Caring For His Baby
Caring For His Baby
Caroline Anderson
Caring for His Baby
Caroline Anderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
PROLOGUE
CRISIS in night. Please contact us ASAP.
Harry Kavenagh stared at the message handed to him by the hotel receptionist, and felt a cold chill run through him. No. Not now. He wasn’t ready.
He’d never be ready—not for this.
Still staring at the words, he rammed the fingers of his other hand through his hair, rumpling the dusty, sweaty strands even further. So what now? He turned the paper over, looking for more information, but there was nothing.
‘When did they call?’ he asked.
‘This morning, sir. Just after you went out.’
Fingers suddenly unsteady and his heart thudding in his throat, he called the number from his room. Five minutes later he was in a car on the way to the airport, his mind still reeling.
He couldn’t believe it was actually happening. Stupid. He ought to be able to. It had been his idea, after all. They’d wanted to turn off the machine weeks ago, with his agreement, but he’d seen enough loss of life. Too much. So he’d begged them to reconsider—exhausted, perhaps a little drunk and stunned by what they’d told him, he’d haggled them into submission.
They’d kept their side of the bargain. And now he had to keep his.
He swallowed, staring out of the window, not seeing the bombed-out buildings, the shattered lives all around him. A shell exploded a few streets away, but he barely noticed. It all seemed suddenly terribly remote and curiously irrelevant, because in the space of the next few hours, his whole life would change for ever.
She was tiny.
So small, so fragile looking, her fingers so fine they were almost transparent under the special light. She needed the light because she was yellow. Jaundiced, apparently. Quite common in slightly prem babies. Nothing to worry about.
But Harry worried about it. He worried about all of it. How on earth was he supposed to look after her? She was just a little dot of a thing, so dainty, no bigger than a doll. Small for dates, they’d said. No wonder, under the circumstances.
He didn’t want to think about that, about how he’d failed her mother. How he’d brought her here to London to keep her safe and then failed her anyway.
‘How are you doing?’
He looked up at the nurse and tried to smile. ‘OK. She was screwing her face up a minute ago. I think she might have a nappy problem.’
‘Want to change it?’
He felt his blood run cold. No. His hands were too big. He’d hurt her…
‘She won’t break, you know,’ the nurse teased gently. ‘You’ll be fine. I’ll help you.’
So he changed her nappy—extraordinarily complicated for something so ordinary—and by the end of the day and a few more goes he’d mastered it, even managing to grip those tiny little ankles between his fingers without snapping her legs when he lifted her up to swap the nappies over or wipe her unbelievably tiny bottom.
Such soft skin. Such astonishing perfection, all those little fingers and toes, the nails so small he could hardly see them. She was a little miracle, and he was awed beyond belief.
And terrified.
The nurse—Sue, her name was, according to her badge—brought him a bottle and helped him feed her again, and she brought it all up all over him. Panic threatened to choke him, but Sue just laughed and cleaned her up, lent him a fresh scrub top and handed her back.
‘Make her slow down. She’s feeding too fast—tip the bottle up a bit more so she doesn’t get so much air. And wind her in between.’
In between what? And wind her? How? He’d never winded a baby in his life, and he was damned if he knew where to start.
With that, or with any of it.
He felt faintly hysterical, but that was probably lack of sleep and shock. He stifled the urge to laugh, but then his eyes prickled and he felt the panic rise again.
What on earth had he done?
The old Chinese proverb rang hollow in his ears. If you save a life, it belongs to you.
He stared down at her, this tiny girl who apparently was his, her transparent fingers wrapped around his little finger with incredible strength, and the panic receded a little, replaced by wonder.
She was amazing. Beautiful. Scary as hell, but astonishing.
And his.
Officially registered this morning as his daughter, in the presence of the registrar of births, marriages and deaths just round the corner from the hospital.
He’d registered her mother’s death at the same time, armed with more forms and certificates from the hospital, and then he’d gone back there and asked to see Carmen’s body, so frail, so young, but finally at peace. And he’d told her about the baby, and promised her he’d do for the baby what he’d failed to do for her—to keep her safe. So now, in every way that mattered, she was his.
‘Get out of that, Kavenagh,’ he murmured, but strangely he didn’t want to. He couldn’t imagine walking away from her. Just the thought of abandoning her to fate made him feel so fiercely protective it scared him.
Together with everything else today.
God, he was knackered. Maybe if he just propped her up on his chest and leant back…
‘Harry?’
He opened his eyes a crack, blinking at the light, and Sue’s face came into focus. ‘Why don’t you go and have a lie-down? There’s a room here for parents—nothing flashy, just a few beds and a separate area with a TV and little kitchen, but you could sleep for a while.’
Sleep. Oh, yes. Please. He had to get some sleep. It had been weeks since he’d slept properly, with the constant shelling and rocket fire going on all night, but this had tired him more than any of that.
He nodded, realising that the baby was back in her crib under the light and that everything was being taken care of.
‘Will she be all right?’ he asked, as if his presence actually made a blind bit of difference, but the nurse just smiled and nodded.
‘Sure. I’ll look after her for you, I’m on till nine, and I’ll hand her over to the night staff before I go. Come on, I’ll show you the parents’ room.’
A bed. Crisp white sheets, a slightly crackly pillow and almost instant oblivion…
‘You’ll be OK.’
He stared down at Sue, wishing he could believe her. She’d spent the last few days telling him he could cope, showing him not just how to change nappies and hold feeding bottles, but bath and dress and simply cuddle his tiny daughter, and he’d begun to believe that maybe—just maybe—he’d manage. Till now.
She was so small, his little doll, but she was tough, like her mother—fierce and determined, and for something so tiny she had a blood-curling scream. He’d become almost confident, in the safe environment of the special care baby unit, surrounded by the bleeps and clicks of the equipment, the hurried footsteps, the laughter and the tears. But now…
‘We’re always here if you have a problem. You can ring at any time. You will cope, Harry,’ Sue said again, as if by repeating it she could make it true, and stretching up on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek and went back inside, leaving him on the outside of the doors, stranded.
What was he supposed to do now? Where could he go? His flat? It was nothing more than a crash pad, really, and it didn’t feel like his any longer, but stupidly until now he hadn’t even thought about where he’d take the baby. Just not there. It didn’t seem right. But where?
He looked down at his tiny girl in the shockingly expensive baby carrier he’d bought that morning, and his heart squeezed. She was staring up at him intently, her almost black eyes fixed on his face, and he found himself suddenly calmer.
He knew what to do, and it was more than time he did it. He should have done it years ago.
‘Come on, my little Kizzy,’ he murmured softly. ‘We’re going home.’
CHAPTER ONE
SOMEONE was moving in.
It had been weeks since the last tenants had left, but there was a car on the drive and the lights were on.
Emily craned her neck and tried to catch a glimpse of the people, but she couldn’t see through the trees. Not clearly enough, anyway. The branches kept drifting softly in the light breeze and blocking her view, and every time she shifted, so did the leaves.
And she was turning into a curtain twitcher, for heaven’s sake!
She snapped the curtain shut and turned her back on the window, tucking up Freddie and smiling down at him. Gorgeous. He was just gorgeous, and she wanted to scoop him up and snuggle him.
Except he’d wake in a foul mood and the sweet little cherub would turn into a howling, raging tyrant. The terrible twos were well named, and he wasn’t even there yet, not for five months!
She grinned and tiptoed out, blowing him a kiss and pulling the door to, just a little, before checking on his big sister. Beth was lying on her back, one foot stuck out the side, her tousled dark hair wisping across her face.
Emily eased the strand away from her eyes and feathered a kiss over her brow, then left her to sleep. There was a film on television starting in a few minutes that she’d been meaning to watch. If she could get the washing-up stacked in the dishwasher, she might even get to see it.
Or not.
She hadn’t even stepped off the last stair before she saw a shadow fall across the front door and a hand lift to tap lightly on the glass.
Her new neighbours?
She sighed inwardly and reached for the latch. She’d have to be polite. It wasn’t in her to be anything else, but just for tonight it would have been nice to curl up in front of the television and be utterly self-indulgent. She’d even bought a tub of Belgian chocolate ice cream…
‘Em?’
‘Harry?’
Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the gasp, and then her eyes dropped, dragging away from his to focus on…
A baby?
She blinked and looked again. Yes, definitely a baby. A tiny baby—very tiny, hardly old enough to be born, held securely against the broad chest she’d laid her head against so many times all those years ago.
‘Oh, Harry!’ She reached out and drew him in, going up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and somehow resisting the urge to howl, because if there was a baby, then there was a woman, and if there was a woman…
She let him go before she did something silly. ‘Gosh, it’s been so long—how are you?’ she asked, her voice not quite her own, her eyes scanning his face eagerly.
‘Oh—you know.’
No, she didn’t, despite seeing him on the television almost on a daily basis. She didn’t have the slightest idea, but his mouth was twisting in a parody of a smile and he looked exhausted.
Actually, he looked a great deal more than exhausted. He looked fantastic. Tall, bronzed, his striking pale blue eyes crinkled at the corners from screwing them up in the sun in all the godforsaken trouble spots he spent his life in. He needed a shave, and his hair was overdue for a cut, the dark strands a little wild. Her fingers itched to touch them, to feel if they were still as soft as she remembered, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have the right. Apparently, while she hadn’t been looking, he’d given that to some other woman.
He turned a fraction, so his head was blocking out the light and she could no longer see his eyes, so she glanced down and her heart jerked against her chest. The tiny babe was all but lost inside the big, square hands that cradled it so protectively, the little head with wild black hair sticking out from under the edges of the minuscule hat cupped securely by long, strong fingers.
Such a powerful image. Advertising had recognised the power of it decades ago, but here it was now, standing in her hallway, and she felt her knees weaken.
Her resolve was turning to mush, as well.
‘You’re back,’ she said eventually, when she could get her brain to work. ‘I saw the lights on. I didn’t think it would be you.’ Not after all these years. Not after last time…‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes. Just me and the baby.’
Just? Just? She nearly laughed out loud. There was nothing just about a baby, most especially not one that tiny. She wondered how long it would be before his wife joined them and rescued him. Later tonight? Tomorrow? Although she hadn’t heard that he was married, but then he hadn’t stayed in touch with her or her brother Dan, and she didn’t keep her ear that close to the ground.
Liar! her conscience shrieked. Weekly checks on the Internet, avid scanning of the news, hanging on every word of his news reports…
‘So where’s the baby’s mother? Does she trust you?’ she asked, just because she couldn’t stand the suspense another minute.
His smile twisted, and there was a little flicker of what could have been panic, but his eyes were sombre and there was something in them she just couldn’t read. ‘No mother,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘It’s just us—me and the baby.’
Hope leapt in her chest, and she squashed it ruthlessly. Quite apart from the fact that there was a story here he wasn’t telling her, another go-round with Harry Kavenagh was absolutely the last thing she needed for her peace of mind, but his reply answered why he was here, anyway, and there was no way she was getting suckered into that one! He could cope with the baby on his own, thank you very much!
She pulled back, both physically and emotionally, trying to distance herself from him so she didn’t get drawn in, but then the baby started to fuss, and a flicker of what was definitely panic ran over his face, and she had to steel herself against him.
‘So—what can I do for you?’ she asked, trying not to sound too brisk but giving him very little encouragement at the same time.
He looked a little taken aback—perhaps she’d been too brisk after all—but his shoulders lifted and he smiled a little tiredly. ‘Nothing. I’m staying here for a bit, so I just came to see who was here, to introduce myself—say hello to your parents if they were still here. I wasn’t sure…’
Was it a question? She answered it anyway, her mind still stalled on his words. I’m staying here for a bit…
‘They’re in Portugal. They live there part of the year. Mum was homesick, and my grandmother’s not very well.’
‘So you’re house-sitting for them?’
‘No. I live here,’ she told him. And then wished she’d said ‘we’ and not ‘I’, so he didn’t feel she was single and available. Because although she might be single again, she was very far from being available to Harry Kavenagh.
Ever again.
The baby’s fussing got louder, and he jiggled her a bit, but he wasn’t doing it right and she looked tense and insecure. Emily’s hands itched to take the little mite and cradle her securely against her breast, but that was ridiculous. She had to get rid of him before her stupid, stupid hands reached out.
She edged towards the door. ‘Sounds hungry. You’d better go and feed her—her?’ she added, not sure if the baby was a girl, but he nodded.
‘Yes.’
Yes, what? Yes, she’s a girl, or, yes, he’d better feed her/him/it? She opened the door anyway, and smiled without quite meeting his eyes. ‘I hope you settle in OK. Give me a call if you need anything.’
He nodded again, and with a flicker of a smile he went out into the night and she closed the door.
Damn. Guilt was a dreadful thing.
She walked resolutely down the hall, got the ice cream out of the freezer, contemplated a bowl and thought better of it, picked up a spoon and the tub and went into the sitting room, put on the television and settled down cross-legged on the sofa to watch her film.
Except, of course, it had started and she’d missed the point, and anyway her mind kept straying to Harry and the baby, so tiny in his hands, and guilt tortured her.
Guilt and a million questions.
What was he doing on his own with a baby? Was she his? Or a tiny orphan, perhaps, rescued from the rubble of a bombed out building…
And now she was being completely ridiculous. The baby was days old, no more, and the paperwork to get a baby out of a war-torn country would be monumental, surely? There was always the most almighty fuss if a celebrity tried to adopt a baby, and she was pretty sure he counted as a celebrity.
Unless he’d kidnapped her?
No. He had the slightly desperate air of a man who’d had a baby dumped on him—one of his girlfriends, perhaps, sick of his nonsense and fed up with trying to compete with the more exciting world he inhabited? Maybe she’d thought he needed a dose of reality?
Or perhaps she was dead, had died in childbirth…
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’
She put the ice cream back in the freezer, hardly touched, and stood at the kitchen window, staring out at the house next door.
She could hear the baby screaming, and the mother in her was heading down the hall and out of the door, a cuddle at the ready. Fortunately the pragmatist in her stayed rooted to the spot, wishing she had defective hearing and wasn’t so horribly tuned in to the sound of a crying child.
She made herself a drink, went back to the sitting room and had another try at the television. Maybe another programme, something less dependent on her not having missed a huge chunk. She flicked though the channels.
A cookery programme, yet another make-over show, a soap she’d never watched and a documentary on one of the many messy wars that seemed to be going on all over the world.
Which took her straight back to Harry Kavenagh and the tiny crying baby next door…
‘Hush, little one,’ he pleaded, jostling her gently. ‘Have a drink, sweetheart, you must be hungry. Is it too cold? Too hot?’
Hell, how was he supposed to know? He liked his coffee scalding hot and his beer ice-cold. Somewhere in between was just alien to him.
He stared in desperation at the house next door, the lights just visible through the screen of trees.
No. He couldn’t go round there. She’d hardly greeted him with open arms, after all.
‘Well, what the hell did you expect?’ he muttered, swapping the baby to his other arm and trying a different angle with the bottle. ‘You drop out of her life for years and then stroll back in with a baby in your arms—she probably thought you were going to dump the baby on her!’
He tightened his grip on his precious burden and the crying changed in pitch. Instantly he slackened his grip, shifted her to his shoulder and rubbed her back, walking helplessly up and down, up and down, staring at Emily’s house as he passed the window.
The lights were out now, only the lovely stained-glass window on the stairs illuminated by the landing light. Strange. He didn’t remember her being afraid of the dark. Maybe it was because she was alone in the house…
‘Stop thinking about her,’ he growled softly, and the baby started to fuss again. ‘Shh,’ he murmured, rubbing her back again and going into the bathroom. ‘How about a nice warm bath?’
Except she pooed in it, and he had to change the water in the basin one-handed without dropping her, and then it was too hot and he had to put more cold in, and then it was too full, and by the time he got her back in it she was screaming in earnest again and he gave up.
He could feel his eyes prickling with despair and inadequacy. Damn. He wasn’t used to feeling inadequate. ‘Oh, Gran, where are you?’ he sighed a little unsteadily. ‘You’d know what to do—you always knew what to do about everything.’
He dried the baby, dressed her in fresh clothes and tried to put her in the baby-carrier, but she wasn’t having any. The only way she’d settle at all was if he held her against his heart and walked with her, so he did exactly that.
He pulled his soft fleecy car rug round his shoulders, wrapped it across her and went out into the mild summer night. He walked to the cliff top and then down through the quiet residential roads to the prom, strolling along next to the beach and listening to the sound of the sea while the baby slept peacefully against his heart, and then when he could walk no more and his eyes were burning with exhaustion and he just wanted to lie down and cry, he took her home and sat down in the awful chair that the tenants had left and fell asleep.
Not for long.
Not nearly long enough. The baby woke, slowly at first, tiny whimpers turning gradually to a proper cry and then ultimately a full-blown blood-curdling yell by the time he’d found her bottle in the fridge and warmed it and tested it and cooled it down again by running it under the tap because of course he’d overheated it, and by the time he could give it to her she’d worked herself up to such a frenzy she wouldn’t take it.
He stared down at her in desperation, his eyes filling. ‘Oh, Kizzy, please, just take it,’ he begged, and finally she did, hiccupping and sobbing so she took in air and then started to scream and pull her legs up, and he thought, What made me think I could do this? I must have been mad. No wonder women get postnatal depression.
He wondered if it was possible for men to get it. Clumsy, inadequately prepared fathers who’d never been meant to be mothers to their children—men whose wives had died in a bomb blast or an earthquake and left them unexpectedly holding the baby. Or men widowed when their wives died in childbirth. Or even men who’d taken the decision to be the house-husband and main carer of the children. How did they cope?
How did anyone cope?
He changed her, then changed her again when she was sick down her front, then gave her another little try with the bottle and finally put her down in the carrier, shut the door and went upstairs to the bedroom he’d used as a child, leaving her screaming.
He had to get some sleep if he was going to be any good to her.
But the only furniture in the room was a bare, stained mattress, and he couldn’t bring himself to lie on it even if he could ignore the baby’s cries for long enough to get to sleep.
He looked around him critically, taking in the state of the place properly for the first time, and realised that if he was going to live in it, it was going to need a team of decorators to come in and blitz it, new carpets and furniture throughout and probably a new kitchen.
And in the meantime he’d be living there with the baby?
He must have been insane.
He should have let the doctors throw the switch all those weeks ago instead of interfering.
Acid burned his stomach and he shook his head.
No.
Whatever came next, what he’d done so far had been exactly the right thing. The only thing. And it would get easier. It had to. He’d learn to cope. And right now he was going back downstairs, and he’d lift her out of the carrier and lie down on the grubby chair and cuddle her on his chest until they both went to sleep. The rest he could deal with tomorrow…
‘I’m going to get you!’
Emily ran after her giggling son, chasing him down the garden and scooping him up, and straightened to find Harry standing on the other side of the fence staring at her and Freddie in astonishment.
‘Um—hi,’ he said. She smiled back and said, ‘Hi, yourself. How’s the baby?’
Freddie looked at him with the baby on his shoulder, gave his lovely beaming smile and said, ‘Baby!’ in his singsong little voice and clapped his chubby hands in delight.
Now she’d had time to register it, Emily was too busy searching Harry’s exhausted face to worry about the baby. There were deep black smudges under his eyes, and his jaw was shadowed with stubble. She ached to hold him, to stroke that stubbled chin and soothe the tired eyes with gentle fingers—’ Are you OK?’ she asked, trying to stick to the plot, and his eyes creased with weary humour.
‘I’m not sure. I’m so tired I can’t see straight at the moment. We had a bit of a problem in the night.’
‘I heard,’ she said, feeling guiltier still for her less-than-enthusiastic welcome the evening before. ‘Um—look, why don’t you come round and have a coffee? We’re not doing anything, are we, Freddie? And we’ve got an hour before we have to pick up Beth.’
‘Beth?’ he said.
‘My daughter.’
She wondered if he’d notice the use of ‘my’ and not ‘our’. Maybe. Not that it mattered. If he was going to be living next to her for longer than ten minutes, he’d work out that she was alone. Anyway, she didn’t think he was worrying about that at the moment. He was busy looking slightly stunned, and she wondered if she’d looked like that last night when she’d seen his baby for the first time.
Probably. She’d been shocked, because the last time they’d met, they’d both been single and free, and now, clearly, he wasn’t. And as for her—well, she was single again, but far from free, and maybe it was just as much of a shock to him to know she was a parent as it had been to her to realise he was.
Because, of course, if she knew nothing about his private life for the last umpteen years, it was even more likely that he knew nothing about hers.
Or the lack of it.
He gave her a cautious smile. ‘Coffee would be good. Thanks.’
Coffee? She collected herself and tried for an answering smile. ‘Great. Come through the fence—the gate’s still here.’
She opened it, struggling a little because the path was a bit mossy there and the gate stuck, and he grabbed it and lifted it slightly and shifted it, creaking, out of the way.
‘The creaking gate,’ he said, and added, with that cheeky grin that unravelled her insides, ‘It always did that. I used to know just how far to open it before it would rat on me.’
And she felt the colour run up her cheeks, because she remembered, too—remembered how he’d sneak through the gate and meet her at the end of the garden in the summerhouse, late at night after everyone was asleep, and they’d cuddle and kiss until he’d drag himself away, sending her back to bed aching for something she hadn’t really understood but had longed for anyway.
‘We were kids,’ she said, unable to meet his eyes, and he laughed softly.
‘Were we? Didn’t always feel like it. And the last time—’
He broke off, and she took advantage of his silence to walk away from the incriminating gate and back up the garden to the house, Freddie on her hip swivelling wildly round and giggling and shrieking, ‘Baby!’ all excitedly.
She really didn’t want to think about the last time! It should never have happened, and there was no way it was happening again.
She scooped up the runner beans from the step, shoved open the back door with her hip and went in, smiling at him over Freddie’s head.
‘Welcome back,’ she said, without really meaning to, but she was glad she had because the weariness in his eyes was suddenly replaced by something rather lovely that reminded her of their childhood, of the many times she’d led him in through her parents’ back door and into the welcome of their kitchen.
‘Thanks.’ He reached out and ruffled Freddie’s bright blond curls. ‘I didn’t know you had kids.’
There was something in his voice—regret? She shot him a quick look, filed that one for future analysis and put the kettle on. ‘Yup. Beth’s three, nearly four, and Freddie’s nineteen months. Real or instant?’
‘Have you got tea? I daren’t have too much caffeine. I had so little sleep last night I want to be able to grab every second of it that’s offered!’
She laughed and reached for the teapot, lifting it down from the cupboard and putting Freddie on the floor. ‘Darling, go and find your cup,’ she instructed, and he trundled off, humming happily to himself.
‘He’s cute.’
‘He is. He can be a complete monster, if it suits him, but most of the time he’s gorgeous.’
Harry gave a strangled laugh. ‘I wish I could say the same for this one, eh, Mini-Dot?’
‘Mini-Dot?’ she said, spluttering with laughter, and he chuckled.
‘Well, she’s so tiny. It’s not her real name. Her real name’s Carmen Grace—Kizzy for short.’
‘Oh, that’s pretty. Unusual.’
‘Grace is for my grandmother.’
‘And Carmen?’
His face went still. ‘For her mother,’ he said softly, and there was an edge to his voice that hinted at something she couldn’t even begin to guess at. Maybe he would tell her later. She hoped so, because she didn’t feel she could ask. Not now.
She would have done, years ago, but they’d spent every waking minute together in those halcyon days of their youth and there had been nothing they hadn’t shared.
But now—now she didn’t know him at all, and she didn’t know how much he was going to give her, and how much she wanted to give back.
So she said nothing, just made them tea and found a few chocolate biscuits and put them on a plate. Then Freddie came back with his cup trailing a dribble of orange juice behind him, and she refilled it and mopped up the floor and hugged him, just because he was so sweetly oblivious and she loved him so much it hurt.
He giggled and squirmed out of her arms and ran out into the garden, and they followed him, she with the tray, Harry with the baby—Mini-Dot, for goodness’ sake!—and she led him to the swinging seat under the apple tree.
‘Is this the same one?’ he asked in wonder, but she laughed and shook her head.
‘No, it fell to bits. Dad bought a new one a few years ago, so you don’t have to sit down so carefully any more.’
He chuckled and eased himself down onto the seat, leaning back and resting his head against the high back and closing his eyes. ‘Oh, bliss. This is gorgeous.’
‘Bit of a change from your usual life,’ she said without meaning to, and he cocked an eye open and gave a rusty little laugh.
‘You could say that.’ For a moment he was silent, then he sighed and opened his other eye and turned his head towards her. ‘It takes a bit of getting used to—the quiet, the birdsong, the normal everyday sounds of people going about their daily lives. Crazy things that you wouldn’t think about, like the sound of a lawnmower—when I can hear it over the baby, that is,’ he added, his mouth kicking up in a rueful grin.
She answered him with a smile, then felt her curiosity rise. No. She wouldn’t go there…
‘What happened, Harry?’ she asked softly, despite her best intentions.
His smile faded, and for a moment she didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he started to speak, his voice soft and a little roughened by emotion. ‘I found her—Carmen—sitting by the side of the road, begging. Every day I walked past her on my way from the hotel and gave her money. Then after four days she wasn’t there. The next time I saw her, she’d been beaten up. Her mouth was split, one eye was swollen shut and the other one was dull with pain and despair. She wasn’t expecting anything—a few coins, perhaps, nothing more—but I took her to a café and bought her breakfast, and talked to her. And it was only then that I realised she was pregnant.’
Emily clicked her tongue in sympathy. ‘Poor girl.’
He nodded. ‘She’d been raped, she told me. She didn’t know the father of her child, it could have been any one of several men—soldiers. She’d didn’t know which side they were on. It didn’t really matter. She was a gypsy. They aren’t highly regarded in Eastern European countries—liars, thieves, lazy—you name it. And two nights before she’d been raped and beaten again. But she was just a girl, Emily, and she was terrified, and she’d lost her entire family.’
‘So you took her under your wing,’ she said, knowing that he would have done so, because he’d always been like that.
He gave a tiny hollow laugh. ‘In a manner of speaking. I moved her into my hotel room, fed her, got a doctor for her, and while I was in the shower she stole my wallet and ran away. So I tracked her down and asked her why. Eventually she told me she was waiting for me to rape her.’
Emily asked again. ‘So what did you do?’
‘I married her,’ he said quietly. ‘To keep her safe. Ironic, really. I brought her home to London and installed her in my flat. I gave her an allowance, paid all the bills and saw her whenever I could. And gradually she learnt to trust me, but she was lonely. Then she started going out and meeting up with people from her country and she was much happier. She was learning English, too, at evening classes, and starting to make friends.’
He fell silent, and she waited, watching him, knowing he would carry on when he’d found the words.
‘She was mugged. She was seven and a half months pregnant and someone mugged her on the way home from college one night. She ran away and crossed the road without looking and was hit by a car. She was taken to hospital, but she had a brain injury, and by the time they got hold of me she was on life support and they were doing brain-stem tests. So much for keeping her safe.’
The horror of it was sickening, and she put her hand over her mouth to hold back the cry. ‘Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Yeah.’ He swallowed. ‘They didn’t know whether to switch off the machine. They’d scanned the baby and it was fine, but they didn’t know how I’d feel. I’d just flown in from an earthquake, I hadn’t slept in days and I was exhausted. I didn’t know what to say. I just knew I couldn’t give up on the baby—not after everything we’d been through. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t asked for this, and I’ve seen so many children die, Em, and not been able to do anything about it. And here was one I could do something about. I couldn’t let her go. So I asked them to keep Carmen alive, long enough to give the baby a chance. And last week she ran out of time. Her organs started to fail, and they delivered the baby and turned off the machine. I got there just too late to say goodbye.’
He stared down at the baby on his lap, her mouth slack in sleep, her lashes black crescents against her olive cheeks, and Emily’s vision blurred. She felt the hot splash of tears on her hands, and brushed them away.
‘Harry, I’m so sorry,’ she said again, and he looked up, his eyes haunted, and then looked down again at the precious bundle in his arms.
‘Don’t be. Not for me. I know it’s hell at the moment and I feel such a muppet—I’m not used to being so phenomenally incompetent and out of my depth, but it will get better. I’ll learn, and she’s amazing. So lovely. So much perfection out of so much tragedy and despair. And I’m all she’s got.’
Emily wanted to cry. Wanted to go into a corner somewhere and howl her eyes out for him, and for the baby’s poor young mother, and for little Carmen Grace, orphaned almost before her birth.
‘So that’s us,’ he said, his voice artificially bright. ‘What about you?’
‘Me?’ she said, her eyes still misting. ‘I’m, ah—I’m fine. I’m a garden designer—fitting it in around the children, which can be tricky, but I manage more or less. Get through a lot of midnight oil, but I don’t have to pay for my accommodation at the moment.’
Although if her parents did sell their house, as they were considering doing, that would all change, of course.
‘And their father?’
She gave a tiny grunt of laughter. ‘Not around. He didn’t want me to keep Beth. Freddie was the last straw.’
Harry frowned. ‘So what did he do?’
‘He walked—well, ran, actually. I haven’t seen lightning move so fast. I was four months pregnant.’
‘So he’s been gone—what?’
‘Two years.’
Two difficult, frightening years that she would have struggled to get through without the help of her parents and her friends, but they’d all been wonderful and life now was better than it had ever been.
‘I’m sorry.’
She smiled. ‘Don’t be. Things are good. Hang in there, Harry. It really does get better.’
He looked down at the baby and gave a twisted little smile. ‘I hope so,’ he said wryly. ‘It needs to.’
‘It will,’ she promised, and just hoped that she was right…
CHAPTER TWO
FREDDIE’S CUP landed in her lap, dribbling orange on her, and she absently righted it and brushed away the drips.
Finally she looked back at him. ‘So—aren’t the legal ramifications vast? Nationality and so on?’
He shrugged. ‘Apparently not. I was Carmen’s husband, I’m down on the baby’s birth certificate as her father. That makes her British.’
‘But you’re not. Her father, I mean. Couldn’t that land you in trouble, if they ever found out?’
‘How? Are you going to tell them? Because I’m not. I know it’ll be hell, but I won’t be the first father to bring up a child alone, and I doubt I’ll be the last. And if not me, then who? The legalities are the least of my worries. I owe her this. It’s the least I can do.’
The least he could do? Devoting his life to her? He was either even more amazing than she’d remembered, or utterly deluded.
Probably both. Rash and foolhardy, his grandfather used to say affectionately. But kind. Endlessly kind. He reached for his cup, the baby held against his shoulder by one large, firm hand, but her head lolled a little and his grip tightened and she started to cry again.
‘Let me—just while you drink your tea,’ she said, and reaching out, she lifted the tiny little girl into her arms.
‘Oh—she’s so small! I’d forgotten! They grow so quickly—not that Freddie was ever this small. Beth was dainty, but even she—’
She broke off, the baby’s fussing growing louder, and she walked down the garden a few steps, turning the baby against her breast instinctively.
And with the same instinct, little Carmen Grace nuzzled her, then cried again. Oh, poor lamb. She needed her mother!
‘She’s hungry,’ she said, her voice uneven, and he got up and reached for her, but Emily shook her head, curiously reluctant to let the baby go.
‘Bring the bottle. I’ll hold her while you get it, it’s all right.’
He hesitated for a second, then went, squeezing through the gate and returning a few moments later with a bottle. ‘I don’t know if it’s the right temperature,’ he said, handing it over, and Emily tested it on the inside of her wrist and frowned.
‘It’s too cold. I’ll go and warm it. Keep an eye on Freddie for me.’
She went into the kitchen, gave the bottle a few seconds in the microwave, shook it vigorously and tested it again, then slipped the teat into the baby’s mouth, silencing her cries instantly.
Good.
She went back down the garden and found Harry on his knees with Freddie, playing in the sandpit. As she walked down the garden he sat back on his heels and looked up at her with a relieved smile.
‘Sounds peaceful.’
She laughed and settled herself on the bench, watching them and trying not to let her stupid thoughts run away with her.
‘Did you love her?’ she asked, then wanted to bite her tongue off, but he just sat back again and stared at her as if she was crazy.
‘She was a child, Em. I married her for her own protection. Yes, I grew to love her, but not in the way you mean. It was just a legal formality, nothing more. I never touched her.’
She felt a knot of something letting go inside her, but she didn’t want to think about the significance of that. She turned her attention back to the tiny scrap in her arms. The bottle was almost empty, the tiny amount she’d drunk surely not enough to keep her alive, but she was so small, her stomach must be the size of a walnut. Smaller.
She lifted her against her shoulder and rubbed her back, waiting for the burp and watching Harry as he piled sand into the bucket with Freddie and helped him turn it out.
‘Mummy, castle!’ Freddie shrieked, and the baby bobbed her head against Emily’s shoulder, her whole body stiffening in shock. She soothed her with a stroking hand, rocking her and smiling at Freddie.
‘I can see,’ she said softly.
‘How about a moat?’
‘Wasa moat?’ he asked, and Harry chuckled.
‘It’s like a big ditch full of water that goes all round the outside—here, like this,’ he said, scraping out a hollow ring around the slightly wonky castle.
‘You made one on the beach with Dickon and Maya last week,’ Emily pointed out, and Freddie nodded and scrambled to his feet.
‘Mummy, water!’ he demanded, running to her with his cup, but Harry got up and grinned and ruffled his hair.
‘Let her sit there for a minute. We’ll get the water. Come with me and show me where the tap is,’ he said, and held out his hand.
Freddie, normally the last person to allow such a familiarity, slid his hand trustingly into Harry’s and trotted happily beside him, chattering all the way to the kitchen.
Emily glanced down at the baby, sleeping again, her tiny face snuggled into the crook of her neck so that she could feel the soft skin, the warm huff of her breath, the damp little mouth, and the ache in her chest grew until she had to swallow hard to shift it.
‘Poor baby,’ she crooned, cradling her head with a protective hand. ‘Don’t worry, darling. We’ll look after you.’
She didn’t even think about the words. They came straight from her heart, bypassing her common sense, and as she rocked the baby in her arms, she felt a sense of rightness that should have rung alarm bells, but the bells were switched off, and the warning went unheeded.
Freddie was delicious.
Bright and bubbly, his fair hair sticking up on one side as if he’d slept on it. It was soft and unruly, much like Harry’s own, and it felt just right under his hand.
‘’Nough?’ Freddie asked, and Harry nodded, looking at the jug he’d found.
‘I think it’s enough.’
But, of course, it sank straight into the sand, and Freddie’s excitement turned to disappointment.
‘Mummy!’ he wailed, running to her and throwing himself at her knees, and Harry felt racked with guilt because he’d suggested it and it had failed and now the boy was upset. Damn. Could he do nothing right?
Em looked up at him with an apologetic smile. ‘There’s a cake ring in the drawer under the oven,’ she told him. ‘It should just about fit over the castle. You could use that and fill it with water.’
So they went back up to the kitchen, and found the cake ring, and with a bit of adjustment they fitted it over the sandcastle and filled it with water, and even found a stick to make a drawbridge and floated a leaf in it as a boat.
And the look on Freddie’s face was priceless. ‘Boat!’ he said, and ran to his mother yet again, his eyes alight. ‘Mummy, boat!’ Ook!’
Emily looked, admired it dutifully and threw Harry a smile over Freddie’s head, then stood up. ‘I have to get Beth,’ she said, ‘and I think this little one needs her daddy’s attention.’
There was a spreading stain below her nappy, and Harry’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure if there was a washing machine in the house, and she’d only got a few clothes. Clearly, at this rate he was going to have to buy a whole lot more!
‘Fancy company? If I change her quickly, could I come, too? And afterwards, if you were feeling really kind, you could point me in the direction of the nearest supermarket or baby shop so I can buy her more stuff.’
‘Sure. I was going to walk, but we can take the car. I’ll give Georgie a ring and warn her we might be late.’
He nodded, took the baby from her gingerly and went through the fence. She was starting to fuss, but she settled once he’d changed her and put her in the carrier, and he met Emily on the drive just as she was putting Freddie into his seat.
‘Can we squeeze this in?’
‘This?’ she said with a chuckle, taking the carrier from him. ‘Poor baby, what a way to talk about you! He’s a bad daddy.’
She hoisted it into the car and strapped it in, then got behind the wheel. He slid in beside her, shifting so he could watch her. ‘So where are we going?’
‘A friend’s—actually, Georgie Cauldwell. Do you remember her? Her father’s a builder—we used to go and crawl around on the building sites when we were kids.’
He nodded. ‘I remember her—small but fiery. Brown hair, green eyes, lots of personality?’
She shot him a look. ‘You do remember her. Very well. Did you have a thing about her, Harry?’
He laughed softly. ‘Hardly. You were more than enough trouble for me.’ He looked away. ‘So what’s she doing now?’
‘She’s married to a guy from London with pots of money. He’s a darling. They’ve got three kids that were his sister’s, but she was killed on the way home from hospital when she had the last one. It was awful. Anyway, they’ve adopted them and Georgie’s pregnant now, so it’s just as well they’ve got this big house.’
She swung into the drive of a huge Victorian villa overlooking the sea and cut the engine. Two boys came running over with a little girl he knew instantly must be Beth. She was every inch her mother’s daughter, from the soft dark curls that tumbled round her shoulders to the twinkling, mischievous eyes that reminded him so much of Em when he’d first met her.
And behind them came Georgie, older of course but still essentially the same, a baby in her arms. He unfolded himself from the seat and stood up, and with a little cry of welcome she hugged him with her free arm, her smile open and friendly.
‘Harry! Emily said you were back—oh, it’s so good to see you again. Welcome back to Yoxburgh. Come on in and meet Nick—Oh, and this is the baby!’ she added, peering into the car. ‘Oh, Harry, she’s lovely!’
The baby in her arms was pretty gorgeous, too, and when she burrowed her head in her mother’s shoulder and then peeped at him and giggled, he couldn’t help responding. ‘So who’s this?’ he asked after a moment or two of pee-boo-ing and giggles.
‘Maya,’ Georgie said. ‘Aren’t you? She can say her name now. Tell Harry who you are.’
‘Harry,’ the baby said, swivelling round and pointing, and burrowed into her shoulder again. Still smiling, he followed the direction she’d pointed in and met a challenging stare.
‘You’ve got my name,’ the boy said, his head tilting to one side. ‘I’m Harry.’
Harry grinned. ‘Is that right?’
He nodded.
‘Well, in that case I think you must have my name, since I had it about twenty something years before you needed it, but hey, that’s cool, I don’t mind sharing. It’s a good name, it would be mean to keep it to myself.’
They swapped grins, and then he was introduced to Dickon, Harry’s younger brother, and Em’s daughter Beth.
So many children—and now it was his turn. He got the carrier out of the car, turned it towards them all and said with a curious feeling of rightness, ‘This is Kizzy. She’s my daughter.’
‘Is Emily her mummy?’ Dickon asked, puzzled, and Harry shook his head.
Should he say this? Hell, these kids had lost their mother only a year or so ago. Was it really fair to dredge it all up?
Yes. Because life wasn’t fair, and the truth would come out at some point, he was sure, so he shook his head again and said gently, ‘Her mother died.’
‘Our mummy’s dead,’ Dickon said matter-of-factly. ‘Georgie’s our new mummy. Is Emily going to be Kizzy’s new mummy?’
Emily laughed, the sound a little strained to his ears, and started towards the house. ‘Heavens, no! I’ve got enough on my plate with Beth and Freddie, haven’t I, darling?’
Beth slipped her hand into her mother’s and snuggled closer. ‘Babies are nice, though. Georgie’s having a baby.’
‘Well, I’m not,’ Em said firmly. Too firmly? He didn’t know. All he knew was that all this blatant fecundity should have sent him running—and it didn’t. And the idea of Emily being Kizzy’s new mummy was suddenly extraordinarily appealing…
‘Lovely house.’
Nick looked around and smiled the smile of a supremely contented man. ‘It is, isn’t it? Georgie and her father did the work for us, and we love it. I thought it was ridiculously big at first, but with all the kids and another on the way and my mother living with us and working here, and me working from home at first, frankly if it was any smaller it wouldn’t be big enough.’
For a man who’d evidently been a bachelor a little more than a year ago, he seemed extraordinarily happy with the way things had turned out. They were in the garden, sitting in the shade of a big old tree and looking out over the sea, and every few seconds his eyes would stray to his family, an indulgent smile touching his mouth.
Harry could understand that. His own eyes kept straying to Em and her children, her revelation about their father still ringing in his ears.
He walked—well, ran, actually. I haven’t seen lightning move so fast.
Bastard. Fancy leaving them. Although maybe it had been better to leave them with Emily who clearly adored them than to stay and make them feel unloved and unwanted, and then at the first opportunity pack them off to boarding school and to their grandparents in the holidays…
‘So where are you staying? Georgie said something about your grandmother’s house.’
He wrenched himself back to the present and gave a rueful smile. ‘Well, that was the idea, but it’s had tenants since she died ten years ago and I haven’t been back since the funeral. To be honest, it was a bit of a shock, seeing it. The agents told me it needed some cosmetic attention, but I think they were erring on the kind side. It needs gutting, frankly, so I think we’ll have to rent something.’
Georgie lifted her head and frowned at him. ‘Is it really that bad?’
‘It needs total redecoration, and if I’m going to live there long term it’ll need a new kitchen and bathroom at least, but for now a lick of paint and some clean carpets would work wonders. I don’t suppose your father knows anyone reliable?’
Her eyes flicked to her husband’s. ‘We could send in the A-team.’
Nick chuckled. ‘Indeed. We’ve got a whole range of trades,’ he explained. ‘They’re used to working together, they do a good job, their prices are reasonable and at the moment they’re not busy because there’s been a hold-up on a development. So—yeah, if you want, we could send them along to give you a quote.’
‘Fantastic. That would be great.’
And if they could do half at a time, he could stay there. It was summer, after all, and he and the baby could spend most of their time in the garden.
He didn’t let himself think too much about why it seemed so important to stay there rather than rent another house—one that wouldn’t be next to Em. After all, she’d already made it clear she wasn’t interested in being Kizzy’s new mummy.
Not that he was about to ask her, or had even really thought about it for more than a moment, but he thought about it now—couldn’t think about anything else, in fact, however foolish he knew it was. If he had any sense he’d keep well out of her way and not indulge the foolish fantasy that they, too, could have a fairy tale ending like Georgie and Nick…
Emily was stunned.
If I’m going to live there long term?
He was considering it? Really?
She’d thought he was back for a few days—just a quick visit to sort out the house ready for the next tenants. It had never occurred to her that he might be coming back for any length of time—or maybe even for good!
But if he was back for good—no. She couldn’t let herself think about it. Daren’t let herself think about it, because her heart couldn’t take any more. She’d been stupid over Harry Kavenagh once too often, and she wasn’t going to do it again.
‘So when can you start?’
‘Tomorrow? We’ll strip all the wallpaper and rip out the old floorcoverings, decorate throughout and then you’ll be ready for the new carpets. Should take a week at the most with the team on it.’
‘A week?’
‘Uh-huh. Some of the windows need quite a bit of work, unless you’re going to replace them?’
‘Um—I hadn’t intended to. I was hoping to live here while you do it.’
‘With the baby?’ The foreman shook his head. ‘No. Sorry, I really wouldn’t recommend it. Not with all the old lead paint. It’s OK when it’s left alone, but when it’s disturbed it can be harmful to children, and she’s so tiny.’ His face softened as he looked down at the baby in Harry’s arms, and Harry’s eyes followed his gaze and his eyes locked with Kizzy’s.
Wide and trusting, fixed on him.
‘No, you’re right,’ he said, wondering what on earth he did now. ‘Come tomorrow. I’ll find somewhere to go. It’s not like there’s much here to worry about in the way of furnishings. I’ll get carpets and stuff organised for when it’s done, so it won’t be for long.’
He waved them off, hesitated on the doorstep and then went round to Emily’s house and rang the doorbell.
‘Oh. It’s you,’ she said, wondering if there would ever come a time when her heart didn’t hiccup at the sight of him. ‘I thought you would have come through the fence and knocked on the back door.’
He smiled a little awkwardly. ‘I don’t want to take advantage.’
‘You aren’t taking advantage.’ She opened the door a little wider. ‘Come on in. I was just about to have coffee. Join me.’
‘Thanks.’ He followed her down the hall and into the kitchen, perching on the stool awkwardly with Kizzy snuggled against his chest, and watched her while she made their drinks.
‘Still off coffee?’ she asked with a smile, and he shook his head, his mouth kicking up in an answering smile.
‘No. I need caffeine today. I’ve just had the decorator round. He’s coming tomorrow, but they’re going to hit the whole house at once and strip it all right out. I need to find a hotel for us for a week. I wondered if you’d got any ideas or recommendations?’
‘A hotel?’ she said, and then, knowing she was going to do it and utterly unable to stop her mouth making the words, she said, ‘Don’t be silly. You can stay here. It’s only a week. You’ll be no trouble.’
No trouble? Was she out of her mind? And what was she thinking, only a week? That was seven nights! Well, five if she was lucky and he was talking working weeks, but it was Monday now, and if they’d said it would take a week then there’d be a weekend in between and so it would be properly a week before the decorators left, and then the carpets would have to be fitted and the furniture delivered. So, next Wednesday at the earliest. Oh, rats. Still, the house was plenty big enough and there were three bathrooms. They wouldn’t be tripping over each other at least.
Besides, it was too late, because he was accepting, hesitantly, reluctantly, but still accepting, and only a real bitch would say, ‘Actually, no, I’ve changed my mind, I didn’t mean it at all!’
Or a woman whose life was complicated enough, whose heart was finding it altogether too difficult to be so close to the person who’d held that heart in the palm of his hand for so very many years…
‘I’ve found my old baby sling,’ she told him, putting the coffee down in front of him and lifting the sling off the end of the worktop where she’d put it ready to give him.
‘Baby sling?’
She smiled and handed it to him. ‘You put it round your shoulders and over your back, and the baby lies against your front, without you having to hold her all the time, so she can hear your heart beat and you have your hands free. They’re wonderful.’
He studied the little heap of soft stretchy cotton fabric with interest. ‘I’ve seen things like this all over the world—women tying their babies to them so they can work, either on their fronts so they can feed them easily, or on their backs.’
She nodded. ‘The so-called civilised West has just cottoned on. It’s a big thing now. They call it baby-wearing, as if they’d just invented it, but since you seem to be doing it anyway I thought you might like to borrow that to make it easier.’
‘Thanks. You’ll have to give me lessons,’ he said, putting it down again with a defeated laugh. ‘It looks like a loop of fabric to me.’
‘It is. Here.’
And just because it was easier to show him than to put it on him with the baby still in his arms, she looped it round herself, adjusted it, took the baby from him and snuggled her inside it, close against her heart.
Kizzy shifted, sighed and snuggled closer, relaxing back into sleep without a murmur. ‘See? Then you get your hands free.’
He gave a cheeky, crooked grin. ‘Or I could let you carry her, since you seem to be the expert.’
She laughed, sat down and sipped her coffee, relishing the feel of the little one against her, warm and curiously reassuring. No. She mustn’t let herself get too used to it. It was much, much too dangerous. Her heart had already been broken by this man, and there was no way she was going to let his daughter do the same thing.
‘I don’t suppose you want to come carpet shopping with me?’
She met his eyes over her cup. ‘Can’t you cope?’ she asked, desperately trying to create a little distance, and then could have kicked herself because she would have loved to go carpet shopping with him.
He shrugged dismissively. ‘Of course I can cope. I just thought it might be more fun.’
‘What, with Freddie in tow and Mini-Dot here yelling the place down? I don’t think so.’
‘She’s not yelling now,’ he pointed out. ‘Maybe she’s stopped that.’
Foolish, foolish man.
The baby began to stir almost before he’d finished speaking, and within seconds she was bawling her tiny lungs out.
‘I’ll get her bottle,’ he said, standing up, but Emily got up, too, extracted Kizzy from the sling and handed her to him.
‘I’ve got a better idea. You take her and deal with her, and when she’s settled, you can take her carpet shopping. And I can get on with my work.’
A fleeting frown crossed his brow. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were working,’ he said, and took Kizzy from her arms. ‘We’ll get out of your way. And don’t worry about having us to stay. We’ll find a hotel.’
‘Harry, no!’ she said, angry with herself for upsetting him.
‘No, really,’ he said, his voice a little gruff. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t just come back here after all these years and expect you to welcome me with open arms.’
Oh, Harry, if you only knew, she thought, and her hand came out and curled over his wrist, holding him there with her. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—I do have work to do, and Freddie is having a nap and it’s my one chance. Please, come and stay. I can’t let you go to a hotel. Not with the baby. Anyway, Freddie and Beth will love having her here. Please?’
His eyes were serious, searching hers for an endless moment, and then, finally satisfied, he nodded briefly. ‘OK. But we’ll try and keep out of your way so we don’t stop you working.’
She felt the tension go out of her like air out of a balloon. ‘Still want help with the carpet shopping?’ she said with a smile.
CHAPTER THREE
HE HADN’T realised just what an expedition it would be, shopping with three children.
Kizzy was more than enough trouble, but by the time he’d got her fed and settled and Freddie had woken up, Beth had come back from playing with a friend, so they were all going together.
And then, of course, because she was so tiny and seemed to be hungry every three minutes or so, he needed to take feeds for Kizzy, and because she was just like a straw he’d need nappies, and because he was so rubbish at putting the nappies on she’d need a total change of clothes…
He bet they took less equipment on an Arctic expedition.
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Caroline Anderson
Caring for His Baby
Caroline Anderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
PROLOGUE
CRISIS in night. Please contact us ASAP.
Harry Kavenagh stared at the message handed to him by the hotel receptionist, and felt a cold chill run through him. No. Not now. He wasn’t ready.
He’d never be ready—not for this.
Still staring at the words, he rammed the fingers of his other hand through his hair, rumpling the dusty, sweaty strands even further. So what now? He turned the paper over, looking for more information, but there was nothing.
‘When did they call?’ he asked.
‘This morning, sir. Just after you went out.’
Fingers suddenly unsteady and his heart thudding in his throat, he called the number from his room. Five minutes later he was in a car on the way to the airport, his mind still reeling.
He couldn’t believe it was actually happening. Stupid. He ought to be able to. It had been his idea, after all. They’d wanted to turn off the machine weeks ago, with his agreement, but he’d seen enough loss of life. Too much. So he’d begged them to reconsider—exhausted, perhaps a little drunk and stunned by what they’d told him, he’d haggled them into submission.
They’d kept their side of the bargain. And now he had to keep his.
He swallowed, staring out of the window, not seeing the bombed-out buildings, the shattered lives all around him. A shell exploded a few streets away, but he barely noticed. It all seemed suddenly terribly remote and curiously irrelevant, because in the space of the next few hours, his whole life would change for ever.
She was tiny.
So small, so fragile looking, her fingers so fine they were almost transparent under the special light. She needed the light because she was yellow. Jaundiced, apparently. Quite common in slightly prem babies. Nothing to worry about.
But Harry worried about it. He worried about all of it. How on earth was he supposed to look after her? She was just a little dot of a thing, so dainty, no bigger than a doll. Small for dates, they’d said. No wonder, under the circumstances.
He didn’t want to think about that, about how he’d failed her mother. How he’d brought her here to London to keep her safe and then failed her anyway.
‘How are you doing?’
He looked up at the nurse and tried to smile. ‘OK. She was screwing her face up a minute ago. I think she might have a nappy problem.’
‘Want to change it?’
He felt his blood run cold. No. His hands were too big. He’d hurt her…
‘She won’t break, you know,’ the nurse teased gently. ‘You’ll be fine. I’ll help you.’
So he changed her nappy—extraordinarily complicated for something so ordinary—and by the end of the day and a few more goes he’d mastered it, even managing to grip those tiny little ankles between his fingers without snapping her legs when he lifted her up to swap the nappies over or wipe her unbelievably tiny bottom.
Such soft skin. Such astonishing perfection, all those little fingers and toes, the nails so small he could hardly see them. She was a little miracle, and he was awed beyond belief.
And terrified.
The nurse—Sue, her name was, according to her badge—brought him a bottle and helped him feed her again, and she brought it all up all over him. Panic threatened to choke him, but Sue just laughed and cleaned her up, lent him a fresh scrub top and handed her back.
‘Make her slow down. She’s feeding too fast—tip the bottle up a bit more so she doesn’t get so much air. And wind her in between.’
In between what? And wind her? How? He’d never winded a baby in his life, and he was damned if he knew where to start.
With that, or with any of it.
He felt faintly hysterical, but that was probably lack of sleep and shock. He stifled the urge to laugh, but then his eyes prickled and he felt the panic rise again.
What on earth had he done?
The old Chinese proverb rang hollow in his ears. If you save a life, it belongs to you.
He stared down at her, this tiny girl who apparently was his, her transparent fingers wrapped around his little finger with incredible strength, and the panic receded a little, replaced by wonder.
She was amazing. Beautiful. Scary as hell, but astonishing.
And his.
Officially registered this morning as his daughter, in the presence of the registrar of births, marriages and deaths just round the corner from the hospital.
He’d registered her mother’s death at the same time, armed with more forms and certificates from the hospital, and then he’d gone back there and asked to see Carmen’s body, so frail, so young, but finally at peace. And he’d told her about the baby, and promised her he’d do for the baby what he’d failed to do for her—to keep her safe. So now, in every way that mattered, she was his.
‘Get out of that, Kavenagh,’ he murmured, but strangely he didn’t want to. He couldn’t imagine walking away from her. Just the thought of abandoning her to fate made him feel so fiercely protective it scared him.
Together with everything else today.
God, he was knackered. Maybe if he just propped her up on his chest and leant back…
‘Harry?’
He opened his eyes a crack, blinking at the light, and Sue’s face came into focus. ‘Why don’t you go and have a lie-down? There’s a room here for parents—nothing flashy, just a few beds and a separate area with a TV and little kitchen, but you could sleep for a while.’
Sleep. Oh, yes. Please. He had to get some sleep. It had been weeks since he’d slept properly, with the constant shelling and rocket fire going on all night, but this had tired him more than any of that.
He nodded, realising that the baby was back in her crib under the light and that everything was being taken care of.
‘Will she be all right?’ he asked, as if his presence actually made a blind bit of difference, but the nurse just smiled and nodded.
‘Sure. I’ll look after her for you, I’m on till nine, and I’ll hand her over to the night staff before I go. Come on, I’ll show you the parents’ room.’
A bed. Crisp white sheets, a slightly crackly pillow and almost instant oblivion…
‘You’ll be OK.’
He stared down at Sue, wishing he could believe her. She’d spent the last few days telling him he could cope, showing him not just how to change nappies and hold feeding bottles, but bath and dress and simply cuddle his tiny daughter, and he’d begun to believe that maybe—just maybe—he’d manage. Till now.
She was so small, his little doll, but she was tough, like her mother—fierce and determined, and for something so tiny she had a blood-curling scream. He’d become almost confident, in the safe environment of the special care baby unit, surrounded by the bleeps and clicks of the equipment, the hurried footsteps, the laughter and the tears. But now…
‘We’re always here if you have a problem. You can ring at any time. You will cope, Harry,’ Sue said again, as if by repeating it she could make it true, and stretching up on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek and went back inside, leaving him on the outside of the doors, stranded.
What was he supposed to do now? Where could he go? His flat? It was nothing more than a crash pad, really, and it didn’t feel like his any longer, but stupidly until now he hadn’t even thought about where he’d take the baby. Just not there. It didn’t seem right. But where?
He looked down at his tiny girl in the shockingly expensive baby carrier he’d bought that morning, and his heart squeezed. She was staring up at him intently, her almost black eyes fixed on his face, and he found himself suddenly calmer.
He knew what to do, and it was more than time he did it. He should have done it years ago.
‘Come on, my little Kizzy,’ he murmured softly. ‘We’re going home.’
CHAPTER ONE
SOMEONE was moving in.
It had been weeks since the last tenants had left, but there was a car on the drive and the lights were on.
Emily craned her neck and tried to catch a glimpse of the people, but she couldn’t see through the trees. Not clearly enough, anyway. The branches kept drifting softly in the light breeze and blocking her view, and every time she shifted, so did the leaves.
And she was turning into a curtain twitcher, for heaven’s sake!
She snapped the curtain shut and turned her back on the window, tucking up Freddie and smiling down at him. Gorgeous. He was just gorgeous, and she wanted to scoop him up and snuggle him.
Except he’d wake in a foul mood and the sweet little cherub would turn into a howling, raging tyrant. The terrible twos were well named, and he wasn’t even there yet, not for five months!
She grinned and tiptoed out, blowing him a kiss and pulling the door to, just a little, before checking on his big sister. Beth was lying on her back, one foot stuck out the side, her tousled dark hair wisping across her face.
Emily eased the strand away from her eyes and feathered a kiss over her brow, then left her to sleep. There was a film on television starting in a few minutes that she’d been meaning to watch. If she could get the washing-up stacked in the dishwasher, she might even get to see it.
Or not.
She hadn’t even stepped off the last stair before she saw a shadow fall across the front door and a hand lift to tap lightly on the glass.
Her new neighbours?
She sighed inwardly and reached for the latch. She’d have to be polite. It wasn’t in her to be anything else, but just for tonight it would have been nice to curl up in front of the television and be utterly self-indulgent. She’d even bought a tub of Belgian chocolate ice cream…
‘Em?’
‘Harry?’
Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the gasp, and then her eyes dropped, dragging away from his to focus on…
A baby?
She blinked and looked again. Yes, definitely a baby. A tiny baby—very tiny, hardly old enough to be born, held securely against the broad chest she’d laid her head against so many times all those years ago.
‘Oh, Harry!’ She reached out and drew him in, going up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and somehow resisting the urge to howl, because if there was a baby, then there was a woman, and if there was a woman…
She let him go before she did something silly. ‘Gosh, it’s been so long—how are you?’ she asked, her voice not quite her own, her eyes scanning his face eagerly.
‘Oh—you know.’
No, she didn’t, despite seeing him on the television almost on a daily basis. She didn’t have the slightest idea, but his mouth was twisting in a parody of a smile and he looked exhausted.
Actually, he looked a great deal more than exhausted. He looked fantastic. Tall, bronzed, his striking pale blue eyes crinkled at the corners from screwing them up in the sun in all the godforsaken trouble spots he spent his life in. He needed a shave, and his hair was overdue for a cut, the dark strands a little wild. Her fingers itched to touch them, to feel if they were still as soft as she remembered, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have the right. Apparently, while she hadn’t been looking, he’d given that to some other woman.
He turned a fraction, so his head was blocking out the light and she could no longer see his eyes, so she glanced down and her heart jerked against her chest. The tiny babe was all but lost inside the big, square hands that cradled it so protectively, the little head with wild black hair sticking out from under the edges of the minuscule hat cupped securely by long, strong fingers.
Such a powerful image. Advertising had recognised the power of it decades ago, but here it was now, standing in her hallway, and she felt her knees weaken.
Her resolve was turning to mush, as well.
‘You’re back,’ she said eventually, when she could get her brain to work. ‘I saw the lights on. I didn’t think it would be you.’ Not after all these years. Not after last time…‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes. Just me and the baby.’
Just? Just? She nearly laughed out loud. There was nothing just about a baby, most especially not one that tiny. She wondered how long it would be before his wife joined them and rescued him. Later tonight? Tomorrow? Although she hadn’t heard that he was married, but then he hadn’t stayed in touch with her or her brother Dan, and she didn’t keep her ear that close to the ground.
Liar! her conscience shrieked. Weekly checks on the Internet, avid scanning of the news, hanging on every word of his news reports…
‘So where’s the baby’s mother? Does she trust you?’ she asked, just because she couldn’t stand the suspense another minute.
His smile twisted, and there was a little flicker of what could have been panic, but his eyes were sombre and there was something in them she just couldn’t read. ‘No mother,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘It’s just us—me and the baby.’
Hope leapt in her chest, and she squashed it ruthlessly. Quite apart from the fact that there was a story here he wasn’t telling her, another go-round with Harry Kavenagh was absolutely the last thing she needed for her peace of mind, but his reply answered why he was here, anyway, and there was no way she was getting suckered into that one! He could cope with the baby on his own, thank you very much!
She pulled back, both physically and emotionally, trying to distance herself from him so she didn’t get drawn in, but then the baby started to fuss, and a flicker of what was definitely panic ran over his face, and she had to steel herself against him.
‘So—what can I do for you?’ she asked, trying not to sound too brisk but giving him very little encouragement at the same time.
He looked a little taken aback—perhaps she’d been too brisk after all—but his shoulders lifted and he smiled a little tiredly. ‘Nothing. I’m staying here for a bit, so I just came to see who was here, to introduce myself—say hello to your parents if they were still here. I wasn’t sure…’
Was it a question? She answered it anyway, her mind still stalled on his words. I’m staying here for a bit…
‘They’re in Portugal. They live there part of the year. Mum was homesick, and my grandmother’s not very well.’
‘So you’re house-sitting for them?’
‘No. I live here,’ she told him. And then wished she’d said ‘we’ and not ‘I’, so he didn’t feel she was single and available. Because although she might be single again, she was very far from being available to Harry Kavenagh.
Ever again.
The baby’s fussing got louder, and he jiggled her a bit, but he wasn’t doing it right and she looked tense and insecure. Emily’s hands itched to take the little mite and cradle her securely against her breast, but that was ridiculous. She had to get rid of him before her stupid, stupid hands reached out.
She edged towards the door. ‘Sounds hungry. You’d better go and feed her—her?’ she added, not sure if the baby was a girl, but he nodded.
‘Yes.’
Yes, what? Yes, she’s a girl, or, yes, he’d better feed her/him/it? She opened the door anyway, and smiled without quite meeting his eyes. ‘I hope you settle in OK. Give me a call if you need anything.’
He nodded again, and with a flicker of a smile he went out into the night and she closed the door.
Damn. Guilt was a dreadful thing.
She walked resolutely down the hall, got the ice cream out of the freezer, contemplated a bowl and thought better of it, picked up a spoon and the tub and went into the sitting room, put on the television and settled down cross-legged on the sofa to watch her film.
Except, of course, it had started and she’d missed the point, and anyway her mind kept straying to Harry and the baby, so tiny in his hands, and guilt tortured her.
Guilt and a million questions.
What was he doing on his own with a baby? Was she his? Or a tiny orphan, perhaps, rescued from the rubble of a bombed out building…
And now she was being completely ridiculous. The baby was days old, no more, and the paperwork to get a baby out of a war-torn country would be monumental, surely? There was always the most almighty fuss if a celebrity tried to adopt a baby, and she was pretty sure he counted as a celebrity.
Unless he’d kidnapped her?
No. He had the slightly desperate air of a man who’d had a baby dumped on him—one of his girlfriends, perhaps, sick of his nonsense and fed up with trying to compete with the more exciting world he inhabited? Maybe she’d thought he needed a dose of reality?
Or perhaps she was dead, had died in childbirth…
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’
She put the ice cream back in the freezer, hardly touched, and stood at the kitchen window, staring out at the house next door.
She could hear the baby screaming, and the mother in her was heading down the hall and out of the door, a cuddle at the ready. Fortunately the pragmatist in her stayed rooted to the spot, wishing she had defective hearing and wasn’t so horribly tuned in to the sound of a crying child.
She made herself a drink, went back to the sitting room and had another try at the television. Maybe another programme, something less dependent on her not having missed a huge chunk. She flicked though the channels.
A cookery programme, yet another make-over show, a soap she’d never watched and a documentary on one of the many messy wars that seemed to be going on all over the world.
Which took her straight back to Harry Kavenagh and the tiny crying baby next door…
‘Hush, little one,’ he pleaded, jostling her gently. ‘Have a drink, sweetheart, you must be hungry. Is it too cold? Too hot?’
Hell, how was he supposed to know? He liked his coffee scalding hot and his beer ice-cold. Somewhere in between was just alien to him.
He stared in desperation at the house next door, the lights just visible through the screen of trees.
No. He couldn’t go round there. She’d hardly greeted him with open arms, after all.
‘Well, what the hell did you expect?’ he muttered, swapping the baby to his other arm and trying a different angle with the bottle. ‘You drop out of her life for years and then stroll back in with a baby in your arms—she probably thought you were going to dump the baby on her!’
He tightened his grip on his precious burden and the crying changed in pitch. Instantly he slackened his grip, shifted her to his shoulder and rubbed her back, walking helplessly up and down, up and down, staring at Emily’s house as he passed the window.
The lights were out now, only the lovely stained-glass window on the stairs illuminated by the landing light. Strange. He didn’t remember her being afraid of the dark. Maybe it was because she was alone in the house…
‘Stop thinking about her,’ he growled softly, and the baby started to fuss again. ‘Shh,’ he murmured, rubbing her back again and going into the bathroom. ‘How about a nice warm bath?’
Except she pooed in it, and he had to change the water in the basin one-handed without dropping her, and then it was too hot and he had to put more cold in, and then it was too full, and by the time he got her back in it she was screaming in earnest again and he gave up.
He could feel his eyes prickling with despair and inadequacy. Damn. He wasn’t used to feeling inadequate. ‘Oh, Gran, where are you?’ he sighed a little unsteadily. ‘You’d know what to do—you always knew what to do about everything.’
He dried the baby, dressed her in fresh clothes and tried to put her in the baby-carrier, but she wasn’t having any. The only way she’d settle at all was if he held her against his heart and walked with her, so he did exactly that.
He pulled his soft fleecy car rug round his shoulders, wrapped it across her and went out into the mild summer night. He walked to the cliff top and then down through the quiet residential roads to the prom, strolling along next to the beach and listening to the sound of the sea while the baby slept peacefully against his heart, and then when he could walk no more and his eyes were burning with exhaustion and he just wanted to lie down and cry, he took her home and sat down in the awful chair that the tenants had left and fell asleep.
Not for long.
Not nearly long enough. The baby woke, slowly at first, tiny whimpers turning gradually to a proper cry and then ultimately a full-blown blood-curdling yell by the time he’d found her bottle in the fridge and warmed it and tested it and cooled it down again by running it under the tap because of course he’d overheated it, and by the time he could give it to her she’d worked herself up to such a frenzy she wouldn’t take it.
He stared down at her in desperation, his eyes filling. ‘Oh, Kizzy, please, just take it,’ he begged, and finally she did, hiccupping and sobbing so she took in air and then started to scream and pull her legs up, and he thought, What made me think I could do this? I must have been mad. No wonder women get postnatal depression.
He wondered if it was possible for men to get it. Clumsy, inadequately prepared fathers who’d never been meant to be mothers to their children—men whose wives had died in a bomb blast or an earthquake and left them unexpectedly holding the baby. Or men widowed when their wives died in childbirth. Or even men who’d taken the decision to be the house-husband and main carer of the children. How did they cope?
How did anyone cope?
He changed her, then changed her again when she was sick down her front, then gave her another little try with the bottle and finally put her down in the carrier, shut the door and went upstairs to the bedroom he’d used as a child, leaving her screaming.
He had to get some sleep if he was going to be any good to her.
But the only furniture in the room was a bare, stained mattress, and he couldn’t bring himself to lie on it even if he could ignore the baby’s cries for long enough to get to sleep.
He looked around him critically, taking in the state of the place properly for the first time, and realised that if he was going to live in it, it was going to need a team of decorators to come in and blitz it, new carpets and furniture throughout and probably a new kitchen.
And in the meantime he’d be living there with the baby?
He must have been insane.
He should have let the doctors throw the switch all those weeks ago instead of interfering.
Acid burned his stomach and he shook his head.
No.
Whatever came next, what he’d done so far had been exactly the right thing. The only thing. And it would get easier. It had to. He’d learn to cope. And right now he was going back downstairs, and he’d lift her out of the carrier and lie down on the grubby chair and cuddle her on his chest until they both went to sleep. The rest he could deal with tomorrow…
‘I’m going to get you!’
Emily ran after her giggling son, chasing him down the garden and scooping him up, and straightened to find Harry standing on the other side of the fence staring at her and Freddie in astonishment.
‘Um—hi,’ he said. She smiled back and said, ‘Hi, yourself. How’s the baby?’
Freddie looked at him with the baby on his shoulder, gave his lovely beaming smile and said, ‘Baby!’ in his singsong little voice and clapped his chubby hands in delight.
Now she’d had time to register it, Emily was too busy searching Harry’s exhausted face to worry about the baby. There were deep black smudges under his eyes, and his jaw was shadowed with stubble. She ached to hold him, to stroke that stubbled chin and soothe the tired eyes with gentle fingers—’ Are you OK?’ she asked, trying to stick to the plot, and his eyes creased with weary humour.
‘I’m not sure. I’m so tired I can’t see straight at the moment. We had a bit of a problem in the night.’
‘I heard,’ she said, feeling guiltier still for her less-than-enthusiastic welcome the evening before. ‘Um—look, why don’t you come round and have a coffee? We’re not doing anything, are we, Freddie? And we’ve got an hour before we have to pick up Beth.’
‘Beth?’ he said.
‘My daughter.’
She wondered if he’d notice the use of ‘my’ and not ‘our’. Maybe. Not that it mattered. If he was going to be living next to her for longer than ten minutes, he’d work out that she was alone. Anyway, she didn’t think he was worrying about that at the moment. He was busy looking slightly stunned, and she wondered if she’d looked like that last night when she’d seen his baby for the first time.
Probably. She’d been shocked, because the last time they’d met, they’d both been single and free, and now, clearly, he wasn’t. And as for her—well, she was single again, but far from free, and maybe it was just as much of a shock to him to know she was a parent as it had been to her to realise he was.
Because, of course, if she knew nothing about his private life for the last umpteen years, it was even more likely that he knew nothing about hers.
Or the lack of it.
He gave her a cautious smile. ‘Coffee would be good. Thanks.’
Coffee? She collected herself and tried for an answering smile. ‘Great. Come through the fence—the gate’s still here.’
She opened it, struggling a little because the path was a bit mossy there and the gate stuck, and he grabbed it and lifted it slightly and shifted it, creaking, out of the way.
‘The creaking gate,’ he said, and added, with that cheeky grin that unravelled her insides, ‘It always did that. I used to know just how far to open it before it would rat on me.’
And she felt the colour run up her cheeks, because she remembered, too—remembered how he’d sneak through the gate and meet her at the end of the garden in the summerhouse, late at night after everyone was asleep, and they’d cuddle and kiss until he’d drag himself away, sending her back to bed aching for something she hadn’t really understood but had longed for anyway.
‘We were kids,’ she said, unable to meet his eyes, and he laughed softly.
‘Were we? Didn’t always feel like it. And the last time—’
He broke off, and she took advantage of his silence to walk away from the incriminating gate and back up the garden to the house, Freddie on her hip swivelling wildly round and giggling and shrieking, ‘Baby!’ all excitedly.
She really didn’t want to think about the last time! It should never have happened, and there was no way it was happening again.
She scooped up the runner beans from the step, shoved open the back door with her hip and went in, smiling at him over Freddie’s head.
‘Welcome back,’ she said, without really meaning to, but she was glad she had because the weariness in his eyes was suddenly replaced by something rather lovely that reminded her of their childhood, of the many times she’d led him in through her parents’ back door and into the welcome of their kitchen.
‘Thanks.’ He reached out and ruffled Freddie’s bright blond curls. ‘I didn’t know you had kids.’
There was something in his voice—regret? She shot him a quick look, filed that one for future analysis and put the kettle on. ‘Yup. Beth’s three, nearly four, and Freddie’s nineteen months. Real or instant?’
‘Have you got tea? I daren’t have too much caffeine. I had so little sleep last night I want to be able to grab every second of it that’s offered!’
She laughed and reached for the teapot, lifting it down from the cupboard and putting Freddie on the floor. ‘Darling, go and find your cup,’ she instructed, and he trundled off, humming happily to himself.
‘He’s cute.’
‘He is. He can be a complete monster, if it suits him, but most of the time he’s gorgeous.’
Harry gave a strangled laugh. ‘I wish I could say the same for this one, eh, Mini-Dot?’
‘Mini-Dot?’ she said, spluttering with laughter, and he chuckled.
‘Well, she’s so tiny. It’s not her real name. Her real name’s Carmen Grace—Kizzy for short.’
‘Oh, that’s pretty. Unusual.’
‘Grace is for my grandmother.’
‘And Carmen?’
His face went still. ‘For her mother,’ he said softly, and there was an edge to his voice that hinted at something she couldn’t even begin to guess at. Maybe he would tell her later. She hoped so, because she didn’t feel she could ask. Not now.
She would have done, years ago, but they’d spent every waking minute together in those halcyon days of their youth and there had been nothing they hadn’t shared.
But now—now she didn’t know him at all, and she didn’t know how much he was going to give her, and how much she wanted to give back.
So she said nothing, just made them tea and found a few chocolate biscuits and put them on a plate. Then Freddie came back with his cup trailing a dribble of orange juice behind him, and she refilled it and mopped up the floor and hugged him, just because he was so sweetly oblivious and she loved him so much it hurt.
He giggled and squirmed out of her arms and ran out into the garden, and they followed him, she with the tray, Harry with the baby—Mini-Dot, for goodness’ sake!—and she led him to the swinging seat under the apple tree.
‘Is this the same one?’ he asked in wonder, but she laughed and shook her head.
‘No, it fell to bits. Dad bought a new one a few years ago, so you don’t have to sit down so carefully any more.’
He chuckled and eased himself down onto the seat, leaning back and resting his head against the high back and closing his eyes. ‘Oh, bliss. This is gorgeous.’
‘Bit of a change from your usual life,’ she said without meaning to, and he cocked an eye open and gave a rusty little laugh.
‘You could say that.’ For a moment he was silent, then he sighed and opened his other eye and turned his head towards her. ‘It takes a bit of getting used to—the quiet, the birdsong, the normal everyday sounds of people going about their daily lives. Crazy things that you wouldn’t think about, like the sound of a lawnmower—when I can hear it over the baby, that is,’ he added, his mouth kicking up in a rueful grin.
She answered him with a smile, then felt her curiosity rise. No. She wouldn’t go there…
‘What happened, Harry?’ she asked softly, despite her best intentions.
His smile faded, and for a moment she didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he started to speak, his voice soft and a little roughened by emotion. ‘I found her—Carmen—sitting by the side of the road, begging. Every day I walked past her on my way from the hotel and gave her money. Then after four days she wasn’t there. The next time I saw her, she’d been beaten up. Her mouth was split, one eye was swollen shut and the other one was dull with pain and despair. She wasn’t expecting anything—a few coins, perhaps, nothing more—but I took her to a café and bought her breakfast, and talked to her. And it was only then that I realised she was pregnant.’
Emily clicked her tongue in sympathy. ‘Poor girl.’
He nodded. ‘She’d been raped, she told me. She didn’t know the father of her child, it could have been any one of several men—soldiers. She’d didn’t know which side they were on. It didn’t really matter. She was a gypsy. They aren’t highly regarded in Eastern European countries—liars, thieves, lazy—you name it. And two nights before she’d been raped and beaten again. But she was just a girl, Emily, and she was terrified, and she’d lost her entire family.’
‘So you took her under your wing,’ she said, knowing that he would have done so, because he’d always been like that.
He gave a tiny hollow laugh. ‘In a manner of speaking. I moved her into my hotel room, fed her, got a doctor for her, and while I was in the shower she stole my wallet and ran away. So I tracked her down and asked her why. Eventually she told me she was waiting for me to rape her.’
Emily asked again. ‘So what did you do?’
‘I married her,’ he said quietly. ‘To keep her safe. Ironic, really. I brought her home to London and installed her in my flat. I gave her an allowance, paid all the bills and saw her whenever I could. And gradually she learnt to trust me, but she was lonely. Then she started going out and meeting up with people from her country and she was much happier. She was learning English, too, at evening classes, and starting to make friends.’
He fell silent, and she waited, watching him, knowing he would carry on when he’d found the words.
‘She was mugged. She was seven and a half months pregnant and someone mugged her on the way home from college one night. She ran away and crossed the road without looking and was hit by a car. She was taken to hospital, but she had a brain injury, and by the time they got hold of me she was on life support and they were doing brain-stem tests. So much for keeping her safe.’
The horror of it was sickening, and she put her hand over her mouth to hold back the cry. ‘Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Yeah.’ He swallowed. ‘They didn’t know whether to switch off the machine. They’d scanned the baby and it was fine, but they didn’t know how I’d feel. I’d just flown in from an earthquake, I hadn’t slept in days and I was exhausted. I didn’t know what to say. I just knew I couldn’t give up on the baby—not after everything we’d been through. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t asked for this, and I’ve seen so many children die, Em, and not been able to do anything about it. And here was one I could do something about. I couldn’t let her go. So I asked them to keep Carmen alive, long enough to give the baby a chance. And last week she ran out of time. Her organs started to fail, and they delivered the baby and turned off the machine. I got there just too late to say goodbye.’
He stared down at the baby on his lap, her mouth slack in sleep, her lashes black crescents against her olive cheeks, and Emily’s vision blurred. She felt the hot splash of tears on her hands, and brushed them away.
‘Harry, I’m so sorry,’ she said again, and he looked up, his eyes haunted, and then looked down again at the precious bundle in his arms.
‘Don’t be. Not for me. I know it’s hell at the moment and I feel such a muppet—I’m not used to being so phenomenally incompetent and out of my depth, but it will get better. I’ll learn, and she’s amazing. So lovely. So much perfection out of so much tragedy and despair. And I’m all she’s got.’
Emily wanted to cry. Wanted to go into a corner somewhere and howl her eyes out for him, and for the baby’s poor young mother, and for little Carmen Grace, orphaned almost before her birth.
‘So that’s us,’ he said, his voice artificially bright. ‘What about you?’
‘Me?’ she said, her eyes still misting. ‘I’m, ah—I’m fine. I’m a garden designer—fitting it in around the children, which can be tricky, but I manage more or less. Get through a lot of midnight oil, but I don’t have to pay for my accommodation at the moment.’
Although if her parents did sell their house, as they were considering doing, that would all change, of course.
‘And their father?’
She gave a tiny grunt of laughter. ‘Not around. He didn’t want me to keep Beth. Freddie was the last straw.’
Harry frowned. ‘So what did he do?’
‘He walked—well, ran, actually. I haven’t seen lightning move so fast. I was four months pregnant.’
‘So he’s been gone—what?’
‘Two years.’
Two difficult, frightening years that she would have struggled to get through without the help of her parents and her friends, but they’d all been wonderful and life now was better than it had ever been.
‘I’m sorry.’
She smiled. ‘Don’t be. Things are good. Hang in there, Harry. It really does get better.’
He looked down at the baby and gave a twisted little smile. ‘I hope so,’ he said wryly. ‘It needs to.’
‘It will,’ she promised, and just hoped that she was right…
CHAPTER TWO
FREDDIE’S CUP landed in her lap, dribbling orange on her, and she absently righted it and brushed away the drips.
Finally she looked back at him. ‘So—aren’t the legal ramifications vast? Nationality and so on?’
He shrugged. ‘Apparently not. I was Carmen’s husband, I’m down on the baby’s birth certificate as her father. That makes her British.’
‘But you’re not. Her father, I mean. Couldn’t that land you in trouble, if they ever found out?’
‘How? Are you going to tell them? Because I’m not. I know it’ll be hell, but I won’t be the first father to bring up a child alone, and I doubt I’ll be the last. And if not me, then who? The legalities are the least of my worries. I owe her this. It’s the least I can do.’
The least he could do? Devoting his life to her? He was either even more amazing than she’d remembered, or utterly deluded.
Probably both. Rash and foolhardy, his grandfather used to say affectionately. But kind. Endlessly kind. He reached for his cup, the baby held against his shoulder by one large, firm hand, but her head lolled a little and his grip tightened and she started to cry again.
‘Let me—just while you drink your tea,’ she said, and reaching out, she lifted the tiny little girl into her arms.
‘Oh—she’s so small! I’d forgotten! They grow so quickly—not that Freddie was ever this small. Beth was dainty, but even she—’
She broke off, the baby’s fussing growing louder, and she walked down the garden a few steps, turning the baby against her breast instinctively.
And with the same instinct, little Carmen Grace nuzzled her, then cried again. Oh, poor lamb. She needed her mother!
‘She’s hungry,’ she said, her voice uneven, and he got up and reached for her, but Emily shook her head, curiously reluctant to let the baby go.
‘Bring the bottle. I’ll hold her while you get it, it’s all right.’
He hesitated for a second, then went, squeezing through the gate and returning a few moments later with a bottle. ‘I don’t know if it’s the right temperature,’ he said, handing it over, and Emily tested it on the inside of her wrist and frowned.
‘It’s too cold. I’ll go and warm it. Keep an eye on Freddie for me.’
She went into the kitchen, gave the bottle a few seconds in the microwave, shook it vigorously and tested it again, then slipped the teat into the baby’s mouth, silencing her cries instantly.
Good.
She went back down the garden and found Harry on his knees with Freddie, playing in the sandpit. As she walked down the garden he sat back on his heels and looked up at her with a relieved smile.
‘Sounds peaceful.’
She laughed and settled herself on the bench, watching them and trying not to let her stupid thoughts run away with her.
‘Did you love her?’ she asked, then wanted to bite her tongue off, but he just sat back again and stared at her as if she was crazy.
‘She was a child, Em. I married her for her own protection. Yes, I grew to love her, but not in the way you mean. It was just a legal formality, nothing more. I never touched her.’
She felt a knot of something letting go inside her, but she didn’t want to think about the significance of that. She turned her attention back to the tiny scrap in her arms. The bottle was almost empty, the tiny amount she’d drunk surely not enough to keep her alive, but she was so small, her stomach must be the size of a walnut. Smaller.
She lifted her against her shoulder and rubbed her back, waiting for the burp and watching Harry as he piled sand into the bucket with Freddie and helped him turn it out.
‘Mummy, castle!’ Freddie shrieked, and the baby bobbed her head against Emily’s shoulder, her whole body stiffening in shock. She soothed her with a stroking hand, rocking her and smiling at Freddie.
‘I can see,’ she said softly.
‘How about a moat?’
‘Wasa moat?’ he asked, and Harry chuckled.
‘It’s like a big ditch full of water that goes all round the outside—here, like this,’ he said, scraping out a hollow ring around the slightly wonky castle.
‘You made one on the beach with Dickon and Maya last week,’ Emily pointed out, and Freddie nodded and scrambled to his feet.
‘Mummy, water!’ he demanded, running to her with his cup, but Harry got up and grinned and ruffled his hair.
‘Let her sit there for a minute. We’ll get the water. Come with me and show me where the tap is,’ he said, and held out his hand.
Freddie, normally the last person to allow such a familiarity, slid his hand trustingly into Harry’s and trotted happily beside him, chattering all the way to the kitchen.
Emily glanced down at the baby, sleeping again, her tiny face snuggled into the crook of her neck so that she could feel the soft skin, the warm huff of her breath, the damp little mouth, and the ache in her chest grew until she had to swallow hard to shift it.
‘Poor baby,’ she crooned, cradling her head with a protective hand. ‘Don’t worry, darling. We’ll look after you.’
She didn’t even think about the words. They came straight from her heart, bypassing her common sense, and as she rocked the baby in her arms, she felt a sense of rightness that should have rung alarm bells, but the bells were switched off, and the warning went unheeded.
Freddie was delicious.
Bright and bubbly, his fair hair sticking up on one side as if he’d slept on it. It was soft and unruly, much like Harry’s own, and it felt just right under his hand.
‘’Nough?’ Freddie asked, and Harry nodded, looking at the jug he’d found.
‘I think it’s enough.’
But, of course, it sank straight into the sand, and Freddie’s excitement turned to disappointment.
‘Mummy!’ he wailed, running to her and throwing himself at her knees, and Harry felt racked with guilt because he’d suggested it and it had failed and now the boy was upset. Damn. Could he do nothing right?
Em looked up at him with an apologetic smile. ‘There’s a cake ring in the drawer under the oven,’ she told him. ‘It should just about fit over the castle. You could use that and fill it with water.’
So they went back up to the kitchen, and found the cake ring, and with a bit of adjustment they fitted it over the sandcastle and filled it with water, and even found a stick to make a drawbridge and floated a leaf in it as a boat.
And the look on Freddie’s face was priceless. ‘Boat!’ he said, and ran to his mother yet again, his eyes alight. ‘Mummy, boat!’ Ook!’
Emily looked, admired it dutifully and threw Harry a smile over Freddie’s head, then stood up. ‘I have to get Beth,’ she said, ‘and I think this little one needs her daddy’s attention.’
There was a spreading stain below her nappy, and Harry’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure if there was a washing machine in the house, and she’d only got a few clothes. Clearly, at this rate he was going to have to buy a whole lot more!
‘Fancy company? If I change her quickly, could I come, too? And afterwards, if you were feeling really kind, you could point me in the direction of the nearest supermarket or baby shop so I can buy her more stuff.’
‘Sure. I was going to walk, but we can take the car. I’ll give Georgie a ring and warn her we might be late.’
He nodded, took the baby from her gingerly and went through the fence. She was starting to fuss, but she settled once he’d changed her and put her in the carrier, and he met Emily on the drive just as she was putting Freddie into his seat.
‘Can we squeeze this in?’
‘This?’ she said with a chuckle, taking the carrier from him. ‘Poor baby, what a way to talk about you! He’s a bad daddy.’
She hoisted it into the car and strapped it in, then got behind the wheel. He slid in beside her, shifting so he could watch her. ‘So where are we going?’
‘A friend’s—actually, Georgie Cauldwell. Do you remember her? Her father’s a builder—we used to go and crawl around on the building sites when we were kids.’
He nodded. ‘I remember her—small but fiery. Brown hair, green eyes, lots of personality?’
She shot him a look. ‘You do remember her. Very well. Did you have a thing about her, Harry?’
He laughed softly. ‘Hardly. You were more than enough trouble for me.’ He looked away. ‘So what’s she doing now?’
‘She’s married to a guy from London with pots of money. He’s a darling. They’ve got three kids that were his sister’s, but she was killed on the way home from hospital when she had the last one. It was awful. Anyway, they’ve adopted them and Georgie’s pregnant now, so it’s just as well they’ve got this big house.’
She swung into the drive of a huge Victorian villa overlooking the sea and cut the engine. Two boys came running over with a little girl he knew instantly must be Beth. She was every inch her mother’s daughter, from the soft dark curls that tumbled round her shoulders to the twinkling, mischievous eyes that reminded him so much of Em when he’d first met her.
And behind them came Georgie, older of course but still essentially the same, a baby in her arms. He unfolded himself from the seat and stood up, and with a little cry of welcome she hugged him with her free arm, her smile open and friendly.
‘Harry! Emily said you were back—oh, it’s so good to see you again. Welcome back to Yoxburgh. Come on in and meet Nick—Oh, and this is the baby!’ she added, peering into the car. ‘Oh, Harry, she’s lovely!’
The baby in her arms was pretty gorgeous, too, and when she burrowed her head in her mother’s shoulder and then peeped at him and giggled, he couldn’t help responding. ‘So who’s this?’ he asked after a moment or two of pee-boo-ing and giggles.
‘Maya,’ Georgie said. ‘Aren’t you? She can say her name now. Tell Harry who you are.’
‘Harry,’ the baby said, swivelling round and pointing, and burrowed into her shoulder again. Still smiling, he followed the direction she’d pointed in and met a challenging stare.
‘You’ve got my name,’ the boy said, his head tilting to one side. ‘I’m Harry.’
Harry grinned. ‘Is that right?’
He nodded.
‘Well, in that case I think you must have my name, since I had it about twenty something years before you needed it, but hey, that’s cool, I don’t mind sharing. It’s a good name, it would be mean to keep it to myself.’
They swapped grins, and then he was introduced to Dickon, Harry’s younger brother, and Em’s daughter Beth.
So many children—and now it was his turn. He got the carrier out of the car, turned it towards them all and said with a curious feeling of rightness, ‘This is Kizzy. She’s my daughter.’
‘Is Emily her mummy?’ Dickon asked, puzzled, and Harry shook his head.
Should he say this? Hell, these kids had lost their mother only a year or so ago. Was it really fair to dredge it all up?
Yes. Because life wasn’t fair, and the truth would come out at some point, he was sure, so he shook his head again and said gently, ‘Her mother died.’
‘Our mummy’s dead,’ Dickon said matter-of-factly. ‘Georgie’s our new mummy. Is Emily going to be Kizzy’s new mummy?’
Emily laughed, the sound a little strained to his ears, and started towards the house. ‘Heavens, no! I’ve got enough on my plate with Beth and Freddie, haven’t I, darling?’
Beth slipped her hand into her mother’s and snuggled closer. ‘Babies are nice, though. Georgie’s having a baby.’
‘Well, I’m not,’ Em said firmly. Too firmly? He didn’t know. All he knew was that all this blatant fecundity should have sent him running—and it didn’t. And the idea of Emily being Kizzy’s new mummy was suddenly extraordinarily appealing…
‘Lovely house.’
Nick looked around and smiled the smile of a supremely contented man. ‘It is, isn’t it? Georgie and her father did the work for us, and we love it. I thought it was ridiculously big at first, but with all the kids and another on the way and my mother living with us and working here, and me working from home at first, frankly if it was any smaller it wouldn’t be big enough.’
For a man who’d evidently been a bachelor a little more than a year ago, he seemed extraordinarily happy with the way things had turned out. They were in the garden, sitting in the shade of a big old tree and looking out over the sea, and every few seconds his eyes would stray to his family, an indulgent smile touching his mouth.
Harry could understand that. His own eyes kept straying to Em and her children, her revelation about their father still ringing in his ears.
He walked—well, ran, actually. I haven’t seen lightning move so fast.
Bastard. Fancy leaving them. Although maybe it had been better to leave them with Emily who clearly adored them than to stay and make them feel unloved and unwanted, and then at the first opportunity pack them off to boarding school and to their grandparents in the holidays…
‘So where are you staying? Georgie said something about your grandmother’s house.’
He wrenched himself back to the present and gave a rueful smile. ‘Well, that was the idea, but it’s had tenants since she died ten years ago and I haven’t been back since the funeral. To be honest, it was a bit of a shock, seeing it. The agents told me it needed some cosmetic attention, but I think they were erring on the kind side. It needs gutting, frankly, so I think we’ll have to rent something.’
Georgie lifted her head and frowned at him. ‘Is it really that bad?’
‘It needs total redecoration, and if I’m going to live there long term it’ll need a new kitchen and bathroom at least, but for now a lick of paint and some clean carpets would work wonders. I don’t suppose your father knows anyone reliable?’
Her eyes flicked to her husband’s. ‘We could send in the A-team.’
Nick chuckled. ‘Indeed. We’ve got a whole range of trades,’ he explained. ‘They’re used to working together, they do a good job, their prices are reasonable and at the moment they’re not busy because there’s been a hold-up on a development. So—yeah, if you want, we could send them along to give you a quote.’
‘Fantastic. That would be great.’
And if they could do half at a time, he could stay there. It was summer, after all, and he and the baby could spend most of their time in the garden.
He didn’t let himself think too much about why it seemed so important to stay there rather than rent another house—one that wouldn’t be next to Em. After all, she’d already made it clear she wasn’t interested in being Kizzy’s new mummy.
Not that he was about to ask her, or had even really thought about it for more than a moment, but he thought about it now—couldn’t think about anything else, in fact, however foolish he knew it was. If he had any sense he’d keep well out of her way and not indulge the foolish fantasy that they, too, could have a fairy tale ending like Georgie and Nick…
Emily was stunned.
If I’m going to live there long term?
He was considering it? Really?
She’d thought he was back for a few days—just a quick visit to sort out the house ready for the next tenants. It had never occurred to her that he might be coming back for any length of time—or maybe even for good!
But if he was back for good—no. She couldn’t let herself think about it. Daren’t let herself think about it, because her heart couldn’t take any more. She’d been stupid over Harry Kavenagh once too often, and she wasn’t going to do it again.
‘So when can you start?’
‘Tomorrow? We’ll strip all the wallpaper and rip out the old floorcoverings, decorate throughout and then you’ll be ready for the new carpets. Should take a week at the most with the team on it.’
‘A week?’
‘Uh-huh. Some of the windows need quite a bit of work, unless you’re going to replace them?’
‘Um—I hadn’t intended to. I was hoping to live here while you do it.’
‘With the baby?’ The foreman shook his head. ‘No. Sorry, I really wouldn’t recommend it. Not with all the old lead paint. It’s OK when it’s left alone, but when it’s disturbed it can be harmful to children, and she’s so tiny.’ His face softened as he looked down at the baby in Harry’s arms, and Harry’s eyes followed his gaze and his eyes locked with Kizzy’s.
Wide and trusting, fixed on him.
‘No, you’re right,’ he said, wondering what on earth he did now. ‘Come tomorrow. I’ll find somewhere to go. It’s not like there’s much here to worry about in the way of furnishings. I’ll get carpets and stuff organised for when it’s done, so it won’t be for long.’
He waved them off, hesitated on the doorstep and then went round to Emily’s house and rang the doorbell.
‘Oh. It’s you,’ she said, wondering if there would ever come a time when her heart didn’t hiccup at the sight of him. ‘I thought you would have come through the fence and knocked on the back door.’
He smiled a little awkwardly. ‘I don’t want to take advantage.’
‘You aren’t taking advantage.’ She opened the door a little wider. ‘Come on in. I was just about to have coffee. Join me.’
‘Thanks.’ He followed her down the hall and into the kitchen, perching on the stool awkwardly with Kizzy snuggled against his chest, and watched her while she made their drinks.
‘Still off coffee?’ she asked with a smile, and he shook his head, his mouth kicking up in an answering smile.
‘No. I need caffeine today. I’ve just had the decorator round. He’s coming tomorrow, but they’re going to hit the whole house at once and strip it all right out. I need to find a hotel for us for a week. I wondered if you’d got any ideas or recommendations?’
‘A hotel?’ she said, and then, knowing she was going to do it and utterly unable to stop her mouth making the words, she said, ‘Don’t be silly. You can stay here. It’s only a week. You’ll be no trouble.’
No trouble? Was she out of her mind? And what was she thinking, only a week? That was seven nights! Well, five if she was lucky and he was talking working weeks, but it was Monday now, and if they’d said it would take a week then there’d be a weekend in between and so it would be properly a week before the decorators left, and then the carpets would have to be fitted and the furniture delivered. So, next Wednesday at the earliest. Oh, rats. Still, the house was plenty big enough and there were three bathrooms. They wouldn’t be tripping over each other at least.
Besides, it was too late, because he was accepting, hesitantly, reluctantly, but still accepting, and only a real bitch would say, ‘Actually, no, I’ve changed my mind, I didn’t mean it at all!’
Or a woman whose life was complicated enough, whose heart was finding it altogether too difficult to be so close to the person who’d held that heart in the palm of his hand for so very many years…
‘I’ve found my old baby sling,’ she told him, putting the coffee down in front of him and lifting the sling off the end of the worktop where she’d put it ready to give him.
‘Baby sling?’
She smiled and handed it to him. ‘You put it round your shoulders and over your back, and the baby lies against your front, without you having to hold her all the time, so she can hear your heart beat and you have your hands free. They’re wonderful.’
He studied the little heap of soft stretchy cotton fabric with interest. ‘I’ve seen things like this all over the world—women tying their babies to them so they can work, either on their fronts so they can feed them easily, or on their backs.’
She nodded. ‘The so-called civilised West has just cottoned on. It’s a big thing now. They call it baby-wearing, as if they’d just invented it, but since you seem to be doing it anyway I thought you might like to borrow that to make it easier.’
‘Thanks. You’ll have to give me lessons,’ he said, putting it down again with a defeated laugh. ‘It looks like a loop of fabric to me.’
‘It is. Here.’
And just because it was easier to show him than to put it on him with the baby still in his arms, she looped it round herself, adjusted it, took the baby from him and snuggled her inside it, close against her heart.
Kizzy shifted, sighed and snuggled closer, relaxing back into sleep without a murmur. ‘See? Then you get your hands free.’
He gave a cheeky, crooked grin. ‘Or I could let you carry her, since you seem to be the expert.’
She laughed, sat down and sipped her coffee, relishing the feel of the little one against her, warm and curiously reassuring. No. She mustn’t let herself get too used to it. It was much, much too dangerous. Her heart had already been broken by this man, and there was no way she was going to let his daughter do the same thing.
‘I don’t suppose you want to come carpet shopping with me?’
She met his eyes over her cup. ‘Can’t you cope?’ she asked, desperately trying to create a little distance, and then could have kicked herself because she would have loved to go carpet shopping with him.
He shrugged dismissively. ‘Of course I can cope. I just thought it might be more fun.’
‘What, with Freddie in tow and Mini-Dot here yelling the place down? I don’t think so.’
‘She’s not yelling now,’ he pointed out. ‘Maybe she’s stopped that.’
Foolish, foolish man.
The baby began to stir almost before he’d finished speaking, and within seconds she was bawling her tiny lungs out.
‘I’ll get her bottle,’ he said, standing up, but Emily got up, too, extracted Kizzy from the sling and handed her to him.
‘I’ve got a better idea. You take her and deal with her, and when she’s settled, you can take her carpet shopping. And I can get on with my work.’
A fleeting frown crossed his brow. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were working,’ he said, and took Kizzy from her arms. ‘We’ll get out of your way. And don’t worry about having us to stay. We’ll find a hotel.’
‘Harry, no!’ she said, angry with herself for upsetting him.
‘No, really,’ he said, his voice a little gruff. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t just come back here after all these years and expect you to welcome me with open arms.’
Oh, Harry, if you only knew, she thought, and her hand came out and curled over his wrist, holding him there with her. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—I do have work to do, and Freddie is having a nap and it’s my one chance. Please, come and stay. I can’t let you go to a hotel. Not with the baby. Anyway, Freddie and Beth will love having her here. Please?’
His eyes were serious, searching hers for an endless moment, and then, finally satisfied, he nodded briefly. ‘OK. But we’ll try and keep out of your way so we don’t stop you working.’
She felt the tension go out of her like air out of a balloon. ‘Still want help with the carpet shopping?’ she said with a smile.
CHAPTER THREE
HE HADN’T realised just what an expedition it would be, shopping with three children.
Kizzy was more than enough trouble, but by the time he’d got her fed and settled and Freddie had woken up, Beth had come back from playing with a friend, so they were all going together.
And then, of course, because she was so tiny and seemed to be hungry every three minutes or so, he needed to take feeds for Kizzy, and because she was just like a straw he’d need nappies, and because he was so rubbish at putting the nappies on she’d need a total change of clothes…
He bet they took less equipment on an Arctic expedition.
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Caroline Anderson
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Caring For His Baby, электронная книга автора Caroline Anderson на английском языке, в жанре современные любовные романы