Caroline Anderson - Delivered - One Family

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—’