English Girl in New York (11 page)

It was time. It was time to tell the truth. ‘Why do you struggle with babies?'

The million-dollar question.

‘Because I had one.'

She heard his intake of breath, but to his credit he never reacted the way she expected. There was a few moments' silence while he obviously contemplated her news. ‘When did you have one?' His voice was low, comforting. The question wasn't intrusive. He made it feel like an everyday conversation.

‘Last year.'

‘Oh.'

‘Yes, oh.' A shiver danced along her spine. Was it a reaction to the cold? Or was it a reaction to saying those words out loud?

Dan stood up and pulled her along with him. ‘Let's do this inside. Let's do this inside with Abraham.'

Even now he didn't want to leave the baby on his own. Dan was being a good parent. It made this seem so much easier.

Abraham was wrapped in a towel, his bare toes kicking at the air above. As Dan closed the door behind them, shutting out the cold winter air, she knew what she had to do. She knew what would help her through this.

She picked up the kicking bundle and held him close to her chest, taking some deep breaths in and out.

She couldn't think of a single reason why this made her feel better. The thought of holding another baby in her arms had terrified her for so long. But the past few days had been cathartic.

Never, in a million years, would she have thought that holding another baby in her arms while she talked about the one she had lost would feel okay. Would actually feel quite right. If she'd ever planned to share, it would never have been like this.

‘It wasn't too long ago.' Her words were firmer than she expected. She'd always thought that she'd never be able to get them out.

Maybe it was because she was with Dan. Maybe it was because he was literally a captive audience with no place to go. Maybe it was because she knew he couldn't run out on her if he didn't like what he heard. Maybe it was because she was beginning to feel as if she could tell this guy anything.

‘Fifteenth of May last year, I had a little girl. Ruby. She was stillborn.'

There was silence.

It seemed important. Even though she hated the word
stillborn
it seemed important to her to tell him what had happened to her baby. She didn't want him to think she'd given her baby up for adoption, or done the same as Abraham's mother and abandoned her.

What was he thinking? And then a warm hand crept up and covered hers, squeezing gently. ‘I'm sorry you lost your daughter, Carrie. That must have been a terrible time for you.'

The quiet acknowledgement made tears spring to her eyes. ‘Thank you, Dan,' she whispered.

For Ruby. He was expressing his sorrow for the loss of her daughter. For Ruby. Some people didn't like to acknowledge a baby who had been lost. Some people didn't even want to say their names. It was easier to pretend they'd never existed. After all, babies who had never drawn breath in this world, they practically hadn't been here.

Except Ruby had been here.

She'd kicked under her mother's expanding stomach for seven months. She'd twisted and turned in the middle of the night, constantly having dancing competitions that kept her mother awake into the small hours. Sometimes a little foot or hand had been clearly visible as Carrie had lain watching her belly.

Ruby McKenzie had definitely existed. And it was so nice to finally talk about her. Talk about her in a normal way instead of in hushed, quiet tones.

‘Is that what's in the silver box upstairs?'

Now he had surprised her. ‘How do you know about the box?'

‘I saw it sitting on your bed when we were in your apartment. I saw the way you looked at it.' He gave her a little smile. ‘It's pretty. And it seemed important.' His finger traced along the knuckles of her hand, small circular motions. ‘Your place. You didn't have pictures up. For a woman, that struck me as strange. I figured you had a good reason and didn't want to ask.'

A tear slid down her cheek. ‘I'm trying to get away from memories. That's why I'm in New York. It seemed like a good time to get away. Everything and everyone back home just reminded me of last year. It made sense. Coming here, getting away from it all.'

Dan traced his finger from her hand to her breastbone. His voice was intense. ‘You can't get away from what's in here, Carrie. It stays with you all the time—no matter where you go.'

Wow. Her breath caught in her throat.

It was the way he said the words. The understanding. How could Dan be so in tune with things? There was an intensity she hadn't seen before. A darkening of his brown eyes from caramel tones to deep chocolate colours.

He knew. He understood her straight away, and she didn't know why.

‘I know that. But sometimes what's in here feels easier if you've got room to deal with it yourself.' Easier than everyone clamouring around you, suffocating you with
their
grief.

‘And has it been? Has it been easier, Carrie?'

‘I thought it was. I thought I was coming to terms with things.' Her eyes went down to Abraham. ‘Until now. Until him.' She could hear the waver in her voice, feel the tremble in her throat. She desperately wanted to keep it together. She wanted to put her thoughts, feelings and frustrations into words—in a way she'd never managed before.

But Dan's reaction was flooring her. She couldn't have asked for more.

Dan shook his head. ‘No wonder you didn't want to help out. No wonder you tried to make excuses.' His eyes were still heavy with weariness and she could see the lines on his face. He was fighting fatigue with every bone in his body.

He turned around on the sofa so he was facing her entirely. ‘I'm sorry, Carrie. I had no idea how hard this was for you. But I really needed your help. I couldn't do this on my own. I don't know the first thing about babies.'

The gentle tears were still flowing. ‘And neither do I, Dan. I never got the chance to find out. And I'm so worried I'll do something wrong. What if I caused Ruby to be stillborn? What if it was something I did? Something I ate? I'm not sure I should be around babies. I'm terrified that I'll do something wrong. What if he's sick and I don't know it? What if the jaundice gets worse instead of better?' She shook her head. ‘I've already held one dead baby in my arms. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to Abraham.'

Panic was welling up inside her and threatening to take over.

Some things were still too much for her. Still too raw.

Dan put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Don't, Carrie. Don't do this to yourself. We've spoken to Shana. You heard what she said. As soon as possible, she'll arrange to examine Abraham and make sure everything is fine. Nothing happened today when you bathed him. Abraham must have just held his breath. As soon as you handed him to me, it was almost as if he let out a little squawk. It was nothing you did, Carrie. Nothing at all. As for doing something wrong—I'm more likely to do that than you. You're a natural. Everything you do is right. No matter how hard you're finding this, you still make a much better parent than I do. I couldn't even get a diaper on straight!' He pressed his fingers into the tops of her arms. ‘I don't know what happened to Ruby, but I don't believe for a second it was your fault. Did they ever tell you? What did the medical examiner say?'

Carrie took a deep breath. ‘Nothing. They found nothing. Although she was early Ruby was the right size and weight. There was nothing wrong with my placenta. There was nothing wrong with the umbilical cord. I hadn't been in an accident. I didn't have any infections. My blood pressure was fine. They couldn't give me a single reason why Ruby stopped moving that day. She was perfect. She was perfect in every way.'

Her voice was cracking now. Her head was filling with pictures of that room. The expression on the radiographer's face as she swept Carrie's abdomen, trying to find a heartbeat with no success. The quiet way she had spoken, mentioning she needed to look for a colleague before disappearing out of the door.

And Carrie, sitting in the semi-dark room, knowing, just
knowing,
that life was about to change in an unimaginable way. Placing her hands on her stomach, ignoring the gel, and just talking to her baby. Telling her that Mummy loved her. Forever and ever.

Ruby's name had been picked weeks before. The hand-painted letters already adorned the door of the room in their flat that had been dedicated as the nursery. The nursery that Ruby would never see—never live in.

She could see the empathy on Dan's face. He understood. He understood the pure frustration of having no reason, no answer to the worst thing that could happen to her.

He lifted his heavy eyelids with caution. ‘What about Ruby's dad?'

‘What about Ruby's dad?' She shook her head. A small bit of guilt still weighed on her soul. ‘Mark was a good guy. But neither of us could cope with what happened. Things just fell apart. He got another job and moved away. He's met someone now. And I'm happy for him. We just couldn't stay together—it was far too hard. Like having a permanent reminder etched on your brain.'

‘Seems to me that Ruby will be permanently etched on your brain anyhow. Whether you're with Mark or not.'

She stared at him. That was blunt and to the point. And for the first time Dan had a deep crease across his forehead. A crease she wanted to reach up and smooth away with her fingers.

She was feeling it. This connection to Dan. Just as he was feeling it, too.

Mark was a chapter of her life that was over. And although she thought about Ruby frequently, she barely ever thought about Mark.

Dan's last remark seemed almost protective, and a tiny bit territorial. And the strangest thing was she didn't mind. Why had she been so scared to talk about this?

It wasn't comfortable. It wasn't comfortable at all. But Dan seemed to understand more than she would have expected him to.

And Dan was everything Mark wasn't. Mark couldn't bear to be around her once she'd lost Ruby. It was too hard. Too hard for them both. But Dan was nothing like that. She couldn't imagine Mark in this situation. Looking after an abandoned baby. Mark would have wanted nothing to do with that at all. But Dan had taken it all in his stride. A totally different kind of man.

And timing was everything. If New York hadn't been hit by this freak snowstorm she and Dan might never have talked. Might never have got to know each other and started to show these little glimmers of trust.

She sagged back on the sofa as Abraham let out a little sigh, his warm breath against her neck. ‘I don't ever want to forget my daughter, Daniel. I couldn't, and I wouldn't ever want to. I have things in the box, her first scan, her scan at twenty weeks. A few little things that I'd bought for her that she never got to wear.' She stared off into the distance. ‘I had to buy something new. Something for very premature babies to put on her. And some photos. I have some photos. But—'

She broke off, unable to finish. The photographs were just too painful.

His hand was wrapped back around hers again. ‘So, how do you feel about helping me with Abraham? I know it's hard for you, Carrie. But I really need your help.' His words were said with caution, as if he didn't want to cause her any more pain.

She took a few moments before she answered, trying to sort it all out in her brain. ‘It's strange. It's not quite what I'd expected. I've avoided babies for months. Any of my friends who were pregnant and delivered, I just made excuses not to see them and sent a present. I think they all understood. Most of them felt awkward around me anyway. I thought Abraham would be my worst nightmare.'

‘And?'

‘And—' she looked down at the little face, snuggled against her shoulder ‘—I won't pretend it's not hard. I won't pretend that I don't sometimes just need a minute. Just need a little space. But it's not as bad as I expected.'

The heat from Abraham's little body was penetrating through her dressing gown, like an additional hot-water bottle. But it felt good. It felt natural. It didn't make her want to run screaming from the room. Not in the way she would have expected.

‘Then can you do this, Carrie? Can you keep helping me for the next day or so?' He pointed to the TV. ‘It doesn't look like New York is opening back up for business any time soon.' He touched her arm, and she could sense the frustration he was trying to hide from her. ‘I'll understand, Carrie. I'll understand if you say no and want to go back up to your apartment and stay there.'

She thought about it. There was no hiding the fact that for a few moments she actually considered it. But just at that point Abraham moved and snuggled even closer to her neck.

What was up there for her? An empty apartment with no one to talk to. There was only so much news she could watch on TV saying the same things over and over again.

There were only so many times she could rearrange her wardrobe and shoes. There were only so many times she could reread her favourite books.

She sucked in a deep breath. He was watching her.
He
was holding
his
breath, waiting for her response. ‘You understand now, but you didn't understand a couple of nights ago.' She could remember the stunned expression on his face when she'd bolted for the door.

He nodded in defeat. ‘You're right. I thought you were distinctly weird. But I was crazy and desperate enough not to care.' He pointed to his chest. ‘But I know, Carrie, I know in here if someone is a good person. And don't think it's anything about being a cop. I've been like this since I was a kid. I always knew who had a good heart—no matter what their appearance or surroundings. And I always knew who to steer clear of, no matter what they told me.'

There were shadows in his eyes. He was revealing a tiny part of himself here. Maybe without even knowing it. And that was the second time this had happened. First with the comment about things always staying inside you, and now about knowing people—who to stay away from. How had he learned that lesson? It was painful to even think about it.