Carrying the Single Dad's Baby

by Kate Hardy

  ‘Because you were in Oliver’s shoes. You’ve been there from the other side. Nothing you can do makes it better, and you feel so helpless and useless. And the wall goes up between you, and you can’t talk about it, and all the love just leaks away.’

  His fingers tightened around hers. ‘And you hate yourself for it, but you can’t stop it happening.’

  ‘Are you friends with Jenny now?’

  He nodded. ‘And I never, ever say anything negative about her in front of Iain. She was good enough to let me have custody. She’s remarried and she’s happy.’

  ‘Same with Oliver. Well, obviously without the custody issues. But he’s remarried and they have a son. I see them occasionally at events.’

  Posh events, he guessed, where you smiled and smiled and pretended everything was just fine, no matter how you were feeling.

  ‘It’s probably inappropriate,’ he said, ‘but what helps me most is a hug. Usually Iain, sometimes my mum. Would a hug help you now?’

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them away. ‘You’re a kind man.’

  ‘I’m not pitying you,’ he said.

  She loosened her hand from his hold and stood up. ‘A hug would be great.’

  He walked round to her side of the table and wrapped his arms round her. She wrapped her arms round him and they stood there together, just holding each other.

  She’d been through hell and back. He could understand why she didn’t want to get involved with anyone and wanted to concentrate on her career. To lose your child in such an awful way, to lose your marriage... It would be hard to get past the fear that it wouldn’t happen all over again. Yes, he and Jenny had had a rough time and their marriage hadn’t survived, but they still had Iain and they’d managed to get to the point where they were friends and he was genuinely pleased to see her. For Beatrice, it must be so much harder, seeing her ex with the child they should’ve had.

  He had no idea how long they stood there, just taking comfort from each other’s closeness. He dropped a kiss against her hair, wanting to make her feel better. The next thing he knew, they were looking at each other. Her pupils were huge, so her blue eyes looked almost black. Wide and full of longing.

  A longing that pulled at him, too.

  A shared longing that temporarily took away his sanity, because then he dipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers. Once. Twice. Every nerve-ending in his lips felt as if it had suddenly woken up after years of being asleep.

  And then they were really kissing. Hungrily. Desperately. Clinging to each other as if they were drowning in a sea of emotion.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted someone so much. And he was at the point of picking her up and carrying her to her bed when his phone beeped.

  The unexpected sound shocked him back to his senses and he pulled back.

  ‘Beatrice. I’m so sorry.’

  She looked just as horrified as he did.

  ‘I wasn’t hitting on you.’ That wasn’t strictly true. But he had forgotten himself. Acted on his feelings instead of putting her needs first.

  ‘I know. I...’ She shook her head, as if the words just wouldn’t come.

  He knew how that felt. He was in exactly the same place. He didn’t have a clue what to say. ‘It was meant to be comfort,’ he said. ‘Just a hug. Except...’ He blew out a breath. Maybe honesty was the best thing he could hope for. ‘I haven’t felt anything like this about anyone since before Iain was born. I don’t actually know what to do right now. Or say.’

  ‘Me, too,’ she whispered.

  ‘It was meant to be comfort.’

  And it had turned into white-hot desire.

  She laid her palm against his cheek. ‘I know. And I wasn’t...’ She grimaced. ‘I’m thirty-four years old and I feel like a teenager.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘We can’t do this.’

  ‘I know.’ But it didn’t stop him twisting his head so he could press a kiss into her palm. ‘In another place and another time, maybe it would be different.’

  ‘We’re colleagues.’

  ‘Friends,’ he corrected. ‘Though I’ll try to head Iain off so we don’t bother you in future.’

  ‘You don’t bother me. He’s a sweetheart.’

  ‘You said seeing your nephew brings it back. And Iain’s the same age. Surely it’s the same situation for you?’

  She nodded. ‘But you can’t have a perfect world. And I’m coming to realise it’s better to have a little sadness at the same time as having the pleasure of children around than to avoid them and pretend you’re OK.’

  ‘Friends, then,’ he said.

  ‘Friends. But I’m not going to kiss your cheek,’ she said, ‘because it won’t stop there. And you need to check your phone. It might be important.’

  Reluctantly, he let her go and took the phone from his pocket. ‘Mum.’ He checked the message. ‘She’s put Iain to bed.’

  ‘You need to go.’

  What she wasn’t saying practically echoed between them: but you could stay...

  Right now, she was vulnerable, and he didn’t want to take advantage of her. He was going to follow his head rather than his heart and do the correct thing. Leave, rather than sweep her up in his arms and carry her to her bed. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘Thank you for listening.’

  ‘Any time. And that’s not me being polite. I’m a Scot. I tell it like it is.’

  ‘Aye, you do,’ she said.

  He laughed, and retorted with his best attempt at a cut-glass accent, ‘That’s the worst Glaswegian accent I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘And the worst posh accent I’ve ever heard,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Daniel. For noticing that I was having a wobble, and for making me feel stable again.’

  ‘That’s what friends do. Like when you helped me out with Iain.’ And how much that must have cost her, he realised now. ‘If you can’t sleep tonight, call me.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, though he knew she wouldn’t. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BEATRICE HIT THE gym early the next morning, so early that only half a dozen people were there and the punchbag was free.

  She’d made such an idiot of herself last night. Spilling her heart out to Daniel, telling him all about the accident and Taylor and her overdose.

  He must think she was a basket case.

  One good thing might come out of it, though. Last night he would have had time to think about it and realise just how unsuitable she was. That getting involved with her would be risking a repeat of what he had already been through with Jenny—and the most important thing was to keep life stable for Iain. Which meant not getting involved with her.

  As for that kiss...

  Well, he’d said it last night. In another place and time, it would have been different; they could have acted on the attraction they’d both admitted to. Taken that kiss further. Much further.

  She concentrated on the bag, punching out her frustration.

  It wasn’t going to happen. They could be colleagues—perhaps friends—and nothing more.

  By the time she’d finished her workout, showered and walked into the emergency department, she’d got her mask firmly in place. Beatrice Lindford, Emergency consultant, cool and calm and capable and kind.

  That was who she was. Not needy or broken, not the woman who’d let a patient’s situation bring back memories, not the woman who’d let her emotions out and felt like a teenager when Daniel Capaldi kissed her.

  There wasn’t going to be any more kissing.

  No more holding each other or holding hands or touching.

  Professional. That was the way forward.

  Her resolution almost deserted her when she walked into the staff kitchen and saw Daniel the
re, leaning against the worktop and drinking coffee.

  ‘Hi.’

  She was not going to let a pair of dark eyes knock her off course. No matter how sensual they were and no matter how sexy she found Daniel’s Scottish accent. The way he rolled his Rs, the way he pronounced world as ‘wuruld’—she wasn’t going to let it throw her.

  And how annoying was it that she could feel the colour rush into her face? Just as well that nobody else was in the kitchen just yet to notice her reaction and join the dots together.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Did you sleep OK?’ he asked.

  No. She’d lain awake until the small hours, thinking of the way her life had imploded and how hard she’d had to work to get it back on track. Thinking of that kiss. Thinking of the way Daniel made her feel. Thinking about how she had to be sensible. ‘Yes,’ she fibbed.

  ‘Good.’ Though his eyes said he didn’t quite believe her. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘Iain is at his mum’s. I’m on a late shift. I was thinking, if you’re not busy, maybe we could go for a drink or something to eat.’

  This was her cue to tell him that, sorry, she was busy—that she was spending the weekend with her family or something like that. But her mouth wasn’t with the programme and she found herself saying, ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Great. I’ll pick you up after work,’ he said.

  Had she just agreed to a date, or was this his idea of being friends? Not that she could ask without feeling like a gauche teenager. ‘OK,’ she said.

  ‘Good.’ And his smile made the whole room feel as if it was filled with sunshine.

  That feeling stayed with Beatrice all day, despite her being rostered in Resus and having to face the scene of the case that had affected her so badly yesterday. At the end of her shift, she went up to the maternity unit to see how Jessica Rutherford was doing.

  ‘They’re going to let me home tomorrow,’ Jessica said, ‘on strict condition that I rest.’

  So the baby was going to be fine. Relief flooded through her. ‘That’s so good to hear.’

  ‘And they’ve been looking after me so well,’ Jessica said. ‘Thank you—you were all so wonderful yesterday when I was terrified that I’d lose my baby.’

  ‘It’s what we’re there for,’ Beatrice said with a smile. ‘I’m glad it’s all worked out for you.’

  * * *

  Asking Beatrice out for a drink. When she’d told him all about her past and he knew exactly why she didn’t want to get involved with anyone. How stupid was he?

  Daniel half expected Beatrice to call it off.

  But she didn’t. And when she answered the door to him, she was dressed casually, in jeans and a T-shirt, and her glorious blonde curls were loose rather than being tied back, the way she wore her hair at work.

  He felt as if his tongue had just stuck to the roof of his mouth and all the words had disappeared out of his head. This behaving like a teenager thing seemed to be becoming a habit when he was around Beatrice Lindford. ‘Um, hi.’

  ‘Hi.’ She actually blushed. So was it the same for her? And if her marriage had fallen apart at roughly the same time as his own, then like him she probably hadn’t dated in years and she’d be just as clueless as he was. And, weirdly, instead of making him feel more awkward, that realisation made him relax.

  ‘So how’s your day been?’ he asked.

  ‘Very domestic. Cleaning, laundry and grocery shopping. How was yours?’

  ‘Saturday. People coming in, needing to be patched up after a Friday night out when they were so drunk they’d not realised they’d fallen over and hurt themselves until they tried to get out of bed this morning.’

  ‘Ouch.’ She grimaced. ‘And half of them still had breath that could strip paint, I assume?’

  He nodded. ‘Plus the gardeners who overdid it and ricked their backs, a few sporting injuries, someone who jumped into a fountain to cool down, slipped over and broke his arm...’

  ‘Usual Saturday stuff, then. Lucky you.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘So where are we going?’

  ‘I don’t have a clue,’ he admitted. ‘It’s so long since I’ve been out with anyone other than Iain and my mum, I’m really not there with the cool kids. The only places I know are where the team has a night out, or those indoor play centres with ball pits and slides.’

  ‘I’m not with the cool kids, either—and not just because I don’t know the area.’ She looked at him. ‘We could stay in. Because I’m on the ground floor, I’ve got a patio leading off from my living room; and there’s a table and chairs. The garden’s communal and it’s very pretty. We could cook something together to take outside and open a bottle of wine.’

  ‘That,’ he said, ‘sounds lovely. Except I haven’t brought any wine or anything with me.’

  She smiled. ‘That’s not a problem.’

  ‘It is,’ he insisted. ‘It’s imposing on you, expecting you to feed me and give me wine.’

  ‘How are you imposing on me when it was my suggestion?’ she pointed out.

  He didn’t have an answer to that, but the strike wasn’t comfortable. ‘It isn’t the way I was brought up. If we’re doing this as friends, then we should go fair shares.’ He looked at her. ‘If this is a date, then I’m the one to provide everything, because I’m the one who asked you.’

  She reached out and took his hand. ‘So you’re an old-fashioned man, Daniel Capaldi? That’s nice. But I’m a very modern woman. If it’s a date, I expect to pay my own way. And friends take turns. Maybe if you let me provide the wine and food tonight, you can do it next time.’

  So she was already thinking about a next time? That was good. Though he still had no idea if she saw this as a date or as friendship. He wasn’t sure which way he saw it, either.

  ‘You’re a puzzle, Beatrice Lindford.’

  ‘I’m just me,’ she said. ‘So would you prefer to go out, or to sit on my patio?’

  It had been a long, long day. He just wanted to chill out.

  With her.

  ‘The patio,’ he said, ‘sounds wonderful. Provided you let me help prepare dinner and the washing up is all mine.’

  ‘Deal,’ she said.

  It had been so long since he’d prepared dinner with someone—apart from alternate Saturday nights with Iain, when his son helped him make the dough and add the toppings to the pizza, but that wasn’t quite the same. In the last few months of his marriage, he’d done most of the cooking on his own or bought microwave meals from the supermarket, because Jenny had lost all interest in food. And he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the domesticity: just pottering about the kitchen with someone.

  They divided up the tasks; Beatrice chopped the salad and made the dressing while he grilled mini chicken fillets and warmed through some wholewheat tortillas, and then together they made some makeshift burritos.

  ‘Perfect for summer,’ she said. She put on some music while he opened a bottle of dry white wine, and together they took everything out to the patio.

  ‘This is really nice,’ he said when they’d finished eating.

  ‘That’s why I rented the flat, because it has a patio and a garden,’ she said. ‘I went to see Jessica Rutherford yesterday at the end of my shift.’

  Their patient with an abruption, he remembered. ‘How was she?’

  ‘Fine. They’re letting her home today, on strict orders to rest. And the baby’s doing well.’

  ‘That’s good. And it was nice of you to go and see her. Especially as...’ He let the words tail off, realising how tactless he was about to be.

  ‘Especially as it was the same thing that happened to me?’ She spread her hands. ‘Or, let’s be honest, the way my counsellor taught me to be. Maybe it was selfish, because I wanted to know that she was OK. That this time there was a good outcome.’

  He reached across the table and took h
er hand. ‘Was that the first abruption case you’ve had to treat since it happened to you?’

  ‘The first one after a car accident, yes.’ She gave him a smile tinged with sadness. ‘I hope the other driver in the accident knows she’s OK.’

  ‘Did the one who crashed into you know what happened?’

  She nodded. ‘He felt terrible about it. So did his wife. The police were going to prosecute him for driving without due care and attention, but taking him to court and giving him a fine and getting his licence endorsed wasn’t going to bring Taylor back. There was nothing anyone could do to make it better. I just had to come to terms with the situation.’

  ‘Have you?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Yes. I get the occasional bad day, but most of the time I’m OK.’ She looked at him. ‘But that’s why I haven’t dated anyone since I split up with Oliver. Because I don’t think I can handle the risk of another abruption and losing a baby again. I know intellectually that the chances are I’ll be perfectly fine—the abruption was caused by an accident, and thankfully I’ve not been in many—but emotionally I just can’t do it.’

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘It’s one of the reasons I haven’t dated again since Jenny and I split up. Even if I found someone who can love Iain as much as I do and will stick around, what if she wants a baby and what if she ends up with postnatal depression as severe as Jenny had?’ He blew out a breath. ‘Like you, intellectually I know the stats, but actually taking that risk...’ He shook his head with a grimace.

  ‘Given what I did after I lost Taylor, I’m just about the worst person you could get involved with,’ she said.

  ‘On paper, you’re probably right,’ he said, knowing how cruel it sounded—but this was important. Important enough that only brutal honestly had any place here.

  ‘And on paper you’re the worst person I could get involved with. A man whose child is the same age my little girl would’ve been. A constant reminder of what I’ve lost,’ she said.

  Equally brutal, but true.

  So now they were both clear what was standing in the way.

  ‘Except,’ he said, ‘you’re the first person who’s made me feel anything since Jenny.’