Bound By Their Babies: Bound by Their Babies

‘You not Mummy,’ Matilda piped up, her voice wobbling.

Oh, lord. ‘I’m Zach’s mummy,’ she told her, but she was starting to recognise that mulish look that meant Matilda wasn’t having any of it. She crouched down to Matilda’s level and reached out to touch her shoulder, but she jerked it back out of reach, her lip quivering.

‘Not my mummy. Go ’way. Want Daddy.’

‘Daddy’s had to go to work, sweetheart. He’ll be back later, you know that, he told you he would.’

‘Want Daddy now,’ she demanded, folding her arms emphatically in a curiously adult gesture that nearly made Emily laugh.

She stifled the urge. ‘Darling, I’m sure he’d much rather be here with you, but he’s had to go to work at the hospital. There are lots of mummies there with tiny babies, and he’s got to look after them, but he’ll come home when he’s finished for the day, and he’ll be back in time to put you to bed, you’ll see.’

The toast popped up, and she crossed her fingers behind her back, straightened up and put the toast, the butter and some plates on the table then lifted Matilda into the other high chair. Her high chair.

‘Don’t want toast,’ Matilda said, folding her arms again, but the defiant little gesture wasn’t funny anymore.

None of it was funny. It was exasperating, worrying, and nothing to do with toast. It was all about controlling a situation that Matilda had been thrown into by her mother’s sudden disappearance, and all Emily could do was damage limitation. And not having breakfast wasn’t going to damage the little girl.

‘OK,’ she said easily. ‘You don’t have to have breakfast today if you don’t want to. I can eat your toast.’

She ignored Matilda for a few moments, buttering the first slice, cutting it into fingers, handing one to Zach who grabbed it with both hands and stuffed it into his mouth.

‘Mmm, yum-yum,’ she said, but Matilda just folded her arms more firmly and stropped a bit more, and Emily let her, pretty sure hunger would cut in before any harm was done.

‘Want honey on it,’ Matilda said, caving in as Emily handed Zach a second finger of toast and buttered the other slice.

‘OK. I’ll see if I can find any.’

Please, please don’t have run out and not replaced it.

There was a smear at the bottom of the jar, but—hallelujah!—a new, unopened one behind it. She twisted off the lid, dug the knife into the smooth, unblemished surface and made a wish.

No prizes for guessing what her wish was going to be, but she smeared honey on the toast, cut it into fingers like Zach’s and slid it across to Matilda.

‘Say thank you,’ she said, sure that Jake would have taught her that even if her mother hadn’t, and maybe her fairy godmother was watching over them because Matilda stuffed the first bite into her mouth and mumbled, ‘’Ank you,’ around it.

Round one to her? She certainly hoped so.

* * *

The phone rang for ages before Em answered it, and Jake was starting to worry when she eventually picked up.

‘How’s it going?’ he asked without preamble.

He heard a sigh, then a little laugh that did nothing to reassure him. ‘OK, I guess. I put Zach in the wrong high chair.’

He winced. ‘Oops. I bet that was fun. She can be such a drama queen, and she’s territorial at the best of times. You might be better taking them out, if you feel you can cope. It’s a lovely day, the fresh air’ll do them good.’

‘Great minds,’ she said with a tired chuckle. ‘I thought maybe a walk? Feed the ducks, if there are any ducks to feed?’

‘There are—there’s a little park not far away. If you turn right onto the street and walk along to the end and cross over, there’s an entrance to your left. It’s got a lovely little playground, too, as well as the duck pond, and she likes it there.’

‘OK. I’ll give it a whirl and see how I get on. I can take the double buggy since you’ve got it. At least that’s neutral territory.’

‘Ah, rats! I meant to show you how it folds and unfolds, but to be honest I’m damned if I can remember. I’ll text you Daisy’s number so you can ring her if you can’t work it out. She’ll tell you.’

He heard her laugh, but it sounded a little off kilter and he guessed her day was turning out tougher than she’d expected.

‘It’s a buggy, Jake,’ she said with exaggerated patience. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. How’s work going?’

‘Busy. They’re very glad to have me back. Ben said to thank you for stepping in to help.’

She laughed. ‘Tell Ben I’m not doing it for him, but happy to oblige. Oops, gotta go, Zach’s in the fireplace.’

He heard a clatter and a howl before the phone cut off, and he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to imagine what might have happened. The fire tongs and poker were his most likely guess. Oh, well. Hopefully he’d just had a fright. And as for Tilly—

‘Mr Stratton, have you got a moment?’

Tilly would be fine. He slid his phone back into his pocket and went back to work, putting Emily and the children firmly out of his mind.

* * *

Three days and a thousand small obstacles later, it was obvious to both of them that Matilda needed much more of her father than she was getting. And probably less of her, Emily thought despairingly.

It all came to a head late on Friday evening, when he’d been caught up in Theatre with a tricky post-partum haemorrhage and Matilda refused to go to bed until he got home, despite all Emily’s best efforts. She wouldn’t even let her change her nappy and put her in pyjamas. She just sat on the landing and cried.

‘Want Daddy,’ she sobbed, so Emily took her downstairs to the sitting room so they could wait for him, but she was inconsolable. She didn’t want a story, she shied away from cuddles, and by the time he came home at nine Emily was on the point of phoning him.

They were in the hall by now, Matilda prostrate on the floor and still sobbing, and the moment he was through the door she scrambled up and clung to his legs, and the anguish in his eyes was awful to see.

He scooped her up, hugging her close and rocking her, and Emily went into the kitchen and left them to it, because she was sure her presence wasn’t helping. She’d been at her wit’s end all day, and seeing the little girl so distraught had been horrible, but he was home now and maybe he could calm her down.

Was it her fault? Maybe. She’d done her best to handle an impossibly difficult situation, but Matilda was only two, her mother had deserted her—how was the poor little mite supposed to react? She was just upset, but it was so hard to deal with and it was upsetting Zach, too.

It wasn’t doing a lot for her, either. She sniffed hard, swiped away the tears she hadn’t realised she’d shed and yanked open the fridge door. She’d been trying all day to find time to cook, but every time she did anything there was another incident with Tilly.

She’d bitten Zach, she’d pushed him over, she’d gone into the study and pulled all the books off the shelf—

The crying had stopped—finally—and she heard Jake’s quiet tread on the stairs as he carried her up to bed. Not that she expected it to work.

Why on earth had she volunteered to do this? It wasn’t helping anyone, especially not Matilda. Was it her fault? She didn’t know enough about Tilly—had she inadvertently upset her by doing something wrong, something Jake would never have done? How was she supposed to know?

And then there was Jake himself, her friend, the person she was helping out—or trying to, but this close proximity was stirring up feelings that had been dormant for years. She was suddenly so aware of him, of his physical presence and blindingly obvious sex appeal, but this was Jake, for goodness’ sake! She’d known him for years, he hadn’t changed, so why now? Was it just her sexuality reawakening after all this time, and if so, why pick on Jake, of all people?

She slashed at an onion, and then dropped the knife with a yelp and squeezed her finger hard. Blood leaked out and ran down her hand, and she went over to the sink, turned on the tap, stuck her finger under it and gave in to the tears that had been threatening all day.

* * *

‘Em?’