Mistletoe Proposal On The Children's Ward

If she could take the bits he hated about Christmas away, too, then maybe this was worth a shot. And if she could do that, he’d very happily wear that Father Christmas outfit to help her in return. ‘So what exactly are you suggesting?’ he asked.

‘Doing Christmassy things together,’ she said. ‘It’s the middle of November now. Give me a month. If I can convince you that Christmas has its good side, then you agree to be Father Christmas for the ward.’

‘And if you can’t convince me?’

‘Then there’s a bit of padding and a voice-changer in my very near future,’ she said. ‘And I’ll also apologise for not being able to make this time of year more bearable for you.’

He could walk away now. Stay wrapped in his shroud of misery.

Or he could say yes.

Anna had made it clear that she wasn’t asking him because she fancied him. The pull of attraction he felt towards her was clearly one-sided, and he had no intention of acting upon it anyway. She was merely suggesting that they could help each other.

He could almost hear Hestia’s voice in his ear. Say yes. The petite ballet teacher he’d fallen in love with had adored Christmas. She’d loved all the snowflakes and the fairy lights and the joy that her favourite ballet brought to her students and their parents alike. He’d loved it as much as she had, because her joy had been infectious.

Without her, it had been unbearable and he’d avoided it.

He had to admit it would be good to be able to cope with Christmas again. To remember the joy Hestia had found in the festive season, instead of seeing it as a harsh reminder of everything he’d lost. And for him to stop putting a dampener on Christmas for his family, choosing to work and stay out of the way instead of spending any time with them or inflicting his misery on them during the festive season. He knew they all worried about him.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘You’re on.’

‘Thank you. And you can start by texting me your menu choices for the ward’s Christmas meal over the weekend,’ she said. Though her smile wasn’t full of triumph; instead it was a mixture of relief and gratitude. ‘Maybe we can begin with something light and easy. There’s a Winter Festival in the park for the next three weeks—basically it’s a big Christmas market. Are you working on Sunday?’

‘No.’

‘Good. I’m on an early shift, so I’ll meet you at four o’clock by the park gates.’ She stopped outside a gate. ‘This is me. I’ll see you on Sunday. And thank you.’

‘See you on Sunday,’ he echoed.

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

FOUR NEW BRONCHIOLITIS CASES, Anna thought with a sigh on Sunday afternoon. This was peak season for the respiratory syncytial virus. In adults, it produced a spectacularly nasty cold, but in children it could be much more serious, gumming up the tiny tubes inside their lungs and making it hard for them to breathe.

Small babies often went on to develop pneumonia as a result, and Anna really felt for both her tiny patients and their parents, who were often exhausted with worry and shocked by the sight of their little ones on oxygen and being fed by a tube down their nose because the babies were too tired to suck milk from a breast or a bottle.

She finished writing up her notes, did a last check on the ward in case anyone needed emergency help before she left, then texted Jamie to let him know that she was leaving the hospital on time and would meet him at four.

Hopefully she could change his views on Christmas and take away its power to hurt him. She wasn’t going to pry and ask exactly why he hated Christmas so much, but it would be good to think that she could make life a bit better for him.

Anna the Fixer. Her whole family teased her about it, but she knew they appreciated what she did. Her own problem wasn’t fixable, but you couldn’t have everything. She was blessed with a wonderful family and good friends, and she’d just about forgiven Johnny for the way he’d thrown their marriage away, even though part of her still thought that there were ways round her infertility; they could’ve given IVF a try, or fostering or adoption. But Johnny had found the pressure and the worry too much to cope with, and he’d chosen someone who could give him what he wanted without the complications.

It was just a pity that he hadn’t ended their marriage before he’d found that someone else.

His betrayal had made everything feel so much worse; and for months after that Anna had felt herself not good enough for anyone. Especially when Johnny had sneered at her that nobody would want her because she wasn’t a real woman and couldn’t give a man the family he wanted. She knew it had probably been guilt talking, trying to justify the way he’d treated her; before she’d married him, if anyone had told her he’d ever be so cruel to her in the future she would have laughed, not believing it. She and Johnny had loved each other, and they’d been happy.

But her infertility had shattered his dreams as well as her own; the months and months of disappointment when they’d tried and failed to make a baby had made him bitter, and he just hadn’t been able to cope. In turn, that had made him feel less of a man, and the anger and guilt had spilled over into spite towards the person who was causing the problem in the first place.

It had taken a long time for Anna to get her bounce back after the split. As she’d said to Jamie earlier, she’d really had to fake it until she’d managed to make it. But she had made it, and she wasn’t going to let herself slip back into misery.

‘Don’t start whining and wanting things you can’t have, Anna Maskell,’ she told herself firmly. ‘You’re really lucky and your life is as perfect as it gets. You have a family you love and who loves you all the way back, you’re working in your dream job, and you have wonderful colleagues you get on really well with. You can afford to pay your rent and put food on the table. You’re healthy.’ Well, apart from one thing, but she wasn’t actually sick with it. Infertility had just changed her options, that was all. ‘You’re so much more fortunate than a lot of people. And with your working hours it wouldn’t be fair to have a dog, so George the Gorgeous Goldfish is enough for you.’

The line from the old song about the doggie in the window slid into her head. But it was pointless regretting that she couldn’t take George for a walk in the park. There were plenty of dogs in her family that she could go and cuddle, and children she could play with. She needed to count her blessings, not dwell on the things she couldn’t have.

As for dating again… She knew that not all men would think the same way that Johnny had, but she really didn’t want to get close to someone and lose her heart to him, only to find out that her infertility was a problem for him and he rejected her the same way that her husband had rejected her. Then again, how could you start any kind of relationship with someone by asking them if they wanted children? It just wasn’t appropriate, not at that stage. So it was easier just to duck the issue and keep everyone on a friends-only basis, rather than risk getting involved with someone she’d end up disappointing.

Jamie hadn’t actually replied to her text saying that she was on her way to meet him, and Anna felt slightly antsy as she headed towards the park. Would he be there? Or had he had time to think about it over the weekend and decide that he couldn’t handle any part of Christmas, after all?

He owed her nothing. They barely knew each other. If he didn’t turn up, it would be her own fault for trying to steamroller him into doing something he really didn’t want to do.

But she hoped that he’d let her at least try to help him.

When she reached the entrance to the park and saw him leaning against the metal railings, her heart gave a little skip. Which was completely inappropriate. They were meeting this afternoon simply as colleagues who were in the early stages of friendship; it was a kind of quid pro quo thing. If she could help him, then he would help her. This wasn’t a date date. Yes, he was gorgeous: tall and brooding, with those enormous cornflower-blue eyes, dark hair that she suspected would be outrageously curly if it wasn’t so short, and a full, sensual mouth. But he wasn’t dating her. Full stop.

Her heart gave another of those ridiculous little skips when Jamie saw her and lifted a hand in acknowledgement. Oh, for pity’s sake. She needed to get a grip.

‘Hey. Thanks for coming,’ she said as she reached him.

He inclined his head. ‘How was your day?’ he asked.

‘Full of babies with bronchiolitis. There’s a whole bay reserved just for our RSV-positive patients, poor little loves,’ she said. ‘Though I feel even sorrier for the parents.’

‘Because the babies can’t tell them how they feel, and they’re tired and not eating well, and the parents are feeling utterly helpless because they can’t do anything to make their babies feel better,’ he said.

‘That,’ she said before she could stop herself, ‘sounds like personal experience.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘Observation. I did my paediatrics rotation at this time of year, and I remember what it was like.’

But she knew she’d asked something a bit too personal. She’d better switch the subject back to work. ‘What made you become a surgeon?’ she asked.

‘I really enjoyed my surgical rotation,’ he said. ‘And I like working with children. Making a difference. How about you?’

‘It was a toss-up between obstetrics and paediatrics,’ she said. ‘Helping to bring a new life into the world—that’s so special and I loved every minute. And actually delivering a baby was so wonderful. But then I did my paediatrics rotation at Christmas, and that decided me. It’s where I feel I can make the most difference, so that’s why I chose the specialty.’ She smiled at him. ‘So. Shall we?’ She gestured to the park.

Jamie really didn’t want to do this.

But he’d had the best part of two days to come up with a reasonable excuse, and he hadn’t found one. Plus, part of him wanted to be able to handle Christmas again without making his family miserable. For the last three years, he’d chosen to work over the festive season rather than join in with the family celebrations, and he used work as an excuse not to see them very often in between.

He felt guilty for not spending time with them; but whenever he was with them, it was always so obvious how much they were trying hard not to say the wrong thing. He knew they worried about him, but he found it suffocating when they wrapped him in cotton wool. Being in a family situation reminded him so much of what he’d lost, and Christmas magnified it to the point where it was too much to handle. He knew he needed to make the effort. Just… This was going to be painful. Like picking at a scab. Bit by bit.

Facing Christmas.

The time of year he dreaded.

His doubts must’ve shown on his face, because she said gently, ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

No. He wasn’t sure at all.

She took his hand and squeezed it briefly. ‘Look, we don’t have to walk around the Winter Festival. We can, I dunno, go back to the high street and grab something to eat, or get a takeaway and go back to mine to chill out with some old comedies on TV—and then you can meet George.’