Bound By Their Babies

She smiled. ‘I know, but I’ve done that. I did most of my grieving while he was still alive, because to be honest I never really dared to let myself believe he was cured when they gave him the all-clear, so when it metastasised there was a sort of horrible inevitability about it all. I think I always knew it was coming, and now it’s just juggling the things that need to be done with the lack of support and practical help. Things like cutting the hedge and putting up shelves in Zach’s room and all the other stuff that he used to do that I’m rubbish at.’

‘I’ve offered to help,’ he reminded her, but she didn’t need reminding. She dropped onto the sofa beside him, tucked her arm in his and squeezed it firmly.

‘And you have helped. You’ll never know how much you’ve helped me, Jake. I wouldn’t have got through it without you, but I need to toughen up now and get a grip. Time to return the favour, and I’m really sorry it’s because of Jo doing a runner and turning your life upside down, but I’m here, I’m not going to run out on you, and I’ll stay until you don’t need me anymore.’

She held his eyes for an age, but then something flashed through them and he turned away, as if he couldn’t look at her any longer, and shook his head.

‘I can’t ask that of you,’ he said gruffly.

‘Yes, you can—and by the way I rescued the supper. There was an interesting smell coming from the kitchen so I turned off the oven and opened the door a bit.’

He swore and leapt to his feet, and she followed him into the kitchen as he whipped open the oven door and stared into it.

‘Is it OK?’

He pulled the dish out and inspected it. ‘Debatable.’

He put it onto the hob and prodded at it with a fork, and she chuckled softly and peered over his shoulder at the bits of singed pasta sticking up out of a rather dark golden crust.

‘Will we live?’

He grunted. ‘Just about. There are one or two bits that might need ditching, but it won’t kill us.’

She tutted. ‘You’re a slow learner, Stratton. I taught you to use an oven timer twenty years ago. I would have thought you’d mastered it by now.’

He gave a low chuckle, and she slid her arms around him and rested her head against his broad, solid shoulders that were curiously comforting. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Jake. I meant what I said, I don’t know how I would have coped without you.’

She straightened up and slackened her arms, and he turned in them and gave her a brief hug, then reached for the kettle.

‘You’re welcome. Now go and drink your tea and put your feet up,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got to steam the veg but that won’t take long. I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

‘Don’t forget to time it,’ she said with a cheeky little wink designed to needle him, and took herself out of range before he threw something at her.

* * *

He watched her go, the feel of her still imprinted on his body, front and back, then he closed his eyes and swore softly and comprehensively under his breath.

What was wrong with him?

He plonked the pan on the hob, poured boiling water into the steamer under the veg and laid the table, then stuck his head round the door. ‘It’s ready.’

‘Good, I’m starving. So—what is this?’ she asked, poking at the slightly over-browned crust as she sat down at the table.

‘Chicken, tomato and mascarpone pasta bake. And yes, I timed the veg,’ he growled.

‘Wonders will never cease,’ she mocked, rolling her eyes, then stuck a forkful of the pasta bake in her mouth and moaned. ‘Oh, that’s really tasty. Good job I caught it in time.’

He opened his mouth to reply, and she raised both hands, her lips twitching at the corners, and he gave a soft huff of laughter and rolled his eyes. ‘Why don’t you just shut up and eat it before it’s cold?’ he said drily, and she smiled, stuck her fork into her food and then looked up at him again, her eyes almost luminous, her voice wistful.

‘You know, it’s really nice having someone to eat with, especially someone I can have a conversation with.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Zach doesn’t talk to you?’

It got a laugh out of her, although it was just a little one. ‘You know what I mean. I love him to bits, but it’s not the same as sharing a meal with an adult. It’s a long while since I’ve done that, and even longer since someone cooked for me. Thank you.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said softly, grateful for the timely reminder that she’d only lost her husband less than eighteen months ago. Dragging his eyes off hers, he turned his attention firmly back to the food.

* * *

‘What time do you start tomorrow?’ she asked as he cleared the plates.

‘Seven. I need to leave at quarter to.’

‘So—will you see Matilda before you go? Does she know you’re not going to be here all day?’

He sighed and propped his hands on the worktop, defeat in every line of his body.

‘Not yet. I was going to tell her in the morning. I didn’t want her worrying all night.’ He straightened up and turned back to face her. ‘Do you think that’s the wrong thing to have done?’

She shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I have to admit to being wildly out of my depth here, but I would imagine that the loss of her mother is going to affect her. She’ll be missing her presence, the familiar surroundings—although she’s used to you and to being here, so that’s not an issue, but she doesn’t know me very well, she’s only met me a handful of times, and then there’s Zach. She wasn’t exactly overjoyed to see him and she probably won’t be thrilled at being left alone with us.’

His shoulders slumped. ‘No. I’m sure you’re right. Damn, this isn’t going to work, is it? It’s too much to expect of either of you. I should never have asked—’

‘You didn’t, but you didn’t really have a choice and we’ve already had this conversation. If you want to do something useful, you could shut up and put the kettle on. I could murder another drink before I go to bed.’

He gave a soft huff of laughter, walked over to her, pulled her to her feet and hugged her hard.

‘Thank you for helping me out, Em,’ he murmured, his head resting against hers. ‘I don’t know where I’d be without you. You’re such a good woman, and the best friend I could ever ask for. I don’t know how to thank you.’

She hugged him back, suddenly and shockingly aware of him, of the blatant masculinity she’d made a life’s work of ignoring. ‘Ditto. Except you’re not a woman, obviously, but whatever.’

He laughed, and his arms dropped and he turned away.

‘So, having cleared that up, tea or coffee?’ he asked lightly, picking up the kettle, and she felt a tension ease that she hadn’t even known was there.

* * *

He was right, it wasn’t going to work.

Jake had only been out of the house half an hour and Emily was already at her wit’s end.

Matilda hated her. Or, more exactly, hated not having her father there and not having Emily’s undivided attention, either. Which meant she also hated Zach. No surprises there, then.

‘Come on, Matilda, let’s go downstairs and get some breakfast,’ she coaxed. ‘Shall we see what Daddy’s got in the cupboards?’

‘Want toast,’ she said, after Emily had finally persuaded her to come down, so she put Zach in the nearest high chair and Matilda promptly burst into tears and tugged Zach’s arm hard.

‘My chair,’ she sobbed, so Emily lifted the now crying baby out of the way and hooked over the other high chair, only of course he didn’t want to go in it now, arching his back and screaming.

Stifling a scream of her own, Emily jiggled him on her hip, found the sliced bread that she assumed Jake had got for Matilda, put two slices in because Zach would be happy with toast, too, and then tried again with the high chair once he’d calmed down.

‘There you go, baby. You stay there now, while Mummy gets your toast.’

‘You not Mummy,’ Matilda piped up, her voice wobbling.

Oh, lord. ‘I’m Zach’s mummy,’ she told her, but she was starting to recognise that mulish look that meant Matilda wasn’t having any of it. She crouched down to Matilda’s level and reached out to touch her shoulder, but she jerked it back out of reach, her lip quivering.

‘Not my mummy. Go ’way. Want Daddy.’

‘Daddy’s had to go to work, sweetheart. He’ll be back later, you know that, he told you he would.’

‘Want Daddy now,’ she demanded, folding her arms emphatically in a curiously adult gesture that nearly made Emily laugh.

She stifled the urge. ‘Darling, I’m sure he’d much rather be here with you, but he’s had to go to work at the hospital. There are lots of mummies there with tiny babies, and he’s got to look after them, but he’ll come home when he’s finished for the day, and he’ll be back in time to put you to bed, you’ll see.’

The toast popped up, and she crossed her fingers behind her back, straightened up and put the toast, the butter and some plates on the table then lifted Matilda into the other high chair. Her high chair.

‘Don’t want toast,’ Matilda said, folding her arms again, but the defiant little gesture wasn’t funny anymore.

None of it was funny. It was exasperating, worrying, and nothing to do with toast. It was all about controlling a situation that Matilda had been thrown into by her mother’s sudden disappearance, and all Emily could do was damage limitation. And not having breakfast wasn’t going to damage the little girl.

‘OK,’ she said easily. ‘You don’t have to have breakfast today if you don’t want to. I can eat your toast.’

She ignored Matilda for a few moments, buttering the first slice, cutting it into fingers, handing one to Zach who grabbed it with both hands and stuffed it into his mouth.

‘Mmm, yum-yum,’ she said, but Matilda just folded her arms more firmly and stropped a bit more, and Emily let her, pretty sure hunger would cut in before any harm was done.

‘Want honey on it,’ Matilda said, caving in as Emily handed Zach a second finger of toast and buttered the other slice.

‘OK. I’ll see if I can find any.’

Please, please don’t have run out and not replaced it.

There was a smear at the bottom of the jar, but—hallelujah!—a new, unopened one behind it. She twisted off the lid, dug the knife into the smooth, unblemished surface and made a wish.

No prizes for guessing what her wish was going to be, but she smeared honey on the toast, cut it into fingers like Zach’s and slid it across to Matilda.

‘Say thank you,’ she said, sure that Jake would have taught her that even if her mother hadn’t, and maybe her fairy godmother was watching over them because Matilda stuffed the first bite into her mouth and mumbled, ‘’Ank you,’ around it.

Round one to her? She certainly hoped so.

* * *

The phone rang for ages before Em answered it, and Jake was starting to worry when she eventually picked up.

‘How’s it going?’ he asked without preamble.

He heard a sigh, then a little laugh that did nothing to reassure him. ‘OK, I guess. I put Zach in the wrong high chair.’

He winced. ‘Oops. I bet that was fun. She can be such a drama queen, and she’s territorial at the best of times. You might be better taking them out, if you feel you can cope. It’s a lovely day, the fresh air’ll do them good.’

‘Great minds,’ she said with a tired chuckle. ‘I thought maybe a walk? Feed the ducks, if there are any ducks to feed?’

‘There are—there’s a little park not far away. If you turn right onto the street and walk along to the end and cross over, there’s an entrance to your left. It’s got a lovely little playground, too, as well as the duck pond, and she likes it there.’

‘OK. I’ll give it a whirl and see how I get on. I can take the double buggy since you’ve got it. At least that’s neutral territory.’

‘Ah, rats! I meant to show you how it folds and unfolds, but to be honest I’m damned if I can remember. I’ll text you Daisy’s number so you can ring her if you can’t work it out. She’ll tell you.’

He heard her laugh, but it sounded a little off kilter and he guessed her day was turning out tougher than she’d expected.

‘It’s a buggy, Jake,’ she said with exaggerated patience. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. How’s work going?’

‘Busy. They’re very glad to have me back. Ben said to thank you for stepping in to help.’

She laughed. ‘Tell Ben I’m not doing it for him, but happy to oblige. Oops, gotta go, Zach’s in the fireplace.’

He heard a clatter and a howl before the phone cut off, and he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to imagine what might have happened. The fire tongs and poker were his most likely guess. Oh, well. Hopefully he’d just had a fright. And as for Tilly—

‘Mr Stratton, have you got a moment?’

Tilly would be fine. He slid his phone back into his pocket and went back to work, putting Emily and the children firmly out of his mind.

* * *

Three days and a thousand small obstacles later, it was obvious to both of them that Matilda needed much more of her father than she was getting. And probably less of her, Emily thought despairingly.

It all came to a head late on Friday evening, when he’d been caught up in Theatre with a tricky post-partum haemorrhage and Matilda refused to go to bed until he got home, despite all Emily’s best efforts. She wouldn’t even let her change her nappy and put her in pyjamas. She just sat on the landing and cried.

‘Want Daddy,’ she sobbed, so Emily took her downstairs to the sitting room so they could wait for him, but she was inconsolable. She didn’t want a story, she shied away from cuddles, and by the time he came home at nine Emily was on the point of phoning him.

They were in the hall by now, Matilda prostrate on the floor and still sobbing, and the moment he was through the door she scrambled up and clung to his legs, and the anguish in his eyes was awful to see.

He scooped her up, hugging her close and rocking her, and Emily went into the kitchen and left them to it, because she was sure her presence wasn’t helping. She’d been at her wit’s end all day, and seeing the little girl so distraught had been horrible, but he was home now and maybe he could calm her down.

Was it her fault? Maybe. She’d done her best to handle an impossibly difficult situation, but Matilda was only two, her mother had deserted her—how was the poor little mite supposed to react? She was just upset, but it was so hard to deal with and it was upsetting Zach, too.

It wasn’t doing a lot for her, either. She sniffed hard, swiped away the tears she hadn’t realised she’d shed and yanked open the fridge door. She’d been trying all day to find time to cook, but every time she did anything there was another incident with Tilly.

She’d bitten Zach, she’d pushed him over, she’d gone into the study and pulled all the books off the shelf—

The crying had stopped—finally—and she heard Jake’s quiet tread on the stairs as he carried her up to bed. Not that she expected it to work.

Why on earth had she volunteered to do this? It wasn’t helping anyone, especially not Matilda. Was it her fault? She didn’t know enough about Tilly—had she inadvertently upset her by doing something wrong, something Jake would never have done? How was she supposed to know?

And then there was Jake himself, her friend, the person she was helping out—or trying to, but this close proximity was stirring up feelings that had been dormant for years. She was suddenly so aware of him, of his physical presence and blindingly obvious sex appeal, but this was Jake, for goodness’ sake! She’d known him for years, he hadn’t changed, so why now? Was it just her sexuality reawakening after all this time, and if so, why pick on Jake, of all people?

She slashed at an onion, and then dropped the knife with a yelp and squeezed her finger hard. Blood leaked out and ran down her hand, and she went over to the sink, turned on the tap, stuck her finger under it and gave in to the tears that had been threatening all day.

* * *

‘Em?’

She was standing at the sink with her back to him, holding something under the running tap, and he went up behind her and squeezed her shoulders gently.

‘I’m sorry, Em. This is all my fault. I should never have agreed to you doing this—’

‘Rubbish. It’s not your fault, it’s mine.’

‘No, it isn’t. It’s her mother’s fault. She’s a little girl—how could she just leave her? Of course she’s upset. Don’t blame yourself.’

‘That’s easy to say, but I do. Everything I do upsets her. I should be able to comfort her, but she doesn’t want me, she wants you, or her mother. And she just won’t let me comfort her. She hates me, and she hates Zach, and it’s just not working—’

He leant in closer, and then saw blood all over the sink and reached past her and turned off the tap. ‘Em, what’ve you done?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she said, and he let out a sigh, put his hands on her shoulders and turned her round.

‘Let me see,’ he said gently, taking a handful of kitchen roll and resting her hand in it. ‘Let go?’

She released the pressure, and blood welled rapidly in the wound before she pressed it again with her thumb.

‘OK. Well, at least it’s a nice clean cut, not too deep, and it won’t need stitches. Just a firm dressing and it should be fine.’

She nodded, and something wet dripped on his hand. He tilted her face up and shook his head. Tears?

‘Oh, Em, don’t cry,’ he pleaded softly. ‘I don’t need two of you doing it, and Matilda’s fine now, she was just exhausted. She’s gone out like a light.’

‘She’s been crying for ages. She wouldn’t go to bed without you, I couldn’t even change her, I couldn’t do anything—’

‘Oh, Emily. Come here.’ He pulled her in against him with one arm, the other hand cradling her wounded hand in its nest of bloodied kitchen towel. He could deal with that later, he’d had far worse to worry about today, and so had she. For now, all she needed was a hug, and she turned her head into his shoulder, gave a ragged little sob and slumped against him.

It was the first time he’d seen her cry since Pete’s terminal diagnosis, when she’d just discovered she was pregnant. She hadn’t even cried at his funeral, and it was so unlike her that it gave him a real and unwelcome insight into just how bad her day must have been with the children, and he was swamped with guilt.

‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘You’re right, this isn’t working. I’ll phone Ben and tell him I can’t do it anymore. I’ll have to find another way until she’s more settled.’

‘Such as what?’ she asked, pushing herself away and swiping roughly at the tears. ‘Put her in nursery? That won’t be any better. It was just a bad day, Jake. Anyway, it’s the weekend now and you’ll be at home. Maybe that’ll help her to get used to me, to the whole situation. She just needs time to adjust.’

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