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‘I’ve put the baby seats in the car for you,’ he said out of the blue, ‘so when you want to go out, they’re all ready. Do you want a buggy in the car too?’
She was still dealing with nature being clever, and she looked at him blankly. ‘Go out?’ she said, like an idiot.
‘Yes—out. You know—shopping and things?’
Buying food for his supper. Oh, Lord.
‘Great. Thanks,’ she said, and conjured up a smile. ‘What do you fancy eating tonight?’
‘What can you cook?’ he asked, and her mind went totally blank.
Not hard. On the culinary front, her mind was totally blank. Well, not totally, but it certainly wasn’t her strongest point.
‘Um—chicken in sauce?’
‘Sounds promising. What sort of sauce?’
Bottled, she nearly said, but one look at his hopeful face and she stifled the retort. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought. Rice or potatoes?’
‘Rice.’
‘OK.’ Blast. Rice was tricky. Even she could scrub potatoes and put them in the oven, but rice was the one thing that had always defeated her. Why on earth had she suggested it? Idiot. Still, boil in the bag, that was the thing. Idiot-proof.
Kit had finished his feed, and she laid him on her lap, restored her modesty and stood up. ‘I’ll change him—Missy, do you want to come with me?’
She shook her head. ‘Puzzle,’ she said, and looked hopefully at Ben. ‘Help,’ she ordered, and to her astonishment he got down on his hands and knees on the rug and helped her.
‘Like mother, like daughter,’ he murmured. ‘Twisting me round your little finger—I don’t know. Talk about manipulated.’
Missy giggled, and he pressed her nose and made a noise. She giggled again, and Liv tore herself away and went upstairs to change the baby’s nappy. With any luck he’d sleep through their shopping trip and not be too much of a nuisance…
He screamed. He screamed from the moment she walked through the door of the supermarket, with him in his nest in the newborn cradle on the trolley and Missy beside him in the toddler seat.
He screamed through the vegetables, past the dairy products, up and down the baby aisle and through the chiller section. He let up for a minute in the frozen food aisle, then started again in the biscuits.
Liv gave up. She’d bought a bottle of sauce to add to chicken for a casserole, she’d bought chicken breast fillets, boil-in-the-bag rice, frozen peas and sweetcorn. She’d found food for Missy, something instant and delicious-looking for dessert and that would have to do.
She headed home, getting lost once on the way because she wasn’t very good at doing directions backwards and Kit was making it hard to concentrate, and when she arrived back at the house it was deserted.
She felt a curious pang of disappointment. She’d expected Ben to be here, and she’d grown rather used to his company in the past two days. Silly, really, because he had work to do and between them they must be playing havoc with his schedule, but the house seemed horribly empty without him.
She brought the children in, settled Kit in the crib in the kitchen and left him to scream for a moment while she brought the rest of the things in from the car. Fortunately the garage was large and attached to the house, so it was easy to carry things through with Missy milling around under her feet in perfect safety.
Well, almost perfect. She stumbled down the step and grazed her hands, and screamed even louder than Kit, and Liv cuddled her and washed her hands and wondered how on earth she was going to get a chance to cook.
She cuddled the baby again, settled him at last and turned her attention to supper. She studied the instructions on the side of the jar, decided they looked foolproof and stopped worrying. What could go wrong?
‘Right, little Miss, are you going to help me?’ she asked. Missy nodded, and Liv lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the worktop next to the sink, and washed and dried all four of their hands. Then she settled her in her high chair without the tray, fastened the lapstrap and pushed her up to the edge of the kitchen table so she could join in.
‘Now, first things first; read the instructions again,’ she said, and Missy reached for the jar.
‘No, I’ll have it, darling, please. I don’t want it to break; it’s my only chance of impressing him. Now. Cut the chicken up, put it in a casserole dish, pour sauce over. Bake. Easy-peasy,’ she said with a grin, and Missy giggled.
‘Shall I cut up the chicken?’ Missy nodded, then watched intently as she cubed it neatly and spread it in the bottom of the dish. ‘Now, the sauce,’ she said, and picked up the jar.
The lid wouldn’t shift. She ran it under hot water, gripped it with a tea towel and finally it came away with a pop.
She turned back to Missy, and saw to her horror that she had escaped from her high chair and was sitting on the table, playing with the sugar bowl. ‘How did you get out?’ she asked in amazement, and Missy gave her a megawatt smile.
‘Missy undo it,’ she piped proudly. ‘Missy clever.’
One more thing to worry about! Liv thought with a slightly desperate laugh, and scooped her errant daughter off the table, removing the sugar bowl from her grasp. At least there wasn’t too much in there! It could have gone everywhere, and instead there was just a little sprinkle here and there. ‘As if I didn’t have enough to worry about—stay there, please!’ she instructed, strapping her firmly back into the chair.
She stayed, while Liv poured the sauce quickly over the chicken, spread it evenly and stuck it in the oven.
While it cooked she made Missy scrambled eggs and chopped up bacon, with toast fingers and a glass of fruit juice, and fed Kit again before bathing them both and popping them into bed. Then she cooked the rice, fluffed it up, left it to keep warm in the other oven and boiled the veg while she laid the table.
The gateau was thawing, the children were in bed asleep, the table was laid—success.
Feeling thoroughly pleased with herself, she settled back to wait for Ben.
It was revolting. She hadn’t expected it to be nice, but it was bizarre. Sickly.
Liv pushed her plate away and looked up at Ben in disgust. ‘I’m sorry. I thought it would be OK—it sounded nice. I can’t believe the sauce is so awful.’
She prodded the rice disparagingly. It was lovely, but it had been soaked with the sauce, and—well, frankly it was horrible.
The chicken underneath had been all right, but the jar of sauce had been more than generous, and it was hard to find any chicken without it.
Ben was shuffling it round his plate, tasting it cautiously, his brow furrowed. ‘Um—is it by any chance supposed to be sweet and sour?’ he ventured. ‘Perhaps—without the sour?’
Sweet and—?
‘Oh, no!’ She clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at Ben in horror.
He froze, his fork halfway to his mouth, his expression comical. ‘What?’ he asked warily.
‘Missy,’ she said, remembering. ‘I couldn’t get the lid off, and when I did, she’d escaped from her high chair and she was paddling in the sugar bowl on the table.’
‘Anywhere near the chicken?’
She nodded miserably. ‘It was just there, beside her. She was helping me. She must have tipped it on to the chicken—oh, Ben, I’m sorry!’
‘Or were you trying to sweeten me up?’ he said mildly, pushing his plate away.
‘Wretched child,’ she said crossly, throwing the ruined meal into the bin. ‘I’ll kill her.’
‘No, you won’t,’ he said. ‘You’ll keep it out of her way in future—if there’s going to be a future. I thought you said you could cook?’ he added teasingly.
‘I said I could learn—and I only promised you wouldn’t get salmonella,’ she reminded him. ‘I never said you’d like it.’
His mouth twitched, and she cleared the plates away and sighed. ‘Dare I ask about a dessert?’ he said from behind her. She had the feeling he was getting ready to duck, in case she threw something at him. She stifled a smile.
‘Not had enough sugar yet?’ she teased, and he growled softly. She laughed and patted his cheek consolingly. ‘You’re all right. I bought a chocolate gateau. I didn’t think even I could ruin it, unwrapping it, and I promise you Missy hasn’t been near it!’
He chuckled, and she put the gateau and their plates down on the table with a pot of cream, a knife and two spoons, and between them they ate it all. At least he didn’t seem angry, Liv thought, and wondered yet again why a man as genuinely nice as Ben still wasn’t married. The girls in Suffolk must all need their heads checked, she decided.
‘Do you think a cup of normal coffee to finish is expecting too much, or should I resign myself to Turkish?’ Ben asked wryly, and she chuckled and flapped him with a teatowel.
‘Don’t push your luck. Where do you want it?’
‘In the drawing room? I hardly ever use it, but it’s a nice room. Or my study. That’s cosier, but it’ll remind me of all the work I should be doing.’
‘Or we could stay here. I love those chairs.’
His eyes crinkled. ‘Me, too. Let’s do that.’
He helped her clear up, and when the coffee was done they settled down in the chairs with a sigh and talked about nothing in particular for hours.
They’d always been able to talk, she mused as she fed Kit in her room just before she went to bed. In all the years she’d known him, they’d never been lost for words, or awkward, or distant.
Well, only once.
When she’d told him she was moving in with Oscar. Then he’d been distant, and she had the strangest feeling he’d been hurt, but she couldn’t imagine why. He had no interest in her—if he had had, he would have said so, and he always seemed to have a bevy of girlfriends hanging round him like bees round a honeypot.
It was the only time in ten years that she’d felt that he disapproved of her, and it had hurt her terribly. She’d treasured his friendship ever since she and her parents had moved in next to his family when she was fifteen and he was twenty-two. He’d been away at university and had come back, and was working in his father’s firm.
They’d moved in the same circles, mixed with the same people, and she’d always known she was too young to interest him, but he’d been endlessly kind to her and patiently escorted her to a host of parties. Then, when she’d grown older, he’d been just the same, good old Ben, her best friend and confidant. He’d taught her to drive, taken her out to celebrate when she’d passed her test, and again when she got her first major modelling job.
She’d dropped out of university to pursue her career, and he’d turned up one day on the set of a shoot and taken her out to lunch. He was there for her when she’d had her first disastrous affair, and he’d never criticised or interfered.
Till Oscar. Then, he’d just taken himself away for a while, and she’d missed him horribly.
She wondered if he even realised she was a woman and not just a person, and then she laughed at herself. How many of her friends had wailed that their partners didn’t realise they were people and not just women? And she was complaining that Ben was the other way round.
Well, not complaining. Of course not. She and Ben were very dear and close friends, nothing more, nothing less, and she knew that he would never see her as anything else. Not after all this time.
It was a curiously saddening thought.
CHAPTER THREE
THE following day she put the children in the double buggy, warmly wrapped up and covered with the hood, just in case it rained, and headed off to the centre of Woodbridge.
There was an up-market second-hand shop there that dealt in nearly-new designer clothes, and when she told them what she had to sell, the owner was ecstatic. ‘May I come round, to save you dragging everything down here? I can go through them with you and tell you what will sell.’
‘OK,’ she agreed, hugely relieved that she wasn’t going to have to struggle with the clothes and the children.
‘It’s coming up to the ball season, as well—have you got any evening wear?’
‘Masses,’ Liv assured her drily. ‘Are there any skinny women in Woodbridge?’
‘Lots,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I hate them all. When would you like me to come? Day or evening?’
‘Day’s better,’ Liv said, thinking of Ben coming home from work and the chaos of supper and bath-time, and they arranged a time the following day. Then Liv strolled up the main street, window shopping, and thinking what a pleasant, pretty town it was. She went into the chemist and bought vitamins for the children, and then couldn’t resist the bread shop.
They had big hedgehog loaves in the window, and Missy screamed because they weren’t for sale and she couldn’t get one.
‘Never mind. We can make one,’ she promised rashly, and was wondering how on earth she could achieve it when she clashed wheels with another buggy.
‘Sorry,’ she said, smiling, and looked up to see the familiar face of Kate, an old college friend, staring at her in amazement.
‘Liv? Liv Kensington? What are you doing here?’
‘Shh,’ she said with a smile, conscious that her name, if not her face, would attract attention. Nobody would notice a woman with two children, but her name had once been as well known as Liz Hurley’s, and she didn’t want to be reminded—not when she was two stone overweight and her hair was on end! ‘I’m staying here for a while with a friend. What about you, Kate? You look wonderful! Tell me all about yourself.’
Kate laughed. ‘Nothing to tell. I’m married to Andy—you remember Andy, he was around at college—and I’ve got three children—these are the youngest—and I live in Woodbridge. Where are you staying?’
She told Kate the address, and her jaw dropped. ‘But that’s next door but one! We’re neighbours! How amazing. You must come round—what are you doing now?’
Liv shrugged. ‘Nothing. I have to get back because Kit’s going to wake up soon, and he’ll scream all the way home.’
‘Why don’t you come round?’ Kate offered. ‘Have coffee with me—or lunch. Both. We can catch up. That would be so good.’
So they pushed their buggies back up the hill, and she went into Kate’s chaotic but friendly kitchen, and while Kate made coffee she fed Kit and watched the children playing together. Missy was thrilled to have new toys to look at, and there was a smidgen of hope that she’d forget the hedgehog bread!
‘So you’re staying with Ben, are you?’ Kate said, settling down at the table for a good gossip. ‘Do tell all! How come your hubby’s let you slip the leash and stay with a guy like that? He must need his head examined! Andy gets the hump if Ben so much as sets foot on the drive while he’s out—he says all that testosterone is bound to go to my head!’
She laughed good-naturedly, and Liv gave a polite chuckle.
Testosterone? Ben?
Was she missing something—or had that shiver of awareness when his lips had accidentally clashed with hers been more than just a fluke?
‘I don’t have a husband,’ she confessed, dragging her mind back to Kate’s question. ‘Oscar and I never got married.’
‘Oh, Lord, Oscar Harding—I remember reading about you in one of the glossies. But that was years ago!’
‘Four,’ she confessed with a wry smile. ‘I’m old news now.’
‘Four years. Heavens. I suppose it would be; I was at home with Jake. That was how I had time to read a magazine, I guess! Wow. I never thought I’d see you again. So where’s Oscar now?’
She shrugged. ‘In London. I’ve left him.’
‘With the babies and everything? Gosh, I expect he was gutted.’
Liv gave a hollow laugh. ‘No. Not gutted. Not Oscar.’
‘Oh, love, I’m sorry,’ Kate said sincerely. ‘So how will you cope?’
