the evening meal—taking her housekeeping duties seriously—but she had to feed the baby and for now, what she needed was peace. Peace and—
‘Tea?’
She looked up to find Ben there, eyes carefully not on her breasts, not that there was a lot to see with her jumper drooping down and the baby’s head in the way, but it did seem to make him strangely uncomfortable. Still, he was there, rendering first aid as if he’d read her mind, and she loved him for it. He was a wonderful friend.
‘Please,’ she said, smiling. ‘He’s starving. Mrs Greer said he wouldn’t take his bottle very well this morning. Perhaps he’s getting used to me again.’
‘Hope so. It’s good for you both—just what you need. Oh, Missy, won’t it fit?’
He crouched down beside her daughter, and gently and patiently helped her complete the jigsaw. When it was done she picked up the wooden puzzle and waved it triumphantly, and all the pieces fell out. She giggled and picked them up, and she and Ben put them back again while Liv watched, entranced.
The kettle boiled, and he made some tea and sat in the other chair, bending forwards sometimes to help Missy, and at other times focusing on his mug of tea with undue concentration.
Still avoiding looking at her, she realised, and chewed her lip. It obviously worried him.
‘Would you be happier if I fed the baby upstairs, out of your way?’ she asked quietly. ‘I mean, I don’t want to embarrass you.’
He turned his head, meeting her eyes, and then lowered them, looking at the baby, at her breast, at the rosebud mouth suckling vigorously at her nipple. Then he raised his head and met her eyes again, and there was something unreadable and curiously sad in them.
‘You don’t embarrass me, Liv,’ he said, and his voice was gruff and tender. ‘You go ahead and feed him wherever you like.’
He looked away, returning his attention to his tea, and she gave a tiny shrug and eased the baby off, burping him and swapping sides. It was getting easier, she realised—more natural. Practice was obviously making perfect, or something closer to it, at least. And now Ben had assured her he wasn’t embarrassed, she relaxed again.
He must be right. If he was embarrassed, he’d take himself off to his study instead of actively seeking her out and having tea with her. Perhaps he’d just been avoiding looking at her because he didn’t want to embarrass her, rather than the other way round.
She gave up worrying and concentrated on the tiny, downy head snuggled in the crook of her arm. So soft, so fragile and vulnerable, and yet so very good at getting his own way. Nature, she decided with satisfaction, was immensely clever.
‘I’ve put the baby seats in the car for you,’ he said out of the blue, ‘so when you want to go out, they’re all ready. Do you want a buggy in the car too?’
She was still dealing with nature being clever, and she looked at him blankly. ‘Go out?’ she said, like an idiot.
‘Yes—out. You know—shopping and things?’
Buying food for his supper. Oh, Lord.
‘Great. Thanks,’ she said, and conjured up a smile. ‘What do you fancy eating tonight?’
‘What can you cook?’ he asked, and her mind went totally blank.
Not hard. On the culinary front, her mind was totally blank. Well, not totally, but it certainly wasn’t her strongest point.
‘Um—chicken in sauce?’
‘Sounds promising. What sort of sauce?’
Bottled, she nearly said, but one look at his hopeful face and she stifled the retort. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought. Rice or potatoes?’
‘Rice.’
‘OK.’ Blast. Rice was tricky. Even she could scrub potatoes and put them in the oven, but rice was the one thing that had always defeated her. Why on earth had she suggested it? Idiot. Still, boil in the bag, that was the thing. Idiot-proof.
Kit had finished his feed, and she laid him on her lap, restored her modesty and stood up. ‘I’ll change him—Missy, do you want to come with me?’
She shook her head. ‘Puzzle,’ she said, and looked hopefully at Ben. ‘Help,’ she ordered, and to her astonishment he got down on his hands and knees on the rug and helped her.
‘Like mother, like daughter,’ he murmured. ‘Twisting me round your little finger—I don’t know. Talk about manipulated.’
Missy giggled, and he pressed her nose and made a noise. She giggled again, and Liv tore herself away and went upstairs to change the baby’s nappy. With any luck he’d sleep through their shopping trip and not be too much of a nuisance…
He screamed. He screamed from the moment she walked through the door of the supermarket, with him in his nest in the newborn cradle on the trolley and Missy beside him in the toddler seat.
He screamed through the vegetables, past the dairy products, up and down the baby aisle and through the chiller section. He let up for a minute in the frozen food aisle, then started again in the biscuits.
Liv gave up. She’d bought a bottle of sauce to add to chicken for a casserole, she’d bought chicken breast fillets, boil-in-the-bag rice, frozen peas and sweetcorn. She’d found food for Missy, something instant and delicious-looking for dessert and that would have to do.
She headed home, getting lost once on the way because she wasn’t very good at doing directions backwards and Kit was making it hard to concentrate, and when she arrived back at the house it was deserted.
She felt a curious pang of disappointment. She’d expected Ben to be here, and she’d grown rather used to his company in the past two days. Silly, really, because he had work to do and between them they must be playing havoc with his schedule, but the house seemed horribly empty without him.
She brought the children in, settled Kit in the crib in the kitchen and left him to scream for a moment while she brought the rest of the things in from the car. Fortunately the garage was large and attached to the house, so it was easy to carry things through with Missy milling around under her feet in perfect safety.
Well, almost perfect. She stumbled down the step and grazed her hands, and screamed even louder than Kit, and Liv cuddled her and washed her hands and wondered how on earth she was going to get a chance to cook.
She cuddled the baby again, settled him at last and turned her attention to supper. She studied the instructions on the side of the jar, decided they looked foolproof and stopped worrying. What could go wrong?
‘Right, little Miss, are you going to help me?’ she asked. Missy nodded, and Liv lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the worktop next to the sink, and washed and dried all four of their hands. Then she settled her in her high chair without the tray, fastened the lapstrap and pushed her up to the edge of the kitchen table so she could join in.
‘Now, first things first; read the instructions again,’ she said, and Missy reached for the jar.
‘No, I’ll have it, darling, please. I don’t want it to break; it’s my only chance of impressing him. Now. Cut the chicken up, put it in a casserole dish, pour sauce over. Bake. Easy-peasy,’ she said with a grin, and Missy giggled.
‘Shall I cut up the chicken?’ Missy nodded, then watched intently as she cubed it neatly and spread it in the bottom of the dish. ‘Now, the sauce,’ she said, and picked up the jar.
The lid wouldn’t shift. She ran it under hot water, gripped it with a tea towel and finally it came away with a pop.
She turned back to Missy, and saw to her horror that she had escaped from her high chair and was sitting on the table, playing with the sugar bowl. ‘How did you get out?’ she asked in amazement, and Missy gave her a megawatt smile.
‘Missy undo it,’