A Mommy for Christmas by Caroline Anderson Page B

girlfriend.’
    â€˜Oh. Good. About time. Dan’s one of my foster-brothers,’ she explained to James. ‘He’s been a bit of a nightmare, but he’s lovely now and things are really starting to work out for him.’
    Andrew came in then, and before James could say a word, she greeted him with, ‘Hi, Dad, James has some notion about paying the overheads on the barn—he seems to have some fixation about rent, but I explained that we don’t rent it out. I told him you’d sort out the meter readings and things.’
    â€˜Of course. I’ll see to it. Don’t worry about it, James, it’s all very straightforward.’
    â€˜Can’t I just rent it from you?’
    â€˜Oh, no. That would cause havoc with the tax man. No, we’ll just read the meter. That’ll be the easiest thing.’
    Her father didn’t miss a beat, so if they were lying to him, they were doing it very proficiently, he thought, and gave up arguing. He’d buy them something as a thank-you when they were finally able to go home again. Whenever that might be…
    â€˜On the subject of the barn, Kate said something about the family using it over Christmas. Is that right? Because if it is, we can move back to our house for a while. We can always wash at my mother’s, but I don’t want to be in the way. It sounds like you’ll have quite a crowd.’
    â€˜You won’t be in the way, and of course you won’t take the children back to that cold place over Christmas and unsettle them even more,’ Sue said adamantly. ‘In fact, what are you doing for Christmas?’ she asked, and he realised he hadn’t even considered it.
    â€˜No plans,’ he said. ‘My mother’s spending it with her sister. My aunt was recently widowed and she hasn’t been well. That’s been arranged for ages. As for me and the kids, well, we haven’t really thought about it, have we, kids?’
    â€˜I’ve thought about it,’ Rory said, running his finger through the dusting of flour on the kitchen table that Sue was rolling the pastry out in. ‘I want a big tree, and a stocking, and I’m going to write a letter to Father Christmas. Kate, will you help me write it?’
    â€˜What about me?’ he asked, but Rory shook his head.
    â€˜I want Kate to help me,’ he said stubbornly.
    James couldn’t argue any more. It might never happen, but anyway he had better things to worry about, because Freya had seen a dog come in and was trying to wriggle out of his arms.
    â€˜Doggy!’ she was saying insistently, and he looked down a little uncertainly at the black Labrador sniffing at her toes.
    â€˜Is it OK with children?’ he asked, and Sue chuckled.
    â€˜If you don’t mind them being washed. Mungo’s a sweetie. She’ll be fine with him.’
    She was more than fine. She was in love. She stroked and patted and giggled, and he wagged and slurped until she was washed from end to end, and they ended up curled up together in a heap on an old blanket beside the Aga while she pulled his ears gently.
    â€˜Children need germs,’ Andrew said, reading his mind, and James just laughed and let them get on with it. Frankly, to see them both so happy, Rory helping Sue put dollops of mincemeat into the little pies while Freya stroked Mungo’s ears and crooned to him, was such a relief after the last year and a half that he didn’t care if they caught something dreadful.
    It would almost be worth it just for this one morning.
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    â€˜There, all done. Now I’m going to put them in the oven and clear up. Kate, if you’re not doing anything, why don’t you and James and the children take the dogs for a walk down by the river? There might be some ducks.’
    â€˜Can we feed them?’ Rory asked excitedly, running over to Kate and looking hopefully up into her eyes.
    As if she could resist that, even if