One Tiny Miracle... (12 page)

‘I don’t want to hurt you…’ he gasped. He was suddenly right there at her entrance and she was tight with expectancy and fear. But then he was in just a little bit, two hands holding her hips and just gently stretching her till fear abated and she relaxed, willing him in further. But he was so supremely gentle, so strong and sure that there was pure bliss in there being no rush.

Always, in her vast repertoire of twice, there had
been an ‘is that it?’ moment. Is that what the world raves about? Is that all there is to it?

No,
this
was all there was to it.

All she wanted and all she wanted to be…

He was pushing her onto her back now, his huge frame moving over her, and it felt sublime…till she lost her rhythm and Ben dealt easily with that.

‘Stay still.’ His words were a low whisper in her ear.

‘Still?’ Wasn’t she supposed to be writhing around? Surely lying still…

‘Stay still,’ he said again, so she did. She just lay and felt the blissful feel of him within her, the scent of him, of them, and she
really
did try to stay still, except her hips kept lifting, her body kept arching to his.

‘Stay still…’ he repeated, and she tried harder, except she couldn’t, and suddenly she was lifting to him, moving with him, just locked in their own rhythm and Ben wasn’t telling her any more because with that pause, she’d got it. Without trying hard, suddenly it was easy.

The skin of his chest was against her lips and she licked it, sucking his salty flesh, her legs around his, ankles trying to grip except he was so broad she could barely manage it. Then she felt the shift in him, something she’d never anticipated in the guarded, reticent Ben, because he was locked into this magical place too. There was no way she could define it, nothing specific with which to gauge it, except suddenly he was moaning her name and forgetting, deliciously forgetting to be gentle. Celeste was urging him on, not with words but with deep kisses on his chest and hands that slid over his buttocks and pushed him in harder. He was all over
her, and so into her it made her dizzy, this full focus of him on her, until she was coming, a deep, deep orgasm that pleaded for him join her. And he did, giving in and just diving forward, shuddering his release and tipping Celeste to a place where there was no sound or silence or thought or want—just them and the beat of their bodies matching and minds colliding. She’d glimpsed pure magic and she never wanted to come down or go back or move from this place again.

He kissed her out of it, back to the world and then Ben rolled away from her and Celeste was suddenly scared, scared of losing whatever it was they had just found, scared of this place receding. Then it was her kissing him. On top of him, she kissed him hard, her hand threading into his hair, a silent plea for him not to leave her, for him not to retreat again inside himself because she had seen him now, seen
them
perhaps, glimpsed a marvellous possibility of them together, and she didn’t want it to disappear.

‘B
EN
R
ICHARDSON
.’

She hadn’t heard the phone ringing, just Ben’s voice as he answered it. ‘Belinda Hamilton is on call this weekend. No, I’ve seen her, she was there earlier tonight.’ She felt the sheets move, Ben climb out, the shower taps on before the conversation was even over, and then two minutes later Ben, still dripping wet, was beside her, pulling on jeans. ‘I’ve got to go into hospital for a bit.’

‘Problem?’

‘A bit—Belinda’s not answering her pager.’ He kissed her and it soothed her, but almost on cue, the moment he had gone, her three hours of sleep were up anyway, because Willow woke up. Celeste padded downstairs and prepared her a bottle, then brought her into bed to feed her. It was the easiest night feed Willow had ever taken, so blissfully easy. The bottle was gone in a few minutes and Willow was back asleep. She deserved a cuddle for being such a good girl, Celeste thought, and moved the pillows, cuddled her daughter in and determinedly ignored her mother’s voice in her head that told her she shouldn’t have the baby in bed with her.

And that was the scene Ben came home to.

Having dealt with the issue at work, he’d stopped at the petrol station, had bought
lots
of supplies and was ready to fall into bed. On the drive home it had all seemed straightforward, and Ben had felt so sure.

Then he’d called at Belinda’s. Sure she was home, he had hammered on her door and felt this flicker of fear, the same fear he had when he’d come home to find Jen.

This silent house and the appalling feeling that something was wrong.

‘Belinda!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll call the police if you don’t open up.’

‘I’m sorry!’ The door pulled open and he saw her eyes were swollen from crying. ‘I just can’t go in.’

‘What’s happened?’ he asked, appalled.

‘Can you just cover for me?’ she whispered.

‘Sure.’

‘Can you ring the switchboard and tell them to page you if there’s a problem?’

‘I’ll do it now,’ Ben said, stopping the door as she went to close it. ‘Belinda, what’s going on?’

‘Gastric flu…’

‘Don’t give me that!’ he exclaimed.

‘Please, Ben.’

It was none of his business. So long as she was okay, that was all that mattered, but his heart was still racing as he let himself into his home, the metallic taste of fear on his tongue and he downed a glass of water and then another before heading upstairs.

And then he’d seen them both on the bed, curled up like two kittens, sleeping, so sweet and perfect and
innocent. But he’d glimpsed the past tonight, tasted fear again as he’d knocked at Belinda’s door—and maybe that, Ben decided, was the sign he’d craved from Jen.

Maybe that was his warning.

Celeste stirred and half awoke, could see Ben sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘How was it?’

‘Busy enough, I just had to sort out some backlog, as they couldn’t get hold of Belinda.’

‘That’s not like her,’ Celeste frowned. ‘Do you think she’s okay?’

‘She’s fine,’ Ben said. ‘Well, not fine, as I stopped by her flat on the way back. She says she’d got gastric flu but my guess is…’ He didn’t finish. Belinda’s personal life was her own and shouldn’t really be gossiped about. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Celeste knew she’d just been relegated, knew, though it was almost indefinable, that what she had feared—losing what she’d just found—had already taken place.

‘I’ll put Willow back in her pram.’ She thought Ben might take the baby from her, but he didn’t, so Celeste slipped out of bed and down to the guest room where she tucked her daughter into the pram. Then, as Willow woke up and started grumbling, she wheeled the stroller back to Ben’s room and parked the baby in the corner as he undressed and climbed into bed.

It took a few moments to settle Willow and by the time she returned to his bed, Ben was asleep.

Or pretending to be.

She stared at his keys and the phone and the little paper bag from the garage, knowing what it contained and realising they wouldn’t be needed.

Wondering what, in that short space of time, had changed things so much. She told herself she was imagining it—overreacting.

Maybe he
was
asleep after all and not just pretending.

The view from the bed was magical and it should have soothed her as she got into bed and lay next to him—only it didn’t.

They’d agreed to take things slowly, dinners and dating—and the sex certainly hadn’t been a problem. Even as inexperienced as she was, Celeste knew that for certain—what she had shared with Ben was so much more than she had ever expected or anticipated. So what had gone wrong between them?

Though cool and sophisticated wasn’t really her forte, though she wanted to curl into him, to wake him with the kiss her body was demanding that she give, to roll over in the soft warm bed and feel his arms wrap around her, she resisted the temptation.

This was way too important to misjudge. So instead she slipped a reluctant body out of bed and checked on a still sleeping Willow, deciding to take advantage of the peace and have a shower, because if she’d stayed in bed she’d surely break the strained silence.

He lay still, hovering on the edge of the decision.

Ben knew that she was awake, knew she was waiting for him, knew that last night had confused her.

It had confused him too.

With Willow in the room, he hadn’t slept a wink. It wasn’t the little snuffles that kept him awake, it was the silences that killed him.

He walked across the room, checked that she was still breathing, which, of course, she was. In fact, as he looked down at her, she promptly opened her eyes and smiled at him.

Only Ben struggled to return it. Instead, he tried to go back to bed, but she’d seen him now and was starting to cry.

God, he hoped Celeste wouldn’t be long in the shower.

Ben headed down stairs and made coffee for them both and a bottle for Willow, gritting his teeth as the cries grew louder, wondering if Celeste would be out of the shower by the time he got back up stairs.

Hoping so.

He walked back into the bedroom and put down the bottle and mugs, listened at the bathroom door and could still hear the shower—surely she could hear Willow crying?

Surely!

Ben stared into the stroller, picked up the baby’s little soother and popped it in her mouth, but Willow spat it out in disgust, her eyes fixed on him, real tears at the edges, pleading with him to pick her up. So he tried, telling himself to pretend that he was at work where he operated on automatic, except this wasn’t work.

He wanted to pick her up, even put his hands into the pram to do so…then he pulled back and tried rocking the pram instead, willing Celeste to come out of the shower and tend to her babe.

What the hell was he so scared of?

Cross with himself, Ben paced the room. He would just go right over and pick her up and be done with it.

Then he heard the bleep of Celeste’s phone.

Dean

He didn’t read the text—just felt the chill of a shadow, a big black bird in the sky that could swoop down and take them at any given moment…

‘Willow!’ Shivering wet, wrapped in a towel, Celeste headed straight for the pram, scooping her daughter up in her arms, feeling her hot, red face and turning questioning eyes to him. ‘She’s been sobbing!’

‘I was about to knock and tell you,’ he said lamely.

‘To knock?’ Celeste stared at him open-mouthed. ‘Did you not think to pick her up?’

‘I was making coffee,’ Ben said defensively. ‘And her bottle.’

Which sounded logical and reasonable, Celeste realised—except babies were neither logical nor reasonable, and Willow had needed to be held.

‘Can you hold her for me?’ Celeste’s voice held just a hint of challenge. ‘I just need to get dressed…’

‘I have to shower and get dressed too,’ Ben lied. ‘Switch just called, I have to go into work.’

‘Ben…’ For someone usually so emotional, Celeste’s voice was ominously calm. ‘I’m not asking you to feed her or change her, I’m asking if you could hold Willow for two minutes.’

‘Sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve got to get ready.’

‘Ben?’ She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe the way he was acting. ‘I’m not asking for—’

‘Look,’ Ben interrupted, ‘she’s not my…’ He didn’t finish, his mouth snapping closed before this morning
turned into the mother of all mornings, but Celeste finished for him.

‘Not your
problem
?’ That wasn’t what he’d been about to say, but it was easier to nod than to explain. ‘God.’ Celeste gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I really know how to pick jerks, don’t I?’

Ben didn’t answer so she spoke instead.

‘Just how
slowly
did you want to take it, Ben? What, by the time she went to school, maybe we could move in with you?’ she said scathingly.

‘Willow’s father just texted….’

‘Don’t blame this on him!’ Celeste retorted. ‘You’ve been off with me since last night.’ When he didn’t answer that, she asked again, ‘Just how slowly did you mean, Ben?’

‘I don’t know.’

She stared down at her daughter,
the
most important person in the world to her, and she knew what she had to do.

‘I’m not putting her through this.’ Willow was starting to whimper. Her mother’s arms were a nice place, but it would be even better with a bottle. ‘I should have listened from the start—you don’t want kids and I’ve got one.’

Her phone bleeped again and Celeste gritted her teeth. What the hell did Dean want?

‘You’d better see what her father wants!’ Ben was done. She was right, Willow deserved better than him, and the only way out was to end it—really end it. ‘After all, she’s his responsibility.’

‘Correction!’ Celeste spat, hating him too much at this moment for tears. ‘She’s
mine.
’

He didn’t respond, just headed for the shower.

‘You might be glad to get rid of me and Willow, Ben,’ she called to his departing back. ‘But you’ve no idea what you just lost.’ He closed the door behind him and knew, because he knew Celeste, that she’d be gone when he came out, that she wouldn’t hang around to debate the point. He turned on the shower full blast, and prayed she’d go soon, because while the water might drown the sound of Willow’s tears, it wouldn’t drown his.

It wasn’t Willow that was his problem.

He sat on the floor of the shower and held his head in his hands.

It was his own daughter.

It was a hurt like she’d never known.

A rejection not just of her—that she could deal with, had dealt with in the past and could deal with again now. It was the rejection of Willow that was as acute as a sting but didn’t abate like one.

Was this the price of motherhood—that the man of her dreams could walk away from her so easily?

Well, let him.

‘How long will you be?’ Her mother hovered at the door, holding Willow.

‘I don’t know,’ Celeste snapped. After weeks of nagging for Celeste to speak with Willow’s father, now that the moment was here, her mother was demanding timelines! Did she not realise how hard this was? ‘There are bottles made up.’

‘You will be coming back to get Willow, won’t you?’

That didn’t even deserve an answer, so Celeste just gritted her teeth.

‘Maybe you should take her with you…’

‘Mum!’ It wasn’t a snap this time, just a plea for her to stop fretting, worrying, fixing…And then Celeste got it, answered the question that she had wrestled with for weeks, no, for months now. Seven weeks into motherhood and Celeste was starting to get the swing of it—this aching, endless worry lasted longer than the pregnancy, longer than the first days or months. She was stuck with this fear for her child for life—as was her own mum—and now when her voice came, it was gentler, more reasonable, friendly even. ‘I’m not going to parade Willow in front of him—he hasn’t even asked to see her. I’m just going to see what he wants.’

‘What do
you
want?’

‘I don’t know,’ Celeste admitted. ‘For some sort of father for Willow, I suppose…’

‘What if he wants you back?’ It was the first real conversation they’d had in years and Celeste was finally able to answer honestly.

‘He lost me a long time ago, Mum. I’m only meeting with him now for the sake of Willow.’

‘Be careful,’ Rita said, and Celeste nodded.

‘Don’t wor—’ The words died on her lips and then Celeste smiled. ‘Okay, worry away if you must, but you really don’t have to. Whatever he has to say, Willow and I are going to be fine.’

Seeing him again, all Celeste felt was older and maybe, possibly, just a little bit wiser.

There was none of that giddy rush she’d had as a student when he’d walked into the lecture room—no blushing when he spoke or hanging on to his every word.

Whether she’d wanted to or not, she’d well and truly grown up and could see Dean for what he was now—a rather sad attempt of a man who’d played on her naïvety, who had taken full advantage of a perfectly normal crush when he
really
should have known better.

The rules were there for a reason.

It was a very short meeting, and not at all sweet. He wanted assurances that his perfect life wasn’t about to end soon, that Celeste wasn’t suddenly going to change her mind and come knocking—an assurance she was only too happy to provide!

‘What will you tell Willow?’ he asked diffidently.

‘The truth.’ Celeste looked at him coolly. ‘Probably a nicer version of it. I’ll miss out the bit where you offered to pay for an abortion—but she’ll grow up with the truth. And when she’s old enough, what she does with that truth will be her decision, Dean.’

Then there was nothing else to say, nothing at all, so she didn’t bother. Just stood up and walked out of the café and took a big breath and then another one.

Until finally she blew the last one out and let him go.

Then Celeste put one foot in front of the other and did it again, just kept on putting one foot in front of the other, which meant she was walking.

Walking away and getting on with the rest of her life.