Be My Baby: Her Parenthood Assignment / Three Weddings and a Baby

CHAPTER SIX

A NOISE dragged Gaby from sleep. She propped herself up on an elbow and listened. The clock showed it was some time past three.

There it was again.

Suddenly, she was very much awake. She flung back the duvet and jumped out of bed. Her movements were swift and silent as she crossed the room and eased the door open. Everything was quiet again. All she could hear was her own magnified heartbeat. She crept towards Heather’s door and pushed it gently.

Heather was fast asleep, one leg out of the duvet and an arm around a toy rabbit. Poor kid. She might act tough, but underneath she was a scared little girl who hung on to security anywhere she found it.

Gaby was just pulling the door closed again when she heard a shout. The hairs on the back of her neck immediately stood to attention.

Luke! Was he ill? You could never be too careful with Chinese takeaway. All it took was one dodgy prawn.

She ran across the landing and knocked lightly on his door. There was no answer, but she could hear him groaning and moving around inside. She stayed frozen to the spot, fingertips resting on the door, not wanting to intrude, but reluctant to go back to bed without offering help.

One more loud noise from inside the master bedroom was all it took. She pressed the flat of her hand on the door and pushed. The room was pitch dark. The door swung closed behind her and it took a good few seconds before her eyes adjusted to the blackness.

‘Luke?’ she whispered. ‘Are you all right?’

He muttered something unintelligible.

She tried again. ‘Are you ill?’

This time she managed to work out a few words. ‘…can’t get out…’

‘Do you need help getting to the bathroom?’ Panic began to register in her voice. ‘Luke, please! Tell me what’s wrong.’

She moved closer to the bed and laid a hand on his bare shoulder. Luke sat bolt upright and she jumped back, almost falling over.

His eyes were open and he was staring—not at her—but at a bare patch of wall directly in front of him.

He was still asleep.

This was a nightmare or something. She vaguely remembered Justin sleepwalking and having what her parents called ‘night terrors’ when he was a boy. He used to scream and shout. Sometimes he’d walk around the house and do the strangest things—like put his wellies on and then just go back to bed as if nothing had happened.

Trying to wake Luke was a bad idea. He’d probably lie down in a second and move into a deeper phase of sleep. She would just sit on the edge of the bed and watch him for five minutes, just to make sure it wasn’t the prawns after all.

Her bottom had only just started to make a dent in the mattress when he moved his head in one swift turn to stare at her. She held her breath. If he’d just woken up, she was going to have a tough time explaining her presence in his bedroom—on his bed, no less—wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt.

But she needn’t have worried. He turned away again and shuffled over to the other side of the bed. She was on the verge of breathing out her relief, when she realised he was getting out. And she watched open-mouthed as he walked calmly to the door that led out on to the terrace, opened it and went outside.

Gaby shot after him. The cold air hit her like a wall, but Luke didn’t even seem to notice. Thank goodness he was wearing pyjama bottoms. She hadn’t been able to tell while he was in bed. She wasn’t sure she could handle coaxing her naked boss back to bed. Seeing him shirtless was bad enough. It wouldn’t have been quite so uncomfortable if he were awake—in fact, under other circumstances, seeing such a finely toned torso would have been a definite bonus—but while he was unaware of her existence it felt voyeuristic.

And she couldn’t think that way about this man.

He stood motionless at the railing. Coming outside seemed to have soothed the dreams that had him tossing and turning a few minutes ago. But it had to be close to freezing outside; they’d both be hypothermic if they stood here much longer. She couldn’t leave him. What if he wandered down the steps? The tide was in. He could drown!

The only option was to try and get him back inside. An image of her father leading Justin back to bed when he’d had one of his sleepwalking episodes floated to the surface of her memory.

Luke still hadn’t moved and she walked over to him and gently took him by the hand. His fingers closed over hers, a gesture she found oddly warming, even though it was just a reflex.

She moved towards the open door, tugging him gently. He didn’t budge. There was no way she was going to manage to drag him back inside. Over six foot of solid male, versus five-foot-five of slightly out of shape female wasn’t a fair contest.

‘Luke?’ She tried to keep her voice low and steady. ‘It’s time to go back inside now.’ Then she moved again and, amazingly, this time he let her lead him. ‘That’s it. We’re almost there now.’

She ushered him into the room and shut the door behind them. Then, as an afterthought, she turned the key in the lock, removed it and searched for somewhere sensible to leave it. She could hear him moving around the room, pacing, and she didn’t want to waste time, so she just left it on the dressing table. Luke would scratch his head when he found it there in the morning.

Now inside, Luke began to show signs of distress again. He walked over to the door and rattled the handle, obviously desperate to escape. What was she going to do? And what was going on inside his head? Was he was back in prison, feeling trapped and powerless?

He just kept working the door handle, each attempt more frantic than the last. The top half of the door was glazed and he started banging on it with the flat of his hand, muttering something about needing to find her. She had no idea whether it was Heather or his wife he was talking about, and she didn’t have time to work it out. If he kept slamming his hand against the pane like that, it was going to shatter. And she couldn’t unlock it and let him go outside to freeze or drown. Think, Gaby!

‘Come on, back to bed.’

She placed her hands on his upper arms and tried to turn him round, but he just kept banging the glass and growling in frustration. The only thing she could think of was to get between him and the door. Luckily she was small enough to duck under his arms, and wedge herself into position.

The next blow from his hand hit her clean across the cheek. He stopped and she took the opportunity to grab his hands and push him back a step or two. ‘Come on, Luke. Please. Just get back in the blasted bed, will you?’

But he wasn’t having any of it. He tried to walk through her as if she wasn’t there. She stumbled backwards, landing against the door with the handle sticking into her back. She was trying to keep calm as she talked, she really was. But now her cheek was stinging, her back was sore and Luke was seriously starting to cheese her off—asleep or not!

‘Will you just do as you’re flipping told?’ She was just going to have to get bossy. She shoved Luke hard and it seemed to stop him in his tracks. While he wasn’t trying to engineer a break-out, she grabbed him by the hand and dragged him to the edge of the bed. Then she gave him another hefty push so he sat down.

‘Luke.’ This was ridiculous. He probably couldn’t hear her anyway. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Just give up.’

Even in the dark she saw his shoulders droop. His chin dropped on to his chest and he gave a great shuddering sigh. More gently now, she guided him until he was lying on his side and got him to swing his legs on to the bed.

Flushed with triumph, she stood there, grinning in the darkness. Luke Armstrong was going to get what was good for him—whether he liked it or not!

And then she heard a sound that broke her heart. This big strong man, who had been through so much, was crying. It started as just a sniff, but pretty soon the sobs were coming thick and fast.

She couldn’t stand it any more. Just couldn’t bear to hear him take one more gulp. It twisted inside her like a knife. So she clambered on to the bed beside him and put her arms around him. Tears were streaming over her lashes too.

‘Please, Luke. Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’

It didn’t matter that she had nothing to apologise for, that none of what had happened was her fault. It just seemed right that somebody should say it, somebody should care.

She stroked his hair and rubbed his back and gradually his tears subsided. She lay there, listening to the sound of his breath as it slowed and grew more even.

She was kidding herself. For the past few weeks she’d been telling herself that she was making a difference, helping him put his life back together, but the scene this evening had made that a farce. His wounds went deeper than she could ever imagine. All her notions of being able to make a difference seemed so pathetic.

He seemed to be more deeply asleep now. She started to wriggle away, but the instant she did so, he started to mumble and fidget again. Soothing words alone didn’t do the trick, so she pressed her cheek against his back and snaked an arm around his waist. Physical contact seemed to calm him. Somewhere in his brain the sensations must register and tell him he wasn’t totally alone.

She breathed in the smell of him and felt the smooth skin of his back against her face, the contours of his muscles under her fingers.

This man deserved so much more than this.

He deserved love and happiness and a daughter who idolised him. Not this battered mess of a life. Luke let out one more heart-wrenching sigh and then she felt his muscles slacken. She was pretty sure he was over the worst now, but she’d better stay put for another few minutes, just to make sure.

How arrogant she’d been to think she could fix this family. In truth, she didn’t know where to start. She was way out of her depth. One thing she could do was make sure he got a good night’s sleep. She’d bet he didn’t get too many of those.

So she lay snuggled against him and cried for the wasted years and the horrors he must have endured. And, when she had finished, she placed one tender kiss on his back and closed her eyes.

Something was tickling her face.

She swatted it away, but it didn’t do as it was told. A few seconds later a small puff of air lifted a strand of hair that lay across her cheek. Stupid David! He was always waking her up by breathing on her like this.

And then it struck her that she had been divorced for nearly a year and it wasn’t David who was breathing on her. Her eyelids shot up.

Luke! She was in bed with Luke.

She fought the urge to bolt out of bed and kept completely still. She would just have to do her cringing on the inside. If he woke up and found her here, she’d never be able to face him again.

She took a calming breath—well, as calming as she could—and tried to work out which arms and legs belonged to her and which didn’t. She was lying on her back and Luke was facing her, one arm draped possessively across her torso. Pale grey light was filtering through the curtains. It was only just dawn and she had a good chance of escaping unnoticed if she kept her cool.

She inched out from under his arm, holding it aloft slightly so it didn’t drag across her, then placed it carefully back down on top of the duvet. Moments later her feet touched carpet. She almost smiled with relief. Almost. Luke stirred and she froze. His hand searched the empty space next to him. Thankfully, it landed on the extra pillow she’d thrown aside and grabbed that.

Gaby held her breath for a few seconds more and, when she was convinced he had settled back down, she tiptoed out of the room.

The toast had just popped out of the toaster when Gaby heard Luke enter the kitchen. She blushed. Thank goodness she was leaning over the counter and he couldn’t see her face.

‘Morning, Gaby.’

‘Morning,’ she replied, lowering her head slightly as the blush raged more fiercely.

Anyone would think this was a different kind of morning after!

The thing was, her brain was refusing to recognise last night for what it had been—a friend helping a friend in need. It had all seemed so simple at the time. But now her emotions were weaving themselves into complex knots. She wasn’t sure what she felt. Only that she was embarrassed and aware of him in a way she hadn’t been before.

Sharing a bed with someone, even if it were just for comfort, was an incredibly intimate thing. The barriers she’d erected to stop herself becoming emotionally entangled had been mown down by one nightmare.

Professional distance? Give me a break!

Worst of all, she couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of his skin against hers, the warmth their bodies had generated together. It had been so nice to hold him, to have some of the human contact she had missed in the last year.

Yes, that was it. She was just starved of affection. She was just reacting as any normal person would in the situation.

And normal people got into bed with their bosses, did they? Who was she kidding?

Well, whatever had happened, she was finding it hard to see him as her boss any more. Or the poor downtrodden man she’d come to save from himself. She let out a little huff of a laugh as she buttered her toast. Luke had put his finger on it the first time they met. In some grandiose daydream she’d seen herself as his guardian angel, swooping in to rescue him, then flitting off again when the job was done.

Only she wasn’t an angel. She was just a woman. And now she was having trouble forgetting Luke was just a man underneath all the labels she’d pinned on him: employer, struggling father, charity case. The realisation he possessed a Y chromosome was starting to fuzz her brain.

‘Could you pop a couple of slices in for me, please?’

Gaby swung round to face him. ‘Huh?’ She must look completely gormless, standing there with a buttery knife aloft and her mouth hanging open.

‘Toast. Could you stick some in the toaster for me?’

‘Oh! Of course.’ She smiled.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing, really. It’s just that you said “toast”.’

He eyed her suspiciously. ‘And toast is hysterically funny, because…’

She reached for two slices of bread and dropped them in the slots. ‘It’s stupid really. I always say I’m going to put toast in the toaster, but really it’s bread that goes into the toaster. It’s only toast when it pops out again. It used to drive me mad when…someone I knew…insisted on correcting me. Never mind. I told you it was silly.’

And now she was babbling.

Luke was smiling. And that made the babble reflex even worse.

‘Sorry, I’m wittering on, aren’t I? I don’t think I slept very well and it always has this kind of effect on me.’ And now look! She’d swerved on to the subject she’d been determined to avoid. Oh, nicely done, Gaby.

‘Really?’ Luke ran his hands over his face. ‘I think I slept pretty well last night—at least much better than I usually do.’

Her eyebrows shot up.

He must have seen them, because he added, ‘I have nightmares sometimes. And…other kinds of sleep disturbance.’ He was saying it so matter-of-factly. As if it were nothing. ‘Not unusual for ex-prisoners, I’ve been told. I didn’t wake you up, did I?’

She was saved from answering by the toast popping up.

‘Marmite or jam?’ she said, reaching for the knife and contorting her face into a perky smile.

‘Neither. Just butter, if that’s okay.’

He stopped and looked at her for a few silent seconds. His eyes narrowed. Gaby’s heart began to pound.

‘What?’

‘I just thought I remembered…’ He looked off into space, as if he were trying to capture a fleeing memory. ‘No. It’s gone. Never mind.’

Gaby turned to pick the toast out of the toaster. What if he remembered something? She was pretty sure he’d been in another realm of consciousness the whole time, but she was no expert on these kinds of things.

She placed the toast very carefully on the bread board, lining the crusts up with the edges of the wood. When she turned to get the butter out the fridge, Luke was still watching her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

GABY was mixing watercolours to try and match the uncompromising blue of the sky when she heard Heather approach. She could tell who it was without looking round. Luke’s footsteps always announced his arrival. They were loud and firm, only stopping when they had to negotiate obstacles, then they always picked up their former rhythm.

Outside of an adrenaline surge—when the stomping was world class—Heather was very different. She would often creep up on Gaby. Not to spy, but almost as if she were worried her presence would not be welcome. Like now. Heather hovered in the doorway that led out of her room on to the terrace.

‘What’s up, Heather?’

Heather came closer and looked over her shoulder. ‘Hey, that’s really cool. It almost looks like a real painting!’

Gaby smiled to herself. Ah, yes. Trust a child to help keep your feet on the ground.

‘How come you’re so good at that? Did you have lessons?’

‘I took some classes a few years ago, but I’ve always loved painting. In fact, I wanted to be an artist when I was your age.’

‘So, why aren’t you an artist, then?’

‘Well. Let’s just say my mum and dad had other ideas.’

Heather did her trademark eye-roll. ‘Parents are so like that!’

‘Believe me, Heather, compared to my parents, your dad is an absolute gift. He really loves you. It’s just that he’s a bit rusty at being a dad and it’s taking him time to get used to it again.’

Heather looked unconvinced.

‘He’s been better recently, hasn’t he?’

There was a short pause, then the girl nodded.

‘Well, there you go! I wanted to do painting at college, but my dad refused to let me, so I ended up—’

‘Being a nanny?’

‘I enjoy my work. Don’t think I don’t.’

And she particularly liked being here at the Old Boathouse with Luke and Heather. She liked who she was around them. It was the closest she’d ever come to being accepted for herself.

‘Anyway, you didn’t come out here for art appreciation, did you? What’s on your mind?’

Heather visibly wilted. ‘I’ve been invited to a party on Saturday, but I don’t want to go. I think Luke is going to make me. He says I need to socialise more.’

That was the pot calling the kettle black, in her opinion.