‘Does it hurt?’ Her little chin wobbled, and Daisy smiled.
‘No. It doesn’t hurt at all. It’s just like having your picture taken, but you have to keep very still so it doesn’t go all blurry.’
‘Will you come with me?’
‘No, Daddy wants to,’ she said firmly, handing responsibility back to her father. He got to his feet and held out his hand to her, then thought better of it and picked her up, cradling her in his arms for safety.
‘I’m going to buy her toddler reins so I don’t have to hold her hand ever again,’ he growled, and Andy chuckled softly.
‘Don’t beat yourself up. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last, but you will need to be careful for six weeks or so until it’s completely recovered, and it may well recur.’
‘Fabulous. That’s going to take some explaining to her mother,’ he muttered, and they went off to X-Ray clutching the form.
‘So how come you’re here? Have we got a maternity case in that I don’t know about or are you switching specialties?’ Andy asked.
‘No, I live round the corner from the park where they’d been playing—we’re neighbours. I gave him a lift. It was just lucky I was around,’ she explained glibly, feeling a twinge of guilt for lying.
‘Yes, driving her would have been tricky. Can you take them home?’
‘Of course I can.’
Even though I’m not supposed to be having anything to do with them, she thought wryly.
Why did nothing go according to plan?
‘I want Froggy,’ Florence said as soon as they got back. She’d been saying it all the way home, but the last thing he wanted to do was give her the heavy little concrete frog to cradle in her recently dislocated arm.
Ben sighed. He was at his wits’ end, exhausted with the emotional roller-coaster of the afternoon, and he just wanted to crawl into a corner.
‘Froggy’s gone to sleep,’ he said softly, ‘and it’s time you did, too. Come on, let’s give you a bath and put you to bed.’
The bath was a nightmare. Lifting her in and out suddenly became fraught with danger, and he gripped her firmly under the arms and hoisted her out, wrapping her in a huge, fluffy towel and snuggling her dry on his lap. The arm was tender, although he couldn’t see any swelling or bruising, but when he patted it carefully dry she pulled it away.
‘I want Froggy,’ she said again, and started to cry.
He should just go out and get it—it was in his garden, he remembered, guarding the little planted pot that Daisy had given her.
His dearest, darling Daisy. Only not his Daisy any more, apparently, because he’d pushed her too hard and he’d blown it.
Pain washed through him, and he crushed it ruthlessly. This was all his fault. He shouldn’t have asked her to go with them.
He was dressing Florence and still debating getting the frog in from the garden when he heard her voice call softly from the bottom of the stairs.
‘Ben? Can I come up?’ she said, and he swallowed hard. She must have come in through the back door from the garden, he realised.
‘Sure. We’re in the bathroom. Hang on.’
He moved the soggy towel from in front of the door and opened it, to find her standing there with a carrier bag.
‘I got these for her for her birthday,’ she said in a quiet undertone, ‘but I wondered if she should have them now. It’s a frog cushion and a story book. I thought, she’s had a rough day…’
Hadn’t they all?
‘Daisy, that’s so kind,’ he said, feeling choked, and Florence appeared at his side and gave her a wobbly smile.
‘Daddy says I can’t see Froggy’s ’cos he’s sleeping,’ she said, and the smile wobbled a little more.
Daisy’s smile wobbled, too. She crouched down so her head was on the same level, and delved into the bag. ‘I know, but I’ve brought you something else instead—it’s a froggy cushion, look. You can rest your sore arm on it while Daddy reads to you, because there’s a Freddie Frog book, too.’
Her eyes lit up, and she cuddled the small pink and green cushion to her chest and eyed the book.
‘Daisy read it.’
For a second he thought she was going to refuse, but then he saw resignation settle over her, and she held out her hand to Florence and led her back to her bedroom.
‘All right, then. Just this once, because of your arm.’
She tucked her in, rested her arm on the cushion, then sat down beside her pillow so Florence could see the pictures. And then she started to read.
‘Once upon a time…’
Ben sat quietly down on the other bed, and listened to her soft, musical voice telling the story.
The cushion seemed to be doing the trick, Daisy thought, and she’d snuggled down, the painkillers making her sleepy, and insisted a little tearfully that Daisy read the book again. Common sense would have stopped her, if she’d had any, but she’d given up the unequal struggle, and so she read it again, while Ben sat on the other bed and listened, tears in his eyes, his face drawn.
Then at last her eyes drifted shut, and after another page, Daisy put the book down and tiptoed out. Ben followed, leaving the door ajar, and they went downstairs.
‘I’m so sorry. It’s been a hell of a day.’
They were standing in the hall, both of them a little uncertain because they had no established protocol for this. A few short hours ago, she’d broken off her relationship with him, supposedly, and yet here they were, hovering midway between the sitting room door and the back door, and all she wanted was to get away.
She didn’t think Ben was enjoying it any more than she was. He still looked awful, and he was apologising?
‘Don’t,’ she said softly. ‘It’s not your fault, it’s fine.’
‘No, it’s not, and nor are you,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve asked far too much of you, and you’ve just done it without a murmur. I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘I took you to the hospital, Ben, that was all.’
‘I’m not talking about that. Well, I am, but I meant much more. All the endless kindnesses—the silly things. Mopping up my floor on the first day. Getting me the plumber. Getting my suit cleaned. Letting me trash your garden while they change the fence. The pot for Florence. Just being there for me, sharing the downtime on bad days when things have gone wrong, sharing the good times. Just sharing everything without question. Letting me into your life and asking for nothing back. And the cushion and book for Florence—it must have taken you hours to find them.’
‘No. There’s a craft shop in town, and they had the cushion in the window. The book was in the charity shop next door, it’s not even new, but it had Florence written all over it. And tonight seemed like a good time to give it to her.’
‘It was. It was an amazing time to give it to her. Thank you for being so thoughtful.’ He dragged his hand over his face, and when he dropped it to his side, his eyes were bright. ‘You’re always thoughtful, though, aren’t you? Always kind, always willing to put other people first. I don’t deserve you, Daisy. You were right today. We can’t go on like this. Everything we do makes you unhappy, and I can’t bear to see you unhappy.’
‘You make me happy,’ she said, her voice hollow with pain. ‘It’s the situation I can’t deal with. It’s just too dangerous, Ben. Too messy. I’m glad I could help today, and if I can again, please ask, but otherwise—Ben, I really don’t want to see Florence again.’
‘Or me,’ he said rawly.
Or him. Of course it would be easier if she didn’t have to see him again, either, but that was too much to ask for, and possibly more than she wanted, sucker that she was for punishment. ‘That’s not possible,’ she said.
‘But it would be easier if I didn’t live next door. I’ll move,’ he said heavily. ‘I’ll get the house finished and put it on the market, and we’ll find somewhere else and leave you in peace. Will you be all right with me at work?’
All right? She doubted it, and
as for him moving away and leaving her in peace, she knew that would be a long time coming. The move might happen, but the peace? She doubted it. ‘I’m sure we’ll cope. And I’ll move, not you. I’ll look for another job—there’s bound to be one coming up. And so long as it’s in Suffolk, I can still see Amy regularly. And you’ll be close to Florence, and you can settle here and build your career. It makes more sense for it to be me.’
His face contorted briefly, and she hesitated at the door, then leaned over, touching a tender, lingering kiss to his lips.
‘Goodbye, Ben,’ she said softly, and then opened the back door and went out, closing it quietly behind her. She picked her way carefully through the gardens and made it all the way to her sitting room, with the door closed and her face buried in a cushion, before the first sob escaped.
CHAPTER NINE
SHE’D lied, of course. They weren’t all right at work.
Oh, they fudged through, but they avoided each other whenever possible, and Amy took her under her wing and comforted her with girly chats and cake when it all got too much.
There were times when they couldn’t avoid each other, of course, and in those times it was excruciating.
The antenatal clinics on Mondays were usually safe, which was just as well because after the weekends with Florence running about all over the house and garden, her nerves were fraught anyway.
Every other week, though, they met inevitably over the Grieves and their MCMA twins. The scans showed the babies tangling, then untangling, then tangling again, and at 20 weeks they had a couple of twists in the cords.
‘Will they be all right?’ Daisy asked, standing next to Ben and trying to concentrate on the almost photographic 3D scan of the tiny little girls, and he shrugged.
‘I don’t know. I’m going to put her on drugs to limit the fluid. We’ve got them this far. Another six weeks and they’ll be viable—maybe less, at a push. We’ll see. But they’re both OK so far.’
‘So where are we now? Weekly scans?’
‘Yes. Weekly till 28, maybe as little as 26, and then I’ll admit her. It depends what these two are up to by then. I’m going to play it by ear.’
She nodded. ‘Right. Well, unless you need me in the consultation, I’ve got lots of patients to see still,’ she said, desperate to escape from him, and he shrugged.
She didn’t want to be with him, he realised, and he could understand that. It was sheer torture being in the same room as her and unable to touch her, unable to look forward to the evening, when they’d be alone and he could take her in his arms and hold her.
God, he missed holding her. Missed everything about her.
‘You go, I’ll talk to them. I’ll let you know if anything changes.’
‘OK.’
She went and he closed the door, rested his head against the wall and sucked in a steadying breath.
Bad idea. He could smell her—not perfume, but something more subtle. A hint of her shampoo, perhaps? Whatever, it dragged him straight back to happier times—times when he had the right to bury his head in her hair and breathe in the sweet, fresh scent. Times when she’d trailed it over his face while they were making love, and he’d lie and look up at her and wonder what he’d done to deserve her.
Nothing, was the answer. He’d failed in his marriage, failed to give his daughter the security she deserved, and he’d failed in his promise to keep her away from Daisy—he was a walking disaster area as far as relationships were concerned, and the best thing he could do was keep himself and Florence as far away from her as possible, even if it was too late.
He wrenched the door open and went to find Mr and Mrs Grieves.
‘So what are you wearing to Laura’s wedding?’ Amy asked her.
She was on call to the labour ward, and she’d just done a Ventouse delivery. They were ‘debriefing’ over a cup of coffee and a shared slab of sticky gingerbread, and at the mention of the wedding Daisy lost her appetite.
‘I don’t want to think about it.’
‘It’s in ten days! You have to think about it!’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t really feel like going.’
‘I know you don’t, hon. I don’t, either. But she’d be gutted if we didn’t go, and she’s relying on us. Why don’t we go to Cambridge this weekend? Have a properly girly day out together. We haven’t done it for ages.’
They hadn’t, and Daisy felt a pang of guilt. ‘OK,’ she said, and then tried to inject a little enthusiasm into her voice, but she couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for it.
For anything, really. Without Ben, her life was drained of colour, and she wondered if it would ever be the same again—
‘Oh, Daisy. I’m sorry,’ Amy murmured, and she realised there was a tear sliding down her cheek. She scrubbed it hastily away.
‘Don’t be nice to me. I really can’t cope with it at the moment. I just need to get through the days.’
‘But it’s been weeks,’ Amy pointed out gently. ‘Three weeks? Four?’
‘Four weeks and three days. I’m going to move, I think. I told Ben I was, but there haven’t been any jobs.’
‘You’re going to move hospital?’ Amy said, her face falling. ‘Gosh, I’ll miss you.’
‘I’ll miss you, too, but I can’t cope with this. He’s just always there, and even when he isn’t, I’m looking for him. I’m really sorry, Amy.’
Damn. The tears were welling in earnest now, and she fumbled for a tissue and squeezed her eyes shut.
She could hear Amy moving, shifting her chair, but when she opened her eyes Amy was gone and Ben was there, his eyes tortured.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Nothing’s wrong. Well, nothing else, apart from you. I can’t bear to see you like this, Daisy.’
‘Well, hopefully you won’t have to for long. I’m going to start applying for jobs further away. Maybe I’ll go back to London.’
‘I’ll ask Matt if he needs a good registrar.’
‘Please don’t bother. I don’t need to be looking at your doppelganger all day every day.’
He sighed. ‘I’ll ask around. Maybe there’s somewhere else local.’
‘You know what? Don’t worry. I’ll do it myself. It’s fine.’
And getting up, she walked away from him, head up, back ramrod straight, and he cursed the day he’d ever set eyes on her and upset the fragile equilibrium of her life.
Cambridge was busy, as bustling as ever, but at least she was away from Ben and Florence, and she found a dress for the wedding.
She needed a smaller size than usual. She was losing weight, because she couldn’t summon up the energy or enthusiasm to eat.
‘That’s fabulous,’ Amy said firmly. ‘Buy it, and let’s go and get lunch. I’m starving.’
Maybe it was the fact that Ben wasn’t around, but suddenly Daisy felt—well, not starving, exactly, but certainly hungrier than she had for a while.
Maybe I’m getting over him, she thought hopefully, and then they turned a corner and there was a man ahead of them who, for a fleeting second, looked like Ben, and her heart crashed into her mouth.
Over him? Not in this lifetime.
She drove them back, dropped Amy off and went straight home. Her feet hurt—funny, she was on her feet all day, and yet shopping made her feet hurt like nothing else—and she wanted to shut her front door behind her, kick off her shoes, pull on her sweats and curl up in the corner of the sofa with a cup of tea and the door shut, so she didn’t have to listen to Ben and Florence.
But Ben was there, sitting on his doorstep, deep in thought.
Or was he? She opened her mouth, shut it and stood stock still as he got to his feet.
‘You must be Daisy,’ he said in Ben’s voice, and she felt her heart start again.
‘Matt?’
He smiled Ben’s smile, the smile she hadn’t seen for weeks, and held out his hand. ‘It’s good to meet you—especially since my brother seems to be out. I don
’t suppose you’ve got a key?’
‘No.’ Not any more. And she couldn’t leave him standing on the doorstep. ‘Why don’t you come in?’ she offered reluctantly. ‘I’m just about to put the kettle on. Is he expecting you?’
‘Sort of. I said I’d ring when I got here, but I couldn’t give him a time. I’ve been at work all day.’
‘Twins again?’
‘No, just paperwork. I gather you’ve got MCMA twins. That’s why I’m here, to see them in the clinic on Monday. I thought, since things were quietish at work, I’d skive off.’
She’d have to warn Amy, she thought. Send her a text, tell her to steer clear. She opened her door, and he stepped over the little fence and followed her in.
How odd. They were almost exactly the same to look at, she thought, eyeing him as he settled at her table and made himself comfortable, and yet there wasn’t that tension there that she felt with Ben.
Just what Amy had said, in reverse.
She sent her a text while the kettle was boiling and then reached for the mugs.
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee, if there’s a choice.’
‘Real or instant, caf or decaf?’
He laughed. ‘Whatever. Black, one sugar.’
Just like Ben.
She made a pot of real coffee, and sat down at right angles to him at the end. ‘Are you hungry? I’ve got some biscuits.’
‘Yes, Florence has told me about your biscuits.’
Did something happen to her face? Because he leant forwards slightly, propping his elbows on the table, and turned his head towards her, his eyes searching hers as she sat down again and slid the biscuits towards him.
‘Ben hasn’t told me what’s happened, but he’s stopped talking about you, so I can only imagine it’s not going well,’ he said quietly. ‘Tell me to butt out, but he sounds unhappy.’
She swallowed. Tell him to butt out? How tempting.
‘There are reasons,’ she said instead.
‘There always are.’
‘I’ve warned Amy you’re here,’ she said, watching him carefully, and he went very still.
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