Free A Mommy for Christmas by Caroline Anderson Page A

really. He says he doesn’t know the man.’
    She lifted her head and met his eyes again briefly. ‘Well, maybe he doesn’t.’
    â€˜I think he does. I think we should keep a close eye on his visitors. One of them might be trying to stop him talking.’
    She stood up abruptly. ‘Well, you do whatever you feel is necessary. Would you go and check on Tracy Farthing, please? I’ve got a meeting,’ she said, and walked away, leaving him even more convinced there was something going on.
    He could always suggest a curry at her place and grill her like a kipper until he found out the truth. He had a feeling it was something to do with the scar on her ribs, but short of coming out and asking her, which would mean admitting he’d looked across into the female changing room on the first day and spied on her, there was no way he was going to find out until she was ready to tell him.
    He had a feeling hell would freeze first.
    And talking of freezing, he ought to buy some de-icer on the way home, ready for the morning. Tomorrow, if he was late, he might not get off so lightly.
    Â 
    It was bitterly cold.
    She drove home at the end of the day, wishing Peter Graham had never come onto their ward, wishing it had happened when someone else had been on take so she didn’t have to be reminded, and she looked at the dark windows of her little home and felt a shiver of something cold run over her.
    The lights were on in the farmhouse. She could go in there, sit down with them, spend the evening with them. Her father would walk her back later and stay while she put the lights on without needing to be asked, but she couldn’t keep relying on them. She had to deal with this on her own. It had been years. It was time she got over it.
    She got out of the car and the security lights on her barn came on, flooding the yard with light.
    There. She could see the door, she didn’t need her parents to hold her hand. She let herself in, turned on all the lights and went up to her bedroom, changed into jeans and a jumper and went back down. Her fridge, although better filled than James’s, was still a little on the scanty side and nothing much appealed to her.
    She poured herself a glass of wine, sat down and flicked on the television, then her mobile phone rang. She glanced at the screen and saw James’s name. ‘What’s the problem?’ she said without preamble, and she heard him sigh.
    â€˜Kate, I’m sorry to trouble you but my boiler doesn’t seem to be working. I thought it was a bit cold this morning, but tonight it’s just plain off and there’s a smell of gas in the kitchen.’
    â€˜Turn the gas off!’ she said quickly, and he gave a weary chuckle.
    â€˜Don’t panic, Kate, I’m not a total dunce. Can you give me the name of a plumber?’
    â€˜No, but I know someone who can,’ she said with a smile, ridiculously pleased that he’d phoned her, stupidly happy to hear his voice again after—oh, an hour? ‘You need Fliss Whittaker, Tom’s wife. You know, from A and E?’
    â€˜I know Tom. His wife’s a plumber?’
    His voice sounded incredulous, and she laughed. ‘No. Well, she’s all sorts. She’s a nurse, but she’s done property developing and she knows everyone in the trade. She’ll sort you out if anyone can. I’ll text you their number.’
    â€˜They won’t mind you giving it to me?’
    â€˜Of course not. They’re lovely. If they don’t answer, leave a message and they’ll ring you back. They’ll be putting the kids to bed. They have a lot. I forget how many, but six or seven.’
    â€˜Good grief,’ he said faintly, and she laughed.
    â€˜Quite. The only person who thinks it’s reasonable is my mother. Let me know how you get on. And if they can’t help you, if you need anything else, ring me back. It doesn’t matter how late it