‘Now you wash his face and the creases round his neck with a different cotton wool pad.’
When he’d finished doing that, she said, ‘And finally it’s bath time.’ She eyed his clothes. ‘Sorry, I should’ve told you. Tyler likes to splash his hands in the bath, so you might get a bit wet.’
Dylan shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. This stuff will wash.’
She gave him an approving smile. It should’ve annoyed him that she was taking a position of superiority, but instead it made him feel warm inside. Which was weird. Emmy shouldn’t make him feel warm inside. At all. He stuffed that into the box marked ‘do not open’ in his head, and concentrated on the task in hand.
‘What about his hair?’ he asked, looking at Tyler’s soft fluffy curls.
‘Do that before you put him in the bath,’ she said. ‘Keep him in the towel so he’s warm, support his head with your hand and support him with your forearm—then you can scoop a little bit of water onto his hair and do the baby shampoo.’
Dylan felt really nervous, holding the baby—what if he dropped Tyler?—but Emmy seemed to have confidence in him and encouraged him as he gave Tyler a hair-wash for the very first time.
‘Now you pat his hair dry. Be gentle and careful over the fontanelles.’
‘Fontanelles?’ he asked.
‘Soft spots. The bones in his skull haven’t completely fused, yet.’
That made Dylan feel even more nervous. Could he inadvertently hurt the baby? He knew he was making a bit of a mess of it, but she didn’t comment.
‘OK, now check the bath water again with your elbow.’
He dipped his elbow in. ‘It feels fine.’
‘Good. Now the nappy comes off, and he goes into the bath—support him like you did with the Humpty Dumpty thing.’
So far, so easy. Tyler seemed to enjoy the bath; as Emmy had warned him, there was a bit of splashing and chuckling.
Emmy stayed while he got the baby out of the bath and wrapped him in a towel with a hood to keep his head warm, then waited while Tyler did the nappy and dressed Dylan in a clean vest and Babygro.
She smiled at him. ‘See, you’re an expert now.’
Dylan didn’t feel like it; but he was starting to feel a lot more comfortable around Tyler, thanks to her. ‘I’m trying, anyway.’
‘I know you are—and that’s all Tyler would ask for,’ she said softly.
Dylan remembered how he’d thought she was trying in more than one sense; yet she wasn’t judging him that way. He felt a bit guilty. ‘I looked in the fridge. Is chicken stir-fry all right for dinner?’
‘That’d be lovely, thanks.’
‘Good. I’ll call you when it’s ready.’
‘Are you OK about feeding him?’ she asked. The doubts must have shown on his face, because she added, ‘Just put the bottle of milk in a jug of hot water for a couple of minutes to warm up, then test it on the inside of your wrist to make sure it’s warm but not hot.’
‘How do you mean, test it on the inside of my wrist?’
‘Just hold the bottle upside down and shake it over your wrist. A couple of drops will come out. If it feels hot then the milk’s too hot.’ She looked slightly anxious. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way—I’m not meaning to be patronising—but when you feed him you need to make sure the teat’s full of milk, or he’ll just suck in air.’
‘Right.’
‘And when you put him in his cot at bedtime, his feet need to be at the bottom of the cot so he doesn’t end up wriggling totally under the covers and getting too hot.’
‘OK,’ he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.
‘Call me if you get stuck,’ she said.
Which would be a cop-out. He could do this. It wasn’t that hard to feed a baby, surely?
He managed to warm the milk, then sat down and settled the baby in the crook of his arm. Remembering what she’d said about the air, he made sure he tilted the bottle. The baby was very focused on drinking his milk, and Dylan couldn’t help smiling at him. There was something really satisfying about feeding a baby, and he wished he’d been more involved earlier in the baby’s life instead of backing off, fearing the extra intimacy.
This was what Nadine had wanted from him. What he hadn’t been able to give, although now he was doing it for his best friend’s child because he simply had no other choice. Except to walk away, which he couldn’t bring himself to do.
He couldn’t imagine Nadine doing this, even though he knew she’d wanted a baby of her own. She wouldn’t have been comfortable exchanging her sharp business suits and designer dresses for jeans and a T-shirt. Dylan simply couldn’t see her on the floor playing with a baby, or singing songs.
Unlike Emmy. Emmy, who’d been all soft and warm and cute...
He shook himself. He hadn’t wanted children with Nadine. So her ultimatum of baby or divorce had given him an obvious choice. And he didn’t want to think about his relationship with Emmy. Because, strictly speaking, it wasn’t actually a relationship; it was a co-guardianship. They were here for Tyler, not for each other.
‘Emotions and relationships,’ he said softly to the baby, ‘are very much overrated.’
When the baby had finished feeding, Dylan burped him in accordance with Emmy’s instructions, then carried him up to the nursery and put him in his cot. There was a stack of books by the cot; Dylan found one in rhyme and read it through, keeping his voice soft and low. Tyler’s eyelids seemed to be growing heavy; encouraged, Dylan read the next two books. And then finally Tyler’s eyes closed.
Asleep.
Good. He’d managed it.
He touched the baby’s soft little cheek. ‘Sleep well,’ he whispered.
Then he headed for the study and knocked on the open door.
Emmy looked up. ‘How did you get on?’
‘Fine. He’s asleep. Dinner in ten minutes?’
‘That’ll be great. I’ll just finish up here.’
She joined him in the kitchen just as he was serving up.
‘OK if we eat in here, tonight?’ Dylan asked.
‘That’s fine.’ She took her first mouthful. ‘This is very nice, thank you.’
He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘It wasn’t exactly hard—just stir-fry chicken, noodles, vegetables and soy sauce.’
‘But it’s edible and, more importantly, I didn’t have to cook it. It’s appreciated.’
There was an awkward silence for a few moments.
Work, Dylan thought. Work was always a safe topic. ‘I saw that necklace you were making. I had no idea you made delicate stuff like that.’
‘You mean you thought I just stuck some chunky beads on a string and that was it?’ she asked.
He felt his face colour with embarrassment. ‘Well, yes.’
She shrugged. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a string of chunky beads.’
He thought of his mother, and wanted to disagree.
‘But no, I do mainly silverwork—and I also work with jet. I carve animals.’
‘Like those ones on the shelf in Tyler’s room?’
She nodded. ‘Ally wanted