One Tiny Miracle... (13 page)

‘
W
HAT’S
going on, Belinda?’ It took till five on Monday to talk to Belinda. All day she’d been avoiding him and, clearly thinking he’d already gone home, she walked into the office and did an about-turn, but Ben halted her.

‘Nothing.’

‘I need to know why you didn’t answer your pager on Friday night.’

‘I’m sorry about that. I honestly felt so unwell, I just…’

‘Belinda, I covered for you, but I’m not going to be fobbed off,’ he warned.

‘He’s still married.’ Belinda crumpled as she admitted it. ‘I found out on Saturday night…that multi-trauma…’

Ben frowned.

‘It was his son.’

‘Oh, Belinda.’

‘I rang his number but ended up speaking to his wife…I recognised the surname, then she called him to the phone…’ She could barely get the words out for crying. ‘I just couldn’t stay in the department and see him, face her. You think I’d be used to it by now…’

‘Used to what?’

‘Being let down.’ He could scarcely believe the change in her from the confident, outgoing woman he’d first met. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’

‘Embarrassed?’ he asked, bewildered.

‘I just feel like a fool,’ Belinda admitted. ‘I knew he was busy, I made so many excuses for him—he was at work, or with the kids…I guess I just gave him a million and one reasons to justify why he could only give me such a little bit of his time.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ Ben said, and it wasn’t Celeste’s fault either—if the stunning, streetwise Belinda could be taken in, what chance had Celeste had? ‘You were just…’ he gave an uncomfortable shrug as analysing emotions was not his strongest point ‘…trying to be happy…’

‘Like we all are,’ Belinda said. ‘Only we just end up hurting a whole lot of people along the way.’ She took a gulp of her coffee. ‘I feel such a fool,’ she said again despairingly.

‘He’s
the fool,’ Ben insisted.

‘That’s not how it feels from here.’ She gave a watery smile. ‘I’ll be okay…I just need to lie low for a bit, lick my wounds…’

‘I can imagine.’

‘But I’ll get there.’ Belinda blew out a breath. ‘Get back out there soon…’

Ben realised he would never understand some people—never get how someone who had been so hurt could, in such a short time, be talking about getting back out there, laying their hearts on the line, only to have them broken again.

Why?

Except he suspected he was starting to know the answer. It was he who was the fool—he worked that one out as he drove home that evening.

There were all these people out there, searching for happiness, trying not to be lonely, and he’d had it right there, not once, but twice,
right there
for the taking.

He’d just been too scared of getting hurt again to move on and take what was on offer.

He had wanted a world that came with iron-clad guarantees—and because that was impossible, well, he’d stepped right off the planet. Made some half-hearted attempt to move on with his life—only by
his
safe rules. He’d rather have sex than a relationship, and the more meaningless the better, because then you didn’t get hurt. And no children or feelings involved either, please, because that could hurt too. As could biological fathers that might pop up…

Only being lonely hurt more than the risk of loving.

And now he’d lost her too.

He got stuck in his street as a small rental truck pulled out of the units—his big black bird swooping down and taking her away. He could see her car in her drive and knew she was inside her flat, organising the moving of her stuff over to her parents’ house in preparation for the coming weekend. If she went to live with her parents, he knew he had lost her for ever.

He finally realised that this was his moment.

That
this
moment was all anyone had.

And he had to start living in it. He took a deep breath and headed for her door.

‘It’s not a good time, Ben.’

He could hear Willow’s cries as she went to close the door on him.

‘I need to talk to you.’

‘And
I
need to feed my baby!’ She opened the door, her face angry. ‘So I hope you can stomach being in the same room as her as you say whatever it is that you have to.’

Willow’s screams were louder and louder as they walked through her tiny unit. Everything that was them was gone—the crib, the flowers, the throw rugs, the ironing board by the wall. Just the drab furniture remained and as he followed her through the place, the kitchen was empty, except for a kettle and a jug and a bottle warming.

‘It’s coming, Willow…’ He could hear the strain in her voice as she tried to keep it light for her baby. ‘The microwave’s gone with the removal…’ He watched as she tested the bottle on her wrist then placed it back in the water, and then she snapped, ‘I’m just going to feed her and then I’ll be gone. I’ve decided to go before the weekend. There’s no point hanging around now.’

‘Don’t go.’

‘Just what the hell do you want, Ben?’ she asked wearily.

‘You.’

‘Well, sorry, but I’m already taken…’ Even though she was in the lounge, Celeste had to shout over Willow’s screams. ‘And I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

‘I don’t
want
it any other way,’ he said desperately.

‘She isn’t going to go away, Ben. I’m not going to
pretend she doesn’t exist so we can sleep together a couple of times a week!’

‘I want Willow too…’ She had no idea how hard that was for him to say, no idea of the terror of that admission, so she scorned him instead.

‘Oh, so you’ll
tolerate
her so you can have her mother.’

‘No, I’ll try harder. I want her too,’ he said again.

‘Just leave it, Ben!’

‘Jen was pregnant when she died.’ Real pain demanded respect. Real pain could be felt and heard and acknowledged, even if we don’t know how, because even Willow fell silent. ‘About the same stage as you when you had Willow.’

‘You should have told me,’ Celeste said, shocked.

‘How?’ Ben shook his head. ‘It’s not something you just slip into the conversation—and especially being pregnant yourself…’ he gave a thin smile ‘…you didn’t need to hear it.’

‘No.’ She admitted the truth of that. She’d been struggling enough as it was.

‘I wanted to tell you after you had Willow…but…I lost my baby, Celeste, and I couldn’t do it to you. Give you that fear that you might lose yours too.’

‘How?’

‘A subarachnoid haemorrhage. Just like that.’ He clapped his hands and it made her jump, but it seemed appropriate. She’d learnt about them at uni—a sudden, severe, thunderclap headache—and she felt like crying except it wasn’t her place to right now. ‘I came home and found her…’ And then he corrected himself, because it wasn’t really Jen that was the problem, he had
loved and lost her and would miss her for ever, but in that he had moved on—had almost reached that place of acceptance, just not quite. ‘No, I came home and found
them
.

‘She was buried inside Jen and I never got to hold her and I never really got to mourn her—and I don’t know how to start.’

‘You just did.’

He nodded, screwed his eyes closed and pressed his fingers against them as, dizzy with images, like a roundabout, he willed it to stop.

‘Tell me,’ she implored.

‘I can’t go there,’ he said, because he truly couldn’t. ‘I didn’t want to love you, but I do, Celeste, and I don’t want to love Willow, but I know I will. I’m so scared of losing you…’

‘You did, though, Ben.’ She was still angry, so angry with him. ‘You don’t want to fall in love in case something happens, so you’d rather just let us go…’

‘I’m here now.’

‘Half of you!’ Celeste exclaimed. ‘And the other half is stuck in a place where no one can visit. Well, Willow and I deserve more than that.’

‘I’ll give you more than that,’ he vowed.

‘When?’ Celeste demanded, and Ben couldn’t believe his ears.

‘What are you asking for, Celeste?’

‘Your love,’ Celeste said, and her heart was breaking, but she was determined to be very, very strong.

‘I just did. I told you I love you…’

‘No, Ben.’

‘And I
will
love Willow.’

‘No.’ She absolutely meant it.

‘I don’t know what you want here, Celeste!’ It was Ben that was angry now—he’d never been more open, more honest, had never revealed his heart like this since Jen died, and now he knew why. ‘What? Do you want me to say that I love Willow?’

‘Anyone can
say
it,’ she pointed out.

‘Okay?’ He picked up the bottle. ‘Am I to hold her, to feed her?’

‘I’m quite capable of that.’

‘What, then?’ Ben demanded, because he didn’t know what she wanted from him, didn’t know what test she had in her mind that he had to pass.

‘I want you to
let
yourself love her.’ All she did was confuse him, because he
was
going to love her, in time, he knew that it would grow. ‘And when you do, we’ll both be here waiting for you…’

‘I don’t understand you, Celeste.’

‘Well,
I
don’t understand
you
.’ She picked up the bottle and walked into the lounge and picked up Willow, feeding her in silence as he stood at the door and watched.

‘You can’t just demand instant love,’ he protested.

‘I can,’ Celeste came back immediately. ‘She’s already got one poor excuse for a father—she doesn’t need another, hanging around, waiting for love to grow.’

‘You’re impossible!’ he growled.

‘I’m very straightforward, actually,’ she replied calmly.

‘Say goodbye to Ben.’ She stood up, held up a little hand and waved it at him. ‘We’ll see him when he’s ready.’

She put Willow in her crib and tucked her in. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get on with my packing.’

‘That’s it?’ he asked incredulously.

‘That’s it,’ she confirmed.

‘I’ve come over here, I’ve told you why, I’ve told you I love you and that I’ll do everything I can for Willow, and it’s not enough?’ He walked over and looked her in the eyes. ‘It’s not enough for you?’

‘No.’

She meant it, he knew that she meant it, he just didn’t get it. ‘I don’t understand you, Celeste,’ he said again helplessly, and kissed her on her taut cheek. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Please.’

‘I’ll
never
understand your mother,’ he said, looking at Willow. He stroked her little cheek and again it was Willow who looked into his eyes—the same way she had the day she’d been born and the next morning too.

Once more, Ben closed his eyes, only this time he opened them again, and she was still there, smiling—patiently waiting for him to love her.

He didn’t want to do this—he felt as if he were dying—in fact, he was sure it would have been easier
to
have died.

‘She was made for you, Ben,’ Celeste said softly beside him, staring down at her daughter and understanding the world now. ‘Because you’d never have done this yourself—you’d never have done it again.’

She was right—and somewhere deep inside him something aligned. Because even with Celeste, without a certain little lady being born into his hands, under his tree, he would never have taken that chance again, would never, ever have risked having another baby.

Yet he risked it now.

He looked at this little new life and remembered all that hope, all that love, all that promise he’d once had…

‘She was never born.’ It probably didn’t make sense to Celeste, yet it was so vital to him. He could feel the petal of Willow’s cheek as soft and white as a daisy and it felt as if he was being hollowed out inside. He still wanted to run, only there was no beach long enough, no universe that could contain the grief that split him. ‘There’s no birth certificate, and we hadn’t chosen a name…’ It hadn’t felt right to name her without Jen.

He could never separate the two, had grieved for Jen and their baby, but had never actually separated them, had never let himself grieve just for the baby. ‘She was never born.’

‘She still
was,
though,’ Celeste said, her voice there beside him, her arm around him—and if he’d been there for her before, she was there for him now. ‘She still
is.’

‘Daisy.’

He stroked Willow’s cheek and finally named the daughter he should have had. And just as he had cut Willow’s cord, Willow let him cut his daughter’s—her little star hands holding his as grief pitted him. In holding Willow he got to hold his own baby, pressed his lips to her soft cheeks, got to hold Daisy just for a moment, and then sent her back to rest with her mum.

‘I love you.’ He said it to Willow who was there now, only he didn’t just say it, he felt it too. He held her close, but he didn’t just hold her—he finally let himself love her, finally let himself hope, and he promised her
silently that he would always be there for her. ‘And I love your mum too.’

‘She knows that,’ Celeste said.

‘Don’t go to your parents’.’ Holding her baby, he turned to Celeste. ‘Come home.’

And it was home—even if she’d never lived there, his house was already her home.

‘Well, I’m all packed.’ She was smiling and crying, so very, very proud—and safe too—and for the first time in the longest time absolutely sure. ‘I’d better ring Mum and tell her. She’ll be on her way soon.’

‘What will she say?’

‘She’ll probably be relieved.’ Celeste laughed. ‘I’m not the easiest person to live with.’

‘I can’t wait to find out,’ he murmured.

He didn’t want her, didn’t want them in this shabby, bare unit a moment longer. He wanted them home where they all belonged. The boxes and crib and bags and baby baths and car could all wait till later, so Celeste rang Rita and Ben packed a quick bag for Willow, and they walked down the street pushing a pram, only as a family this time. She was
such
a good baby, because she slept for a couple of very necessary hours while Ben and Celeste kissed and made up and cried a bit too, and when Celeste finally fell asleep in his arms, Ben stayed awake, just so he could feel her warm skin. Then he heard Willow, who was starting to stir in her pram, and he finally felt what had been missing for all those years.