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—’
‘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
