Hi, Julie.’ Emma Moretti paused beneath the bare branches of trees in London’s Hyde Park as she answered her phone, watching a squirrel race up the trunk of the nearest tree. ‘I hope you’ve got some good news for me?’

Julie was the manager of London Locums, the specialist medical recruitment agency that Emma had been employed by for the last few years.

‘You’re not going to believe it. After telling you there was absolutely nothing on the books for the Christmas period, I just got a call from someone at the Royal in Cheltenham. They’re desperate for someone to take over from their emergency department HOD. Seems he’s got some family crisis happening until some time in early January.’