Читать книгу English Girl in New York - Scarlet Wilson, Scarlet Wilson - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

FOR A SECOND, Carrie couldn’t move. Her brain wouldn’t compute. Her body wouldn’t function.

Her ears were amplifying the sound. The little mew, mew, mew she’d thought she’d heard was actually a whimper. A whimper that was sounding more frightening by the second.

Her immediate instinct was to run—fast. Get away from this whole situation to keep the fortress around her heart firmly in place and to keep herself sheltered from harm. No good could come of this.

But she couldn’t fight the natural instinct inside her—no matter how hard she tried. So she did what any mother would do: she picked up the little bundle and held it close to her chest.

Even the blanket was cold. And the shock of picking up the bundle chilled her.

Oh, no. The baby.

She didn’t think. She didn’t contemplate. She walked straight over to the nearest door—the one with the thudding music—and banged loudly with her fist. ‘Help! I need help!’

Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then the music switched off and she heard the sound of bare feet on the wooden floor. The door opened and she held her breath.

There he was. In all his glory. Scruffy dark hair, too-tired eyes and bare-chested, with only a pair of jeans clinging to his hips—and a bright pink plaster cast on his wrist. She blinked. Trying to take in the unexpected sight. His brow wrinkled. ‘What the—?’

She pushed past him into the heat of his apartment.

‘I need help. I found this baby on our doorstep.’

‘A baby?’ He looked stunned, then reached over and put a hand around her shoulders, pulling her further inside the apartment and guiding her into a chair next to the fire.

‘What do I do? What do I do with a baby? Why would someone do this?’ She was babbling and she couldn’t help it. She was in a strange half-naked man’s apartment in New York, with an abandoned baby and her pyjamas on.

This really couldn’t be happening.

Her brain was shouting messages at her. But she wasn’t listening. She couldn’t listen. Get out of here.

She stared down at the little face bundled in the blanket. The baby’s eyes were screwed shut and its brow wrinkled. Was it a girl? Or a boy? Something shifted inside her. This was hard. This was so hard.

She shouldn’t be here. She absolutely shouldn’t be here. She was the last person in the world qualified to look after a baby.

But even though her brain was screaming those thoughts at her, her body wasn’t listening. Because she’d lifted her hand, extended one finger and was stroking it down the perfect little cold cheek.

* * *

Dan Cooper’s day had just gone from unlucky to ridiculous. He recognised her. Of course he recognised her. She was the girl with the sad eyes from upstairs.

But now she didn’t look sad. She looked panicked.

He was conscious that her gaze had drifted across his bare abdomen. If she hadn’t been banging on the door so insistently he would have pulled on a shirt first. Instead, he tried to keep his back from her line of vision as he grabbed the T-shirt lying across the back of his sofa.

He looked back at her. Now she didn’t look panicked. She’d stopped babbling. In fact, she’d stopped talking completely. Now she just sat in front of the fire staring at the baby. She looked mesmerised.

His cop instinct kicked into gear. Please don’t let her be a crazy. The last thing he needed today was a crazy.

He walked over and touched her hand, kneeling down to look into her eyes. He’d heard some bizarre tales in his time but this one took the biscuit. ‘What’s your name?’

She gave him only a cursory glance—as if she couldn’t bear to tear her eyes away from the baby. ‘Carrie. Carrie McKenzie. I live upstairs.’

He nodded. The accent drew his attention. The apartment upstairs was used by a business in the city. They often had staff from their multinational partners staying there. His brain was racing. He’d seen this girl, but had never spoken to her. She always looked so sad—as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

He racked his brain. Had she been pregnant? Would he have noticed? Could she have given birth unaided upstairs?

His eyes swept over her. Pyjamas and a dressing gown. Could camouflage anything.

He took a deep breath. Time was of the essence here. He had to ask. He had to cover all the bases. ‘Carrie—is this your baby?’

Her head jerked up. ‘What?’ She looked horrified. And then there was something—something else. ‘Of course not!’

A feeling of relief swept over him. He’d been a cop long enough to know a genuine response when he saw one. Thank goodness. Last thing he needed right now was a crazy neighbour with a baby.

He reached over and pulled the fleecy blanket down from around the baby’s face. The baby was breathing, but its cheeks were pale.

The nearest children’s hospital was Angel’s, all the way up next to Central Park. They wouldn’t possibly be able to reach there in this weather. And it was likely that the ambulance service had ground to a halt. He had to prioritise. Even though he wasn’t an expert, the baby seemed okay.

He stood up. ‘How did you find the baby?’

Her brow wrinkled. ‘I heard a noise. I thought it was a cat. I came downstairs to see.’

He couldn’t hide the disbelief in his voice. ‘You thought a baby was a cat?’

Her blue eyes narrowed as they met his. His tone had obviously annoyed her. ‘Well, you know, it was kinda hard to hear with your music blaring.’

He ignored the sarcasm, even though it humoured him. Maybe Miss Sad-Eyes had some spunk after all. ‘How long since you first heard it?’ This was important. This was really important.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Five minutes? Maybe a little more?’

His feet moved quickly. He grabbed for the jacket that hung behind the door and shoved his bare feet into his baseball boots.

She stood up. ‘Where are you going? Don’t leave me alone. I don’t know the first thing about babies.’

He turned to her. ‘Carrie, someone left this baby on our doorstep.’ His eyes went to the window, to the heavy snow falling on the window ledge as he slid his arms into his jacket. ‘Outside, there could be someone in trouble. Someone could be hurt. I need to go and check.’

She bit her lip and glanced at the baby before giving a small cursory nod of her head. He stepped outside into the bitter cold, glancing both ways, trying to decide which way to go. There was nothing in the snow. Any tracks that had been left had been covered within minutes; the snow was falling thick and fast.

He walked to the other side of the street and looked over at their building. Why here? Why had someone left their baby here?

There were some lights on in the other apartment buildings on the street. But most of the lights were in the second or third storeys. Theirs was the only building with lights on in the first floor. It made sense. Someone had wanted this baby found quickly.

He walked briskly down the street. Looking for anything—any sign, any clue. He ducked down a few alleyways, checking behind Dumpsters, looking in receded doorways.

Nothing. Nobody.

He turned and started back the other way. Checking the alleys on the other side of the street and in the opposite direction. His feet moving quickly through the sludgy snow.

He should have stopped and pulled some socks on. The thin canvas of his baseball boots was soaked through already. The temperature must have dropped by several degrees since the sun had gone down. He’d only been out here a few minutes and already he was freezing.

He looked up and his heart skipped a beat. Carrie was standing at his window, holding the baby in her arms. There was a look of pure desperation on her face—as if she were willing him to find the mother of this child.

It was a sight he’d never expected to see. A woman, holding a child, in his apartment. She’d pulled up his blinds fully and the expanse of the apartment he called home was visible behind her. His large, lumpy but comfortable sofa. His grandmother’s old high-back chair. His kitchen table. His dresser unit. His kitchen worktop. The picture hanging above the fireplace.

Something niggled at him. His apartment was his space. He’d rarely ever had a relationship that resulted in him ‘bringing someone over’. He could count on one hand the number of girlfriends who’d ever made it over his doorway. And even then it seemed to put them on an automatic countdown to disaster.

He didn’t really do long-term relationships. Oh, he dated—but after a few months, once they started to get that hopeful look in their eyes, he always found a way to let them down gently. They eventually got the message. It was better that way.

So seeing Carrie standing in his apartment with a baby in her arms took the wind clean out of his sails. The sooner all this was over with, the better.

Still, she was cute. And even better—from London. She’d have no plans to stay around here. Maybe a little flirting to pass the time?

He gave himself a little shake and had another look around. There was no one out here. The streets were completely empty.

It was so funny being on the outside looking in. He loved his home. He cherished it. But he’d never really taken a moment to stand outside and stare in—to see what the world must see on their way past if he hadn’t pulled the blinds. His grandmother had left it to him in her will and he knew how lucky he was. There was no way a single guy on a cop’s salary could have afforded a place like this.

But it was his. And he didn’t even owe anything on it. All he had to do was cover the bills.

A little thought crept into his mind. He hadn’t quite pulled the blinds fully tonight. He just hadn’t gotten round to it. Was that why someone had left their baby here?

Did they see into his home and think it would be a safe place to leave a baby?

It sent a shudder down his spine. The thought that a few minutes ago someone could have been out here having those kind of thoughts.

The snowfall was getting even heavier—he could barely see ten feet in front of him. This was pointless. He was never going to find any clues in this weather. He had to concentrate on the immediate. He had to concentrate on the baby.

He hurried back into the apartment. Carrie turned to face him. ‘Nothing?’ The anxiety in her voice was obvious. Was she just a concerned citizen? Or was it something else?

He shook his head and pulled off his jacket, hanging it back up behind the door.

He walked over to where she was standing at the window and had another quick look out into the deserted street, searching for something, anything—a shadow, a movement. But there was nothing. Just the silence of the street outside.

He stood next to her, watching the way she cradled the baby in her arms. She was holding the baby, but he could sense she was uneasy. She’d said she didn’t know the first thing about babies—well, neither did he. And in a snowstorm like this, it was unlikely they could get any help.

Most of the people who stayed around here were professionals. He couldn’t think of a single family that stayed on this street. There were a couple of older people who had lived here for years. Mrs Van Dyke upstairs, but her family had long since moved away. There really wasn’t anyone they could call on for help.

He watched her. The way her blue eyes were fixed on the face of the baby, still swaddled in its blanket. It was then he noticed the way her arms were trembling. It was slight—ever so slight. Making her chestnut curls waver and the pink flush of her cheeks seem heated.

She was beautiful. Now that he was close enough to take a good look at her, Carrie McKenzie was beautiful. Even if she didn’t know it herself. Even with the realm of sadness in her blue eyes. He wondered what they looked like when they were happy. Did they sparkle, like the sun glinting off a turquoise-blue sea?

They were standing too close. He was sure his warm breath must be dancing across her skin. He could smell the orange scent of her bath oils, still present on her skin. He liked it. It was nicer than the cloying scent of some perfumes that women wore. The ones that prickled your nose from the other side of the room. This was like a warm summer’s day. Here, in his living room, in the middle of a snowstorm in New York.

She looked up at him with those sad blue eyes. She didn’t pull away from him. She didn’t seem to think he had invaded her personal space. It was quite unnerving. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to a beautiful woman in his apartment—and certainly not one in her nightwear.

A smile danced across his face. If he’d ever pictured a woman in his apartment in her nightwear it certainly hadn’t been in fluffy pyjamas and bed socks. She blinked and it snapped him out of his wayward thoughts and back to the current situation.

‘I don’t even know your name,’ she whispered.

Wow. He hadn’t even introduced himself. What kind of a New Yorker was he that his neighbour didn’t even know his name? His grandma would kill him for his lack of manners and hospitality.

Why hadn’t he ever introduced himself? Was it because he was so used to the constant flow of traffic up above him that he hadn’t thought it worth his while? The thought shamed him. Because this woman definitely looked as if she could do with a friend. ‘Dan. Daniel Cooper.’

‘Daniel,’ she repeated, as if she were trying to associate his face with the name. Her lips curled upwards. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Daniel,’ she whispered, her gaze steady on his. ‘Even if I am barely dressed.’ He liked that about her. Even though her arms were trembling and she was clearly out of her depth, she could still look him clear in the eye and make a joke at her own expense.

The baby let out a whimper, reminding them of its presence, and he jerked back to reality. ‘Maybe it’s time to find out whether we’ve had a boy or a girl.’ He raised his eyebrows at her and held out his hands to take the bundle from her.

It only took a few seconds to relieve her of the weight. There was a noticeable sigh of relief in her shoulders as she handed the baby over.

He walked closer to the fire and unwound the little blanket. His cast made it awkward. There were no baby clothes underneath—no diaper. Just a little wrinkled towel. Carrie let out a gasp, lifting her hand to her mouth at the sight of a piece of string and a barely shrivelled umbilical cord.

Dan sucked in a deep breath. ‘Well, like I said, I’m no expert but I guess this means we have a newborn.’ A million thoughts started to flood into his head but he tried to push them aside. ‘And I guess I should say congratulations, we’ve got a boy.’ He rewrapped the blanket and lifted the little one onto his shoulder, trying to take in the enormity of the situation.

‘I have a friend who works at Angel’s, the children’s hospital. Let me give her a call.’

‘Her?’

He lifted his head. It was just the way she said the word her. As if it implied something else entirely.

‘Yes. She’s a paediatrician. Since neither of us know what we’re doing and we can’t get any immediate help, I guess she’s the best bet we’ve got.’

He walked over to the phone and dialled quickly, putting the phone onto speaker as he adjusted the baby on his shoulder, away from his cast. ‘Can you page Dr Adams for me? Tell her it’s Sergeant Cooper and it’s an emergency. Thanks.’

It only took a few seconds to connect. ‘Dan? What’s up?’

The relief he felt was instant. Shana was the best kids’ doctor that he knew. She would tell him exactly what to do.

‘Hi, Shana. I’ve got a bit of a problem. I’ve had a baby dumped on my doorstep and from the looks of it, it’s a newborn.’

‘What?’ He could hear the incredulous tone in her voice. ‘In this weather?’

‘Exactly.’

Shana didn’t mess around. She was straight down to business. ‘Is the baby breathing?’

‘Yes.’

‘How cold? Do you have a thermometer? What’s the baby’s colour? And how is it responding?’

Carrie burst in. ‘We think he was outside for just over five minutes. His skin was cold when I brought him in—and he was pale. But he’s started to warm up. He looks pinker now.’ Her brow was furrowed. ‘Do you have a thermometer, Dan?’ She was shaking her head. ‘I don’t.’

‘Who’s that?’

Daniel cleared his throat. ‘That’s Carrie, my neighbour from upstairs. It was she who heard the baby crying. And no, Shana, we don’t have a thermometer.’

‘No matter. Crying? Now that’s a good sign. That’s a positive.’

Carrie shook her head. ‘Not crying exactly, more like a whimper.’

‘Any noise is good noise. You said he’s a newborn. Is the cord still attached? Is it tied off?’

‘Yes, it’s tied with a piece of string. Doesn’t look the cleanest. But the baby was only wrapped up in a blanket. No clothes. No diaper.’

‘Sounds like no preparation. I wonder if the mother had any prenatal care. Does the baby look full term?’

Daniel shrugged and looked at Carrie, who shook her head and mouthed, I don’t know.

‘To be honest, Shana, neither of us are sure. I guess he looks okay. What does a full-term baby look like?’

‘Does he have a sucking reflex? Is he trying to root?’

‘What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ He was trying hard not to panic. This was all second nature to Shana. These types of questions were the ones she asked day in, day out. To him it all sounded like double Dutch.

They could hear the sound of muffled laughter at the other end of the phone. ‘One of you, scrub your hands thoroughly under the tap then brush your finger around the side of the baby’s mouth. I want to know if he turns towards it, as if he’s trying to breastfeed or bottlefeed.’

Daniel nodded at Carrie, who walked over to the sink and started scrubbing her hands. ‘Give us a second, Shana.’

Carrie dried her hands and then walked back over and lifted her finger hesitantly to the side of the baby’s mouth. It took a few gentle brushes to establish that the little guy was reacting to her touch, turning towards it and opening his mouth.

‘Yes, Shana. We think he is responding.’

‘Good. That’s a sign that he’s around full term.’ She gave an audible sigh. ‘Okay, Daniel, you’re not going to like this.’

‘What?’ Did she think something was wrong with the baby?

‘There’s no way I can send anyone from Angel’s to get that baby. Our emergency room is packed and the roads around us are completely impassable. And from the weather report it’s going to be like that for a few days.’

‘Is that the good news or the bad news?’ The mild feeling of panic was starting to rise.

Shana let out a laugh. ‘Probably both. It sounds as if your baby is doing okay. Thank goodness. He will need a proper assessment as soon as possible. I’ll put the necessary call in to social services, but they are on the other side of the city from you and everyone is in crisis right now. It will be a few days before they get to you. In the meantime the first thing you need to do is feed the little guy. Do you have somewhere local you can get some supplies?’

Blank. His brain had instantly gone blank. He’d never had any reason to look for baby supplies before. Where on earth would he get them?

Carrie touched his arm. ‘Mr Meltzer stays above his store. I’m sure he’ll have some powdered baby milk and diapers we can buy.’

Instant relief, followed by a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘Shana, you can’t seriously expect us to look after a baby. Me, Shana? Seriously?’

‘Daniel Cooper, you’re one of the most responsible guys I know. I can’t think of a single other person I would trust with a newborn baby right now. You’re like any brand-new parent. None of them have experience. They just learn as they go. You’ll need to do the same.’

‘But they have nine months to get used to the idea. They read dozens of books about what to do—’

‘And you have your own personal paediatrician at the other end of a phone. Not that I think you’ll need me.’

Daniel could feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest. He wasn’t afraid—not really. As a New York cop he’d dealt with most things in life. He’d had a gun pulled on him, a knife—on more than one occasion. He’d stopped a young girl from being abducted once, and managed to resist the temptation of doing what he really wanted to the potential kidnapper. He’d even talked a guy down from the edge of a rooftop before. But this? Looking after a baby? Why did it seem more intimidating than anything else?

‘Shana, I don’t think I’m the best person for the job.’

‘Why not? You’re practical. You’re resourceful. And right now you’re the best that baby’s got.’ She was beginning to sound exasperated. Angel’s must be under an enormous amount of pressure right now, and he really didn’t want to add to it. ‘You’ve even got some help from your neighbour.’

He glanced over at Carrie, who was shaking her head frantically. No, she was mouthing.

‘Suck it up, Daniel—and call me if you have any problems.’ There was a click at the other end of the phone.

Carrie’s chin was practically bouncing off the floor. ‘Suck it up, Daniel? Suck it up? That’s what she says to you?’ Her voice was getting higher pitched by the second and the baby was starting to squirm in his arms, reacting to the noise.

Reactions? Was that a good sign, too? He really didn’t have a clue.

He shrugged. ‘She’s my best friend’s older sister. It isn’t the first time Shana’s told me to suck it up—and it won’t be the last.’ He walked over to the sofa and sank down onto the cushions. This little guy weighed more than he thought. Or maybe it was just because he couldn’t swap him between his arms.

‘I’m going to have to put a call in to the station, to let my captain know about the abandoned baby.’

Carrie sagged down next to him on the sofa. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I know we’ve just met, Daniel, but I’m sorry. I just can’t help you with this. I can’t do it. Babies—’ she hesitated ‘—they’re just not my thing. I won’t be any help anyway. I don’t know a thing about babies.’

He stared at her. Hard. ‘You’ve got to be joking, right?’

Her eyes opened and widened. It was clear she was instantly on the defence. ‘No. Why?’

He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You turn up at my door with a baby, and now you’re expecting to dump it on me in the middle of a snowstorm.’

When he said the words out loud they were even worse than the thoughts in his head.

Her face paled. ‘But I...’

‘I nothing.’ A grin appeared on his face. ‘Suck it up, Carrie.’

She drew back from him and he could sense her taking some deep breaths. ‘It’s not quite like that.’

He shook his head. There was no way she was leaving him high and dry. He waved his cast at her. ‘What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to bath a baby with one of these? Sure, I can probably manage to feed a baby and make up some bottles. But be practical, Carrie. I’m hardly the ideal babysitter right now.’ He could see her staring at his pink cast and trying to work things out in her head. ‘Least you can do is give me some help.’

Her cheeks flushed with colour, as if she’d just realised how mean it looked to walk away.

She pointed at his cast. ‘How did you end up with that anyway? And what made you pick a pink cast?’

He snorted. ‘Pick isn’t the word I would choose. There was an accident earlier today, a tonne of snow fell off a roof and I got trapped underneath it pushing people out of the way.’

Her eyes widened. ‘On Fourteenth Street? That was you?’

He sat up a little straighter. ‘How do you know about that?’

‘I was there. I saw it happen.’ She tilted her head to the side and stared at him again. ‘I didn’t realise it was you—I mean, I didn’t know you.’ She reached over and touched his cast. ‘I remember. I remember seeing you hold your wrist at a funny angle. I guess it’s broken, then?’

He nodded.

‘And the pink?’

He smiled. ‘It seems that today was the biggest day in the world for fractures at the clinic on Sixteenth Street.’ He waved his wrist. ‘Pink was the only colour they had left.’

She started to laugh. ‘I can just imagine the look on your face when they told you that.’

He started to laugh, too. ‘I was less than impressed. The air might have been a little blue.’

‘Not pink?’

‘Definitely not pink.’

She shook her head. ‘That was really scary. I just remember the noise and the shouts. What about that woman in the red coat and her little boy? And that elderly couple?’

She really had been there. And she could remember the details. The lady could be a cop. ‘All checked out and okay. One of the businessmen twisted his ankle and the other was being assessed for a head injury. He kept being sick.’

‘Wow. Thank goodness you were there.’

Her words struck a chord with him. He hadn’t really thought about that. He’d been too angry at breaking his wrist and being out of action for the NYPD. He hadn’t really had time to stop to think about what could have happened to that elderly couple, or the woman and her young son.

A vision flashed in his eyes. The woman in the red coat cradling her son with one arm as if he was the most precious thing on earth. Then looking at him, with her hand on her heart, and mouthing, Thank you. He hadn’t really had time to talk to her properly, but that one action had been more than enough for him. He didn’t do this job for the thanks.

The little bundle shifted in his arms and started to whimper again. There was colour coming into the baby’s cheeks and his tongue was starting to play around the edge of his mouth. He sighed. ‘I guess our boy is getting hungry. I’ll give Mr Meltzer a call and see if he can open the store so we can get some supplies. Know anything about making baby bottles?’

Carrie shook her head quite forcefully. ‘I’ve told you—I can’t help. This isn’t my thing.’

But Dan was already on his feet, shifting his weight and moving the baby into her arms, whether she was ready or not. ‘My computer’s right next to you. Do an internet search while I’m gone.’ He flicked through the nearby phone directory and punched a number into his phone. ‘I’ll only be five minutes.’

He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door again. What was her problem? He wasn’t so chauvinistic that he expected all women to want to be mothers, but he did expect any responsible adult to help out in an emergency situation.

Maybe it was just the cop in him. Maybe his expectations of the average person were too high. But he’d seen the way she’d looked at the baby. She might not have experience, but she couldn’t hide the tenderness in her eyes.

Maybe she was just uncomfortable with the pyjama situation. Maybe he should offer to let her go back upstairs and get changed.

He pressed the send button on his phone as he headed along the white street. Whatever it was, she’d better get over it quick. There was no way he was doing this on his own.

* * *

Carrie sat frozen on the sofa.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

There was a weight pressed firmly against her chest. Like a huge dumb-bell just sitting there, taunting her to try and pull some air into her lungs.

He was scowling at her again. The baby. Nearly as much as Daniel Cooper had scowled at her when she’d tried to pull out all the lame excuses under the sun to get out of here.

It must make her seem like a bitch. But right now she didn’t care.

She could feel tears starting to flood into her eyes. This was someone’s precious baby. Someone’s living, breathing, precious bundle. What on earth could happen in this life that would make you leave a baby on someone’s doorstep in the middle of a snowstorm?

It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair.

Last time she’d held a baby it hadn’t been moving. Its little chest didn’t have the rise and fall that this little boy’s had. It didn’t have the pink flush to its cheeks.

She blinked back the tears. The tightening in her chest was getting worse.

It.

A terrible term.

But she couldn’t use any other right now. She couldn’t think about her daughter. She couldn’t think about Ruby McKenzie. She couldn’t let that name invade her thoughts.

Because then she would spiral downwards. Then she would remember the nursery and pram. Then she would remember the routine check at the midwife’s, followed by the urgent scan. Then she would remember the forty-eight-hour labour, with no cry of joy at the end of it.

Then she would remember the disintegration of her five-year relationship, as both of them struggled to cope with their bereavement.

The whimpering was getting worse, turning into full-blown screams.

She’d have given anything to hear the screams of her daughter. She’d have given anything to see her daughter screw up her face and let out a yell like that.

She shifted the baby onto her shoulder. Five minutes. Dan would be back in five minutes.

She put her hand on the keyboard of the computer and did a quick search. If she could keep her mind on something else, she could fight back the feelings. She could stop them from enveloping her. How to sterilise and prepare bottles.

She read the screen in front of her, scanning quickly. Her hand automatically moving and patting the baby on the back. She could do this. She could help him make a bottle and then leave.

He couldn’t expect any more. She couldn’t give any more.

She could feel herself pulling in—withdrawing inside herself. Turning into someone else. Stepping outside herself to a place where there was no hurt, no memories. Switching off.

It was the only way she’d coped before. And it was the only way she could cope now.

She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes maximum.

She could keep this face painted in place for ten minutes when he got back. That was how long it would take to sterilise the bottle, make up the powdered milk and leave him positioned on the sofa.

Her eyes registered something on the screen. Darn it! Cooled boiled water. How long did the water have to cool for before it was suitable to give a baby?

Maybe he’d only just boiled the kettle. She juggled the baby in her arms and walked over to the kitchen countertop, putting her hand on the side of the kettle. Stone cold. She picked it up and gave it a shake—and practically empty.

Nightmare.

She ran the tap and filled the kettle, putting it back into position and flicking the switch for it to boil.

Then she felt it—and heard it.

That first little squelchy noise. Followed by a warm feeling where her hand was resting on the baby’s bottom.

No nappy. This little boy had no nappy on.

Her heart sank like a stone as she felt the warm feeling spread across her stomach. Could this night really get any worse?