Читать книгу Single Dads Collection - Lynne Marshall - Страница 18

‘THAT’S a bit more like it!’

Em stood back and studied Harry’s work, and nodded. ‘You’ll get there. Take the cut down another notch and run over it again. You never know, you might even find a lawn in there!’

And she turned back to her surveying, measuring, checking sight lines and jotting notes on a pad. Busy. Busy, busy, busy since the sun had crept over the horizon and he’d been dragged out of bed by Kizzy’s first whimpering cry. She’d been up minutes later, going downstairs while he’d fed Kizzy and tried so hard not to think about last night.

The feel of her. The taste.

The look of longing in her eyes before she’d pushed him away and stepped back, bringing their unscheduled and very unwise kiss to an end in the nick of time.

More or less. His dreams had been colourful, to say the least, and he’d been glad to get up just to get away from them.

Then while he had been changing Kizzy’s nappy and looking out of the window, she’d taken the washing down the garden and hung it out in her nightshirt and bare feet, standing in the dewy grass and stretching up to the washing line so that her nightshirt rose up and gave him the occasional glimpse of her smooth, firm bottom encased in its sensible white knickers.

Since when had sensible white knickers been such a turn-on?

Not that he’d been looking, of course. Just glancing down the garden while he’d changed the baby’s nappy and put the kettle on to make them tea and loaded the washing machine with his clothes and emptied the dishwasher—anything that just happened to give him a view out of one of the back windows!

Then she’d come back in, stood with one foot rested on the other like a child, staring at the floor for a moment until she’d lifted her head, sucked in a breath and said, ‘About last night.’

And without giving her a chance to get in first, he’d said, ‘I know. I’m sorry. It was stupid of me. It won’t happen again.’

And she’d stood there, opened her mouth again, shut it, and then finally said, ‘Good. Right. So. About your garden.’

And that was that.

No more talk of the kiss. They’d shut the door on it, walked away and now they were laying waste to the jungle that had been his grandparents’ pride and joy.

‘Right. That looks better. OK, I’ve done the survey. I just want to walk you through these shrubs and agree which ones should come out and which ones we can prune and rescue.’

‘Is August the time to prune?’

She shook her head. ‘No, not really. It’s too hot. We need to wait a bit, but we can trim them. There are rules, for spring and summer flowering shrubs, for roses, for evergreens. But I think when you’re talking this drastic, you just have to do what you have to do and hope they make it through. Most of them do. Right. Let’s make some decisions and mark them up.’

And she picked up a can of yellow spray paint and headed down the garden, relentless.

Ten minutes later and the yellow kiss of death was on many of the bushes. ‘Your job, I think. I’ll put them through the shredder and keep an eye on the children. Beth, put that down, darling, it’s sharp. Freddie, no!’

She took the secateurs from Beth, the dirty stick from Freddie before he put it in his mouth again, and handed Harry some very businesslike pruners. ‘Get to it, then.’

He lifted a brow, tugged his forelock and set about the mammoth task of flattening the garden.

She really didn’t need this.

She was sitting in the shade with the children, Freddie napping on her lap, the baby asleep in the carrier beside her, Beth sitting cross-legged playing a game with stones and talking happily to herself, and in front of her Harry was stripped to the waist and digging.

Rippling muscle, smoothly tanned skin glistening with sweat, streaks of dirt across his forehead where he kept lifting his arm and wiping away the trickles that threatened to run down into his eyes. And the way he threw the spade down into the hole, over and over, slicing through the roots and then grasping the stem and heaving it over, trying again, cutting another root, another tug, another cut, and all the time those muscles bunching and gleaming and driving her crazy.

Finally, victorious, he heaved the rootball of a huge old vibernum out of the ground and straightened, grinning at her. ‘At last,’ he said, his breath sawing in and out, and he strolled over, dropped down beside them and reached for a glass of fresh lemonade.

‘Oh, bliss,’ he said, rolling it over his chest and then lifting it to his lips, his throat working as he swallowed it in one.

‘I hope you never go to wine-tastings,’ she said drily, and he chuckled.

‘Oh, I can swill and spit with the best of them, but ice-cold real lemonade on a hot day with a raging thirst? No way. It would be a sin to spit it out.’

‘Want another?’

He grinned. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

He held out the glass while she filled it from the Thermos flask, then took a long, reflective swallow and smiled. ‘Gorgeous. Nice and sharp. I hate it too sweet.’

‘It’s got honey in it,’ she told him.

‘It’s lovely. Thank you.’

She dragged her eyes away from him, from those twinkling, smiling eyes, the stubbled jaw—she hadn’t given him time to shave she’d been in such a hurry to keep moving—the beads of sweat caught in that fascinating, arrowing hair just above his battered old jeans…

No!

‘Want to have a look at the plan? It’s only a doodle so far—nothing formal yet—but I’d like your feedback.’

‘Sure.’

And he lifted the tray out of the way, set it down on the other side of him and shuffled closer.

Too close. She could smell him, the tang of fresh sweat, the warmth of his skin, the lemons on his breath—intoxicating. She hauled her pad over and picked up a pencil.

‘I thought this might work,’ she said, and forced herself to concentrate.

It took two days.

Two days in which Harry thought his muscles were going to die, but it was only because he’d been too busy with the baby to work out. Normally, in his crazy nomadic lifestyle, he stayed in hotels that had gyms—unless they were filming in the back of beyond, in which case very often they’d had a hike to get there—and when he was at home in London he went to the gym round the corner from his flat.

But in the two—or was it nearly three?—weeks since Kizzy had come into his life, he hadn’t lifted anything heavier than a basket of wet washing, and he needed this.

Therapy, he told himself, and at least he’d slept last night.

And now, at the end of the second day, the shrubs with the yellow squirt on them had been evicted, a rotten tree was felled and the root hacked down to below ground level, and a huge pile of shredded material was heaped up at the bottom of the garden ready to be composted and put back into the soil. He tipped out the last bag onto the heap with a sigh of relief and surveyed the devastated garden thoughtfully.

‘It looks vast,’ he told her. ‘I’d forgotten the garden was so big.’

‘They always look like this when they’re cleared. Even cutting the grass can double the apparent size of a garden. And using fine lawn grass does the same thing, because we have a mental scale rule and a blade of grass is x big, therefore the garden must be y long—and so on.’

‘Tricks of the trade? Clever. So what’s next?’

‘Marking out the hard landscaping, deciding on the shape of the lawn, and then getting down to the nitty-gritty of the planting. But to do that, we need a big rope to lay on the ground to give us a line. There’s one in the summerhouse. Can you give me a hand? It’s quite heavy.’

The summerhouse?

‘Sure,’ he said, his mouth suddenly dry. He hadn’t been in the summerhouse since the night of his grandmother’s funeral. He’d been actively avoiding it, because so much of their past was in the place, but it seemed his avoidance tactics were to come to nothing.

Right now.

He followed her, Freddie and Beth running ahead to show him the way, Kizzy sleeping in the carrier in the shade by the back door where they could keep an eye on her from either garden.

And there it was, screened by shrubs, tucked away at the end in a lovely, private little dell, the sort of place that as children had been a magical retreat, and as adolescents in the grip of their hormones had been an ideal trysting place.

‘Right, it’s in here somewhere,’ she said, pulling the door open and picking her way in. ‘We don’t use it any more, so it’s a bit of a dumping ground now. Ah, here it is.’

It smelled the same. Slightly musty, the odd cobweb hanging across the windows, and it had gone downhill a little, but it was basically the same, and the memories slammed through him.

The hedgehog with its fleas. Secret societies with Dan, and Emily and Georgie, on occasions, if the girls insisted. And then later, on her sixteenth birthday, their first kiss.

Tender, tentative, staggering in its impact on the seventeen-year-old boy with a massive chip on his shoulder and a feeling that he’d never really been wanted.

Until then.

But Emily had wanted him, and, God help him, he’d wanted her. So much.

That innocent, simple kiss had awoken a whole world of sensation that had somehow been much more than straightforward lust. It had been the tenderness that had shaken him. Her tenderness, and his. Particularly his. Until the night of his grandmother’s funeral. That hadn’t been tender. That had been desperate, and frightening, and wild with a passion that had left them both shaken. They’d stopped, pulled back from the brink, shocked by the force of their emotion—

‘Harry?’

He lifted his head and met her eyes, and the memories must have been written all over his face. ‘Sorry. Miles away,’ he said, and he watched the soft colour sweep her cheeks and she looked away.

‘Um—the rope,’ she said, but she was between him and it, and the only way to get it was to squeeze past her. She turned away from him, but as she struggled not to fall headlong into the piles of clutter, he took her shoulders in his hands to steady her and her bottom settled briefly but firmly against his groin.

She gasped softly and squirmed past him and away, out of the door, and he sucked in a huge breath, forced himself to concentrate and reached for the rope. If she had any sense, she’d tie him up with it and leave him there to cool down.

‘Uncle Dan! Mummy, look, it’s Uncle Dan!’

‘Hi, Half-Pint. Hello, little sister—got room for a lodger for a few days?’

Dan’s voice came to him through the open door, and Harry took a moment longer to steady himself while Emily ran to greet him.

Then he followed her out of the door and hesitated on the step, the rope in his hands. ‘Might be a small problem with that. I seem to have borrowed your bed,’ he said, stepping forward out of the doorway, and Dan did a mild double-take.

‘Harry?’

He felt the smile start, right in the centre of his chest, along with that strange tightness and the prickling in his eyes. ‘Well, hi, stranger.’

‘Me, stranger? Coming from you?’

He laughed and—typical Dan—crossed the garden in two strides and engulfed Harry in a hug. ‘Ah, hell, you’re all sweaty! Since when did you get your hands dirty?’ He laughed, and let him go.

‘Since your sister started cracking the whip,’ Harry replied with a wry smile. ‘God, it’s good to see you again. You are the world’s lousiest communicator. How are you?’

‘I’m the world’s worst? And you’re so darned good at it?’ he returned, but Harry noticed he hadn’t actually answered the question, and the smile on his face didn’t really reach his eyes.

‘So what’s going on? What brings you back?’ he asked, but Dan just shook his head.

‘Never mind me, what brings you here?’

And right on cue, Kizzy started to cry.

It was hours later, and the children were in bed. Dan’s luggage was installed in their parents’ bedroom, because, as Emily had pointed out, Harry was about to go back to his own house and it would be silly to change the beds just for two or three nights. They’d had supper and were sitting down with a glass of wine and catching up.

Well, she wasn’t drinking, and any minute now she’d have to sneak off and deal with Buttercup, but if Daniel was going to be staying there—and he still hadn’t said why he was there, or how long for, or where Kate was—he was going to find out sooner or later.

Later, preferably.

‘I feel nibbly—jet-lag,’ he said, and got up and went out to the kitchen, coming back a few moments later with another bottle of wine and a party-sized packet of hand-fried potato crisps. He ripped them open, tipped them onto the table and sat down, propping his feet up just inches from the crisps.

‘So where’s Kate?’ Emily asked him, fed up with waiting for him to say anything and going for the direct approach. ‘Kicked you out because of your disgusting habits?’

He gave a laugh that sounded just a little hollow to her ears, and reached for some crisps. ‘Never mind about Kate, what’s all the gubbins in the sterilising solution? Looks like bits of a breast pump. Don’t tell me Freddie still isn’t weaned!’

She shot Harry a desperate look, and he just shrugged.

OK. So she was on her own here.

‘It’s for Kizzy,’ she said, being deliberately evasive. ‘She doesn’t tolerate formula very well.’ OK, slight exaggeration, she’d been fine with it until she’d realised there was a choice, but he didn’t have to know that.

He stared at her thoughtfully, then turned to Harry and said, ‘So tell me again how this happened? You just found some kid on the street and married her? Bet that caused a wave of grief through your little black book.’

Harry’s jaw tightened. ‘I don’t have a little black book,’ he replied, and Dan snorted.

‘Last time I saw you, you were fighting them off with a stick—and not trying too hard, if I remember correctly.’

‘I was young.’

‘Oh, and you’re so ancient now, poor old man. All of—what are you, six months older than me? That makes you thirty-one, right? Almost thirty-two? And you married a total stranger because you felt sorry for her? Man, you are nuts. And now you’re living here with Emily and she’s feeding your baby? And I thought I’d just pop home for a few quiet days!

Emily gave him a strained, apologetic smile. ‘Sorry. Of course, if you’d rung…’

She left it hanging, and he shrugged and reached for another handful of crisps and another glass of wine. ‘Last-minute flight,’ he said lightly, and she realised he still hadn’t said anything about Kate.

Well, they all had something they didn’t want to talk about. And she had no doubt he’d tell her in the end. He always had, but she just had to wait and bide her time. In the meantime, he was still grilling Harry.

‘So what did your boss say when you dumped this on him?’ he asked.

‘Her. And you don’t want to know,’ Harry muttered.

‘Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.’

Dan threw back his head and laughed. ‘I’ll bet. So that’s it? No more crazily dangerous reporting from Harry Kavenagh in Timbuctoo?’

‘It’s still up in the air,’ he said evasively. ‘I’ve got a month.’

‘Three weeks,’ Emily put in. Not that she was counting. And she didn’t dare ask what the outcome of his deliberations would be, because she was hoping against hope that he’d pack it all in and stay there and things would…

Dan was letting his breath out on a long, low whistle. ‘That’s a tough one. It all backfired a bit on you, didn’t it? I mean, if you just married her to give her a better life, you didn’t intend presumably to be a father? I mean, not a real one. Not this real, at least. So what the hell are you going to do?’

Harry reached for the crisps and sat back casually. ‘We’ll see,’ he said, but there was nothing casual about the tic in his jaw or the way his free hand was crushing the crisps to dust, one by one in the palm of his other hand.

And for the first time in years, Emily realised she wasn’t actually pleased to see her brother, because his arrival would interfere with the dynamics between her and Harry, and the cosy little family unit she was trying to create felt suddenly very threatened…

‘So what’s the real story, our kid?’

Dan spoke softly, standing beside her and propping up the worktop, long arms folded across his chest, hazel eyes searching.

‘Real story?’

‘Harry. Why’s he back here?’

She shrugged, not sure she knew the answer. ‘He just turned up one day with the baby. He’d been sent home from the hospital with her, and didn’t know what to do. He came here.’

‘The only place he’s ever called home,’ Dan said quietly.

She met his eyes.

‘And you?’

He looked away. ‘Just needed space.’

‘From Kate?’

‘All of it.’

‘Business not going well?’

He shrugged. ‘Business is fine. I’m just not sure of my direction at the moment. Did Nick Barron tell you I ran into him in New York a few weeks ago?’

‘He did mention it. Said you were in good form.’

He chuckled. ‘It was the end of a long party. George had the baby yet?’

‘No—four more weeks, I think. We spent Friday on the beach with them. She’s looking good—coping well.’

‘Unlike Harry.’

‘Oh, Harry’s doing fine. It was a bit of a steep learning curve, but he’s great with her now and he’s wonderful with Freddie and Beth. Beth adores him.’

‘Isn’t that dangerous?’

She nodded, biting her lip. ‘She knows he’s just a friend—that he’s going again. I’ve told her.’

‘And you? Have you told yourself, little Em?’ he said softly.

‘Endlessly.’

‘And do you believe it?’

She shrugged away from the worktop. ‘I have to, don’t I? Because one of these days Harry Kavenagh’s going to pack up his bags and go, and I have to be ready for that.’

‘And Kizzy?’

She stopped, her heart aching. ‘I have no idea what he’s planning for Kizzy. It’s none of my business, and I’m keeping it that way.’

‘If you say so,’ he murmured.

‘I do,’ she said firmly, and headed for the stairs.

‘Sis?’

She turned back to him, reluctantly because she knew all she felt would be written on her face, and he gave a quiet sigh and shook his head. ‘I thought you would have got over him after all this time.’

‘I have,’ she said, her voice even firmer than before, and turning on her heel, she walked resolutely away.

Behind her, Daniel shook his head.

‘Oh, Harry, what have you done?’ he said under his breath, and went to find his old friend.

‘So what really brings you back to Suffolk? Em tells me you aren’t a frequent visitor.’

‘More frequent than you,’ Dan replied, but Harry wasn’t having that.

‘We aren’t talking about me, we’re talking about you,’ he said. ‘And I get the distinct feeling that you rocking up here out of the blue is rather more meaningful than you’re letting on.’

‘I could say the same for you—and since my sister seems to be very much at the heart of this situation, I would very much like to know why.’

‘Why what?’ he asked wearily. ‘Why I came back here? They told me to take my baby home. This came to mind. It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

‘And now?’

Harry met his eyes, then looked away, giving his hands an unreasonable amount of attention. ‘I’m not here to hurt her, Dan. We’re just friends. She’s helping me out of a jam—offering me and Kizzy a roof over our heads while the decorators are in and until the new furniture arrives. Nothing else.’

‘Except she’s feeding your baby.’

Harry felt his neck heat and ran his hand round it, letting out a harsh sigh. ‘That wasn’t meant to happen. Kizzy wouldn’t take the bottle. I was in London for the day, she didn’t know what else to do.’

‘So she got out the breast pump and fed her?’

He prevaricated for a second, then said, ‘Something like that.’

Dan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Hell! She breastfed her, didn’t she? Damn, I might have known. She’s as soft as lights, that girl.’

‘She’s a woman, Dan.’

‘Oh, I’ve noticed—and I might have known you had. Things were never the same after the summer she turned sixteen. I would have thought you’d both moved on from a teenage crush, but perhaps I’ve been naïve.’

Harry stabbed his hands through his hair and growled softly under his breath.

‘Dan, me and Em—there’s nothing to it. She’s just an old friend.’

‘So you haven’t touched her, then? I mean, I know you’re in my room, but that might just be for the sake of the children. A cover story.’

He jackknifed out of the sofa and strode across to the window, glowering down the garden. ‘That’s just fantasy.’

‘Yours?’

Bastard. He felt the colour rise on the back of his neck, the guilt plucking at him.

‘So have you touched her?’

‘I really think that whether he’s touched me or not is none of your damned business, Daniel,’ Em said from the doorway, and Harry swore softly and turned to face her.

‘Em, don’t chew him out, he’s only doing what he’s always done.’

‘Yeah—interfered! Well, it isn’t necessary, Dan, so give it a rest. We aren’t kids any longer. I’m going to bed. I suggest you two do the same and maybe by the morning you will have got some common sense.’

And she stalked off, leaving them both suitably reprimanded.

‘Bossy little madam.’

Harry turned and gave Dan a thoughtful look. ‘Fancy a drop of Irish whiskey?’

‘What—for old times’ sake?’ He grinned wryly and got to his feet, slinging an arm round Harry’s shoulder and slapping it affectionately. ‘Why not? Got a secret stash?’

‘No, but your father always did.’

Dan chuckled. ‘I believe he still has. Come on, let’s raid it. It won’t be the first time.’

And maybe, Harry thought, if he softens up enough, he’ll tell me what’s really going on.

‘So what time did you get to bed last night?’

‘God, you sound like my mother,’ Harry groaned, and scrubbed a hand over his already rumpled hair.

‘I thought your mother had no idea what time you went to bed because she was there as little as possible? And maybe I have a flicker of sympathy for her,’ she said unkindly.

‘Ouch.’ He winced and sat down on the arm of the sofa. ‘And don’t waste your sympathy on her. She didn’t know, didn’t care—didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Let me rephrase that. You sound as if you could be my mother.’

She smiled and relented a little. ‘So—what time? I feel I have the right to ask, since this is the second feed I’ve given your daughter since you crashed into your bedroom at three-thirty this morning.’

‘So why ask if you know what time?’ he groaned, getting up and heading for the kitchen. ‘Tea?’

‘Thanks, that would be lovely.’

Kizzy—like Harry and Dan—had finished the bottle, so Emily lifted her up against her shoulder and followed him through to the kitchen.

‘So did you get anything out of my brother last night?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing that made any sense, but I have to say I think Kate’s at the bottom of it.’

‘Mmm. I agree. Oh, rats. I did so hope he was settled this time. They seemed to get on well enough.’

Harry looked at her closely. ‘Do you like her?’

Oh, blast. Now she was going to be torn between loyalty and truth.

‘That’s a no, then.’

‘I didn’t say a word.’

‘No. And you don’t hang back for nothing. So you don’t like her—or you don’t think she’s right for him.’

‘it’s not for me to decide that,’ she protested, but her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t like Kate—never had, never would. She thought she was superficial and self-serving, and she’d never been able to understand what Dan saw in her. But she’d thought he loved her, was happy with her, and so she’d been happy for him.

She sighed and took her tea, then put it down again, took his from him and handed him the baby. ‘Yours, I think,’ she said. Picking up her tea again, she went back upstairs to bed. Five minutes, she thought. Just five minutes alone, with a cup of tea and a good book—

‘Mummy!’

She gave Freddie a tired smile, scooped him up in one arm and carried him back to bed with her. ‘Hello, little man. How are you today?’

‘’K,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Want tea!’ And he slid off the bed and headed for the stairs, turning as he got to the top to look back at her.

She saw it coming. Saw the inevitable, but as if her feet were stuck in treacle, she just couldn’t get there in time.

‘Freddie, careful!’ she said, running towards him, but he laughed and turned and then went, in slow motion, end over end over end until he hit the floor at the bottom and was still. She screamed and flew down the stairs after him, arriving a fraction after Harry.

‘Don’t touch him!’

His voice checked her, but he held her back, then let her go once he was sure it had registered, but of course it had. She couldn’t move him in case of making his injuries worse—oh, dear God, what if he’d broken his neck? What if he’d got a head injury?

‘Mummy,’ he wailed, and, rolling over, he stumbled into her arms, sobbing pitifully.

She clung to him, tears pouring down her face, rocking him gently. ‘It’s all right, baby, it’s all right. You’re OK, Freddie, I’ve got you,’ she murmured, over and over again, soothing him until his sobs slowed to a steady hiccup.

She became aware of Dan sitting on the bottom step with his arm around her, Harry crouching beyond her, one hand gently, rhythmically stroking her knee. Beth was standing wide-eyed beside him, a look of terror on her face.

She tried to smile. ‘He’s OK. I think he’s probably just bruised. Freddie, let me look at you,’ she said, shocked at how shaky her voice was.

‘Head,’ Freddie said, rubbing his forehead tearfully. She could see a blue bump coming up, and all her fears about head injuries came to the fore again. ‘Magic kiss!’ he demanded, and she closed her eyes and pressed her lips, oh, so gently to the little bump.

‘There,’ she said, her voice shaking still. ‘Magic kiss—all better now.’

And then she looked up and caught Harry’s eyes, and saw the tenderness and concern for her son in them—and the memory of their own magic kiss in his wry, gentle smile.

‘Want tea,’ Freddie said, but Harry shook his head.

‘He ought to be nil by mouth until he’s checked over.’

‘Shouldn’t I just watch him? Keep him awake and check him?’ Just the thought of hours in A and E was enough to make her want to weep, but she knew he was right. ‘OK,’ she sighed, before he could answer. ‘I’ll get dressed. Freddie, stay with Harry and Uncle Dan and Beth, and I’ll get ready, then we’ll go in the car to the hospital and you can see the nice doctors again—OK?’

‘Again?’

She looked up at Harry. ‘Oh, yes. Freddie lives life in the fast lane. We’re regulars. And while I’m gone, could you two find the stairgate and put it up, and give Beth her breakfast, and then, if Kizzy’s all right, why don’t you both go over to the garden and get started on clearing the patio slabs? But for now a clean nappy on him would be good.’

And handing Freddie over to his uncle, she got to her feet and ran upstairs, her legs like jelly. And shutting her bedroom door, she leant back against it, buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

He couldn’t bear it.

‘You OK here?’ he said to Dan, and he nodded, so Harry went past him and up the stairs three at a time, knocked on Emily’s door and pushed it open gently, moving her out of the way and then folding her firmly against his chest.

‘Hey, come on, it’s all right. He’s going to be OK.’

‘Not necessarily,’ she sniffed, ‘and what if he isn’t? I took the stairgate down because he was climbing over it, but he just wasn’t paying attention. If it had been there, it would have slowed him down. I would have been with him—’

‘Shh. It’s OK. It’s not your fault, it’s just life. Stuff happens, Em. Don’t beat yourself up. Come on, let’s see you smile.’ And he tipped up her head and smoothed the tears from her cheeks. Her mouth wobbled, but to give her credit she drew herself up and smiled.

And he couldn’t help himself.

He bent his head, brushed her lips with his and drew her back into his arms. ‘There. Magic kiss. All better now,’ he said gruffly, and then forced himself to let her go.

‘You’d better get dressed and get off. Want one of us to come with you?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine. Can you cope without me? I might be hours,’ she said unevenly.

‘Sure. You go ahead. And don’t worry. Beth will be fine. You just concentrate on Freddie, and let us know if they want to keep him in or anything.’

She nodded. ‘Will do.’

He went back out, closing the door carefully behind him, and found Dan struggling with Freddie’s nappy.

‘Want a hand?’

Dan grunted and stood back. ‘He’s all yours,’ he said with a grin. ‘How is she?’

‘OK. Bit shaken up.’

She wasn’t alone. Just hearing her scream and seeing Freddie tumbling end over end like that down the stairs was enough to make his blood run cold.

If anything had happened to the little lad…

Damn. He was getting in too deep. So deep.

Right in over his head.

He had to get the hell out of there and back to his own house before it was too late, he thought, and ignored the little voice that told him it already was—far, far too late…