The Unexpected Holiday Gift (12 page)

‘Can't?' Clara asked, eyebrows raised. From her experience it seemed to be much more of a
won't.

‘I'm not meant to be a father, Clara.' Jacob scrubbed a hand over his hair. ‘Jesus. You're right. We really should have talked more. I always assumed that you were happy with it just being us. But if you really wanted...that. Then yeah, I get why you left. Finally.' He gave a small, sad half laugh then looked up at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘Wait. If you wanted a baby, why haven't you done anything about it? Five years, Clara. You could have met someone else in that time, started a whole tribe if you'd really wanted. You're gorgeous, caring, wonderful... Don't tell me you didn't have offers.'

And this was it. Confession time. Clara sucked in a deep breath.

‘I didn't need them. You see, when I left you... I was already pregnant.'

This time, Jacob didn't freeze. He was all movement—staggering back away from her, his mouth falling open. ‘You...'

‘I should have told you, I know. But I knew how you felt. When I left, I thought I'd come back again, same as every other time. But then I took the pregnancy test and I knew...you wouldn't want me if I did. You wouldn't want her. And Jacob, I couldn't let my daughter—she's a girl...we had a girl...I didn't say—and I couldn't let her go through what I did, growing up with a parent who didn't want her. I couldn't.' The words were tumbling out of her mouth, too fast for her to think them through. ‘But I always meant to tell you eventually. And when you came back...I thought this would be my chance to see if you wanted to get to know her.'

‘To know her?' he echoed, sounding very far away.

‘Ivy. I called her Ivy. And she's the best person on the planet.' If Jacob only ever knew two things about his daughter, it should be those.

‘I don't...' He shook his head as if he were trying to shake away this new reality he found himself in. ‘I can't...'

Clara nodded. ‘I know—it's a shock. And I'm sorry. I'll go. Let you... Well...I'll just go.'

She stumbled backwards, fumbling for the door handle and yanking the door open. As she did, there came a sound like a feather mattress falling to the floor with a
whoomp.
Suddenly Clara was pulled back and she came to the realisation that Jacob's arm was around her waist, tugging her safely out of the range of the huge bank of snow that had fallen from the castle's crenellations. It must have been building up all day, Clara thought, amazed. She hadn't even known it was snowing out there.

But now, when she looked out of the door, she saw a blanket of snow covering the land—deep and crisp and even.

But mostly deep. Really, really deep.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘L
OOKS
LIKE
YOU
might be spending Christmas with me after all,' Jacob said, his voice faint even to his own ears.

She'd lied to him for five long years. She'd let him believe that he'd screwed up—and maybe he had, but not in the way he'd always believed. She'd planned to come back. She'd planned to keep trying. Until she'd found out she was pregnant.

He was a father. How could that even be possible? Why on earth would the universe
allow
him to father a child?

He stared out at the snow. Somewhere out there, in the dark and the cold—well, actually she was probably nice and warm at the hotel, but that wasn't the point—somewhere out there was a little girl who belonged to him. That he was responsible for.

Just like he'd been responsible for Heather.

The thought chilled him far more than the weather ever could.

‘I have to get out of here.' Clara spun on her heel and stared at him with wide, panicked eyes. ‘I have to get back to Ivy. We can dig your car out. I saw a shovel somewhere...'

Probably in the same place as the mythical ladder she hadn't been able to find. And, given that he could only just make out the windows of his car and the tyres were completely snowed in, he thought she was being a little optimistic. The snow was coming down faster than they'd be able to shovel.

‘Wait, Clara. You can't. You need to—'

‘What? Stay here with you?' She gave a high shrill laugh. ‘Not a chance. I know that look, Jacob. That hunted, panicked look. I recognise it distinctly from the first time I thought I was pregnant, thanks. It's fine—you're off the hook. Ivy doesn't know you exist and now she never has to. You never even have to meet her—but you
do
have to help me get home to her
right now
!'

She was losing it, Jacob realised. He needed to calm her down. He could have his own breakdown about being a father later. He'd waited five years, apparently. Why rush it now?

‘How do you plan to do that?' he asked, ignoring the rest and focusing on the part that was clearly making her crazy right now. ‘That road back to the hotel isn't going to be passable even if we could dig out the car.' He remembered the steep stretches and sharp turns. There wasn't a chance of either of them driving it in this weather.

‘Then I'll walk,' she said. She was so stubborn. How had he forgotten that?

‘In those shoes?' The fur-lined boots she was wearing looked warm enough but, unless he was mistaken, they were suede and the soles looked too thin for any decent grip. Definitely fashion items rather than practical.

‘There might be some boots around here somewhere.' Clara cast a desperate glance around the hall as if she was expecting Santa himself to appear and furnish her with some, but even she had to know her arguments were growing weaker and weaker.

‘If we didn't find them looking for that ladder then they're not here,' Jacob pointed out. ‘Look, Clara, it will be fine. Your...' he swallowed ‘...
our
daughter, she's with Merry, right? At the hotel?' She nodded. ‘Then she's safe. And we're safe. That's the important thing. The moment they clear the roads, I'll drive you back, I promise. But for now...you're stuck here with me, I'm afraid.'

Clara glared at him. ‘You do realise that if I'm trapped here, there's no way your family can get here either.'

A chill settled over him that had nothing to do with the snow. He'd been so busy focusing on Clara that he'd forgotten, just for a moment, what the weather would mean for his parents and Heather.

‘They'll get here.' They had to. It was their perfect Christmas. One way or another they had to make it to the castle, or everything would have been for nothing. He'd have failed his father one last time, and he might never get the chance to put it right.

That was unacceptable.

‘How?' Clara asked, incredulous. ‘If I can't drive or walk out of here, what have you got planned for your family?'

‘Helicopter,' Jacob suggested desperately. ‘I'll make some calls...'

‘They won't fly in this weather.' Clara tilted her head as she looked at him, as if she was studying his reactions. ‘You know that. Are you sweating? Jacob, it's zero degrees out there.'

‘I'm not sweating.' But he was. He could feel the cold clamminess of the moisture on the back of his neck, under his jumper. Like always, it was all about his father. ‘I'm thinking.' Thinking
How can I put this right?
And
How am I going to tell him I got Clara pregnant?

Given his father's reaction to the news of Jacob's marriage, and his emphasis on responsibility, Jacob could only imagine how James Foster would take the news that he was now a grandfather—and that Jacob had taken no responsibility so far at all for his daughter.

‘Well, when you figure out a way to get them here, we can use the same method to get me out. I've got my own Christmas I need to get to. Mine and Ivy's.'

One he hadn't been invited to share. One he was pretty sure he didn't want to share.

But he couldn't help but wonder...
Does she look like Clara or like me?

Hands visibly shaking, Clara held up her phone. ‘I need to find some reception in this place and call Merry. I need to know that Ivy is okay.'

She disappeared up the stairs, as quiet as the falling snow. Jacob waited until he knew she must have reached the bedrooms, then sat heavily at the foot of the stairs.

He was trapped in a castle with his ex-wife, he'd just discovered he was a father and the perfect Christmas he'd worked so hard planning was ruined. What would his father be thinking now? He wouldn't blame Jacob for the weather—the man wasn't irrational. But that didn't change the fact that in the annals of Foster history this would go down as his mistake. Jacob's failure. He had been the one who'd decided to host Christmas in the Highlands, after all.
Ha!
He'd even asked Clara for a white Christmas.

Seemed like she couldn't help but deliver, even when she didn't want to.

His shaky laugh echoed off the lonely stone walls and he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers tugging at his hair as they raked through it.

The difference was that, this time, there'd be no years to come for his father to bring this up, to tease him for his stupid plan. This was going to be his last Christmas and Jacob had ruined it.

His throat grew tighter as he remembered that long-ago Christmas, and another screw-up. One that no one ever mentioned, especially not as a joke. One that he never needed to be reminded of anyway.

He had a clear visual every time he saw the scars on Heather's arms. He knew just how badly he'd failed his family in the past.

And now he'd done it again.

What could he do now?

* * *

Clara made sure the master bedroom door was closed behind her before she let her shaky legs give way. The fire she'd lit in the grate earlier burned bright and merry but she couldn't stop shivering. She couldn't think of anything except Ivy, stuck in a strange hotel with her aunt Merry, waiting for her mum to arrive for hot chocolate and Christmas presents.

Except Clara wasn't going to be there.

Damn Jacob and his stupid perfect Christmas. How had she let herself get dragged into this in the first place? A ridiculous desire to prove to her ex-husband that she was better off without him, she supposed. To prove it to herself too.

If only she'd stayed in London with Ivy, where she belonged, she wouldn't be in this mess.

And she'd told him. She'd told him everything—although how much he'd taken in, what with the shock and the snow and everything, she wasn't sure. They'd have to talk again later, she supposed.

If they really were snowed in for the duration, they'd have plenty of time for that conversation.

She made a sound that was half sob, half laugh as she realised there was another, more pressing, conversation she needed to have first.

Clara fumbled with her phone, holding it up towards the window and praying for reception. There it was. Just a single bar, but hopefully enough for her to reach Merry.

She dialled, held her breath and waited.

‘Clara? Where are you? I've been trying to call all morning, ever since the snow started, but I couldn't even get through to your voicemail.' Merry sounded frantic. Clara didn't blame her.

‘I'm so sorry. Reception here is terrible. And I was so busy getting things ready...I didn't notice the snow.' If she had, she'd have called a taxi and headed straight out of the castle before the roads became impassable. ‘Is Ivy okay?'

‘Wondering where you are. Clara, are you even going to be able to get back in this? The roads look bad.'

Clara's heart hurt at the idea of her little girl watching out of the window of the hotel, waiting for her to come home. This was exactly what she
never
wanted Ivy to feel—as if she'd been abandoned for a better option. That there was something else that mattered more than her. Because there really wasn't, not in Clara's world.

‘They look worse from this end,' she admitted, her throat tight. ‘We can't even dig Jacob's car out, Merry. And the road...' She stared out of the window at a vast blanket of white. ‘I can't even see where it should be.' Somewhere in the distance, beyond all the falling flakes, was the Golden Thistle. Clara wished more than anything in the world that she could be there now.

‘Hang on,' Merry said. Clara heard her murmuring something, presumably to Ivy, then the sound of a door closing. ‘What are you going to do? It's Christmas Eve!'

‘I know!' Clara rubbed a hand across her forehead and tried to blink away the sudden burn behind her eyes. ‘I wanted to walk but I don't fancy my chances. And Jacob's family can't even get here. He was talking about trying to find a helicopter or something but...I think I'm stuck here. And Merry...that's not the worst of it.'

Her best friend must have sensed that Clara was on the edge because suddenly the note of panic was gone from Merry's voice and she became all business again. They had a rule at Perfect London: only one of them could fall apart at any given time. And it was definitely Clara's turn.

‘Tell me what happened,' she said briskly. ‘Tell me everything, and I'll fix it.'

Clara let out a full-blown sob. ‘Oh, Merry, I'm so sorry. But I have to tell you something. Something I should have told you years ago.'

‘That Ivy is Jacob's daughter?' Merry guessed, calm as anything.

Holding the phone away from her ear, Clara stared at it for a moment. Then she put it back. ‘How...how did you know?'

‘It doesn't take a rocket scientist, Clara. Not when you've seen the two of them. She's very like him.' Merry gave a low chuckle. ‘Besides, you never were the one-night stand type. So I always wondered... Did you tell him?'

‘Yeah. It went...badly.'

‘Then he's an idiot,' Merry said simply. ‘Ivy is the coolest kid in the world. He should be so
lucky
as to have her as a daughter.' Clara relaxed, just an inch. Maybe Ivy didn't need a father at all. Not when she had an Aunt Merry.

As long as Aunt Merry forgave Mummy for lying to her, of course.

‘Are you mad?' Clara asked in a tiny voice.

Merry paused before answering, and Clara's heart waited to beat until she spoke. ‘I understand why you wanted to keep it a secret, I think. I hope you know that you could have trusted me with it but...I guess we all have our secrets, don't we? So no, not mad. But I
do
want a full retelling of everything, with wine, the moment we get you out of there.'

‘
If
we get me out of here,' Clara muttered, but she couldn't help a small, relieved smile spreading across her face. Despite everything, she still had Merry. Her best friend still wanted to be exactly that.

‘Okay, let's fix that first,' Merry said, businesslike once again. ‘How stuck is stuck? And what do you want me to tell Ivy?'

‘I don't know.' The words came out practically as a wail.

‘Let me check the weather forecast. Hang on.' Clara heard the tapping of laptop keys in the background. ‘Okay, it's deep and treacherous right now, but there's no more snow due overnight. Snowploughs will be out as soon as it stops, then we can look at getting you out of there. So tomorrow morning, if we're really lucky. The next day if we're not.'

‘But tomorrow is Christmas,' Clara whispered. Oh, poor Ivy. How was she ever going to explain this to her?

‘Not this year it isn't,' Merry said firmly. ‘This year, Santa is snowed in up at the North Pole too, and will be coming tomorrow night. Then we'll celebrate Christmas once you're back here.'

‘I'm pretty sure Father Christmas can't get snowed in,' Clara said dubiously.

‘Well, as long as your daughter doesn't know that, we should be okay,' Merry replied. ‘Look, I'll fix it, okay? You've fixed things for me often enough—our own business, as a case in point. Let me fix this for you.'

She sounded so sure, so determined, that Clara almost began to feel a little better. ‘What are you going to do?'

‘I'm going to talk to the staff here, and the other guests,' Merry explained. ‘I reckon they'll all buy in to postponing Christmas until Santa—and you—can get here.'

‘But it's their Christmas too,' Clara protested. ‘Some of them were only staying until Boxing Day night. We can't ruin it for them just because I screwed up.'

‘You didn't screw up—you were doing your job. Besides, we can have a practice Christmas tomorrow. As long as Ivy believes that the real deal is the next day, it doesn't matter anyway.'