Mistletoe Proposal On The Children's Ward

Since Hestia’s death, he didn’t do Christmas. There weren’t tidings of comfort and joy, as far as he was concerned. Just the bleak midwinter, and the radio playing songs saying how it would be lonely at Christmas, or begging the singer’s loved one to come home for Christmas, or, worse still, the song Hestia had loved and danced around the house to with him, making him sing along with her. The most popular modern song, the one that seemed to be playing all the time in December, no matter which radio station he chose.

All Hestia had wanted for Christmas was him. And their baby.

That was what he’d wanted, too.

What he’d actually got was a double funeral. All those plans, all the happiness and excitement, had sunk into a black hole. It was just over three years ago now, and everyone had expected him to move on. But he couldn’t. It was too, too hard.

Which was why he worked as a locum.

And why he flatly refused social invitations from family and friends alike, since the time they’d all clearly talked about him and decided he needed help to move on, and had set him up at a dinner party with a suitably single woman. A nice, sweet woman who deserved so much more than the wreckage that had once been Jamie Thurston. He’d been polite, the first couple of times it had happened, but then he’d refused invitations so he wouldn’t be put in an awkward position again. He didn’t need to be fixed up with anyone. He didn’t want anyone else in his life.

‘Sorry. I don’t think—’ he began, but Anna had already fished her phone out of her pocket.

‘It’s very much a foodie pub, so the food’s utterly amazing,’ she said. ‘The smoked salmon pậté is to die for.’

Die. Yeah. Jamie knew all about dying and death. Though this wasn’t Anna’s fault. She didn’t know him, so she’d have no idea how inappropriate that phrase was.

‘If you’re veggie or vegan, the avocado on toast with chilli jam is fantastic. Or the spiced pumpkin soup,’ she continued.

He didn’t want to even think about a ward Christmas dinner, let alone go to one.

‘They do the best roast potatoes in the world—better even than my mum’s, which is saying a lot,’ she said. ‘Crispy on the outside and fluffy in the middle. And they stir-fry the Brussels sprouts with lemon and chilli. There’s traditional turkey, sea bass if you prefer fish, or parsnip and chestnut Wellington for the veggie/vegan option.’ She passed her phone to him so he could see the menu for himself. ‘Obviously there’s traditional Christmas pudding or cheese, but I guarantee the chocolate Venetian cake will ruin you for any other pudding.’

He blinked at her.

‘Or I can email everything over to you, if you want to take a bit of time choosing. It’s the first Friday evening in December, at half-past seven,’ she said. ‘And we do a Secret Santa on the ward, too—you pick a name out of the hat, leave your labelled parcel with the secretaries, and Robert puts the ward’s Father Christmas outfit on and dishes them out on the night. Anyone who can’t make it to the dinner gets their parcel at the start of their next shift.’

This was going way, way too fast for him.

She gave him a speculative look. ‘Actually… Robert usually dresses up as Father Christmas for us on the ward on Christmas Day, but this year he’s disappearing off to New York.’ She smiled. ‘I guess his silver wedding anniversary’s a good enough excuse for him not to do it this year. But it means I need a replacement Father Christmas. You’re about the same height as Robert, so the costume would fit you perfectly.’

What? Jamie could barely process this. She wanted him to dress up as Father Christmas?

He couldn’t.

He just couldn’t.

Finally, he found his voice. ‘Sorry. I can’t.’

Something must’ve shown in his eyes, because she winced. ‘I’m so sorry. This is only your first day, and I’m overwhelming you. Let me backtrack a bit. I’ll send you all the stuff about the ward Christmas events, but maybe you’d like to come ten-pin bowling with the team on Friday night as a starter? It’ll give you a chance to meet people you might not have met on the ward yet, and we’re a nice lot. Not everyone’s as…um…steamrollery as me.’

Steamrollery? Yes, she was. But the woman he’d seen on the ward was also kind. She gave patients and their parents time to think about things, and made sure they had all the information they needed so they knew all the facts and could make a good decision about their healthcare plan. She tried to understand their feelings. Yes, she’d overwhelmed him a bit just now, but that was probably just because he hated Christmas.

‘I haven’t been ten-pin bowling in years,’ he said.

‘It doesn’t matter if you’re a bit rusty. I cheat hideously and keep the bumper bars up in my lane,’ she confided, ‘because I can’t bowl in a straight line. Straight to the gutter every time, that’s me.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Sadly, being tall and built like an Amazon doesn’t mean that I’m any good at sport.’

He wanted to refuse the invitation and tell her he didn’t do social stuff.

But her smile disarmed him. It was warm and friendly and ever so slightly goofy, and it shocked him that she could affect him this way. He’d kept his distance from everyone for nearly three years. How could a near-stranger make him feel…?

‘It’s all just a bit of fun, and nobody takes things seriously,’ she said. ‘It’s a chance for everyone to let off a bit of steam and enjoy each other’s company. Thankfully nobody on the ward is one of those competitive idiots who just have to win all the time; everyone’s really nice.’

Nice. That usually went with kindness. And if his new colleagues found out about his past they’d swamp him in pity. Jamie really, really couldn’t handle that. He’d had more than enough pity to last him a lifetime. He just wanted to be left alone.

‘Thanks for inviting me,’ he said, fully intending to make an excuse and say that he couldn’t make it.

But then the wrong words came out of his mouth, shocking him. ‘I’ll be there.’

What? He didn’t do social stuff.

But it was too late, because she was already looking thrilled that he’d agreed to join them. ‘Fantastic. We normally grab something to eat at the bowling alley, too—I’m afraid it’s not the greatest nutrition because it’s pretty much a choice of pizza, nachos or burger and fries, but it’s edible. Our lanes are booked at seven,’ she said. ‘I’m assuming that you’re new to the area, so I’ll send you directions.’

It was definitely too late to back out now. Or maybe he could invent a last-minute emergency on Friday night and just not go.

‘Let me have your number and your email,’ she said, ‘and I’ll send you everything.’

That smile again. Its warmth melted Jamie’s reluctance, and he found himself giving Anna his number and his email address. A moment or so later, his phone pinged to signify an incoming message.

‘So now you have my number, and I’ll send you all the rest of the stuff after work,’ she said. ‘Welcome to Muswell Hill Memorial Hospital, Jamie.’

CHAPTER TWO (#u85994378-5c58-5960-9baf-30b7a909f1ac)

HEADACHE? JAMIE THOUGHT on Friday night. No, because that could be easily fixed with a couple of paracetamol. Bubonic plague? Strictly speaking, that did still exist, but the last case he’d heard of had been in Colorado and that wasn’t quite near enough to London to be plausible; plus if the condition was diagnosed properly it could be cured by the right antibiotic. Held up in traffic? No, because the bowling alley was within walking distance of his flat.

He didn’t have a single believable excuse not to turn up to the team night out.

He did have Anna’s number, so he could just call her and admit that he didn’t want to go. But it felt too mean-spirited and he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

And so he found himself outside the bowling alley at five minutes to seven. There was a group of people he recognised in the foyer; Anna detached herself from them and came over to greet him. ‘Hey, Jamie! Glad you could make it.’

He’d seen her several times at work during the week, wearing a smart shirt and skirt beneath her white coat. In jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and with her dark wavy hair loose, she looked very different: younger and very, very approachable. He was suddenly aware of her curves and how the faded denim clung to her.

Oh, for pity’s sake. He wasn’t a hormone-laden teenager. He’d seen plenty of women dressed casually.

But they didn’t make him feel suddenly hot all over, the way Anna Maskell did.

Tonight was definitely a mistake. Even if she wasn’t involved with someone, he was only here in Muswell Hill for three months, and then he’d move on. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship, even a temporary one. He could never give his heart again. He’d buried his capacity to love right there in the grave with his wife and his daughter.

But he forced himself to smile back. To fake a semblance of being a normal member of the team. He let her introduce him to the people he hadn’t yet met from their ward, swapped his shoes for bowling shoes, paid for his games, and chipped in his share of the food and drink order. He played the frames along with the rest of the team, sitting squarely in the middle of the scoring and being neither spectacularly good nor spectacularly bad.

Though Anna was playing on his lane, and she’d been right on the money when she’d told him that she was terrible at bowling. Without the bumper bars being put up, her ball would’ve gone straight into the gutter every single time; as it was, she seemed to have a strategy of zig-zagging the ball between the sides of the lane in the hope of hitting the pins in the middle, more by luck than by judgement.

‘Yes! Six pins! Best roll of the night for me so far,’ she whooped as the pins went down.

‘Best roll of the last four years, by my count,’ one of the others teased.

‘I know! How cool is that?’ She punched the air and then grinned. ‘Go, me.’