Caroline Anderson - Double Trouble - Pregnancy Surprise

Lord, what had happened to her? She was supposed to be on his side! ‘I’ll do my best,’ he muttered. ‘Look, I know it’s against the rules, but if there really is a problem…’

‘If there really is a problem I will, of course, ring you. Give me your wife’s number.’

‘What?’

‘You heard. I’ll call her.’

‘You don’t need to trouble her.’

‘No, I don’t suppose I do, but I’ll give her the veto.’

He said something rude, then apologised and handed the phone to Julia. ‘She wants your number—for emergencies.’

‘Right,’ she said, and took the phone out of his hand and walked off with it, shutting the door behind her with her foot.

He swore again, scrubbed his hand through his hair and then heard a cry from the babies’ room.

His daughters. That was what this was all about, he reminded himself, and, padding across the landing in bare feet, he went in there and lifted the one who was awake out of her cot and smiled at her.

Ava? He wasn’t sure, so he said, ‘Are you Ava?’ out loud, and she turned her head and looked at the other cot.

‘Libby?’

She turned back and beamed, reaching up and pulling his ear. Oh, well, it gave his nose a break. He shifted her slightly so she couldn’t reach, and then sniffed. Hmm. She had a problem that was mercifully outside his experience, but that was fine. Jules wouldn’t be long.

Would she?

‘Max?’

‘I’m in here,’ he said, coming out of the babies’ room with Libby in his arms. ‘Are you happy now?’

‘Mmm. She sounds nice. I’ve given her my number and my other contact details, just in case.’

‘In case what? The office catches fire?’

‘That would be pointless. What are you going to do, spit on it? Did you wake Libby?’

‘No, she was awake. She—um—needs you.’

She chuckled and took the baby, kissing her and nuzzling her nose against her neck. ‘Hello, monster. Is Daddy chicken?’

She started to cluck and squawk, and Libby thought it was hilarious and got the giggles, and she looked at Max over her head and saw his glower crumble and fade under the influence of Libby’s delicious chuckles.

‘Of course, part of the bonding process is learning about nappies,’ she told him deadpan, and she could have sworn his colour drained a fraction. ‘It’s OK, I’ll let you practise on a harmless one,’ she said with a grin, and nearly laughed out loud when his shoulders dropped in relief.

He propped himself up in the doorway and watched her from a safe distance as she dealt with Libby, then she put the little girl back in his arms and washed her hands. Then she lifted Ava out and cuddled her while she found a clean nappy and got it ready, then changed her, too, and dropped the nappy in the bucket.

‘Are those cloth nappies?’ he asked, peering a little closer now it was safe.

She turned her head and raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Don’t look so shocked.’

‘I—I’m not. I’m just surprised. I would have thought—I don’t know; all that washing. You could just chuck disposables.’

‘Mmm. Eight million a day, going into landfill.’

‘Eight million? Good grief!’

‘Mmm. Just in this country. And they don’t biodegrade, either, so they’re there for hundreds of years. Or I can wash these and dry them on the Aga. It’s easier, cheaper and better, and they’re not even made of cotton, they’re made of bamboo. And they’re lovely and soft. Right, Ava, that’s you done!’

‘How on earth do you manage both of them at once on your own?’ he asked, looking utterly out of his depth, and she summoned a grin and shrugged.

‘You learn coping strategies,’ she said honestly. ‘You deal with the urgent one first, and the other one gets to wait. It’s normally Libby who waits, because Ava’s got a shorter fuse.’

‘So she’s learned to manipulate you already?’ he said, sounding astonished for the second time in as many minutes, which made her laugh out loud.

‘Of course.’ She gave him a dry look. ‘She takes after you.’

His head jerked back and he eyed her doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment.’

She chuckled. ‘It’s not. But babies are amazing. They’re such good little survivors, and it doesn’t take them long to sort out a pecking order. They’ll have you sussed in no time flat, you wait and see. Right, girls, time for breakfast.’

‘Not more of that disgusting goo,’ he pleaded, looking appalled.

‘No. They have instant multi-grain porridge for breakfast, and fruit. That’s good and messy. I’ll let you clean them up.’

He looked horrified, and she nearly laughed again. But then she remembered that any normal father of eight-month-old babies would know what their children had for breakfast, and how to change a nappy, and that they were manipulative and very good at engineering the adults around them.

Except, of course, that Max hadn’t had the chance, and that was her fault.

Turning away so he didn’t see the thoughtful frown on her face, she headed downstairs with Ava, leaving him to follow with Libby. And, if she was really lucky, she’d be able to get through breakfast without drooling over the sight of him in that robe which showed altogether too much of those toned, muscular legs. Not to mention the fact that she knew only too well just how little he’d have on underneath it.

And it was absolutely nothing to do with her. Not now, and not ever again, unless they could turn this situation around and find a way to get the two of them back together. Still, at least he’d phoned his PA, as instructed.

She sounded sensible. Nice. Decent, and utterly on her side. She was looking forward to meeting her—but not yet. There was a lot of ground to cover before they reached that point, and she was going to make damn sure they walked over every single inch of it.

‘Right, girls, want some breakfast?’

He had to learn the hard way, of course, not to put the bowl close enough for Libby to slap her little hand in.

And then there was catching it before she had time to rub it in her hair. And on his face when he leant in to clean her up. Oh, boy, he’d need a shower by the time they were finished.

‘Here.’

He looked up and took a warm, damp cloth from Jules, smiled his thanks and wondered where to start.

‘Move the bowl,’ she offered, and he pulled it out of reach and swiped most of the gloop off Libby’s hand before she could stick it anywhere else, conscious of Jules hovering in range just in case he couldn’t manage.

‘Right, monster, let’s try again,’ he said, putting the cloth out of reach on the edge of the sink and settling down with the bowl and spoon. ‘Open wide.’

He got most of it into her before she decided she’d had enough and spat it out at him with a cheerful grin, and he closed his eyes and laughed in exasperation before getting up, rinsing out the cloth and tackling her mucky little face.

Which she hated, apparently, because she screamed the place down until he stopped, then beamed again.

‘You’re a madam,’ he told her, grabbing her sticky hands and sorting them out one by one, and she giggled and tried to squirm out of the chair.

‘What now?’ he asked Jules.

‘Bath time.’

‘Bath—?’ He rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘Sounds messy.’

‘It is. I’ll let you do it.’

‘Bathe them?’ he asked, feeling a little flicker of panic.

‘You’ll cope,’ she assured him drily, but he wasn’t sure. He had a horrible feeling it was just another opportunity for him to make an idiot of himself or do something else wrong.

‘I’ll get dressed,’ he said, and she laughed.

‘I shouldn’t bother. You’ll probably get soaked.’