*Never let it be said that Matilda Moore could not rise to a challenge. Granted, she didn’t relish the opportunity to shine in adverse conditions the way some people did, but drop her in the desert and she’d start walking. Give her a baby to care for and she’d get online and figure out what she needed to do. Touch base with those at home along the way and laugh with the Wirralong midwives during their impromptu lessons on how best to clean a baby’s bottom or take a temperature. Get her mother’s guidance on how to wrap Rowan snugly in a soft blanket and settle her to sleeping.
Tilly Moore, nanny extraordinaire. Cool, calm and in control.
Mary freaking Poppins.
Okay, maybe not, but the local doctor had given Rowan a clean bill of health, and the screaming had largely stopped. The way to Rowan’s heart definitely involved food, and food was Tilly’s forte, thank you very much.
She made custard and stewed apples, mashed vegetables and hard teething rusks. She sat Rowan up to watch her and proceeded to tell her all about spoons and sporks and saucepans.
From screaming demon to appreciative audience. Emboldened, Tilly bathed the baby later that day, and told her she was a pretty girl, such a good girl, and then dragged the portable cot into the kitchen and put Rowan in it while she baked macaroons as a gift for Len and all the neighbours who had helped her so far.
Tilly baked and Rowan burbled and waved her tiny arms and legs and chewed the wooden spoon and looked around with big blue eyes that in no way reminded Tilly of Henry. Nothing about this baby reminded her of Henry, from the blue eyes and gorgeous red hair to the shape of her face to her skin so much lighter than Henry’s. But she was beautiful regardless, and blessedly quiet this fine new morning. And the smell of baking soothed Tilly in turn, and the sun shone weakly through the kitchen window and it wasn’t much but it was more sunshine than she’d seen since landing in London.
In some mad way her new routine took the pressure off her having to be a tourist, doggedly trying to enjoy every new experience. This here? Doing familiar baking while keeping an eye on a contented baby? Adventurous it was not, but there was a quiet joy in it that called to her.
And then the phone rang, and she knew that number, no doubt. ‘Hey, Mum.’
‘Daughter. How’s the little one?’
‘Today, so far so good. We’re making macaroons for the neighbours.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘Did Henry get away?’ He’d been scheduled on a flight that should have left by now.
‘About that …’ Tilly’s heart sank at her mother’s words and unusually grave tone. ‘Bethany had a stroke last night. She’s been taken to Melbourne. Joe and Henry followed in the car and are with her now, and your father and I are holding the fort while they’re gone.’
‘Good, good.’ That’s what neighbours did. They helped out. ‘So, Henry missed his flight.’
‘Matilda, if there’s any way you can get that baby here without Henry having to come and get her, it’d be a big help. Bethany’s touch and go, Joe’s a mess, and Henry’s torn between doing what he needs to do here and heading back to relieve you.’
‘Got it.’
‘I know how much this trip means to you.’
‘I know you do. And thank you—for knowing.’ Mothers did that. They just knew. ‘But this whole trip has been about venturing out of my comfort zone, right? And me gearing up to take Henry’s daughter back to Aus? That’s dinner-time conversation for years to come. And blackmail material. He’ll be doing me favours forever.’
‘I’m sorry, love. You were having so much fun.’
Oh, yes. Much fun. Her mother didn’t know the bad bits, because Tilly hadn’t told her.
‘You’ll have to cancel the cooking school lessons,’ her mother continued, and that bit did bite.
Tilly tried to make light of it. ‘Who wants to learn about choux pastry from a French master chef anyway?’ Best not to dwell on the answer to that question. ‘I can always come back and do it another time.’
‘Yes, on Henry’s dime.’
‘I’m sorry to hear about Bethany.’ Tilly hated the feeling of helplessness that came over her at the thought of the older woman never being able to go home again. ‘How good are her chances of recovery?’ Her mother’s pause told her everything she needed to know. ‘Okay, then. Matilda to the rescue. I like it. Very Mary Poppins.’ She could do this. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
*
Henry waited at the airport, short on sleep and burdened with guilt. If he hadn’t surprised his grandmother with the news of his reluctant fatherhood she may not have had the stroke that landed her on life support. If he’d been a better person, Rowan’s mother might have seen fit to confide in him before she up and died. If he’d been a better man, he wouldn’t have made Matilda cut short her holiday in order to travel from London to Melbourne with his daughter in tow, while he sorted out a long-stay apartment near the hospital for his grandfather, filled the fridge and made sure the man ate three small meals a day and got some rest in between pacing hospital hallways and sitting in ICU waiting rooms. He was needed here—no question—but Tilly had needed him, too, and he hadn’t delivered.
As to what he was going to do with a child—every time he tried to think more on that his mind shied away from the problem. And that had never been his problem. Henry Church, with the ego of a man who knew damn well he could outthink all but 0.0009 per cent of the population. No problem too big to at least have a crack at.
So why couldn’t he picture a world with a child in it, without Matilda being there too?
Already, he was coming up with ways to make it up to Tilly—if she’d let him, and didn’t simply hand the baby over to him and disappear. Thirty hours of confinement with a tetchy baby. He had no idea what to expect from either Tilly or the child.
But Tilly exited through the arrival doors looking well put together, her hair in a tidy bun and a blue scarf draped just so over a pretty watermelon-coloured top and fitted grey trousers. She smiled when she saw him, a smile that touched her eyes, and it did something to his insides—made them twist and writhe uncomfortably. She was pushing an enormous stroller and an airline employee walked beside her rolling two large luggage bags. One of them was his, and likely crammed with baby paraphernalia.
The procession came to a stop in front of him, and the attendant passed possession of the suitcases to him and made smiling farewells to Tilly and the baby still hidden in the depths of the pram. Then it was just the three of them, looking for all purposes like one happy little family.
He wanted to reach out and enfold this smiling woman who stood uncertainly in front of him, but instead he rammed his hands in the pockets of his faded farm jeans and kept his distance. ‘Thanks, Til.’ Maybe she would think him a man of few words—but heartfelt words—instead of an emotional wasteland.
And then she folded him in a hug anyway, soft warmth and strong welcome that threatened to unravel him. He hugged her back fierce and fast, before stepping back and trying to disguise his weakness. ‘How was your flight?’
‘They had a dedicated first-class cabin-crew nanny on that flight for me—I kid you not, and the paperwork you sent through worked a treat when it came to immigration. It went so much better than I expected. How’s your grandmother?’
‘She’s holding her own.’
‘And Joe?’
‘Bit of a wreck.’
‘And you?’
‘I’m aiming for stoic.’
‘And you’re nailing it. Here. Let me turn the pram around. Look.’
He looked. How could he not? And saw big blue eyes regarding him curiously, and a thatch of curly red hair and skin the colour of cream. This was what came of his coupling with Amanda? Amanda, with her dark hair and olive skin, and eyes he couldn’t quite remember the colour of, hazel at a guess. Him, with his brown eyes and olive skin and dark hair too. Not that he knew exactly what racial mix he possessed, given he had no knowledge of his father, but still …
‘I’ve decided she’s a little sweetheart, never mind our rocky start.’ Tilly leaned down, her shoulder nudging his. ‘What do you think?’
He thought … things he probably shouldn’t question aloud unless he wanted someone else to have a stroke at his callousness. ‘Seems quiet enough.’
‘So, what’s the plan?’
‘I took the liberty of booking you into the apartment next to ours. Figured I’d take you there now—I know my grandfather’s looking forward to seeing you. After that my plans get fluid and revolve around where you want to go next, be it back to London or back to Wirralong, or wherever else you want to go. I’ll make it happen.’
‘If you add in a half-decent cup of coffee for me, you’re on.’ There was no artifice. No manoeuvring for advantage. ‘Tell me you got my list and have a baby seat in the car and a portable playpen that can double as a baby bed in the apartment.’
He tore his gaze from the baby and straightened. ‘Done. What are your thoughts on live-in nannies?’ Judging by the sudden cessation of her smile, she didn’t think much of them. ‘C’mon. Coffee bar’s right over there and it’s not too bad,’ he said without waiting for her answer.
She wielded the pram like a pro. He took charge of the suitcases. By the time he got the coffee and settled the baby in the spanking new baby carrier in the spanking new car, Tilly had recovered her bright side.
‘This a hire car or a new car?’ she asked as she buckled up and looked around. ‘Because it has that new car smell.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s gorgeous. Love the leather. Is it all-wheel drive?’
He nodded.
‘How many cylinders?’
‘Eight.’ Didn’t want her being underpowered out there on Wirralong’s dirt roads in the rain.
‘I approve.’
‘Good, because it’s yours. My gift to you for ruining your holiday with my unexpected … addition.’
‘But—you can’t just—’
‘It’s done. Check the glove box. The purchase is in your name and so’s the temporary registration. You’ll have to fill in the forms properly when you get a chance.’
‘Henry, it’s too much. Way too much.’
‘Feels about right to me.’ He glanced in the rear vision mirror. How was a man supposed to concentrate on driving with a baby on board? ‘She’s very quiet.’
‘Be happy about that, because I guarantee it won’t last.’
He took that to mean get a move on. ‘So how did you find London once you got the hang of it?’ And found some clothes to wear. The memory of her clad only in his business shirts was one he frequently revisited.
‘Can you keep a confidence? As in not mention it to my parents?’
He cleared the airport and headed for North Melbourne and the apartment near the hospital. He had two words for her. ‘Kewpie doll.’ She’d spent a small fortune on a hideously ugly kewpie doll at the Wirralong Show one year and told her mother Henry had won it for her on the ping-pong-ball clowns. He’d been ribbed mercilessly for his largess. Henry Church was mad for Silly Tilly. To this day, he’d never betrayed her confidence. ‘Do you still have that thing?’
‘My folly? Sure do.’ A dimple appeared in her cheek. ‘You gave it to me.’
‘What’s your secret, this time, that you think your parents are not going to like?’
‘I didn’t much like London, or travel, or adventure. I missed the blue sky and the red dirt and the sound of magpies in the morning.’
‘What about the smell of sheep dung? Did you miss that too?’
‘And the smell of wet wool and the ability to get out of bed, open the doors to my bedroom and step outside. Not that your London place isn’t beautiful, because it is. I’d have stolen your leather library chair in a hot minute if I thought I had any chance whatsoever of bringing it home. But the pigeons and the garbage trucks and the door alarms and the people made me feel so out of place. Even the art galleries were big and busy and you couldn’t just stand there and look at a picture for a while, you had to move on long before you were done.’ She sighed. ‘I’d dreamed of this trip for so long. I fully expected the Mary Poppins experience and dancing on rooftops with Dick Van Dyke, and instead I was lonely—that is until missy in the back there turned up. She kind of gave my holiday a purpose. Please don’t call me silly,’ she finished quietly. ‘Not that you ever have.’
He wasn’t about to start. ‘When I first went to London I used to get up before dawn and stare out the window overlooking that little corner of Trafalgar Square and wait for the pigeon lady to arrive. It reminded me of feeding the sheep at home. She never missed a day until the day she did.’ Hadn’t even known who she was, only that she’d kept him company for years and reminded him of a simpler life than the one he’d hungered for. ‘I never saw her again.’
‘But do you look for her still?’
‘Every damn day,’ he murmured. ‘City living’s not for everyone. Don’t beat yourself up.’
‘But you like it.’
‘Yet here I am reassessing my lifestyle options. Maybe I like London enough to visit once in a while. Maybe I want Rowan to know the pleasures of farm life.’
‘Henry, you couldn’t wait to get gone.’
For more than one reason. He gave her the simpler one. ‘I had to know what was out there. And now I do and I’m seriously considering coming back to take care of the people who once took care of me.’
‘For how long?’ Suspicion laced her voice. That and an underlying raggedy edge of something he couldn’t place.
‘I don’t know. But thank you, again, for all you’ve done on my behalf these past few days.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. ‘I still can’t accept this car in return.’
‘You can.’ It helped that she seemed too tired to argue with him. ‘You will.’
*
For all that Henry had planned for Tilly to have an apartment for herself so she could shower and rest after her flight, the fact that she’d so readily left him and Joe with no instructions whatsoever and a wide-awake baby to get to know still managed to take him by surprise.
He didn’t know what to do, but then neither had she and she’d managed well enough.
Was he supposed to look at the child and instantly recognise part of himself in her? Because that hadn’t happened yet.
If he picked her up would he bond with her then? Feel overwhelming fatherly love rather than this vague terror that such a tiny, vulnerable little human was now his responsibility?
Maybe if he’d seen her being born … Nope, no, don’t go there. That wouldn’t have helped do anything but make him incredibly grateful he wasn’t a woman. And he was already grateful enough about that, thanks.
It was time to pick this tiny little being up before he proved his grandfather right and turned out to be utterly inept at the fatherhood thing.
One hand to support her head and neck and his other hand beneath her little body and lift.
See?
And then just bring her closer so she doesn’t look as if he was offering her up as a sacrifice.
‘Smells like she needs a nappy change,’ his grandfather said with no little amusement, and given it was the first time the older man had smiled in days, Henry could hardly begrudge him the moment.
‘Yep.’
‘You going to do it?’
‘Working my way up to it, old man.’ His grandfather’s laughter was its own reward. ‘Can’t rush these things.’
Baby Rowan Aurelia Church got a new nappy eventually.
And then he picked her up again and settled her in the crook of his arm and looked around for something to do. ‘So this is a door.’ He spelled the word aloud and his grandfather snorted. ‘And apparently I’m now a comedian. No, I didn’t see that one coming either. So my name’s Henry. Henry Church and you’ll curse me for that last name before we’re through, especially once you start school.’
‘Which won’t be next week, so don’t worry about it for now,’ offered the other man wryly as he came over for a closer look at the baby in Henry’s arms. ‘She doesn’t look like a Church.’
‘No.’
‘Maybe she takes after her mother?’
Again, ‘No.’
‘Or her family?’ offered Joe.
‘I wouldn’t know. Neither would Amanda if she were still around to ask. She was left at a train station in Ireland at three years old and no one ever came forward to claim her. They gave her an Irish identity. She looked the part. Dark hair, medium to olive complexion, light-coloured eyes.’ He couldn’t remember her eye colour exactly. They weren’t grey like Tilly’s. ‘Church or not, this baby has nowhere else to go.’
What a mess. Charging him with the raising of a child, any child, and thinking he’d do a decent job. When had he ever given Amanda enough information about himself to make that call? ‘I don’t know how to do this.’
‘No one ever does, at the start. You’ll learn.’
‘I’ll fail.’
‘I doubt it.’
You failed, old man. The thought stole in, cruel and unspoken, but it had always been between them. You’re a good man, but you failed your daughter. She broke on your watch. Cut down by her mother’s vicious tongue and your studied silence, and she couldn’t get away fast enough. Same as me. Is that what happened? Is that what you’ll never say whenever I ask?
‘Why did my mother leave Wirralong at fifteen, with barely a cent to her name?’ he asked again, bald and blunt, with a baby in his arms that he’d been asked to commit to for a lifetime. No throwing her out if she wasn’t shaping up the way he wanted, no handing the job off to someone else. ‘Why did she never, ever speak of you, in particular, without longing and sadness?’
His grandfather’s face was a study in pain and regret, and Henry hated himself for causing it, but he needed to know. Surely he had a right to the truth so he didn’t make the same mistakes?
‘She and Beth didn’t get along.’
‘She has a name. I’ve never heard you say it.’ Not once.
So much silence between them. Years of it, during which he’d never uttered his mother’s name either, internalising this man’s shame and making it his too. Maybe it was time that stopped. ‘Her name was Ruth.’
*
Tilly woke slowly, roused by her stomach and the growling noises it was making. She’d showered as soon as she reached the hotel room, grateful to be back on home soil with her luggage right beside her, and then she lay down for a quick nap. She reached for her phone now to check the time. A quick nap that had lasted half the day, apparently. Probably not the best move she could have made, but it was done now, and she would deal with it.
She’d left Rowan with Henry and his grandfather in the apartment right next door, and the fact that she hadn’t been woken by a screaming baby seemed like good news. Checking in with them seemed like the obvious thing to do. Given all that had transpired, there was no need to feel tense as she stood in the grey apartment hallway feeling uncharacteristically nervous in her pretty pale blue cotton dress, the fancy blue scarf her mother had gifted her, and a pair of blue shoes with a two-inch heel that she’d purchased from a little boutique in Soho.
She figured she’d go for a walk, find somewhere to eat, but would check in with next door before she did so, just in case they wanted her to bring them back some takeaway dinner.
There was also the slight chance she wanted to see how Rowan was faring. And find out how Bethany was too. And fuss over Joe and drink in the sight of Henry, which was what she tended to do whenever she got within range of him.
She should have been expecting the sight of Rowan in Henry’s arms as he opened the door to her. She should have girded her loins and steeled her resolve to not lust after the man, but there was something about him standing there with the sleeves of his blue chambray shirt rolled to his forearms and a sleeping baby nestled into his shoulder that tugged at her soul.
‘If you wake her I will unravel,’ he murmured with just enough hint of panic in his voice to make her grin. She’d been there. Done that. And lived to tell the tale.
‘I’m heading out to find something to eat. Want me to bring you anything back?’
He stepped back, motioned her in, and she walked through the narrow entrance hall and saw Joe Church already tucking in to takeaway pizza. ‘I won’t tell Henry about my cholesterol problem if you don’t,’ Joe said by way of greeting.
The pizza looked like a good one, loaded with cheese and toppings and fragrant with the smell of garlic and basil. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it. How’s Beth?’
‘They tell me come morning she’ll be out of intensive care.’
‘They also told him to go home and get some sleep,’ offered Henry. ‘Pizza and beer seemed like a good way to make that happen and to hell with cholesterol.’
It was such a perfectly guy thing to do.
Henry inclined his head towards the table. ‘Want to join us? There’s plenty here.’
‘Well I would. Never let it be said that carbs, oil, pepperoni and cheese isn’t an excellent way to go, but I’ve my heart set on eating at this little Japanese restaurant not far from here and seeing as I’ll be heading off in the morning, tonight’s the night.’
‘You’re leaving so soon?’ asked Joe. ‘Why? The room’s paid for.’ He turned to Henry. ‘Isn’t it?’
Henry nodded, very, very carefully and wooed her without realising he did so when he began gently shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a gentle swaying motion. ‘You could pretend Melbourne is a holiday destination and go exploring. I hear they have some good rooftop bars here. You might meet a chimney sweep who’ll take you dancing.’
‘In these shoes? I can barely walk in them.’
‘You look very nice, Matilda.’ Since when did Henry pay her compliments? Or call her Matilda …
‘You should put the baby down, Henry, and take Tilly to dinner,’ said Joe. ‘I can hold the fort here. Not as if I haven’t dealt with a baby before.’
A long silence followed, in which it seemed as if plenty was being said that Tilly couldn’t hear.
‘I’d like to help.’ Careful words from Joe. ‘Your mother was a fussy baby. I’ve had a lot of practice.’
‘My mother.’ Henry’s voice was harder than Tilly had ever heard it.
‘Ruth,’ Joe offered quietly, and silence descended again.
And then Joe seemed to rally, his shoulders squaring and his eyes steady on his grandson. ‘Young Rowan’s fed, clean, and sleepy. She’ll settle here with me if you want to go out.’
She was settled now. Like a barnacle against Henry’s generously muscled chest.
‘Just so you all know, I don’t need company on my exciting culinary adventure,’ Tilly offered, trying and failing to figure out what was causing the friction between the two men. ‘Even if I wouldn’t say no to it.’ There. Her two cents were also in the ring now.
Henry looked torn.
‘Bring her along,’ she added. Why not?
Torn, hot and downright edible. Henry Church. Éclair.
‘No, I—’ He looked to his grandfather. ‘Thank you. Call if you want me back.’
Five minutes and a change of shirt for Henry later they strode along a narrow laneway, with Tilly trying, and failing, to match Henry’s long strides. ‘I’ll meet you there,’ she yelled from several paces behind; he faltered and turned in her direction, hands in his pockets and his face a picture of consternation.
‘Sorry. Really. I was miles away.’
Not exactly a compliment. ‘Okay, so here’s the deal. I know this isn’t a date, but if you’re not going to be present, just keep walking. I get to enjoy my meal without worrying that I’m boring you stupid, and you get to take a break from fathering duties. Everyone wins.’
‘I didn’t mean to ignore you.’
‘You have a lot on your mind. I can understand that.’ There was no way to delicately ask what she wanted to know. ‘Were you in love with Rowan’s mother?’ Was he grieving too?
He seemed startled by her question and then his mouth twisted into a grim smile. ‘No. I worked with her. Respected her. We got together once, that was all. Then she took a job elsewhere and we lost touch.’
There was a lot going on in that there answer. Tilly latched on to the easiest reply she could think of. ‘So, she was smart. Like you.’
‘Define smart. Because the way I see it, waiting until after she was dead before revealing that I had a daughter was utterly imbecilic.’
‘You’re speaking ill of the dead.’
‘I’m thinking ill of the dead. What does it matter? She’s dead. And she took whatever meagre reasons she had for doing what she did with her. Am I really so intimidating that she couldn’t have come to me beforehand?’
‘You can be.’ She’d started this line of questioning, Tilly reminded herself sternly. She would see it through. Kissing all thoughts of a pleasant meal aside, she gave him her truth. ‘You’re very driven. Ambitious.’ You leave people behind without a backwards glance was what she wanted to say, but this wasn’t about her. ‘Amanda may have hoped her cancer would spare her and that you’d never need to know.’
‘And you think that’s acceptable? For a woman to simply decide to cut a father out of a child’s life from birth? Because it’s not.’
‘You’re looking at it—’
‘How? As a child who never knew who his father was? As a man who is perfectly willing and able to shoulder his responsibilities, assuming he knows about them?’
‘I’m not arguing with you.’ She truly wasn’t. ‘It’s just … did you ever reach out to your colleague after that one night together? You might have asked her how the new job was going, or said, hey let’s keep in touch. She may have been waiting for a cue from you that never came.’
‘Oh, now it’s my fault.’
They reached a set of traffic lights and a stop walking sign. ‘Henry, you are spoiling for a fight, and I understand your turmoil and anger. I do. But I refuse to be the stand-in for all the women who’ve ever wronged you. The restaurant I’m going to is that way.’ She pointed left. ‘You don’t have to join me. There’s a gin bar to your right, according to the map on my phone, and I’m pretty sure they’ll have whisky too. I can devour sashimi and edamame beans and you can drown your sorrows. Everyone’s a winner.’
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and looked away. She stood and waited for his decision, because she really did want to be there for him, talk with him, give him some way to air his emotions without doing damage.
‘It’s a messy situation, I know,’ she murmured as the lights changed colour and the walk signal appeared.
‘I’m being an ass.’
He would get no argument from her.
‘I’m not an easy man.’
Again, no argument, but her face might have spoken for her.
‘Don’t suppose I could buy you a drink before you walk away?’
‘You’re lucky I like gin,’ she told him. ‘And yes, let’s do that. I don’t want to be at odds with you. Heaven knows it wouldn’t kill me to acknowledge that your world has just been upended. For all sorts of reasons, none of them planned. Just … don’t make me wear the failings of others. I have plenty of my own.’
He shook his head, as if she didn’t. Held her gaze with a quiet intensity that reminded her of the way he would focus on her during their long walks from the farm gate to her place, after which he would cut across country another kilometre or so to get to his place. Those times when he listened, focused all his attention on her, and she’d blossomed.
‘I can’t see them,’ he offered gruffly. ‘Your flaws. Could be I’m trying to push some onto you.’
‘But why?’
‘So I don’t fall.’
He wasn’t an easy man to understand. But she’d always thought him worth the effort.
The gin bar was a cacophony of dark corners, dim lighting and mismatched antique velvet seating, but the selection of spirits behind the bar was truly enormous, and the barman knew his stuff. They sat at the bar, because this wasn’t a date and those comfy, intimate-looking sofa seats weren’t for the likes of them. She looked at the drink in front of her and then at the man whose socks she’d been wearing for the past ten days. Socks so precisely folded and colour coordinated that she’d never quite been able to put them back the way she’d found them, no matter how hard she tried.
‘I’m sorry you didn’t know your father,’ she began, with the dim lights for protection. ‘I’m sorry you had to learn about your daughter in this way. I do think it’s kind of lovely that you have one.’ She couldn’t look at him when she said this, in case she read him all wrong and he didn’t want her thoughts or advice or anything else she had to offer. ‘My father’s the wisest man I know. Never used to call me Matilda when I’d done something wrong. Or silly for that matter. He’d say, Tilly, if you can’t fix what’s wrong, move on. Because there’s a whole new day just waiting for you, and in it you’ll do or see something wonderful. And maybe that’s too simplistic for you, I don’t know. But the way I see it, every time you see something wonderful from now on you’ll have a child standing next to you who might be seeing it for the very first time, and I think that’s going to be pretty amazing. So here’s to being a father and making the most of it. Congratulations?’
She’d tried so hard to make that last word sound like a definite rather than a question, but she didn’t quite manage to pull it off.
And then he shook his head, right before leaning across and brushing warm lips against her cheek. ‘Thank you, Matilda.’ He picked up his glass of Scotland’s finest and drank the lot. ‘Still not seeing those flaws.’
They went to dinner together and settled into conversation that didn’t tax either of them. No exploration of Henry’s uncertain future. No analysis of why she hadn’t wholeheartedly embraced her London adventure. The food was good. The table linens sublime. Which reminded her … ‘Those bed sheets on your spare bed, where did you get them?’ She hadn’t been able to find a brand name but she very definitely wanted them on her bed at home.
‘You expect me to know that?’
‘Well, yeah, Mr Puritanical Sock Drawer.’
‘Don’t mock my sock drawer. And I think the sheets came from Harrods.’
Expensive.
Dammit.
‘I’ll send you some,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘What else did you like over there?’
‘Your wine was pretty good. Not that I’m a connoisseur.’ She chased the last few morsels around her plate, then pushed it away. ‘Did I tell you Maggie found a hidden wine cellar at Wirra Station homestead when she was renovating? All these dusty bottles of wine in an underground cavern. She does tasting evenings for them these days, and what’s not vinegar is good. I’m a member of the Smart Ladies’ Supper Club—don’t laugh—I like to think I earned my place legitimately.’
‘Not laughing. Enjoying.’
‘Enjoying what?’
‘You. Tell me more about your supper club.’
‘Well, it mainly consists of Wirralong businesswomen who share their knowledge and experience, successes and failures. They encouraged me to expand my catering business. My first standing order for cakes and sweets was with Maggie for her homestead B & B. Now it’s wedding functions and plated desserts for three hundred people.’
‘Does it make you happy? Your work?’
‘Yes.’ No second guesses. ‘Doesn’t run to Harrods sheet sets or Mercedes four-wheel drives—which I truly cannot accept as a gift—but I’m happy with it. If nothing else, London showed me just how much I value my friends, my family and the life I’m living. I can’t complain about that.’
‘But you are still on holidays. Technically. And you’ve no burning desire to return to London? Because there’s a first-class airfare with your name on it, if you do want to head back there and finish out the month.’
‘No.’ She tried to summon the enthusiasm she’d once had for London adventures and came up empty. ‘I’m done.’
‘Your room here’s booked for the next three days,’ he told her. ‘You could stay on.’
‘Why?’
He shrugged as if he didn’t quite know the answer. ‘Self-interest is part of it. You could help out with Rowan. Keep her with you when I take Joe to the hospital tomorrow. I wouldn’t say no.’
‘Oh. I guess self-interest is all well and good.’
‘Making amends is part of it, too. If you stay on and have fun in Melbourne, I won’t feel quite so bad about derailing your holiday.’
‘Oh, I think we both know I wasn’t exactly having a ball over there.’
‘But you might have a ball here. You don’t know yet. Use me and Joe and my … Rowan as a familiar base to strike out from.’
It was starting to sound tempting. ‘How many extra days did you say you’d booked the apartment for?’
His smug smile shouldn’t have been so endearing. ‘However many you want.’
*
The next few days passed in a blur of window shopping through the alleyways of Melbourne, babysitting Rowan whenever Henry and Joe were both at the hospital, and bringing back luscious takeaway meals for everyone to share. Both apartments Henry had secured had balconies that overlooked a leafy green park, and as far as Tilly was concerned those balconies became her favourite places to be. They ate there as a group and caught up with the doings of the day. It wasn’t a farm kitchen table, but it was close.
Rowan hadn’t taken too well to jet lag or the change of hemispheres. She had a tendency to sleep during the day and stay awake at night. Joe went to bed at around eleven, and Henry kept Rowan with them until then, but if she fussed after that both he and Rowan would like as not end up in Tilly’s apartment so Joe could get some sleep.
They’d set her living room up as baby HQ.
It had made sense at the time.
It made considerably less sense that her late-night disaster times with Henry and Rowan were the very best part of her day.
She had to leave, and soon, because this was not her family. Henry was not her beloved, Rowan was not her baby, and getting too attached to them would only set her up for a world of hurt.
‘I’m thinking I’ll head off tomorrow,’ she said at dinner on Sunday night and stopped the chewing dead. Grandfather Joe said nothing.
Henry swallowed hard and reached for his beer. ‘Any particular reason why?’
‘Homesickness?’ She tried it on for size and found it a fair enough fit. ‘Not that I haven’t enjoyed this, or London.’ She cast a quick glance in Joe’s direction. ‘Which I enjoyed immensely.’ Still rocking that lie.
Henry’s level glance challenged her need to do so, but he kept his word.
‘You guys have everything under control here,’ she continued. ‘Beth’s improving every day, yay, and I really should be moving along.’
‘You underestimate your contribution here,’ said Joe finally. ‘It’s been our pleasure and our very good fortune to have you stay on this long.’
Tilly smiled. ‘Always the flatterer.’
‘It’s the truth.’ Henry, for whom the truth was sacrosanct, was a little harder to dismiss.
‘I’ve enjoyed it too, don’t get me wrong. But if anything, this trip has taught me that Wirralong’s my home, and I need to get back to the big blue skies and an open horizon and the way it makes me feel.’
Henry pinned her with his overwhelmingly intense gaze. ‘How does it make you feel?’
‘Fed.’ She couldn’t explain it any other way. ‘I’ll take the bus.’
‘Why take a bus when you have a car?’
‘Because that’s not my car. Henry, we’ve had this conversation.’
‘You should both go,’ said Joe. ‘Nothing to do here but wait until Beth’s fit to come home, and we all know that’s going to take some time, maybe months. Meanwhile, the farm needs seeing to and I’d appreciate your help with that.’ He was looking at Henry as he spoke. ‘Least for a while. Unless you’re looking to return to London.’
‘Not yet.’
Tilly didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath. She tried to let it out gently, but Joe might have caught her in the act. ‘I gave away all the food perishables before I left. Switched off at the power point anything that didn’t need ongoing electricity.’ His place would be okay without him for a while.
Henry looked at her, his expression guarded. ‘We could all drive back together. You, me and Rowan.’
What harm could it do? Spend a few more hours in his company, an afternoon at most, and then she would be free of him. No more sweet baby girl to cuddle and help with. No more watching Henry’s confidence with his daughter grow and grow. He’d been awkward at first, a little clumsy when handling her, and tentative when feeding her. That was fading and in its place was a tenderness that had always been at the very heart of him, even if he’d rarely let it show.
She loved that about him.
Loved to watch Henry Church’s daughter crack him open.
She’d still see them if they stayed in Wirralong. She was Tilly next door and always had been. Reliable, sturdy, silly Tilly next door, with a crush on Henry that just wouldn’t go away.
What would he say if she simply told him her dilemma?
I like you too much to spend any more time with you, Henry.
He’d probably try and tell her that made no sense at all.
I’m becoming attached to your daughter and that’s not helping at all.
I know I’m going to hurt like hell when you up and leave. And you will.
He was waiting for her reply. ‘Head back to Wirralong with you and get you to drop me home?’ She dug deep for calm and slapped on a smile. ‘Sure.’