Kiss Me for Christmas Read online

  The phone buzzed. Anna picked it up immediately, in case her mother woke.

  “Is this a good time?” Hugh asked. “Can you talk?”

  “Mum’s in bed, if that’s what you mean.” Anna heard the bitterness in her own voice.

  “Anna, I’m so sorry.”

  He’d phoned her to say he was sorry? She counted to ten and took a deep breath. “I told you. I don’t need your pity.”

  He bit back a curse. “I meant, I’m sorry I accused you of being a coward.”

  “Oh.” A smile crept across her face. The tension in her shoulders unclenched.

  “I just wish you’d felt you could tell me.”

  “Talking about it doesn’t change anything.”

  “It changed things between us. That’s why, isn’t it?”

  She sighed. “Yes, that’s why. Mum isn’t safe on her own. I pay for a care worker during the day so I can work, but otherwise I have to be at home with her. Evenings, weekends, holidays.” She was as blunt as possible. She needed to put him off. “So there isn’t any point. We couldn’t ever have more than lunch at Giovanni’s and a quick snog on the way back to the office.”

  “Anna…” After a moment he continued, “How long has she been like this?”

  “About eighteen months. She’s only sixty.” Anna swallowed. She hated talking about it. “So, she didn’t think anything of it when her memory first started to go. She’s too young.”

  “Much too young.”

  “Early-onset, they called it. Apparently some people get Alzheimer’s in their thirties or forties. Mum was lucky.”

  “Not very lucky.”

  “No. No, not very lucky. Hugh, there’s something else.”

  After a moment, he asked gently, “What is it?”

  She drew a deep breath. “It’s hereditary. Possibly. Probably.”

  “Anna?” His voice was rough.

  “Mmm?” She didn’t want to hear it. She braced herself for rejection.

  “I wish I were sitting next to you right now.”

  “Hugh…”

  “I think you need someone to give you a hug.”

  She paused, blinking back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. “I don’t get many hugs.” Kisses and gentle tokens of affection from her mother, yes. Not crushing hugs of comfort from tall men with broad chests and strong shoulders.

  “I could come over,” he offered.

  She longed to say yes. She wanted to fling herself into his arms, to cry all over his shoulder and draw comfort from his warmth and strength. “No,” she choked out. “No, it’s late and it would worry Mum.”

  “Okay. But the offer stands. Any time you need it.”

  After they ended the call, she set the phone down on her bedside table. The house was quiet, and a great wave of loneliness swept over her.

  For eighteen months now, her life had been all about caring for her mother. Her friends had been good at keeping in touch, at first. But when months had passed without Anna joining them at the pub or accepting a dinner invitation, the texts dried up and the phone calls grew fewer and further between.

  Work was her one outlet. For eight hours a day, she lived like an ordinary person. She was good at her job, she enjoyed the responsibility, and she had great colleagues. She hadn’t told anyone at work about her mother. She didn’t want their pity. She didn’t want them to treat her any differently.

  But now Hugh knew.

  He had been kind. Kind to her mother at dinner, and kind to her when he phoned. He hadn’t backed off, and he hadn’t tried to fix everything. Unlike everyone else who’d offered help, Hugh had known instinctively the one thing Anna craved most.

  A hug.

  That was all she needed. Someone to put his arms around her and hold her close. Someone to let her know she wasn’t alone, that she had support when she needed it.

  Her hand crept toward the phone. She could call him now. He would come.

  And she would look utterly pathetic. A grown woman, unable to get to sleep without a man to give her a hug.

  Anna put the phone well out of reach, plumped up her pillows, and switched off her bedside light. She was fine on her own.

  She had to be.

  Chapter Six

  As soon as he’d met Irene, Hugh had begun looking for solutions, coming up with creative ideas to make Anna’s life easier. Creative thinking was Hugh’s forte. That was why clients were queuing up to get on his books at the agency. Problem solving for Irene was much more comfortable than processing his own reactions to Irene’s illness and Anna’s life.

  After Anna hung up, Hugh had stayed up for hours, thinking. Thinking about her. How young and pretty she’d looked, barefoot in her baggy sweater and jeans. How desperately she’d tried to keep him from knowing about her mother. So brave. So independent. It was easy to see why she wouldn’t want pity.

  Would she accept help?

  He’d seen how much love the two women had for each other. He’d seen it in Anna’s patient responses and Irene’s proud glances. He could see Anna’s deep need to care for her mother as long as she possibly could. A residential home would be the last resort for both.

  But Anna needed help. She couldn’t continue with a life that never allowed her out of the house. She had no space for a hobby, no time for fun. No time to just be Anna.

  Irene was still young. Anna could be caring for her for years. Years that she should be spending falling in love, starting a family, having adventures. Years when she could be falling in love with Hugh, starting a family with him, the two of them having adventures together.

  Years when he could be falling deeper and deeper in love with her.

  He grimaced. Feeling sorry for himself wasn’t any use to Anna. The last thing she needed was a burden of emotional guilt laid on her by a selfish admirer. She needed someone who would support her.

  If he was going to help, he needed to know the facts. He rolled out of bed and switched on his laptop. He typed “Early-onset Alzheimer’s” into the search bar. He recognized Irene’s symptoms on the first website he visited. The memory failure would only get worse. There would come a point when she couldn’t be cared for safely at home. She was likely to develop distressing mood swings.

  The next ten years would be unbearably hard for Anna. She was right; she didn’t have space for a normal relationship. She couldn’t go out to dinner or spend weekends in the country. And the alternative she’d given, of lunches at Giovanni’s and quick snogs on the way back to the office, was as unappealing as she’d meant it to be.

  He kept reading, compelled to find out what was likely to happen to Irene.

  And to Anna.

  Familial Alzheimer’s. He tried to ignore it, but it was mentioned on every website and in the end, Hugh forced himself to read. A genetic predisposition. If Irene had the gene, there was a good chance Anna had it, too. There was a test that could tell.

  Hugh stared grimly at the computer, as if it were somehow responsible for the devastating facts it presented. His fist clenched, ready to punch the screen. He could throw the heartless machine out of the window. He could rage against the world that was destroying his Anna’s life—a world where he could do nothing to save her.

  All he could do was be there for her. Give her a hug when she needed it. Support her through the hard times.

  It wouldn’t be easy. It was a million miles from the kind of relationship Hugh had hoped for. It terrified him. How would he cope if Anna started losing her memory? How would he stop his heart from breaking if she looked at him and didn’t know his name?

  He could suggest she take the test. Find out what the chances were.

  And then what? He could walk away? Tell her it was too hard?

  Hugh pressed his lips together. How had he ever dared to call Anna a coward? She was the bravest person he knew. She hadn’t walked away. He’d bet it hadn’t even occurred to her. She loved her mother, and that’s what love meant. It meant sticking with her when things were tough
.

  Anna didn’t have to take any test. The only test was whether he loved her enough. This couldn’t be the easy come, easy go sort of relationship he was used to. It wouldn’t be fair to Anna, and it wouldn’t be fair to Irene. She needed someone willing to stand with her, no matter what the future held.

  Hugh switched off his laptop. The Internet couldn’t tell him if he loved Anna. No amount of searching would help him decide if he could be the man she needed. He had to find his own answers to those questions…somehow.

  Chapter Seven

  On Monday morning, a cup of coffee and a paper bag waited on Anna’s desk with a sticky note: In case you didn’t have time for breakfast. She smiled and peeked inside the bag. A warm almond croissant.

  Anna leaned back in her chair. He’d brought her real espresso, not from the machine, and she savored every sip.

  As if on cue, her phone rang just as she popped the last flaky croissant crumb into her mouth. She smiled as she answered it. “Hello.”

  “Morning,” Hugh said.

  “Morning. Thanks for breakfast.” She crumpled the croissant bag and threw it in the bin.

  “My pleasure.”

  “So, I think I owe you lunch.”

  “You’re on. Lunch at Giovanni’s and a quick snog on the way back to the office?”

  “Hugh.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be vulgar.”

  “You know how things are. I can’t offer you more than friendship.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He hung up before she could protest further—and truthfully, she wasn’t sure she had it in her to keep resisting.

  The next day, she found a green envelope on her desk. She slid out a card emblazoned with a red-nosed Rudolph, with a dewy-eyed female deer gazing up at him in adoration. As she opened it, a familiar tune tinkled: “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”

  Saw this and thought of you, Hugh had written.

  Anna put the card in the top drawer of her desk and opened her laptop, still grinning.

  On Wednesday, it was a snow globe with a scene of the London skyline. She kept it on her desk. Every time she shook it, glittery snowflakes fell around the familiar landmarks, and she smiled. After that, she began to expect little presents and surprises every day. Hugh hadn’t made any attempt to ask her out. Even when they ate lunch together, he didn’t try to hold her hand or kiss her again. Perhaps this was his way of accepting her friendship without pressing her for more than she could give.

  It’s enough, Anna told herself. It has to be enough.

  On Christmas Eve, the office closed at midday. Anna had arranged for Irene’s care worker to stay for the afternoon so she could do some last-minute shopping. Hugh arrived at her desk at twelve.

  “Do you have time for lunch?”

  Anna checked her watch. “If it’s quick. I’ve still got a long to-do list, and I have to be home for Mum.”

  “Of course. I can’t stay long, either.”

  It was a damp, cold day, so they hurried to the restaurant. She was grateful for its welcoming warmth. Giovanni kissed Anna and tried to tempt Hugh with a special dish of pasta with duck’s liver. Hugh’s lips twisted into a grimace that made Anna laugh.

  “He has no soul, Giovanni, remember?”

  “Ah, signorina, I fear you are right. But for you it will be the spaghetti alla vongole and dessert, yes?”

  “Yes, please.” She couldn’t resist the chance to be with Hugh a little longer. The next few days would be lonely with just her mother for company. She would make the most of this time.

  Anna handed her menu back to Giovanni. “We’ll have a bottle of your finest red wine. My treat,” she added, when Hugh looked up in surprise.

  “Are we celebrating?” he asked, after Giovanni had taken their order.

  “Yes.” She grinned. “It’s Christmas.”

  “What are you doing for Christmas Day?” Hugh asked later, while she enjoyed her tiramisu. He’d opted to have a coffee after his pizza.

  “It’ll just be Mum and me.”

  “No hordes of family?” His eyebrow quirked.

  “No. Mum’s got a brother in Canada, but otherwise it’s the two of us.”

  “What about your father?”

  Anna shook her head. “He left when I was a baby. It’s always been Mum and me.”

  “I see. So will you cook a turkey?”

  She laughed. “No. A chicken is more than enough for us. But we like to decorate the house, and we usually sing along with a cheesy Christmas CD.”

  “You should get a home karaoke machine,” he suggested.

  “Not a chance. What about you?” She stirred the froth into her cappuccino.

  “My sister always invites everyone to her house. Cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, the whole lot. Total chaos, but fun.”

  “It sounds like it.” It did. It sounded like a proper party. Even before her mother developed Alzheimer’s, Christmas had been a quiet day just for them. Two people weren’t enough for silly board games or charades. Without any children, there was no excuse for Christmas stockings or pretending Santa Claus had come. They would have a nice roast dinner, open their presents, and watch TV.

  “You’ve got the whole week off, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. Mum’s care worker likes to go away over Christmas, so I always book time off.”

  “Good. Look, I’m sorry I can’t stay any longer. This is for you.” He passed her a small package, then another. “And this is for Irene.”

  Anna’s eyes stung with sudden tears. “Thank you. I know she will appreciate it.”

  Hugh stood. “Have a happy Christmas, Anna. You deserve it.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter Eight

  Irene knocked on Anna’s bedroom door. “I’ve made you a cup of tea, dear.”

  Anna rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Come in, Mum.”

  In her pink dressing gown and with her hair tangled, Irene looked as though she might be nearer to forty than sixty, but her hand shook as she passed over the mug.

  “Happy Christmas, darling.”

  Anna smiled. “Happy Christmas to you, Mum.”

  “Shall I put the bacon on?”

  “No, Mum. I’ll do that in a minute. Sit down here and let’s open our presents.”

  Irene’s face fell. “I don’t think I remembered to get you a present, Anna darling.”

  Keeping her smile firmly in place, Anna shook her head. “Don’t worry, Mum. We’ve got plenty. Look, these are for you.” She’d bought several small things. Her mother would worry if she spent too much. Irene stroked the soft purple cardigan and agreed it would look nice with her favorite skirt. She opened the rose-scented bubble bath for them both to smell. Together they examined the DVD of three classic romance films and debated whether Cary Grant or Rock Hudson made the better hero.

  Then Anna reached for the gifts from Hugh. He’d bought two CDs for Irene. Fun, happy music from the sixties and seventies that she would remember and enjoy. Anna was impressed by the thought he’d given to such a gift.

  For Anna there was a pair of earrings. Nothing too elaborate, but stylish and beautiful. She slipped them into her ears and showed them off to her mother.

  “You look lovely, darling. Very pretty.”

  Anna bent to kiss her mother’s cheek. “You go and get dressed now, Mum. The new cardigan and your tartan skirt, remember. Then we’ll see about breakfast.”

  But first, she needed to talk to Hugh.

  He answered on the first ring. “Happy Christmas, Anna.”

  “Happy Christmas.”

  “Did you open your presents?”

  “Yes. Thank you, they’re lovely. But Hugh, I just realized I didn’t get anything for you. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  She would find a way to make it up to him. “Mum was thrilled with her CDs.”

  “I thought if she was anything like you, she’d enjoy singing along.�
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  She groaned. “I thought we’d forgotten that.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Well, I hoped we had.”

  She was smiling when the call ended and still smiling when she joined her mother in the kitchen. They put on one of Hugh’s CDs during breakfast and sang along, laughing as they tried to remember the lyrics to the old songs. Irene belted out a ballad into a wooden spoon. Anna’s heart tightened. This was a moment to remember and cherish in the hard times to come.

  Together, they prepared their Christmas lunch. Irene peeled potatoes while Anna stuffed the chicken. The kitchen was filled with the delicious aroma of bay leaves, onion, and cloves, simmering in the milk for the bread sauce. They cut crosses in the base of the sprouts and sliced the carrots into neat batons.

  “There’s enough for an army,” Irene said with satisfaction.

  “More than enough for us, but the leftovers will mean we can have a lovely lazy day tomorrow.”

  “You work too hard.”

  “I work a perfectly normal amount.”

  Irene laid her hand on Anna’s cheek. “You work too hard,” she repeated. “I see everything you do for me, even if I don’t always remember it.”

  “Mum, you know I don’t mind.”

  “I know. But you’re tired, Anna. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Anna shook her head. “I’m fine. I’ve got the whole week off, haven’t I? Shall we go out? Where would you like to go?”

  “What about that nice young man?” Irene asked.

  “Hugh. His name is Hugh.”

  “Hugh,” Irene repeated obediently. “What about Hugh?”

  “What about him, Mum?”

  “I like him.”

  Anna smiled. “So do I.” It didn’t make it any easier. Admitting how she felt about Hugh—and how she thought he felt about her—didn’t change the reality. They couldn’t be together. He must know that as well as she did, though he was kind enough to let her down gently.

  She sighed. “Why don’t you lay the table, Mum? I’ll start on the gravy.”

  Anna mixed up the meat juices with stock and cornflour, stirring until the gravy thickened. She left the pan on low heat and went to check on Irene.