Читать книгу Baby on Board - Liz Fielding - Страница 11

DRESSING Posie, putting together everything she’d need for the morning, took nearly all the time Grace had so that ‘prettying herself up’ consisted of little more than pulling a comb through her short hair.

Then she fastened jade button earrings to her lobes and a matching necklace of overlapping disks of the same stone around her throat. Make-up she could live without, but jewellery was her business and she’d never been anywhere since she’d been a toddler without something fancy around her neck or wrist—her ‘sparklies’—and she’d feel naked without them.

She settled the necklace into place, trying not to think about Josh, his hands on her shoulders as he’d leaned into her neck to hunt down some elusive scent. The feel of his beard brushing against her skin, sending gooseflesh shivering through her.

The last time they’d been that close, that intimate, they’d been naked. This morning, when she’d felt the warmth of his breath against her ear, been swamped by the scent of a man still warm from his bed, she’d wanted to be naked again.

She slipped on her suit jacket, buttoned it up and, without bothering to check her reflection, fetched Posie from the nursery and went downstairs.

Josh looked up, said nothing, as she hurried into the kitchen ten minutes later than she’d promised. He just looked at her and she was convinced he could see every hot, wicked thought that had been running through her mind, distracting her, slowing her down.

‘Ready?’ she asked.

Stupid question. He was showered, wearing faded jeans and a soft suede jacket that emphasized the width of his shoulders and brought out the amber flecks in his grey eyes. He had obviously been there for some time since all trace of the breakfast disaster had been removed and he was sitting at the table, looking through the local paper.

He closed it, got up and said, ‘Can I do anything?’

‘G-get the buggy? It’s in the mud room,’ she said, opening the fridge, fitting a bottle into its own special little cold box, slipping it into the carrier that contained all Posie’s essentials, exactly as she’d seen Phoebe do dozens of times. Keeping her hands behind her back to hide fingers itching to help.

What she wouldn’t have given for that yearning now. To see Michael instead of Josh setting up the buggy, take Posie and fasten her into the little pink nest. Put the carrier in the rack beneath it.

‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘For a first effort.’

He didn’t answer but took the handle of the buggy, wheeled it into the hall.

The steps weren’t exactly easy to navigate, as she knew from experience, and, having opened the door, she made a move to help. Unnecessary. Josh just lifted the buggy, with Posie and all her belongings in it, and carried them down the steps as if it weighed no more than a feather.

A nice trick if you could manage it, she thought and, since possession was nine-tenths of the law, by the time she’d shut the door and reached the footpath he was already walking away from her, forcing her to trot to catch up.

‘Slow down,’ she said crossly. ‘This isn’t a race.’

Without taking his hand off the buggy, he lifted his elbow and, glancing down at her, said, ‘Hang on. You can slow me down if I’m speeding.’

He wanted her to put her arm through his? Walk along arm in arm as if they were Michael and Phoebe…?

As if they were a couple. Lovers…

She swallowed, imagining her hand against the soft suede, her fingers resting on the hard sinewy flesh beneath it. She wanted that closeness in a way that was beyond imagining. Wanted it too much to be able to risk it.

‘You’re all right,’ she said.

He didn’t argue, simply stopped, took her hand and placed it under his arm. ‘Whatever happens, you’re not on your own, Grace,’ he said, then, without giving her time to resist, to object, he continued, rather more slowly, on his way.

The suede was as soft to the touch as a baby’s breath, while beneath it the familiar muscular arm seemed to burn through to her fingers, setting light to the memory of him standing in the kitchen, naked to the waist, in the early light.

As a girl she’d clung to his waist when she’d ridden behind him on his bike, pressed to his back, sheltered from the force of the wind by his body. That had been a secret thrill, one that had given her more of a rush than the speed at which they had been flying along. One that Josh hadn’t ever known about.

This was different. This closeness was not some careless thing, just part of being on the back of a motorbike. He’d made a deliberate choice, just as he had on her first day at school when he’d tossed her his spare helmet. As he paused, turned to cross the road, and his sleeve brushed against her cheek it was like the sun coming out. She wanted to lean into it, suck up that protective warmth.

All illusion. This was not his world. In a week, two at the most, he’d be gone, chasing endless horizons. That was fact. He’d be somewhere out of reach and she’d be alone.

And, with that thought, the true finality of what had happened crystallised in her mind. Until now she’d been skimming along, keeping the wheels ticking over, taking care of Posie. Coping with the details. Standing numbly in the church through hymns and eulogies. Even watching her sister and her husband being lowered into the dark earth, it hadn’t seemed real.

Each morning, her first reaction was that momentary panic at waking in an unfamiliar room, the remembering that she was in the guest room next to the nursery because her sister was away for the weekend.

Only after that came the sickening moment when she remembered that Phoebe was never coming home again. But then Posie claimed her attention and there was no time for anything but the essentials. Laundry, feeding, bathing her, changing her. She was a full-time job all by herself.

Now, walking with Josh in Michael and Phoebe’s place, an icy hand gripped at her stomach, her heart. This wasn’t just for a few days. This was her life. There was only her to be responsible, make decisions, make sure that this precious baby… little girl… teenager… had the best life that she could give her.

‘Grace?’

Josh stopped as she pulled away, gasping for breath, and, ignoring her as she took her hand off his arm, as she tried to keep him away, he let go of the buggy and, catching her by the shoulders, pulled her against him.

‘They’re gone, Josh,’ she said, looking up, wanting him to see, to understand. ‘They’re never coming back.’

His only response was to wrap his arms tightly around her, press his cheek, his lips against her hair as if he could somehow keep out the world.

‘Hush… It’s all right.’

All right…

All right!

‘How can anything be all right ever again?’ She pulled back, flinging up her arms to push him away. ‘It needs more than a hug and words to fix this, Josh. It isn’t just us, there’s a baby involved, one that you and I made, and we’re responsible.’ She knew she was making a scene, that people on their way into town were turning to look, but she didn’t care. She had to make him see. ‘It’s not just for this week, or next week, but for ever. We’re not just spectators in Posie’s life, we’re her—’

Josh grabbed her by the arm and pulled her, pushed Posie off the street and into the quiet of the park.

‘—parents.’

Except it wasn’t ‘we’. It was her.

Or was it? Josh had said he had gone through Michael’s papers last night. What had he found? What had made him warn her that she was bottom of the heap?

‘Do you know what guardianship arrangements Michael made for Posie?’ Because a man who’d taken time to plan his own funeral to make things easy for whoever was left to pick of pieces in the event of his death wouldn’t leave something really important like that to chance. ‘Stupid question. Of course you know. You’re his executor. Even when you weren’t talking to him, Michael still told you everything.’

‘I can’t tell you anything until I’ve spoken to Michael’s lawyers.’

He let go of her arm, leaving a cold empty space, but that was what he always did. Went away. University, gap year, for ever. He leaned forward over the buggy, tenderly tucking the blanket around Posie where she’d kicked it loose in her sleep, then began to move on through the park.

‘Can’t? Or won’t?’ she demanded, planting her feet, refusing to take another step until he gave her an answer. ‘What is it you’re keeping from me?’

He stopped. ‘It won’t help.’

‘I think I’m the best judge of what helps me, Josh.’

He glanced at her. ‘You’re wrong about Michael telling me everything. He didn’t share whatever decision he’d made with me, which suggests there were unresolved issues.’

‘I think we can both guess what they were.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe. There was some correspondence with his lawyer regarding the surrogacy and it’s clear that Michael and Phoebe intended to draw up new wills once Posie was legally theirs, but as far as I can tell nothing had been signed.’

‘So that means…?’ She lifted her shoulders.

‘I won’t know for sure until I’ve talked to the lawyer. Even a draft setting out their wishes would be something.’ He stretched out a hand. ‘Come on. The sooner I get there, the sooner we’ll both know where we stand.’

He didn’t move to take her hand as he had before. This time he waited for her to choose, to meet him halfway. And, ignoring his hand, she tucked her own back under his arm. A gesture of trust.

‘Maybe I should come with you.’

‘You can trust me, Grace. I’ll look after your interests. You’ll be better occupied at the craft centre.’

‘But…’

‘As soon as I’m done, I’ll join you. Once we know what we’re faced with, we can talk it through. Make decisions.’

It made sense, she supposed. Then, as another thought struck her, ‘Will you tell him? About Posie? About…’ She swallowed. There was something so intimate about the fact that they’d created a baby together—even though they had been at opposite ends of the earth when it had happened—that she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words. Couldn’t bring herself to say us.

‘About our involvement in Posie’s conception?’ he filled in for her.

Involvement.

Good word. If you wanted to eradicate any suggestion of intimacy. And why not? There had only been one night of us and while for her it had been the only night, he had been the only one, she had no illusions that he’d spent the last ten years dreaming of her. That dream had been shattered the day he’d turned up with a beautiful young woman and announced they’d stopped over in Bali on their way to England and got married.

‘That would be the involvement you just announced to a street full of people?’

Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I didn’t!’

‘I’m paraphrasing, but “… there’s a baby that you and I made…” just about covers it.’

She groaned.

‘Relax. Most people just wanted to get away from the mad woman as fast as they could.’

‘You’re just saying that to make me feel better.’

‘No. I swear. At least three people crossed the street.’

‘Only three?’ She shook her head, but she was smiling.

‘That’s better. And, to answer your question, I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by telling him about us and robbing Phoebe and Michael of something they’d longed for with such a passion. It’s nobody’s business but ours, Grace.’

Ours. Us.

Josh savoured the words, drinking them in like a man who’d been wandering in the desert.

He’d locked himself out of Grace’s life a long time ago. He hadn’t fully understood why she’d been trapped like a fledgling, too scared to fly the nest that Phoebe and Michael had made for her. He’d accepted that it was somehow mixed up with her childhood, but he’d never pushed her to explain. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, preferring to tell himself that it was for the best, that she’d have slowed him down, instead of being honest with himself. Facing his own demons.

But those two tiny words—ours, us—like the infant who’d dropped off to sleep in the buggy, joined them in a unique alliance that set them apart from the rest of the world. They were a family.

He was a father and that was a responsibility he couldn’t run away from.

They reached the corner where their ways divided but, instead of parting, they stood, her hand linking them together, and for a moment it seemed that she was as reluctant as him to break the connection.

He was on the point of suggesting that perhaps, after all, she should go with him to talk to Michael’s lawyer, when she finally took her arm from his and said, ‘I’d better let you go.’

He caught her hand. ‘We’re in this together, Grace.’

‘Are we?’

‘I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Phoebe and Michael. I owe them that.’

‘And Posie?’

‘I’ll protect her with my life.’

As he would Grace. He couldn’t begin to guess how hard this was going to be for her. Desperate with worry about the future of a child who she had never, whether she’d admit it or not, truly given up, when she should be left in peace to grieve for her sister.

‘This is all my fault,’ she said. ‘If I hadn’t—’

‘Don’t!’ He’d done everything he could to prevent her from having this baby, prevent himself from becoming a father, but he couldn’t bear to hear her put what he’d wished into words. Not now he’d held Posie, seen her smile. ‘Please, don’t do that to yourself.’

Or to him.

She lifted her stricken face.

‘But it’s true. I wanted them to go away for the weekend, planned it, gave it to them as my treat because I wanted to have Posie to myself. Just for the weekend. Only for the weekend…’

Oh, dear God. It wasn’t colluding with Phoebe that was tormenting her. She was blaming herself for the accident.

‘No,’ he said. And, when she would have argued, he said it again. ‘No. It’s always like this when someone dies,’ he said. ‘The guilt kicks in. You can only think of the things you did wrong. Or didn’t do at all,’ he added, thinking of his own miserable, selfish response to something that had made his brother so happy. ‘They can overwhelm you, take on an importance completely out of proportion to their true meaning.’

She shook her head.

‘You have to remember the good things. Remember how happy you made them both.’ He squeezed her arm reassuringly, then touched the sleeping baby’s head. ‘I’ll see you both later,’ he said, taking a step back, saving the picture of the two of them in his mind before tearing himself away.

Grace unlocked the door to her workshop, kicking aside the mail so that she could get the buggy in, turning on the lights.

She’d expanded from her original tiny workroom, moving into this wonderful airy space when it had become vacant a couple of years ago.

She’d kept the walls and furnishings a stark black and white to accentuate the vivid colours of her jewellery. At one end there was a secure walk-in storage space for the basic tools of her trade and a tiny office. There was her working area, with her drawing board and the workbench where she put together her designs.

The centre of the room offered a display area for photographs of some of the special pieces she’d made, as well as the dramatic spiral stands that Toby had designed and made to display examples of her work.

There was a comfortable seating area for clients who came to discuss special commissions and at the far end was another long workbench where she worked with the students who took her classes.

She didn’t waste time going through the mail, but put it to one side to take home with her. Instead, she made the most of the fact that Posie was asleep to download and pack up the Internet orders for beads, findings, the jewellery kits that kept the cash flow ticking over.

After that she called Abby, a stay-at-home mum who’d taken one of her classes and proved to be one of her most talented students. She was happy to come in for a few hours a day for the next couple of weeks and, while Grace was waiting for her to arrive so that she could walk her through the Web site ordering systems, she took the armature for the tiara she’d designed from the workroom, the tray with the teardrop pearls and each size and colour of semi-precious stone she would use, counted and placed in individual compartments. Then, with the deceptively simple design in front of her, she began to build the sparkling fairy tale confection that a young bride would wear on the most special day of her life.

When, finally, it was finished, she sat back and looked at it, glad she’d come here. Glad she’d done something positive. Something life-affirming.

Posie, who’d been an angel and had slept while she’d worked, finally woke and began to make her presence felt.

‘Well, haven’t you been a good baby,’ she said, as she lifted her bag from the carrier and plugged in her bottle-warmer before changing her.

She was just about to settle on the sofa in the customer area, when there was a tap at the door.

Josh would have just walked in despite the ‘closed’ sign on the door and, expecting it to be Abby, she called out, ‘It’s open.’ Then, as she realised it was neither, she said, ‘Oh, Toby…’

Her disappointment must have been evident because he didn’t come beyond the doorway.

‘I know you’re not open but I saw your light on and I thought I’d come over and see if there was anything you need. If it’s a bad time…’

Toby Makepeace restored and made bespoke rocking horses across the cobbled yard of what had once been a huge coaching inn, but had long since been converted into craft workshops and small boutiques. He was easy to get along with and she’d taken him home as her ‘date’ the last time Josh had come home on a proper visit.

Still trying to prove to him, or maybe just to herself, that he didn’t mean anything to her. No, definitely to herself. He hadn’t given her a thought a minute after he’d left her sleeping in his bed.

Toby, unlike her other ‘dates’, had quickly cottoned on to the reason for his presence and had played his part to the hilt. Michael had teased her about him for weeks afterwards, referring to him as her ‘lovelorn swain’ until Phoebe had finally told him to stop embarrassing her.

Had Phoebe seen, understood more than she had ever let on? She had never said anything, but she’d never pressed her about boyfriends, either. She’d never remarked on the fact, that despite the fact that Grace had always said she was too busy to get involved, she had always managed to have a date when Josh had come home.

It must have been blindingly obvious, now she came to think about it. Bless Phoebe…

Toby had laughed when she had told him and it had somehow cemented a genuine friendship and he had been the first person she’d thought of when she’d needed help at the hospital.

‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s never a bad time to see a friend. I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for what you did.’

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Toby said, closing the door, coming across and giving her a hug. Leaving his hand on her arm. It was no more than a gesture of comfort from a friend, but it was where Josh’s hand had so recently lain. It felt so much like an intrusion that it took all her concentration not to pull away. ‘Anything I can do, you know you only have to ask.’

‘Actually, I’m just about to feed Posie. If you really want to make yourself useful, you could put on a pot of coffee.’

Posie, growing impatient, began to whimper.

‘Poor little angel,’ Toby said, touching a finger lightly to her cheek before taking himself off to fill the coffee-maker. ‘But at least she’s still got her real mummy to take care of her.’

Grace sighed. There really was no point in explaining the finer points of surrogacy. She supposed most people would think that. She’d thought it herself until Josh had put her straight. She glanced at her watch. It had been more than an hour since they’d gone their separate ways.

What on earth could be taking so long?

Nothing good, she was sure. But there was nothing she could do about it now and she crossed to the sofa, settled herself in the corner against the arm and offered Posie the bottle. She sucked for a moment, then pulled away.

‘What’s up, sweetpea? I thought you were hungry.’ She offered her the bottle again and this time she seemed to settle.

‘Do these need posting?’ Toby said, distracting her.

‘Sorry?’

‘These packages,’ he said, nodding towards the pile of padded envelopes on her desk as he spooned coffee in the filter. ‘I’m going that way at lunch time. I’ll drop them in at the post office if you like.’

‘Oh, right. Yes. That would be a huge help,’ she said, seizing on his offer. ‘If you’re sure.’

‘I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.’

‘You’re a brick. Pass me my bag and I’ll give you some money.’ Then, ‘They all need to be sent “signed for”,’ she apologised as she handed over the notes.

‘No problem,’ he said, tucking the money into his back pocket before sitting beside her. ‘It’ll mean all the more time to chat up that dark-haired girl behind the counter.’

‘Sarah?’ She smiled. ‘Good choice. She’s absolutely lovely. So how long has that been going on?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve been taking my post to her about twice a week since she started there.’

‘And that would be what—five, six months?’

‘I thought I’d take it slowly.’

‘Er… No. That’s not slow, Toby. That’s pathetic. Why don’t you just ask her out?’

‘Because, if she said no, sheer embarrassment would mean I’d have to go all the way into town to the main post office whenever I wanted a stamp.’

Grace clucked like a chicken and he laughed. ‘I know, it’s pathetic. But the main post office is a mile away.’ Then, as Posie spat out the bottle again and began to grizzle, he said, ‘What’s the matter with her?’

‘It’s my fault. I usually wear something of Phoebe’s when I feed her,’ Grace replied. ‘For the scent,’ she explained. ‘But I didn’t think to bring anything with me.’ She slipped a couple of buttons on her shirt. ‘Maybe this will help. Phoebe used to hold her next to her skin.’

‘As if she were breastfeeding?’

‘What do you know about it?’ she asked, laughing.

‘I’ve got sisters,’ he said. ‘And sisters-in-law. Half a dozen of them. I’ve lost count of the number of nieces and nephews I have.’

‘Right. Well, if I need any advice I’ll know where to come,’ she said, pushing aside her shirt a little and holding the baby close so that her cheek was against her skin. Drawn by the warmth, Posie immediately turned towards her and, after a moment or two, took the rubber teat of the feeder.

‘That’s so beautiful,’ he said.

‘Oh, Toby…’

And when, without warning, her eyes stung with tears that she could do nothing about, he put his arm around her, pulling her against his shoulder so that her tears soaked into his sleeve.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘This is stupid.’ She didn’t even know what she was crying about. Phoebe and Michael. Posie. Josh…

Maybe all of them.

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Go ahead. Let it out. It’ll do you good.’

He still had his arm around her when the door opened and Josh walked in, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of the three of them.

For a moment no one said anything, then Toby murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, ‘I’m sorry, Grace, I thought I’d locked the door.’

The shock on Josh’s face at finding her with Toby’s arm around her was very nearly as ridiculous as her own sense of guilt.

She had nothing to feel guilty about.

Toby was a friend—he’d been there when Josh had been communing with his guilt up a mountain.

But Josh was clearly reading something a lot more significant into the situation. And why wouldn’t he, when she’d gone to such lengths to convince him that she was involved with the man?

But enough was enough and she pulled free of his arm, rubbing her palm across her wet cheek. ‘Haven’t you got an urgent date with the post office, Toby?’ she reminded him before he completely forgot himself.

‘You’re going to throw me out before I have a cup of that fabulous coffee I’ve made for you?’ he said, apparently determined to give Josh a reprise of his ‘lovelorn swain’ act.

‘Abby will be here when you get back with the receipts,’ she said, cutting him off before he could get going. ‘Buy her a cake and I’m sure she’ll take the hint. My treat.’ Then, ‘Buy two,’ she said meaningfully.

‘Two?’

‘A red velvet cupcake is supposed to be irresistible,’ she said.

‘Got it,’ he murmured, finally getting to his feet. Then, as he made a move, she put her hand on his arm, detaining him. ‘Thanks for the shoulder.’

‘Any time,’ he said, covering her hand with his own, kissing her cheek, going for an Oscar. ‘Anything.’ Then, touching his finger to Posie’s cheek. ‘Bye, baby. Be good for Grace.’

Then, gathering the packages from her desk, he headed for the door, where Josh was blocking his way.

‘Makepeace,’ Josh said, his acknowledgement curt to the point of rudeness.

‘Kingsley,’ he responded mildly. ‘I was sorry to hear about your brother. I liked him a lot.’ The mildness was deceptive. If he’d actually said, ‘Unlike you…’he couldn’t have made himself plainer. ‘We missed you at his funeral.’

Josh said nothing, merely stepped aside to let him out, then closed the door after him and slipped the catch.