her small son instead.
Pulling out a piece of chicken and a bowl of fresh tomato purée that she had made earlier, she decided to cook some pasta, as well, and see if she could sneak in some peas. It was amazing how early Jack had come to regard certain green vegetables with suspicion.
She was filling a saucepan with water for the pasta when the doorbell went. Jack looked up, and Rose saw his surprised expression mirroring her own.
‘Who do you think that is?’ she asked him as she turned off the tap. ‘We don’t usually have visitors at this time.’ Jack was so mobile now that she was wary of leaving him on his own even for a moment, and she bent to pick him up. ‘Let’s go and see who it is.’
Balancing him on her hip with the ease of long practice, Rose squeezed past the pushchair that blocked the narrow hallway. She could see a man’s shape through the opaque glass panels in the front door, and she frowned slightly. If this was someone doing a survey it was really inconvenient timing, and so she would tell him.
But the words died on her lips as she opened the door and saw who was standing there.
Drew.
Drew!
With a baby.
Drew shifted the baby awkwardly in his arms. She was heavier than he had thought, but at least she was still asleep, he thought gratefully. What a day this was turning out to be! He had had no idea when he’d set out to see the Clarkes after lunch that he would find his life completely changed by teatime.
‘I’ll be fine,’ he had assured Betty Clarke. ‘I’ve got an old friend called Rose. She’ll help me.’
He should have called, Drew realised, but the situation was much too complicated to explain on the phone. He had just known that Rose was the person he needed, and he’d wanted to get to her as soon as possible. He hadn’t let himself think about anything but finding her.
It was only when he stood on the doorstep, ringing the bell to his own house, that Drew wondered if he should have checked after all. What if Rose were still at work? What if she had decided to go out for the evening? Would she still have the same mobile number?
Then, to his immense relief, he saw through the glass panels that someone was coming towards the door, and for a moment he even forgot the baby in his arms as a rush of anticipation at the thought of seeing Rose again swept through him. It was nearly a year and a half since they had last met, and then she had been with some colourless guy that Drew hadn’t liked at all. With any luck she would be on her own this time, and they could talk properly, the way they had always used to talk.
Drew had hoped that going to Africa would get Rose out of his system at last. That had been the plan, anyway. Rose had moved on, and so would he. Not only would he move on, he would move somewhere so different that he would never even think of her.
But it hadn’t worked like that. All those crushingly hot nights when he lay on his makeshift bed and listened to the relentless shrilling of a million million insects, the memory of her had been as cool and refreshing as iced water.
Drew suspected that he had romanticised Rose’s image in his memory, but when the door opened at last, his first impression was that she was as lovely as ever. She had the same straight silvery blonde hair, the same wide grey eyes, the same sweet curve to her mouth that had haunted his dreams.
But she wasn’t on her own. All those long African nights, and he had never once pictured her with a toddler on her hip.
Which was funny, really, when he had known all along that what Rose really wanted was a baby.
And now it seemed that she had one.
Drew’s carefully prepared speech evaporated from his mind as he looked at her. Rose. He had been planning to cajole her and charm her—to beg her for her help, if necessary. But now all he could think was that he was too late.
Much too late.
‘Hello, Rose,’ he said simply, unable to think of anything else to say, but his smile felt stiff and he had the oddest sensation of stumbling and falling into a deep, dark pit.
Rose’s expression was almost cartoon-like in its astonishment. ‘Drew!’ she gasped, finding her voice at last, although it sounded quite unlike her own. ‘Drew…what…what…?’ She was stuttering with surprise, bewildered by so many questions that it was impossible to decide which to ask first. ‘What are you doing here?’ she managed at last. ‘I thought you were in Africa!’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Drew, realising that he had the advantage. At least he had been expecting to see her, even if he hadn’t been prepared for the shock of realising that she had a child, or for the way his heart had slammed into his throat at the sight of her. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Yes…of course…’ In a daze, Rose stood back, and Drew edged awkwardly past her in the narrow doorway. For a devastating moment they were very close, and she was overwhelmed by the sudden realisation that this wasn’t a dream. This was real, and Drew was right there, bare inches away from her. Browner than she remembered him, tougher somehow, but otherwise exactly the same.
Apart from the baby in his arms, of course.
Rose felt very strange. She didn’t know what she wanted to say or do or know first.
‘Sorry about the pushchair,’ she said breathlessly, for want of anything better to say until she could make up her mind. ‘There’s nowhere else to keep it.’
‘That’s OK.’
Drew made it past the pushchair and into the living room. He looked around him, recognising the house he had bought as an empty shell, but barely. The furniture was his, but Rose had made the room unmistakably her own. She was a designer, of course, and she had always had the gift of making a house stylish with just a few carefully placed pieces.
The brightly coloured bricks scattered over the floor didn’t belong in any style scheme, though, and nor did the plastic highchair at the table or the rest of the unmistakable baby paraphernalia. Rose’s life had changed.
Without him.
Drew made himself smile again as she followed him into the room, and he looked properly at the little boy in her arms for the first time. Grey eyes identical to Rose’s stared back at him.
‘Who’s this?’ he asked. He was trying to sound jovial, but he was uncomfortably aware that his tone wasn’t quite right.
‘This is Jack,’ said Rose, holding Jack a little more tightly than normal.
‘Is he yours?’ said Drew, then cursed himself for a fool as she nodded. Of course Jack was hers. He had known that as soon as he looked into the little boy’s face.
‘Hello, Jack,’ he said, but Jack, overcome by shyness suddenly, hid his face in his mother’s neck.
Drew could remember just what it felt like to bury his face into the curve of her throat like that. He knew exactly how her skin smelt there. He looked away, ashamed to find himself jealous of a small child.
‘He’ll come round,’ Rose said. ‘Just give him a minute or two.’
Drew put his smile back in place. ‘Well…congratulations,’ he made himself say. ‘I know how much you wanted children. You must be very happy.’
‘I am. Jack’s everything I ever wanted.’
No, not everything, Rose, she corrected herself, remembering how many times she had ached to rewind time and unsay that ultimatum. But then she wouldn’t have Jack, and how could she wish that?
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were having a baby?’
Rose lowered Jack to the floor, where he clung to her legs. ‘I didn’t think you’d be that interested, Drew. You’ve always gone out of your way to avoid babies.’ She looked at the sleeping baby in his arms, but avoided the obvious question.