‘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—’
‘Liv, it’s fine; don’t stress. I’ll come up and give you a hand. What shall I bring?’
She looked at the things, then at Kit finally asleep wedged in cushions on one of the big chairs by the window, and shrugged. ‘Nappies—both sorts. Nothing else. They’ll sleep once they’re in bed—please God.’
‘I’ve got a cot—in case friends stay. It’s not made up but it soon can be. Which one do you want to put in it?’
‘Missy,’ she said definitely, her mind at rest about the stairs now she knew her little daughter wouldn’t be able to fall down them. ‘Kit can sleep in a drawer or something.’
‘So you can shut it if he screams?’ Ben asked mildly, leading her into a bedroom, the baby in his arms.
Liv laughed, the tension easing a fraction. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said.
They went straight to sleep, Missy in the cot and Kit beside her in his makeshift little bed in the huge bottom drawer of a mahogany wardrobe, and Ben led Liv back downstairs, put a mug of tea in her hand and sat down, legs sprawled out under the kitchen table.
‘Drink your tea,’ he ordered, and she sat and picked up the mug, playing with it while she ran through the night again in her mind.
He said nothing, just watched her, and after a moment Liv stood up, mug in hand, and walked over to the window. It faced the road, beyond the curving drive and the neatly trimmed shrubs and the manicured lawn.
Liv didn’t see them. What she saw was Oscar, arrogant, cocky, bored, telling her where he’d been, and who with, in graphic and embarrassing detail.
‘Aren’t you going to ask?’ she said to Ben, an edge in her voice.
‘You’ll tell me when you’re ready,’ he said gently.
She put the mug down, hugging her elbows and pacing round the kitchen. ‘He’s a—a—’ she began.
‘Bastard?’
‘No, thanks to him and his liberated attitude—but yes, he’s a bastard in the sense you mean. Oh, yes.’
Ben shrugged. ‘He always has been. It’s taken you four years to realise it. I don’t know why you didn’t cotton on sooner.’
‘Nobody told me.’
‘People tend to be circumspect,’ he said, chasing a bubble in the top of his tea. ‘Anyway, it was so obvious I couldn’t believe you didn’t notice.’
‘Well, I didn’t,’ she sighed. ‘Besides, he was wonderful to me at first—when I had a figure.’
Ben’s mouth tightened and his blue eyes seemed to shoot sparks. She thought inconsequentially that it was just as well Oscar wasn’t in the room, because Ben would kill him. It was a tempting thought.
‘So what happened tonight?’
She picked her tea up and went over to the table, sitting down again restlessly. There was a bowl of sugar on the table, and she played with it, dribbling the grains off the spoon, watching it intently without seeing it. ‘He was late. He came home after midnight—he hadn’t said he was going to be late, so I’d waited with supper for him. It was ruined, of course, but he didn’t want it. He’d eaten.’
‘Alone?’
She snorted and rammed the spoon back in the sugar. ‘Yeah, right. Oscar doesn’t eat alone. Oscar doesn’t do anything alone. No, he was with his mistress. The one he’s been keeping for the past six months or so.’ She felt bile rise in her throat, and grabbed another toffee, ripping the wrapper off and shoving it in her mouth angrily.
‘Six months!’ she muttered round the sweet. ‘Damn him, he’s had her there for six months, cosily installed in the block next to his office so he didn’t even have to make the effort of commuting for his sex!’
She bit down on the toffee and growled furiously. ‘Do you know what he said to me?’ she raged, standing up again and waving her arms wildly. ‘He said he wanted a real woman—one who knew how to please a man. He said he was sick of my baggy stomach and my sagging—’
She broke off and took a deep breath. ‘He said I stank of baby sick and he was fed up with falling over toys and nearly breaking his ankles and coming home to screaming kids and a woman who was constantly out of commission—as if I was a dishwasher that was on the blink, for goodness’ sake! I’m his wife! Well, no, I’m not, because the toad wouldn’t marry me, but you know what I mean.’
‘So what happened then?’ Ben asked, prompting her gently.
She caught her breath and sighed. ‘I said if that was the way he felt, there was no point in putting up with him and his vile temper any longer, and I’d leave in the morning. He said why wait, so I didn’t. I got the children out of bed and walked out.’
‘Without your credit cards.’
‘Without my credit cards,’ she said wryly. ‘That was a tactical error. Apart from that, it was the best thing I’ve done in years.’
She looked up at Ben and found him smiling. ‘What? What now?’ she demanded, sparks flying again.
His smile widened. ‘Good girl,’ he said warmly. ‘Well done. It’s been a long time coming, Liv, but well done.’
The tension drained out of her, and she picked up her cup and emptied it. She was starving, she realised. Starving, exhausted and safe. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got such a thing as toast, have you?’ she asked, and he chuckled.
‘Why not?’ he said mildly. ‘It’s almost breakfast time. We might as well have breakfast.’
She slept like a log. It was after eleven before she woke to the sound of the baby screaming and Ben’s soothing voice just outside her door.
‘Liv? Are you decent?’
She slid up the bed and tugged the soft, thick quilt up under her arms. ‘Yes—come in.’
The door swung open and Ben entered, dressed in the snug and well-loved jeans and comfy sweater he’d worn the night before—or that morning, if she was being realistic. She’d only been in bed three hours. He looked fresh as a daisy, recently showered if the short, damp hair was anything to go by, and she could see a few of the fair, springy strands dripping slightly. She smiled a greeting, and he walked towards her, Kit flailing in his arms. ‘Hi. One baby, rather loudly demanding Mum.’
He propped him up against his shoulder and jostled him soothingly, and the contrast between the big man and the tiny child brought a lump to Liv’s throat. His large hand cupped the back of the baby’s head tenderly, cradling it next to his newly shaven cheek, and he crooned softly.
‘Hush, my precious,’ he murmured, and Liv wondered sadly why Ben was so good with him and Kit’s own father had been so bitter and indifferent.
Certainly he’d never called him precious.
‘Is he OK?’ she asked guiltily. ‘I didn’t even hear him cry—I’m sorry.’
‘That’s all right, I was up anyway. He’s fine. Just hungry,