to you before?’
‘No. I’m as healthy as a horse. I don’t want any fuss. I just … came over a bit funny, that’s all.’
‘Dizzy?’
‘Oh … yes.’
‘Sick?’
‘Yes. I’m starting to feel a bit better now, though.’
‘No pain in your chest?’
‘No.’
‘You’re puffing a bit.’
‘I walked up all those stairs. My great-grandson’s here somewhere, with my daughter. He’s waiting to see Father Christmas.’
This was where the man in the red suit must come when he was allowed a breather, Jack decided. There was a small table beside the chair with a carafe of water and some glasses.
‘Do you think I could have a glass of that water, dear?’ Mabel asked.
Denise did the honours. Jack stayed where he was, thinking through his options. If he could rule out anything serious, like a cardiac event, he could probably leave Mabel and escape downstairs. Or maybe they could take her downstairs. It was rather stuffy in this small, curtained space. He was in a corner and his back was right against one edge. Right beside the red velvet throne, judging by how clearly he could hear voices.
‘Hello there, dear. What’s your name?’
‘Holly.’
‘And how old are you, Holly?’
‘I’m six.’
‘And what it is you want for Christmas?’
‘It’s not just for me.’ The six year old girl sounded so earnest she was breathless. ‘It’s for Misty, too.’
‘Who’s Misty?’
‘My sister.’
‘And how old is Misty?’
‘She’s six, too.’
‘Oh … you must be twins.’
Santa didn’t sound half as bright as Holly, Jack thought. He still had his fingers on Mabel’s wrist and her pulse was jumping a bit. Maybe he should send for an ambulance. Just because she wasn’t experiencing any chest pain, it didn’t mean she wasn’t having a heart attack. The pulse was faint enough to make him concerned about her blood pressure as well. Of course, if she’d nearly fainted, it would have dropped considerably but it didn’t pick up in the next minute or so, he’d need to do something.
‘How old are you, Mabel?’
‘Eighty-three.’
‘Are you on medication for anything?’
‘Just my blood pressure. The doctor’s given me some new pills for it. I just started them yesterday.’
‘Hmm. That might well have something to do with how you’re feeling. Can you remember the name of the pills?’ he asked.
‘They’re in my purse. Oh, no … where is my purse?’
‘You must have dropped it!’ Denise exclaimed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll go and have a look right now.’
Jack watched with dismay as the saleswoman ducked through the curtain and disappeared. She might be gone for a long time and he could hardly abandon an elderly woman having a vagal episode, could he? He was trapped. Closing his eyes for a moment, he could hear that Holly was still chattering to Santa.
‘It’s cos we were born at Christmas. I’m Holly and she’s Misty. Like, you know, misty-toe.’
Misty-toe? Jack felt his lips twitch and some of his frustration evaporated. He was stuck for the moment so he might as well try and enjoy it.
‘And you and Misty want a daddy for Christmas, you said?’
A daddy? Jack blinked and started listening a lot more carefully.
‘Yes, please. Is that OK? Mummy says we don’t need one really but I’m sure she’d like it. You can manage that, can’t you? I told Misty you could. She wanted to come too but she’s too sick.’
‘Ah … I’m sorry to hear that.’
So was Mabel. Her head was up and she was clearly eavesdropping on the secret conversation behind them as well. At the mention of the sick sister, she looked straight at Jack. Horrified? More like … expectant.
As if he could do anything about it. He was a specialist surgeon, not a paediatrician. Unless they needed new body parts transplanted, he didn’t have anything to do with small people.
He had to admit he was getting curious about this child, though. It wasn’t hard to straighten a little and move his head to where there was a gap in the curtain that would allow him to have a peek.
He could see the back of Santa’s head and the arm that was around the child on his knee. He could see a mop of blonde curls around a very pretty face that was staring very intently at the man hearing her wish. She had the biggest, bluest eyes Jack had ever seen. Give her a set of wings and a little halo on a headband and this Holly would make a perfect Christmas angel.
How sad that she had a twin sister who was so sick.
Santa must be feeling the same way. He was certainly giving this child a little more time than others might have had.
‘She’s going to be all right. Mummy’s hoping she’ll get a really special Christmas present that will make her better, but you know what?’
‘What?’ The tone was wary.
Jack’s interest was firmly piqued. A special Christmas present that would make her better? It was the sort of thing a parent for a child waiting on an organ to become available might say. Bit much to expect a miracle before Christmas if they were on the kind of waiting list the majority of his patients had to rely on, though.
‘I think having a daddy would make her feel better. It would make us all feel better.’
‘I’ll … see what I can do.’
‘He has to be nice,’ Holly said firmly. ‘And kind. And he has to be really, really nice to Mummy so she’ll like him too. That’s my mummy over there, see?’
Jack’s head mirrored the turn that Santa’s head made. The woman standing beside the photographer was un-mistakeably Holly’s mother. An older version, really, with shoulder-length, blonde curly hair and a cute nose and, while it was far too far away to see the colour of her eyes, Jack just knew they would be as blue as a midsummer sky. Mummy was curvy in all the right places, too. In fact, it was a bit of a puzzle why she was alone. Looking like that, surely she’d be fighting off potential daddies? What man wouldn’t want to be really, really nice to her?
Apart from him, of
