'Do you want a drink? I was just about to make some coffee.'
He seemed surprised, like he was weighing the answer to a serious question. He rubbed the back of his neck as if he was in pain.
'No, thanks,' he said, loosening his tie. 'I'm going to jump in the shower.'
'Are you staying for dinner?'
Obviously another serious question that had him thinking intently. God, how did this man run a successful business?
'No, I'm heading out,' he said, slipping his tie out of its knot.
I tried to keep my composure. I had no right to feel anything. My job was to care for Grace and I accepted that. I just wasn't used to this situation, maybe because I had been lucky and a bit sheltered with the Liebenbergs – at the end of the day, there was never any doubt they loved their children and were devoted to them. But here, I was unsure. Committing to a drink or a meal seemed to pain him, let alone engaging in human contact. The man was like a robot, existing in a fabricated world. I bet Ben was even cold to touch, like his eyes, his heart.
My eyes drifted to his exposed collarbone beneath the unfastened collar and it wasn't coldness that swept over me. I could feel my cheeks flush, even more so when my eyes returned to his, watching me with guarded interest.
'Well, if you're sure. I can always leave you a plate of something for later.'
Ben nodded. 'I'm sure.' Before I could respond, he turned to the stairs, heading to the third floor, and as he disappeared, Grace began to cry.
I sighed. 'Coming, Gracie.'
Chapter Nine
I tried to prepare a MasterChef-inspired spaghetti Bolognese … okay so it was from a jar … thinking that maybe something quick and easy would get me through until Grace stirred. Every moment of the last few days had been a fight for survival, a race against the clock. This was my new life. I had thought that maybe Ben would be some help, but I was wrong.
He appeared down the hall, clean-shaven, freshly showered and dressed in a button-down blue shirt and slacks. 'Everything under control?'
Maybe it was the trashed kitchen, or the wisps of hair falling into my eyes, curled by the steam from the pasta, that inspired his question. Or maybe it was my manic fumbling, trying to take everything off the stove so I didn't burn the house down when I went and picked up Gracie, who was gurgling and cooing happily enough through the monitor.
I drained the pasta in the sink, placing the saucepan to the side and wiping my hands and the condensation from my forehead, trying to appear like I had my shit together. I didn't want him to think otherwise. I could just imagine the conversations around the Worthington dinner table: 'And you should have seen the kitchen.' Chortle, chortle, chortle.
Well, screw them all. 'Fine, thanks,' I said with what I hoped sounded like confidence. Feeling his eyes staring at me over the counter, I let Grace be, grounding myself and doing a bit of a clean. I rinsed the dishes, keeping myself busy so I didn't have to look at him. 'Your mother is coming by tomorrow.'
I felt the shift in him, heard it in his sigh. 'Oh, joy,' he said. That's when I did look at him because now we had something in common: the dreaded visit of his mother.
'Well, I'll be at work so … ' He shrugged one shoulder casually, and in a flash my moment of mutual bonding had changed to hating him because, unlike me, he had a means of escape, and I was so envious.
'Don't let her get to you,' he continued.
I stilled my scrubbing, and narrowed my eyes.
'This isn't her house,' he said, and with that he slipped on his dinner jacket and exited the room.
He'd probably intended his words to make me feel more at ease, but they had no such effect.
As romantic as it was to be sleeping on the fifth floor with access to the roof terrace, I felt strangely separated from the rest of the house. And although that was probably intentional, it didn't exactly help. Baby monitor or not, I was terrified that I might sleep through Grace's cries. But the fear soon slipped away when a bone-deep exhaustion settled over me.
It felt like I'd barely shut my eyes before I flinched awake from a dream. A dream that had me thinking I had slept through the entire night, only to run down the staircase to Grace's room to be met with Penny Worthington holding Grace, looking at me with a hateful, disapproving stare as she shook her head. It was a terrifying dream, but no more than the realisation, having glanced at the time, that only three hours had passed. But they had passed with not so much as a peep from Grace. This was unusual.
I dived out of bed, taking to the narrow stairs, my heart racing, wondering if nightmares did come true and I would find Penny Worthington in Grace's room. So when I opened the door and found Ben, I felt only momentary relief. He was sitting in the chair by the window, nursing Grace and reading her a bedtime story. I hadn't heard her cries. I had slept through them. I was so fired.
I stepped into the room, wringing my hands together. 'Ben, I'm so sorry I didn't-'
He held his hand up, continuing the story he was reading by lamplight. I stood there feeling awkward, listening to the story unfold, afraid to move. I wasn't sure what I should do. A sleeping Grace lay limp in the crook of his arm. Ben read on as if I wasn't there at all. Had I not been mortified about my slip-up, I might have taken the chance to appreciate that Ben was holding his little daughter. It was a truly beautiful sight, something I hadn't seen all week. I desperately wanted to creep away, wait on the landing for him to come out and dress me down for not being on my game. Maybe I had oversold my ability. I had thought I could conquer anything, having looked after the Liebenbergs' boys, but being on my own with all this, far away from home, it was almost like I was set up to fail – exactly as the Worthingtons had expected. Maybe Penny's visit was bang on with timing: day four meltdown mode and she was going to be here to catch the show.
Ben closed the book, placing it to the side as he gingerly edged himself out of the chair, his concentration fierce as he moved carefully. I stepped forward, instinctively wanting to help, but thought better of it. He was managing just fine, and Grace was certainly in a sound sleep. Ben walked over to the cot, placing her slowly down, supporting her head in the most loving way.
It was only when she was settled on the mattress that he glanced at me, silently asking for help. I walked over, grabbed the blanket and tucked Grace in securely. I was glad the light was dim, and he couldn't see how red in the face I was, how embarrassed I was that he'd had to come and do my job because I had slept through her cry. That I wasn't there when she had needed me. What if Ben hadn't been home? I shuddered to think.
Ben gestured with his head toward the hall. I squared my shoulders, psyching myself up for the onslaught that was to come, the verbal lashing I deserved. He didn't have to tell me, I knew I had let him down. Hell, I had even let the Liebenbergs down. Seemed like their glowing reference and belief in my ability was seriously misplaced.
I began, wanting to be heard first. 'Mr Worthington I am so, so sor-'
'Mr Worthington?' he repeated, his face screwed up as if the sound of it left a bitter taste on his tongue.
I stammered, thinking that it was a better to show respect at a time like this. Clearly not.
'Ben,' I corrected, and he seemed somewhat more at ease. 'I can't even tell you how sorry and embarrassed I am … '
Ben crossed his arms, forehead furrowing as he stared at me, listening to every word that tumbled from my mouth. I hated the way I sounded, I hated how I had put myself into this position, that with each stammer I was only proving how incapable I was.
Seriously, Sarah. Just stop talking already!
As if he was reading my mind, he cut me off again.
'Sarah.' He said my name as if pained, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Do you always talk this much?'
I closed my gaping mouth, instinctively wanting to respond but knowing that by talking I would be proving his point.
Ben looked at me as if he was bored, or maybe he just wasn't a confrontational person by nature, and wasn't keen on having to fire me in the middle on the night. Surely this wouldn't be a problem for him, so why now was he choosing to be so coy about it?
'You didn't hear Grace because I turned the baby monitor off.'
'Why would you do that?' I asked, a little annoyed. Was he deliberately trying to give me a heart attack?
'Well, I figured you wouldn't want to be subjected to a chapter and a half of Charlotte's Web, even though I must say it's getting really good. Charlotte has promised Wilbur that she will help him, but he's not going to know how until morning, so, yeah, cliffhanger.'
I stared at him. Was he for real? Maybe he was taking the piss or deliriously tired. Maybe I was too.
'You know that book has a pretty sad ending, right?'
'Uh, spoiler alert.'
'Hey, look, sorry, but just be warned, there will tears, and most probably not Grace's.'
'Geez, now I want to skip through and read the ending,' he said thoughtfully.
'No, you can't do that, you have to allow yourself to get emotionally invested in the story and the characters, otherwise it will be just meaningless and hollow.'
Oh my God, were we really talking about Charlotte's Web?