Matilda Next Door

by Kelly Hunter

  Henry scraped back his chair and gathered the print outs. He had to get away from beneath that gaze. Clear his head of the notion that even the grandfather he idolised thought him a lost cause. ‘Stay away from Matilda Moore. Don’t drag her into my issues. Understood.’

  He wasn’t good enough for her.

  God knows he’d heard that before. ‘Just out of interest,’ he muttered. ‘What kind of parent do you think I’m going to be for this child? A good one? No. Not a good one, given your thoughts on love not being in my vocabulary. An indifferent one? Incompetent? Too self-absorbed to be of use—incapable of spotting a child’s needs …’ Yep, that was the one, and the fact that his grandfather thought so little of him hurt more than any of his grandmother’s sour words ever had.

  ‘I didn’t say any of that.’

  And yet it was written all over his face. ‘You didn’t have to.’

  *

  Tilly’s morning started with the buzzing of Henry’s fancy intercom and Len the doorman’s voice booming through the speakers. ‘Ms Moore, I have some deliveries waiting for you downstairs.’

  Ms Moore. The sooner she got back to a place where people called her Tilly, or even Matilda, the better. At this point she’d even welcome a Silly Tilly if accompanied by a smile and a hug. Tilly struggled to her feet, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and ventured a reply. ‘Hey, Len. I’m awake, but not presentable. And if it’s more babies belonging to Henry, I don’t want ’em.’

  ‘There’s a pram. A baby car seat. Boxes of what looks like baby stuff.’

  Had Suzannah sent more baby things over from Amanda’s place? Surely there was more than the contents of the carryall? ‘Removalist boxes, as in someone’s shifting the contents of their house?’

  ‘No, they’re straight from a retail store.’

  That sounded more like Henry’s doing. ‘I’ll be down when I can.’

  ‘One of your neighbours has offered to bring them up.’

  Probably in the interest of getting the wailing baby out of their life.

  ‘Thank them for me. I’ll prop the door open now. Tell them to come straight in.’

  ‘You do know we don’t really do that around here? Come right in.’

  Tilly sighed. ‘Sorry. My bad. I’ll wait at the door and not invite them over the threshold. Will that work? Either way, please thank them.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  The neighbour was very sweet, understanding even, what with the disturbed night he’d had. He’d wanted to know when Henry would return, and for that she had no answer. She’d be speaking to him soon, no doubt. Right after she put the pram together, because did it come pre-assembled? No, it did not. It was a good thing she knew her way around the basics and that Henry had a small collection of tools in one of his kitchen drawers. Once a farm boy, she’d thought the very first time she’d opened that particular drawer, but this morning she was just plain grateful.

  She assembled the monster luxury pram with only one screw left over, and decided it was a spare. The baby slept through it all, and there was something to be said for small mercies.

  She drank her morning coffee in peace.

  She eyed the tablet on the wall.

  Henry picked up somewhere in the middle of the first ring, eager soul that he was, and because she was a goddess, even after a night of despair, she greeted him and didn’t use swear words. ‘Morning.’

  ‘It’s almost afternoon where you are,’ he muttered. ‘Are you only now getting up?’

  ‘Listen, genius. When you too have been up since four am walking the floor with a colicky infant who finally went back to sleep at a quarter to nine, then and only then can you comment on my new sleeping habits. And by the way, thank you for the pram and all the other stuff. I don’t know if I’ll have it all unpacked by the time you arrive, but I’ll give it my best shot.’

  ‘Does the baby need to see a doctor before I get there?’

  That silenced her.

  ‘On account of all the crying and what not?’

  Oh, God. She hadn’t thought of that. But she was thinking about it now. About trying to explain why she knew nothing of the baby’s history or habits or anything else that could help a medical person form an opinion. ‘Do you have a regular doctor here?’ Because that might help when it came to bypassing awkward explanations.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Goddammit, Henry!’

  ‘I haven’t needed one.’ His was the calm voice of reason. Hers was not.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I know people in Wirralong who I can phone for advice. Midwives. Doctors. They might even be able to provide an over-the-phone medical consult.’

  He nodded, and she noticed for the first time how drawn he looked. Dull in the eyes and tight in the mouth. ‘Hey,’ she offered. ‘You okay?’ And watched any semblance of openness about him shut down hard.

  ‘I’m fine. It’s you I’ve been worried about.’

  ‘I’m all right. And I truly think Rowan’s just fussy and I’m not the person she wants to see. Simple as that. But we will see a doctor today and get her checked out. I should have thought of it earlier. Silly Tilly, right?’

  ‘Don’t do that. It wasn’t true then and it isn’t true now. I—’ He stopped abruptly, and she leaned towards the screen in a futile attempt to hear words he simply wasn’t saying.

  ‘You have the strangest look on your face.’ Which made him drag his big palm down over it in a futile attempt to wipe that look off. ‘Nope. Still there.’

  He swore beneath his breath, which made her smile and take the shot. ‘Henry Church, you watch your mouth. You’re a father now.’ He rubbed his face again. Two hands this time. He’d get used to the thought eventually. They all would. ‘What were you going to say earlier?’

  ‘Only that I trust your judgment.’

  ‘Oh.’ She had a feeling he meant it. ‘Big call.’

  He laughed at that. A strangled sound that had nothing to do with humour. ‘Yeah, but I do. For what it’s worth.’

  Chapter Seven

  Never let it be said that Matilda Moore could not rise to a challenge. Granted, she didn’t relish the opportunity to shine in adverse conditions the way some people did, but drop her in the desert and she’d start walking. Give her a baby to care for and she’d get online and figure out what she needed to do. Touch base with those at home along the way and laugh with the Wirralong midwives during their impromptu lessons on how best to clean a baby’s bottom or take a temperature. Get her mother’s guidance on how to wrap Rowan snugly in a soft blanket and settle her to sleeping.

  Tilly Moore, nanny extraordinaire. Cool, calm and in control.

  Mary freaking Poppins.

  Okay, maybe not, but the local doctor had given Rowan a clean bill of health, and the screaming had largely stopped. The way to Rowan’s heart definitely involved food, and food was Tilly’s forte, thank you very much.

  She made custard and stewed apples, mashed vegetables and hard teething rusks. She sat Rowan up to watch her and proceeded to tell her all about spoons and sporks and saucepans.

  From screaming demon to appreciative audience. Emboldened, Tilly bathed the baby later that day, and told her she was a pretty girl, such a good girl, and then dragged the portable cot into the kitchen and put Rowan in it while she baked macaroons as a gift for Len and all the neighbours who had helped her so far.

  Tilly baked and Rowan burbled and waved her tiny arms and legs and chewed the wooden spoon and looked around with big blue eyes that in no way reminded Tilly of Henry. Nothing about this baby reminded her of Henry, from the blue eyes and gorgeous red hair to the shape of her face to her skin so much lighter than Henry’s. But she was beautiful regardless, and blessedly quiet this fine new morning. And the smell of baking soothed Tilly in turn, and the sun shone weakly through the kitchen window and it wasn’t much but it was more sunshine than she’d seen since landing in London.

  In some mad way her new routine took the pressure off her havi
ng to be a tourist, doggedly trying to enjoy every new experience. This here? Doing familiar baking while keeping an eye on a contented baby? Adventurous it was not, but there was a quiet joy in it that called to her.

  And then the phone rang, and she knew that number, no doubt. ‘Hey, Mum.’

  ‘Daughter. How’s the little one?’

  ‘Today, so far so good. We’re making macaroons for the neighbours.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘Did Henry get away?’ He’d been scheduled on a flight that should have left by now.

  ‘About that …’ Tilly’s heart sank at her mother’s words and unusually grave tone. ‘Bethany had a stroke last night. She’s been taken to Melbourne. Joe and Henry followed in the car and are with her now, and your father and I are holding the fort while they’re gone.’

  ‘Good, good.’ That’s what neighbours did. They helped out. ‘So, Henry missed his flight.’

  ‘Matilda, if there’s any way you can get that baby here without Henry having to come and get her, it’d be a big help. Bethany’s touch and go, Joe’s a mess, and Henry’s torn between doing what he needs to do here and heading back to relieve you.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘I know how much this trip means to you.’

  ‘I know you do. And thank you—for knowing.’ Mothers did that. They just knew. ‘But this whole trip has been about venturing out of my comfort zone, right? And me gearing up to take Henry’s daughter back to Aus? That’s dinner-time conversation for years to come. And blackmail material. He’ll be doing me favours forever.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love. You were having so much fun.’

  Oh, yes. Much fun. Her mother didn’t know the bad bits, because Tilly hadn’t told her.

  ‘You’ll have to cancel the cooking school lessons,’ her mother continued, and that bit did bite.

  Tilly tried to make light of it. ‘Who wants to learn about choux pastry from a French master chef anyway?’ Best not to dwell on the answer to that question. ‘I can always come back and do it another time.’

  ‘Yes, on Henry’s dime.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about Bethany.’ Tilly hated the feeling of helplessness that came over her at the thought of the older woman never being able to go home again. ‘How good are her chances of recovery?’ Her mother’s pause told her everything she needed to know. ‘Okay, then. Matilda to the rescue. I like it. Very Mary Poppins.’ She could do this. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  *

  Henry waited at the airport, short on sleep and burdened with guilt. If he hadn’t surprised his grandmother with the news of his reluctant fatherhood she may not have had the stroke that landed her on life support. If he’d been a better person, Rowan’s mother might have seen fit to confide in him before she up and died. If he’d been a better man, he wouldn’t have made Matilda cut short her holiday in order to travel from London to Melbourne with his daughter in tow, while he sorted out a long-stay apartment near the hospital for his grandfather, filled the fridge and made sure the man ate three small meals a day and got some rest in between pacing hospital hallways and sitting in ICU waiting rooms. He was needed here—no question—but Tilly had needed him, too, and he hadn’t delivered.

  As to what he was going to do with a child—every time he tried to think more on that his mind shied away from the problem. And that had never been his problem. Henry Church, with the ego of a man who knew damn well he could outthink all but 0.0009 per cent of the population. No problem too big to at least have a crack at.

  So why couldn’t he picture a world with a child in it, without Matilda being there too?

  Already, he was coming up with ways to make it up to Tilly—if she’d let him, and didn’t simply hand the baby over to him and disappear. Thirty hours of confinement with a tetchy baby. He had no idea what to expect from either Tilly or the child.

  But Tilly exited through the arrival doors looking well put together, her hair in a tidy bun and a blue scarf draped just so over a pretty watermelon-coloured top and fitted grey trousers. She smiled when she saw him, a smile that touched her eyes, and it did something to his insides—made them twist and writhe uncomfortably. She was pushing an enormous stroller and an airline employee walked beside her rolling two large luggage bags. One of them was his, and likely crammed with baby paraphernalia.

  The procession came to a stop in front of him, and the attendant passed possession of the suitcases to him and made smiling farewells to Tilly and the baby still hidden in the depths of the pram. Then it was just the three of them, looking for all purposes like one happy little family.

  He wanted to reach out and enfold this smiling woman who stood uncertainly in front of him, but instead he rammed his hands in the pockets of his faded farm jeans and kept his distance. ‘Thanks, Til.’ Maybe she would think him a man of few words—but heartfelt words—instead of an emotional wasteland.

  And then she folded him in a hug anyway, soft warmth and strong welcome that threatened to unravel him. He hugged her back fierce and fast, before stepping back and trying to disguise his weakness. ‘How was your flight?’

  ‘They had a dedicated first-class cabin-crew nanny on that flight for me—I kid you not, and the paperwork you sent through worked a treat when it came to immigration. It went so much better than I expected. How’s your grandmother?’

  ‘She’s holding her own.’

  ‘And Joe?’

  ‘Bit of a wreck.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m aiming for stoic.’

  ‘And you’re nailing it. Here. Let me turn the pram around. Look.’

  He looked. How could he not? And saw big blue eyes regarding him curiously, and a thatch of curly red hair and skin the colour of cream. This was what came of his coupling with Amanda? Amanda, with her dark hair and olive skin, and eyes he couldn’t quite remember the colour of, hazel at a guess. Him, with his brown eyes and olive skin and dark hair too. Not that he knew exactly what racial mix he possessed, given he had no knowledge of his father, but still …

  ‘I’ve decided she’s a little sweetheart, never mind our rocky start.’ Tilly leaned down, her shoulder nudging his. ‘What do you think?’

  He thought … things he probably shouldn’t question aloud unless he wanted someone else to have a stroke at his callousness. ‘Seems quiet enough.’

  ‘So, what’s the plan?’

  ‘I took the liberty of booking you into the apartment next to ours. Figured I’d take you there now—I know my grandfather’s looking forward to seeing you. After that my plans get fluid and revolve around where you want to go next, be it back to London or back to Wirralong, or wherever else you want to go. I’ll make it happen.’

  ‘If you add in a half-decent cup of coffee for me, you’re on.’ There was no artifice. No manoeuvring for advantage. ‘Tell me you got my list and have a baby seat in the car and a portable playpen that can double as a baby bed in the apartment.’

  He tore his gaze from the baby and straightened. ‘Done. What are your thoughts on live-in nannies?’ Judging by the sudden cessation of her smile, she didn’t think much of them. ‘C’mon. Coffee bar’s right over there and it’s not too bad,’ he said without waiting for her answer.

  She wielded the pram like a pro. He took charge of the suitcases. By the time he got the coffee and settled the baby in the spanking new baby carrier in the spanking new car, Tilly had recovered her bright side.

  ‘This a hire car or a new car?’ she asked as she buckled up and looked around. ‘Because it has that new car smell.’

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘It’s gorgeous. Love the leather. Is it all-wheel drive?’

  He nodded.

  ‘How many cylinders?’

  ‘Eight.’ Didn’t want her being underpowered out there on Wirralong’s dirt roads in the rain.

  ‘I approve.’

  ‘Good, because it’s yours. My gift to you for ruining your holiday with my unexpected … addition.’


  ‘But—you can’t just—’

  ‘It’s done. Check the glove box. The purchase is in your name and so’s the temporary registration. You’ll have to fill in the forms properly when you get a chance.’

  ‘Henry, it’s too much. Way too much.’

  ‘Feels about right to me.’ He glanced in the rear vision mirror. How was a man supposed to concentrate on driving with a baby on board? ‘She’s very quiet.’

  ‘Be happy about that, because I guarantee it won’t last.’

  He took that to mean get a move on. ‘So how did you find London once you got the hang of it?’ And found some clothes to wear. The memory of her clad only in his business shirts was one he frequently revisited.

  ‘Can you keep a confidence? As in not mention it to my parents?’

  He cleared the airport and headed for North Melbourne and the apartment near the hospital. He had two words for her. ‘Kewpie doll.’ She’d spent a small fortune on a hideously ugly kewpie doll at the Wirralong Show one year and told her mother Henry had won it for her on the ping-pong-ball clowns. He’d been ribbed mercilessly for his largess. Henry Church was mad for Silly Tilly. To this day, he’d never betrayed her confidence. ‘Do you still have that thing?’

  ‘My folly? Sure do.’ A dimple appeared in her cheek. ‘You gave it to me.’

  ‘What’s your secret, this time, that you think your parents are not going to like?’

  ‘I didn’t much like London, or travel, or adventure. I missed the blue sky and the red dirt and the sound of magpies in the morning.’

  ‘What about the smell of sheep dung? Did you miss that too?’

  ‘And the smell of wet wool and the ability to get out of bed, open the doors to my bedroom and step outside. Not that your London place isn’t beautiful, because it is. I’d have stolen your leather library chair in a hot minute if I thought I had any chance whatsoever of bringing it home. But the pigeons and the garbage trucks and the door alarms and the people made me feel so out of place. Even the art galleries were big and busy and you couldn’t just stand there and look at a picture for a while, you had to move on long before you were done.’ She sighed. ‘I’d dreamed of this trip for so long. I fully expected the Mary Poppins experience and dancing on rooftops with Dick Van Dyke, and instead I was lonely—that is until missy in the back there turned up. She kind of gave my holiday a purpose. Please don’t call me silly,’ she finished quietly. ‘Not that you ever have.’