in her eyes. But it was hard for him to stand there, that close to her, and maintain eye contact, so he looked away. She had very pretty eyes. Bright and friendly. Welcoming. Open. Innocent.
He cleared his throat. ‘It’s not a problem.’
Was the lift much smaller today? There seemed to be less air. The walls seemed to be pressing them towards each other.
To his relief, the doors pinged open again and he walked behind her towards the crèche, feeling somewhat awkward. He wasn’t sure what had caused it, or why thirty seconds in a lift with Dr Bailey had changed things when a whole ten hours with her in the same department had not.
So he walked slightly behind her, allowing her to go first and press the buzzer for the crèche.
Daisy let them in, beaming her ever-present smile at both of them, all white gleaming teeth and bright eyes, showing no signs of fatigue after spending an entire day with thirty-odd children under the age of five.
Matt wasn’t sure he’d look as calm and collected as Daisy did if he’d spent that long with that many children. He loved kids, he really did, but he was finding it hard looking after even one baby on his own. There was no one to share the workload or the worries with and he missed that.
In the army there’d always been someone to talk to—colleagues, friends and, on the occasions when he had come home, there’d always been Jen. Now his home was conspicuously quiet.
‘Lily’s been an absolute treasure today! She did a handprint painting for you!’
Daisy unpegged a messy picture that was hanging from a string above their heads, like washing on a line. He looked at it, barely able to ascertain his daughter’s handprint in the smudge of red, purple and brown. But her name ‘Lily Galloway’ had been written in pencil at the bottom.
‘Her first work of art...’ He wasn’t sure whether to act pleased or show that to him it was just a mash-up of paint on a page.
‘Watch out, Michelangelo.’
Dr Bailey smiled at him, mildly amused.
‘There’s one for you, too, Dr Bailey.’ Daisy unpegged another picture, this one in yellow and orange, and passed it over.
They both stood there awkwardly, trying to work out whether the pictures were upside down or not.
‘I’ll get Lily for you.’
‘Thanks.’ He collected Lily’s buggy from the bay and folded his daughter’s painting into the basket underneath.
Daisy came out of the Baby Room, carrying his daughter, who looked as if she’d just woken up, her blonde hair all mussed up and wafting around her head like a furry halo.
‘Hello, Lily!’ He reached out for her and, as always, was happy to see her reach for him, too. ‘Hello, my darling, how are you today?’ He kissed her on the cheek, inhaling that sweet baby scent and enjoying the soft squishiness of her little body against his.
Lily laid her head against his chest.
‘Wow! She looks just like her mum. She’s beautiful.’
He looked at Dr Bailey over his daughter’s head, hearing the wistfulness in his colleague’s voice. ‘Thank you.’
‘I mean it. She really does.’
Matt knew she was being sincere, but there was something else there, too. Loss. Grief. It reminded him that he wasn’t the only one who had lost someone special. She had too. Her best friend.
As Daisy brought out Dr Bailey’s daughter, he was struck by the similarity between the two. Morgan also had a thick head of brown hair that was slightly curling and wispy around her shoulders, and they both had the same eyes. Morgan peered at him, as if uncertain of this tall stranger who stood next to her mother.
He stooped over to put Lily into her buggy and then stood up again. ‘Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Dr Bailey.’
‘Goodnight, Major.’
She smiled back and it so disarmed him, hitting him like a sucker punch to the gut, that he turned quickly and hurried away.
Five months.
It had been only five months since his wife had died. The wife he had loved and adored and had expected to be with right into old age. And yet he was already noticing another woman.
It’s just loneliness. That’s what it is. Missing someone to talk to, that’s all. I don’t have to read anything else into it.
He kept his head down as he headed back to his car. Trying to remain focused on his daughter’s chubby little legs in white tights, the cute pink trainers his mother had bought for her. He tried to think about what his daughter had done that day, the painting she had done, the way she’d reached for him earlier. He was all Lily had now. She’d never known the love of a mother. Nor would she. He would have to provide everything for her. Be both parents, if he could. Provide the dreams for both of them.
Briefly, he cast his mind back in time to the day he and Jen had discussed moving to New Zealand. How amazing it would be. What a brilliant life it would provide for their future children. Jen had been in the back garden, swinging in the hammock, six months pregnant and eating an ice cream.
‘I’d really like to go back there, Matt. My gap year there was the most amazing time in the world. The people were great—really friendly—and there’d be no problem with either of us getting work out there. There’s a great little suburb in North Shore City, Auckland, that’s perfect for kids. We should do it. Really consider it, I mean.’
At the time, he’d been busy planting some fruit trees in the back garden and Jen had been supervising.
‘Move that one to the left a bit. Bit more. Bit more. That’s it!’
He’d been home on a week’s leave before he’d had to ship out to Costa Rica, and it had been one of the last times he’d seen her alive. He’d only been meant to be out there for ten weeks. He’d thought—they’d both thought—he would be home in time for the birth. But after he’d left, Jen had begun having problems with her blood pressure and they’d had to induce her early.
It had still been too late. Jen had had a massive fit from which she hadn’t recovered. They’d put her on life support until he could get back from South America and then, holding his baby daughter in his arms, he had watched through a veil of tears as they had switched off the machines.
Just five months ago.
He’d had to adapt quickly, and he’d been thankful he had Lily to look after. His daughter had saved him from falling into a deep depression. She’d anchored him in the present when he’d been in danger of drowning in the past. He’d not had time to dwell on his loss the way he would have if she hadn’t been around.
So, instead of never getting out of bed and living in the depths of despair under his duvet, he’d got out of bed. Got dressed. Taken his daughter out in her pram and walked. Sometimes for miles. Strangers had stopped him to admire his daughter, keeping his spirits lifted. They’d had no idea of the tragedy that had recently befallen him. They’d just seen a father out with his child. A beautiful baby girl. They’d wanted to admire her and cup her rosy cheeks and tell him how gorgeous she was, and each comment, each person, had unwittingly given him a reason to keep going.
‘You’re doing a good job.’
‘Lily’s okay.’
‘She’s thriving with just you.’
Jen would not have wanted him to wallow. That wasn’t who she had been. She’d been a grab-hold-of-life person. A person who’d squeezed enjoyment into every second—as much as she could. And she’d told him once that when she died she didn’t want a funeral full of people in black clothes, sobbing quietly into tissues. She’d wanted a celebration of her life.
Only that celebration had come too