Delivered: One Family
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Caroline Anderson
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10
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS a big front door. Big and solid and made of oak, a sturdy door that Liv leant on for a moment while she conjured up the courage to ring the bell.
It was four in the morning, and she was probably the last person Ben wanted to see, but she wasn’t in a position to be considerate—not then, with all that had happened. She’d apologise later—if he was still speaking to her! There was no guarantee he would be.
The doorbell echoed eerily through the silent house, and Liv pulled her coat round her and shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was cold or shock. Probably both. All she knew was that Ben had to come to the door. He had to be at home—there was nowhere else for her to go.
Because, with this last reckless and impulsive act, Olivia Kensington had come to the end of the line.
‘All right, all right,’ Ben muttered. ‘Hang on, I’m coming.’ He ran downstairs, belting his dressing gown securely and flicking on the lights as he reached the darkened hallway.
He turned the key, yanked the door open and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light.
‘Liv?’
She looked up at him, her eyes indistinct, shimmering pools of green and gold in the too bright light of the porch. Her dark hair was artfully rumpled, and her smile was as bright as the light. She was clearly oblivious of the hour and the fact that he had been fast asleep, and Ben was tempted to strangle her.
He was always tempted to strangle her. Instead he propped himself against the door jamb and folded his arms across his chest with a resigned sigh. ‘What on earth are you doing here at this time of night?’ he asked with the last shred of his usually endless patience. ‘You aren’t locked out, you’re too far from home—so what is it, Liv? Staying with someone locally and the party ended too soon? You got bored? You’re lost?’
She shook her head.
‘No? OK, I give up. To what do I owe the singular honour of your company at—’ he checked his watch ‘—stupid o’clock in the morning?’
The smile widened, became wry. ‘Sorry, it is a bit late. It’s just—you know you rang me a few weeks ago to ask if I knew anyone who was looking for a housekeeper’s job?’
‘Housekeeper?’ He went still, anticipating trouble and knowing he wouldn’t be disappointed. Not with Liv. ‘Yes?’ he said cautiously, trying to see into the taxi behind her. Had she dragged some prospective candidate along? At whatever time it was? Only Liv—
‘I’d like to apply—if it’s still free.’
‘You?’ For a moment he didn’t move, and then he shrugged himself away from the frame and peered down at her more closely. That was when he noticed the smudge of mascara round her eyes, the brittleness of the smile, the slight tremor running through her frame.
‘For God’s sake, Liv, what’s happened?’ he said softly, stepping down into the porch and putting an arm round her.
She dragged in a huge breath and smiled gamely up at him, lifting her shoulders in a devil-may-care shrug, but the smile shattered and her mouth firmed into a grim line. ‘He threw me out—Oscar. He said—you don’t want to know what he said.’ She shuddered. ‘Anyway, he threw us out of the door and slammed it—I tried to ring you but my mobile phone doesn’t work any more. The bastard must have had it disconnected instantly—he’s probably reported it stolen.’
The bitterness and shock in her voice brought a murderous rage boiling to the surface in Ben. He looked past her again to the taxi sitting on his drive with its engine running. The driver cut the engine, and in the silence he could hear the insistent wailing of a tiny baby.
‘You’ve got the children?’
She nodded, and he raked his hands through his close-cropped hair and released a sigh of relief. ‘Come in, Liv—all of you, come in,’ he said gently.
Her shoulders straightened, pride yanking her upright. ‘Ben, I wonder if I could ask a favour? I can’t pay the taxi—I cleared out my handbag this morning and I must have forgotten to put my credit card folder back in, and I don’t have any cash—’ She broke off, biting her lip, and Ben guessed she was at the end of her tether.
‘Sure. I’ll deal with it. Come in before you freeze.’ With a deep sigh he led her inside, sat her down before she fell and went out to the taxi driver.
‘What do I owe you?’ he asked, and winced at the reply. ‘OK. I’ll just take the children inside. Could you bring the luggage?’
‘No luggage, mate,’ the taxi driver told him. ‘Just her and the screaming kids. One of them’s got a real fruity nappy, as well. Don’t envy whoever changes that one!’ He chuckled, and Ben opened the back door and reached in, lifting the tiny squalling baby off the broad seat and tucking it carefully into his arms. Poor little beast, he was only about four weeks old—maybe less. Ben couldn’t remember exactly.
A toddler with Liv’s tumbling dark curls was slumped in the corner, thumb hanging from her lip, fast asleep. The aroma seemed to be coming from her. He carried the baby in to Liv, handed it to her, found the money for the taxi in his wallet and went back for the other child.
She woke, stared at him for a second then started to cry.
‘Come on, sweetheart. Mummy’s inside,’ he reassured her, and held out his hand. She wouldn’t trust him that far, but she squirmed off the seat and stumbled to the door. He helped her out of the cab and watched it peel away, stripping his gravel in a way that made him wince.
Oh, well. The little girl was heading determinedly for the front door, leaving a trail of nappy-flavoured fog behind her. Ben followed, shutting the front door and leaning on it, looking down at Liv, seeing her clearly for the first time.
She was exhausted. There were bags under her eyes that were weeks old, her face was drawn, her eyes were bleak and hopeless now she’d stopped pretending, and the despair in them made him want to kill Oscar.
Slowly.
Inch by despicable inch.
He crouched down beside Liv and squeezed her leg. ‘Your daughter needs a new nappy.’
She found a smile from somewhere, and his heart turned over. ‘I know. I noticed. I don’t have one.’
The baby started to cry again, and Ben looked at it thoughtfully.
‘Can I help you give him a bottle? Or are you breastfeeding?’
She looked suddenly even sadder, if that were possible. ‘I was—Oscar didn’t like it. He was jealous. He said it didn’t do my figure any good, but I didn’t think that was why we’d had children—’ She broke off, biting her lip, then looked up at him with eyes that tore his heart. ‘Ben, I don’t have anything—not for any of us. No bottles, no nappies—nothing. I’m sorry to land on you like this, but I didn’t know where else to go—’
She broke off again, hanging on to her control by a thread, and Ben squeezed her knee again and stood up. ‘I’ll find you some little towels you can use as nappies as a stop-gap, and you can help yourself to anything you need in the kitchen while I go to the shops. There’s an all-night supermarket—I can pick up some emergency supplies.’
He ran upstairs, threw on his clothes and ran down again, a handful of little towels at the ready. She was still sitting there without moving, the screaming baby nuzzling at her jumper and the toddler lying against her leg, whining with exhaustion.
‘Come on,’ he said gently, and helped Liv up and led her through to the kitchen. Then he passed her the towels, took the crying baby and left her to make the best she could of the new makeshift nappies. She took the little girl out to the cloakroom, following his directions, and he could hear them talking in the lulls between the baby’s screams.
‘Poor little tyke,’ he murmured, rocking it gently. ‘Do you have a name? Probably something stupid like Hannibal, knowing Oscar.’
‘He’s called Christopher, after my father. Oscar wasn’t interested in his name. I call him Kit for short.’
Ben looked up at her, holding her daughter in her arms, and wondered what else Oscar hadn’t been interested in. He hadn’t even cared enough to give this brave and lovely girl his name.
‘Does he always cry like this?’ he asked as Kit struck up again.
‘Only when he’s hungry, but I haven’t got anything to feed him—’
‘When did you stop feeding him yourself?’ he asked.
‘Last week. Why?’
‘Because you could try. He might not get much food, but he’d get comfort, surely? Just until I can get to the shops? The supermarket down the road is open twenty-four hours. I can be back in half an hour with some formula and bottles.’
She looked doubtful. ‘I could try, but I don’t think it’ll work. I don’t know what else to do, but he’s so hungry, I can’t bear it.’ Tears in her eyes, Liv took him, cradling him tenderly against her shoulder and patting him consolingly, but he didn’t want to be consoled. He wanted to be fed, and he was going to scream until it happened.
‘I’ll put the kettle on for you. Why don’t you curl up on those big chairs by the window and settle them down, and I’ll nip out? Is there anything you particularly want?’
‘The contents of their nursery?’ she said drily, with a brave attempt at humour.
‘I’ll take my mobile phone. The number’s here, on the wall. Ring me as you think of things. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
He went through to his garage, pressed the remote to open the door and then the gate, and drove up the road towards the supermarket, deep in thought. So Oscar, the scumbag, had thrown them out empty-handed in the middle of the night, had he? On what feeble pretext?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He pulled up at the supermarket, went in and stood staring dumbly at the endless rows of disposable nappies. Some for boys, some for girls, all different sizes and ages, umpteen different makes, with resealable tabs and pretty pictures and a bewildering array of specialist features, each purporting to outdo the other brands.
The formula milk was no better. He stared hopelessly at the different makes and wondered if the wrong one would upset Kit. And what about the girl, Melissa? He couldn’t remember her nickname—Maisie or something. What did she eat?
It was a minefield—and his chances of getting through it without being blown apart were so slight it wasn’t worth considering. Pulling his mobile phone out of his pocket, he punched in his home number and waited.
The phone startled Liv, waking her and Missy who started to whinge again. Kit was asleep at her breast, too exhausted to cry any more. Without moving him she struggled to her feet and picked the phone up cautiously. ‘Hello?’
‘What size and brand of nappies and milk formula?’ Ben asked without preamble.
She told him, and she could hear him muttering to himself as he went up and down the aisle. ‘Got them. How many?’
‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘One packet of each for now. I’ll have to sort something out.’ She paused for a moment, then abandoned diplomacy, because there was no diplomatic way to ask it, and said, ‘I take it you were alone last night? I mean, nobody’s about to come downstairs and ask awkward questions or get embarrassed? I didn’t mess up a hot date or anything, did I?’
He laughed. Well, she thought it was a laugh. It sounded a little stressed, but it was about five in the morning and he probably was a little stressed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No hot date. Just my beauty sleep.’
‘Ben, I’m sorry,’ she said softly, and he stopped laughing.
‘Liv, it’s OK,’ he promised, and she believed him.
‘Thanks. Don’t forget sterilising stuff for the bottles.’
He muttered something, then cut the connection. Would he manage? It was silly, really, she should have gone with him, but she was so tired, so terribly weary and shocked and disillusioned.
Oddly, she wasn’t hurt. Not deeply hurt, the way she should have been. Not gutted. Just wounded pride more than anything, with the cruel things Oscar had said. And angry. Dear God, was she angry! She started to pace round the kitchen, her fury building, and by the time Ben got back she was ready to kill.
He took one look at her, raised an eyebrow and unpacked the shopping on to the big island unit. ‘Formula. Bottles. Sterilising stuff. Food for Maisie.’
‘Missy,’ she corrected, and the corner of his mouth tipped.
‘Missy,’ he agreed. ‘Nappies—for little boys and big girls. Pyjamas. A dress. Tights. Vests. A sleepsuit for Kit. And—’ he put his hand into the bag and pulled it out ‘—toffees.’
‘I love you,’ she said earnestly, and grabbed the bag, ripping it open and peeling one. Bliss. How had he remembered?
‘Right, Missy,’ she said, her teeth firmly stuck together, ‘let’s get you ready for bed.’ She scooped up the armful of baby clothes and then, suddenly aware yet again of the enormity of their imposition, she looked at Ben. ‘Um—I take it it is OK for us to stay? I mean, just for a while? A few days or so? You will say if it isn’t, or whatever—’
‘Liv, it’s fine; don’t stress. I’ll come up and give you a hand. What shall I bring?’
She looked at the things, then at Kit finally asleep wedged in cushions on one of the big chairs by the window, and shrugged. ‘Nappies—both sorts. Nothing else. They’ll sleep once they’re in bed—please God.’
‘I’ve got a cot—in case friends stay. It’s not made up but it soon can be. Which one do you want to put in it?’
‘Missy,’ she said definitely, her mind at rest about the stairs now she knew her little daughter wouldn’t be able to fall down them. ‘Kit can sleep in a drawer or something.’
‘So you can shut it if he screams?’ Ben asked mildly, leading her into a bedroom, the baby in his arms.
Liv laughed, the tension easing a fraction. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said.
They went straight to sleep, Missy in the cot and Kit beside her in his makeshift little bed in the huge bottom drawer of a mahogany wardrobe, and Ben led Liv back downstairs, put a mug of tea in her hand and sat down, legs sprawled out under the kitchen table.
‘Drink your tea,’ he ordered, and she sat and picked up the mug, playing with it while she ran through the night again in her mind.
He said nothing, just watched her, and after a moment Liv stood up, mug in hand, and walked over to the window. It faced the road, beyond the curving drive and the neatly trimmed shrubs and the manicured lawn.
Liv didn’t see them. What she saw was Oscar, arrogant, cocky, bored, telling her where he’d been, and who with, in graphic and embarrassing detail.
‘Aren’t you going to ask?’ she said to Ben, an edge in her voice.
‘You’ll tell me when you’re ready,’ he said gently.
She put the mug down, hugging her elbows and pacing round the kitchen. ‘He’s a—a—’ she began.
‘Bastard?’
‘No, thanks to him and his liberated attitude—but yes, he’s a bastard in the sense you mean. Oh, yes.’
Ben shrugged. ‘He always has been. It’s taken you four years to realise it. I don’t know why you didn’t cotton on sooner.’
‘Nobody told me.’
‘People tend to be circumspect,’ he said, chasing a bubble in the top of his tea. ‘Anyway, it was so obvious I couldn’t believe you didn’t notice.’
‘Well, I didn’t,’ she sighed. ‘Besides, he was wonderful to me at first—when I had a figure.’
Ben’s mouth tightened and his blue eyes seemed to shoot sparks. She thought inconsequentially that it was just as well Oscar wasn’t in the room, because Ben would kill him. It was a tempting thought.
‘So what happened tonight?’
She picked her tea up and went over to the table, sitting down again restlessly. There was a bowl of sugar on the table, and she played with it, dribbling the grains off the spoon, watching it intently without seeing it. ‘He was late. He came home after midnight—he hadn’t said he was going to be late, so I’d waited with supper for him. It was ruined, of course, but he didn’t want it. He’d eaten.’
‘Alone?’
She snorted and rammed the spoon back in the sugar. ‘Yeah, right. Oscar doesn’t eat alone. Oscar doesn’t do anything alone. No, he was with his mistress. The one he’s been keeping for the past six months or so.’ She felt bile rise in her throat, and grabbed another toffee, ripping the wrapper off and shoving it in her mouth angrily.
‘Six months!’ she muttered round the sweet. ‘Damn him, he’s had her there for six months, cosily installed in the block next to his office so he didn’t even have to make the effort of commuting for his sex!’
She bit down on the toffee and growled furiously. ‘Do you know what he said to me?’ she raged, standing up again and waving her arms wildly. ‘He said he wanted a real woman—one who knew how to please a man. He said he was sick of my baggy stomach and my sagging—’
She broke off and took a deep breath. ‘He said I stank of baby sick and he was fed up with falling over toys and nearly breaking his ankles and coming home to screaming kids and a woman who was constantly out of commission—as if I was a dishwasher that was on the blink, for goodness’ sake! I’m his wife! Well, no, I’m not, because the toad wouldn’t marry me, but you know what I mean.’
‘So what happened then?’ Ben asked, prompting her gently.
She caught her breath and sighed. ‘I said if that was the way he felt, there was no point in putting up with him and his vile temper any longer, and I’d leave in the morning. He said why wait, so I didn’t. I got the children out of bed and walked out.’
‘Without your credit cards.’
‘Without my credit cards,’ she said wryly. ‘That was a tactical error. Apart from that, it was the best thing I’ve done in years.’
She looked up at Ben and found him smiling. ‘What? What now?’ she demanded, sparks flying again.
His smile widened. ‘Good girl,’ he said warmly. ‘Well done. It’s been a long time coming, Liv, but well done.’
The tension drained out of her, and she picked up her cup and emptied it. She was starving, she realised. Starving, exhausted and safe. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got such a thing as toast, have you?’ she asked, and he chuckled.
‘Why not?’ he said mildly. ‘It’s almost breakfast time. We might as well have breakfast.’
She slept like a log. It was after eleven before she woke to the sound of the baby screaming and Ben’s soothing voice just outside her door.
‘Liv? Are you decent?’
She slid up the bed and tugged the soft, thick quilt up under her arms. ‘Yes—come in.’
The door swung open and Ben entered, dressed in the snug and well-loved jeans and comfy sweater he’d worn the night before—or that morning, if she was being realistic. She’d only been in bed three hours. He looked fresh as a daisy, recently showered if the short, damp hair was anything to go by, and she could see a few of the fair, springy strands dripping slightly. She smiled a greeting, and he walked towards her, Kit flailing in his arms. ‘Hi. One baby, rather loudly demanding Mum.’
He propped him up against his shoulder and jostled him soothingly, and the contrast between the big man and the tiny child brought a lump to Liv’s throat. His large hand cupped the back of the baby’s head tenderly, cradling it next to his newly shaven cheek, and he crooned softly.
‘Hush, my precious,’ he murmured, and Liv wondered sadly why Ben was so good with him and Kit’s own father had been so bitter and indifferent.
Certainly he’d never called him precious.
‘Is he OK?’ she asked guiltily. ‘I didn’t even hear him cry—I’m sorry.’
‘That’s all right, I was up anyway. He’s fine. Just hungry, I think, and a bit uncertain about my nappy-changing skills. Missy’s still sleeping.’
She reached out and took the baby from him, and without thinking pulled up the T-shirt he’d lent her and settled Kit’s mouth over her nipple.
There was instant, blissful silence, and she looked up with a smile on her face to see Ben staring down at her breast, an unreadable expression in his sapphire eyes. After a stunned second he cleared his throat and turned away, and she closed her eyes and sighed. Damn. She hadn’t meant to offend him. She just hadn’t thought.
‘Sorry—’ she began, but he cut her off.
‘Don’t apologise, you haven’t done anything,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ll leave you in peace. Do you want a drink? My sisters always demand tea when they’re breastfeeding—they say they get thirsty.’
‘Please—if it’s not a nuisance.’
He hovered in the doorway, his eyes fixed firmly on her face. ‘What about a bottle? Want me to make one up, or do you want to give it a chance?’
She looked down at her breasts, soft and pale, not blue-veined and taut as they had been when they were full of milk, and sighed. ‘I don’t know. I want to feed him if I can, but I don’t want him hungry.’
‘Why don’t I make up a small bottle just in case, and I’ll ring the doctor and ask if the midwife can come and talk to you?’
‘It’s the health visitor,’ she corrected. ‘The midwife only looks after you for the first ten days—and anyway, we’ll be all right.’
‘Nevertheless, perhaps she can give you some advice. I’ll ring.’
And he left her alone with the baby. He suckled well, but he wasn’t satisfied, she could tell. He fussed and whinged, and she had to use the bottle Ben had made up to settle him in the end.
And then the health visitor came, as if by magic, and was wonderful, giving her all sorts of sane advice which she desperately needed, because she’d bottle-fed Missy at Oscar’s insistence and wasn’t really confident in her ability to feed Kit.
‘You’ll be fine,’ the woman assured her cheerfully. ‘Drink lots, plug him in whenever he seems hungry, top him up with the bottle only if it’s absolutely necessary so you can get some sleep, and you’ll soon find you’ve got more milk than you know what to do with. And now I need a quick cuddle with him before I have to go.’
She took Kit from Liv, and made all sorts of admiring noises that Kit found fascinating while Liv sat there and wondered how long they could go on imposing on Ben and relying on his good nature. Missy was curled up next to her on the big wide chair, watching the health visitor and sucking her thumb, and every now and then her eyelids drooped.
Good. If she needed a nap, and the baby would go down for a while, she could have a serious talk with Ben about this housekeeping job. Not that she knew the first thing about housekeeping! She’d left home at nineteen, lived in a dreadful shared house on yoghurt and tomatoes until she’d met Oscar, and then moved in with him into a serviced flat where the most she’d had to do was rustle up the odd meal at the weekend, if they weren’t out and felt too pinched to order in.
Apart from that all she could manage were salads—models didn’t tend to concentrate very much on food. It was a bit like a eunuch planning a seductive evening with a beautiful woman, she supposed—too frustrating to consider.
So, not the best training ground, but she’d manage. She’d learn.
She’d have to.
Ben leant back in the chair in his study and listened to Liv singing softly to the children overhead. It was a curiously comforting sound, something sweet and gentle that touched some fundamental part of him and made him feel the world was a better place.
Then the singing stopped, drifting away, and was replaced by soft footfalls coming down the stairs. They hesitated outside his study, and he stood up and went to the door, pulling it open.
Liv was standing there, hand raised to knock, and he smiled at her, still warmed by her lullaby.
‘Hi. Fancy a cup of tea?’ he asked.
‘I wanted to talk to you.’
He nodded. ‘Can we do it over tea? I was just going to make a cup.’
‘I’ll make it.’
She turned on her heel and strode briskly down to the kitchen, filled the kettle and put it on, her actions busy and purposeful. Ben waited, settling himself in the comfy chair by the French window, looking out over the back garden. She’d get round to it when she was ready. You couldn’t hurry Liv. She did things her way, he’d learned that over the years.
While he waited he looked at the garden, tidied up for the winter, a few odd leaves blowing defiantly across the lawn. He loved the kitchen, facing both ways as it did and spanning the house. It was the only room apart from his bedroom that did that, and it was his favourite room in the house. In the summer he could sit here with the doors open, or take his coffee outside to enjoy the sound of birds and the distant bustle of traffic. In the winter, it was warm and snug and cosy.
In truth he hardly used the other rooms unless he was entertaining, and recently he’d done less and less of that. He was sick of the soulless merry-go-round of social chit-chat and gossip-mongering, and now he entertained for business reasons alone, and then usually in a hotel or restaurant, in the absence of a decent cook.
Anything rather than have his private space invaded by strangers.
‘About the job.’
He looked up with a start, and frowned at Liv. ‘Job?’
‘The housekeeper’s job—you rang me a couple of weeks ago to congratulate me on having Kit, and mentioned that you were looking for someone.’
He thought of Mrs Greer who had been with him for years. For all her sterling qualities she couldn’t cook, and he’d wanted to find someone to fill that slot without losing her as his cleaning lady. Still, with Liv and the babies there, she’d be much more stretched on the cleaning front, and if Liv needed the ‘job’ as a sop to her pride, so be it.
She’d have to cook for herself and the children, anyway, so cooking for him as well wouldn’t add a great deal to the burden and would make her feel useful. Besides, it would make sure she stayed for a while, so he could keep an eye on her and look after her and the children so they didn’t all end up in a worse mess.
And he’d have company.
He settled back against the chair and steepled his fingers. ‘Tell me about your qualifications,’ he said deadpan, and to his amazement she took him seriously. She coloured and straightened up, her mouth a determined line, and her eyes locked with his, the resolve in them terrifying.
‘I don’t have any,’ she told him bluntly. ‘But I’ll learn. I’ll read books and practise and try new things, and I won’t kill you with salmonella or anything like that. I won’t let you down, Ben.’
He sat up and leant towards her, a smile teasing at his lips. ‘I’m convinced. You can start now. Where’s that tea?’
She looked down into the pot that she’d been mashing vigorously for the past few minutes, and coloured again. ‘Um—I’ll make fresh. I seem to have mangled the tea bags.’
Ben stifled the laugh, closed his eyes and prayed that it wasn’t an omen for his gastronomic future.
