An Aussie Christmas Angel by Clare Revell Page A

handed her the letter.
    Jo retreated across the kitchen to the safety of the far corner and stood there. She carefully opened it and pulled out the postcard. Divided into four, it depicted an arch bridge over a river, a steepled church set in fields, several shops around a pedestrian area, and a park filled with flowers. She turned it over, eager to see what John had written.
    ‘Hi, Jo. The sun’s not shining, the sky’s not blue. I wish that I were there with you. They’re even forecasting snow, which’ll make the commute to work interesting as it’s over the Downs. Which are actually “Ups” as they’re hills. From, John.’
    He’d included his home and e-mail addresses. A warm fuzzy feeling started in her toes and spread like wildfire through her entire body. “Oh, that’s so sweet.”
    Pip read the card over her shoulder. “A poem?”
    “You’re just jealous because Rob doesn’t write poetry for you.” She read it again. Her heart pounded and threatened to leap from her chest with the joy spreading through her. “He wrote me a poem.”
    “It’s two lines.”
    She jumped up and down on the spot, hugging the card to her chest. “It’s still a poem.”
    “Squeeing doesn’t become you. Hey, where are you going?”
    Jo glanced back as she ran to the door. “E-mailing him.”
    “It’s the middle of the night there.”
    “Don’t care. I’m going to e-mail him anyway. It’ll be in his inbox when he wakes.” She dashed to the computer, grateful for Pip’s insistence on leaving it on all the time. At least she didn’t have to wait for it to boot up. Bringing up a fresh e-mail she typed in John’s address.
    “Dear John.” She shook her head, a fit of giggles erupting from her. “You can’t put that,” she chided herself. She deleted it and started over.
    “Hi, John. Glad you’re home safe and your suitcase made it, too. Thank you for the postcard. It came today. I love the poem. No one has ever written me a poem before. The house is quiet without you around. Not that you were noisy, because you weren’t, but yeah—quiet. Anyway, I’m heading out to the Quay in a few. I have to buy Pip’s Christmas present since she’s leaving soon for the UK. I can’t imagine it being cold for Christmas. Kind of jealous she’s going to experience it firsthand. Anyway, better go.”
    She paused. “Love, Jo. Much love, Jo. From, Jo. Yeah, from, Jo.” She typed the last sentence and hit send.
     
    ****
     
    John yawned and glanced at the clock. Time for bed, but before he went, he’d check his e-mail. Just one sat in his box. From Jo Heyward. A huge smile crossed his face as he opened it. He’d hoped when he gave her his e-mail address she’d write. Intense happiness filled him, setting every nerve tingling. As he read, he could almost feel the blood rushing through his veins.
    His fingers couldn’t type fast enough. “ Hey, Jo. Just about to head to bed, once these photos finish uploading. It’s bitterly cold tonight, minus seven Centigrade right now. Or nineteen degrees Fahrenheit in old money, as we say here. There is some snow on the ground already, with more to come. Really feeling the difference in the weather after Australia. Sydney was definitely the highlight of the trip.”
    He took a deep breath. “Actually meeting you was the highlight of the trip.” He couldn’t put that, no matter how much he wanted to and deleted the line. “It’s strange being back at work, kind of surreal almost. OK, the photos have finished uploading. I’ll attach a couple for you. I was wondering if I could ring you at some point. Just to say hi. I’m eleven hours behind, so not sure which time would work. Perhaps you could reply and let me know. I’d imagine the weekend is best. Though Saturday’s no good because I’m going to the football. Headley Cross are playing Whitgate United. It’s a sold out game, but I have a season ticket. Anyway, better go. John.”
    He added two photos and hit send.