The Yuletide Child, Charlotte Lamb [best novels to read .TXT] 📗

laid out in straight lines on what had once been high, open moorland, rich with heather and gorse, where the wind blew free and every inch was alive with birds and small animals. They had all gone, driven out by the smothering trees. They could not live in that dense shadow and neither could she. She hated living here.

The small of her back was aching; she pressed her hand into it, groaning. She couldn’t bear to stay in bed any more; it made her back worse. She might as well get up.

Looking at the clock on the bedside table, she was surprised to see it was already seven forty-five. She had all day to waste, but she might as well get dressed and start on the housework. It took her twice as long as it used to; she never seemed to catch up. At least work would take her mind off her problems, and she would have even more to do tomorrow. This would be their first Christmas together.

Last Christmas Eve she had been staying with Jenny and her husband Phil and their two children, as she had done every year since Jenny had married. This year Dylan wanted to make Christmas very special for Ross, whose parents were also dead and who had not had a family Christmas for years. She had bought lots of decorations. Their tree was already set up and glittering with fairy lights; the rooms downstairs were swagged in tinsel. She had made a Christmas cake and several puddings;tomorrow she would make mince pies, jelly, trifle, all the traditional food of the season.

She walked into the bathroom, her hand still supporting her back, took off her nightie and dropped it into the woven linen basket, then, avoiding the sight of herself in the mirror, showered, closing her eyes with pleasure under the warm water. Stepping out a few moments later, she towelled herself and put on a robe before going back into the bedroom to get dressed.

Gloomily she surveyed the rack of maternity clothes—she hadn’t been able to afford a large range of them, and she hated the sight of them all by now, couldn’t wait to wear pretty clothes again, in her proper size. The warm cherry-red of a sweater looked cheerful, though. She took that out, and a thin floaty white shirt to wear under it, plus a pair of maternity jeans with an infinitely expandable waist.

Her feet were freezing; she put on two pairs of socks, and then comfortable slippers.

Housework was not her favourite occupation. Especially now that she found it almost impossible to bend down without discomfort, and couldn’t lean across tables to polish them.

Once, she had danced her way through the work, made it part of her daily exercise routine, using the backs of chairs as a barre. Not any more. Just getting through the necessary tasks was exhausting. The idea of ballet was something she simply pushed to the back of her mind.

As she brushed her hair she thought of herself two years ago, light as a feather... what had she been then, a size eight? She was only five foot one and had had a diminutive figure, her breasts small and high, her waist tiny, although her legs were quite long for her height.She had been slender and supple in her tights and black body as she’d rehearsed the new ballets Michael had choreographed for them. ‘Exercises for Lovers’ he had called it, and the title described it perfectly. Two people meeting, falling in love, parting in tears, coming together again. She had loved dancing it.

The intensity of concentration, the physical difficulty of some of the moves, had used up all her energy, but it had been the most rewarding time of her life. The discipline of that work had occupied every waking moment, obsessed her.

If only she-felt that way now! She had thought being pregnant would be as exciting and wonderful as rehearsing a new ballet. Nobody had warned her what it would really feel like.

How ironic that it had been that ballet which had brought Ross into her life and ended her career for ever, changed her body, her life, in ways she had never anticipated.

Stop thinking about it! she scolded herself, dropping the brush on the dressing table. Only another month and it will all be over. Just hold on to that thought.

Slowly she made her way downstairs and began work in the kitchen, washing up the breakfast things Ross had used, tidying the room before getting out the vacuum cleaner.

At midday, flushed and breathless, with swollen ankles, cramped calves, she sat down in the kitchen to eat some soup. Had she had breakfast? She couldn’t remember. Her brain was going too, now!

Once she had been so sure of herself and the future she wanted. She couldn’t be certain about anything any more; she didn’t recognise herself or Ross. Lifting herfeet on to a foot stool, she bent to massage her left calf and at that moment the mobile phone began to ring.

He was ringing to say he was sorry! Eagerly Dylan grabbed for the phone, which she had left on the table. She was so breathless she couldn’t say anything for a second, and before she could the caller spoke.

‘Hello? It’s me, darling—Suzy! I can’t hear you very well, Ross, the line keeps breaking up—can you hear me!’

Dylan opened her mouth to explain that it wasn’t Ross listening, but the other woman didn’t pause long enough to give her a chance.

‘Darling, I’m sorry. I’m going to be late. Alan hasn’t gone yet and I can’t get away without arousing his suspicions! ’

Dylan sat there, frozen in shock, holding the phone so tightly that her knuckles went white.

The other woman laughed. Laughed! Dylan’s teeth met.

‘Can’t wait to get to York. It’s going to be a wonderful night. Oh ... can’t talk any more, he’s coming back. See you soon, Ross.’

There was the sound of a kiss being blown, then the call ended abruptly.

Dylan didn’t move