New York Nights (Heart of the City #2)(7)

Even with the beating of my heart, and the worry about picking her up and bundling her into my arms for the first time, I did my best to soothe Grace with gentle rocks and pats, shushing her. After all, like sharks in bloody waters, a baby could sense your stress, so I would have to make sure that I was as calm as I could be, and hopefully she would be lulled into being settled into a deep slumber.

Wrong!

Whatever plans I had, whatever I thought it'd be like or what I'd be able to do, it was time to forget them all. Grace was going to dictate how the following hours went, and she had very different ideas from me. I had imagined strolls in Washington Park, sitting on the roof deck under the shade of an umbrella, reading, as I idly rocked Grace. I would sit in the nursing chair reading stories to her before tucking her in and turning off the light, switching on the baby monitor and pottering around for the rest of the evening. Perhaps I'd cook something nice with some home-delivered groceries, watch a bit of telly or listen to some music. In every one of my fantasies, Grace was fast asleep.

I was obviously deluded.

I may have had to care for Oscar, but I always had a wingwoman nearby, or within calling distance, in Lorraine Liebenberg. If Oscar cried, we worried together, sharing the load and the cuddles. Even on the days that Lorraine went back to work, I didn't feel overly anxious about my duties because I didn't feel alone, not like I felt with Grace. Sitting on the couch, watching her beautiful little face bloom with a tinge of red as she cried, the sound echoing in the light-filled townhouse in New York City, I had never felt more isolated.

Surely that extra day without Grace would have made all the difference? I would have had enough time to mentally prepare myself for the official start to my employment after a deep, peaceful sleep. Instead I was frantically googling tips on how to settle fourteen-week-old babies, as if there was some downloadable PDF with all the answers. I was learning to swim after plunging head-first into ice cold and incredibly deep water.

I settled on following my instincts and warmed a bottle from the baby bag that Emily had dumped on the counter. I kept pressing the refresh button on the envelope icon on the iPad, thinking that maybe there might have been a message from Ben, a heads-up that Emily was coming, and 'oh, by the way, here's a list of everything you'll need to know when taking care of my daughter'. But who was I kidding? Did he even know, did he even care? 

Every high-pitched wail sounded like absolute heartbreak, and they only caused me to be more clumsy and frantic while trying to operate a microwave you needed a degree to understand. By the time I figured it out I half-expected children's services to be knocking on the door, or a neighbour complaining of noise pollution. Gone was the zen-like calm I had adopted as I juggled a screaming baby around the kitchen, testing the temperature of the bottle on my wrist.

'Good, here.' I offered the teat to Grace's lips and she quickly latched on, sucking with brute force. A relief I had never known suffused me, as the sound of silence filled the air  –  well, aside from the sucking of the bottle, which I hoped would last forever. I glanced at the microwave clock and tried not to let reality kill my vibe  –  I was only officially ten minutes into my new job.

God help me.





Chapter Eight


It's amazing what you can achieve with one functioning arm, while the other holds a frowning, squirming baby. I was currently rummaging through Grace's wardrobe for things that would make life easier.

'What? Don't look at me like that,' I said. 'Fed, burped, changed  –  life is good, Gracie. Life. Is. Goo-' I paused as I breathed in, sniffing, before looking at Grace.

'Oh no, you d'int.' I lifted her closer. 'Oh, Jesus.' I turned my head away, my eyes watering. 'I just changed you,' I said, trying not to inhale too much in the confined space of the wardrobe. I stepped out into Grace's room and fresher air, making a beeline to the change table that was, to my relief, fully stocked. The house may not have had adult food, but as far as Grace was concerned, I didn't have to stress so much. Nappies, wet wipes, baby powder, disposable bags all within reach, which thankfully made for a rather swift though still nasty nappy-changing experience. I would have to get used to this, somehow.

Getting Grace back into her onesie, I wondered if this level of organisation was in preparation for me, or had Grace not spent much time here? Much like the rest of the house, her room had an unlived-in feel, and I wondered if an interior decorator had put the final touches on it  –  or had Grace's mum? Did he choose window treatments and colour palettes as well? It was hard to say; this didn't feel like his home but the apartment on Lafayette did, all sharp, modern corners, expensive artworks and signature-piece sculptures. The coldness of glossed, steely surfaces was accented by expensive rugs and accessories to make it feel impressive but not welcoming. I was glad that this was where home would be for us, it meant a reprieve from Ben Worthington and a little more comfort. This was the perfect place to get to know Grace, to watch her personality emerge and develop, just like the open-mouthed gummy smile she gave me as she fought to keep her legs from being buttoned up. I smiled and cooed and did all the things that were universal when talking to a baby. It just couldn't be helped, the sheer delight that pierced your heart when a baby with a wandering focus decided you were interesting enough to captivate their attention. And should they like you and you were lucky enough to be granted a smile, or a laugh, then that was a bonus. It made the screaming and the smells worth it.

'Well, Miss Grace, what say we order some food and get acquainted with our new home?'

Her gummy smile remained and her legs kicked at me.

'I'm going to take that as a yes.'



On the third day, the only break in my routine was the arrival of a deliveryman who had handed me a small box that I had to sign for. Enclosed was a short note.



       
         
       
        

For when you're out.

-B

Inside the box was a phone. A bit rich, I thought, seeing as, unfortunately, the only person who was checking in with me daily was Penny Worthington and, oh, how I dreaded those calls. More than that, I dreaded the visit she was going to make tomorrow to 'see how things were going'. The way she had said it made me think she secretly hoped that I was a blubbering basketcase and that ol' Grandma Worthington would have to step in and save the day. Then she could tell Ben 'I told you so.' And although I wasn't exactly a blubbering mess, there was no disguising my fatigue. Grace seemed rather adamant that sleeping wasn't her thing, and with sleep deprivation came anger and frustration.

For all the passive-aggression that Penny Worthington exuded, I hoped that she at least had some sage advice for her noticeably absent son. Between the cries and the smiles I couldn't believe that Ben could abandon his daughter like this. Did he think that credit card details attached to an app were enough to raise a child? I know Nikki had asked me not to judge him, but it was too late, he was well and truly judged. And where was Grace's mother? Maybe she really had been locked in a secret room somewhere.

I was heading into dangerous territory, one created by lack of sleep and seclusion. As for the sleep-whenever-the-baby-sleeps advice, well, it doesn't quite work that way. I lay on the loungeroom couch, baby monitor on the coffee table. But paranoia dragged me from my repose up the stairs to her room, creeping in to check that she was breathing.

Pink, warm, asleep, her dark lashes making half-moon shapes against her fair skin. I gave a sigh of relief.

'How could anyone want to leave you?' I whispered, before creeping out of the dim room, ever watchful of the cot as I closed the door, leaving it ajar before turning and slamming into a wall  –  a living, breathing wall that caused me to scream. I fell back against the nursery door only to be caught by hands, large hands belonging to-

'Jesus, Ben!' I screamed, my annoyance snapping from him to Grace's cry. 'Great, just great,' I said, going into the room and trying to settle her. It was no use, her heart raced as much as mine, and she was wide awake.

'Aw, Gracie, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,' I said, scooping her into my arms. The dampness of tears against my neck made my heart ache, knowing I'd caused it.

'Is she all right?' Ben stood by my side; he tentatively reached out to touch her but fell short, pulling his hand away as though he didn't know what to do with it. The dull light of the room cast his face into shadow, but I could see the deep lines on his face, the shadow of his stubble. My instant reaction was to snap at him. It had been three days, what did he care? But I held my tongue, focusing all my energy on settling Grace. Now I was the one who seemed uncertain: do I hand her over to him? Would he want that? Would that upset Grace more? I followed my gut, reading Grace's droopy eyes as I rocked her from side to side. 

'I'm going to try to put her back down,' I whispered.

Ben glanced down to my arms then to my face. He nodded and exited the room.

Couldn't even tuck in his own daughter, I thought bitterly as I placed Grace in the cot. I paused to see if she would stir or cry when my arms left her but she remained asleep, and once I was confident she would stay so, I crept away.

This time I saw Ben standing on the landing when I pulled the door almost closed, anxiously rubbing his stubble. If I was tired then he was exhausted, the circles under his eyes told me as much. I had gone from anger to almost feeling sorry for him.