But Ellie wouldn't settle. Shelley kept checking on her whenever she made a squeak. And when she resumed a particularly miserable grizzling she went upstairs and found her lying on her stomach with her little bottom in the air, making a miserable whimpering sound.
'What's the matter, kitten?' Shelley whispered to her, echoing her uncle's favourite pet name.
Ellie whimpered.
Shelley carefully snapped the poppers on the sleepsuit and took it off, leaving her wearing just a little vest and nappy. But the baby started to wail loudly, and Shelley scooped her up out of the cot, startled to discover how much hotter she felt in her arms. Her little vest was soaked.
Oh, Lord-did she have a raging temperature, or was she just hot from crying?
Shelley carried her downstairs to the sitting room, cradling her over her shoulder. And the baby was violently sick all over her sweatshirt.
Shelley bit down the panic which rose inside her. She liked babies. She was good with babies. But well babies. Babies who cooed and gurgled and splashed around in the bath a bit and then went to sleep.
Not babies who were hot and bad-tempered and who had just deposited the entire contents of their stomach all over you.
She could … what?
Gingerly strip off her top before she bathed the baby? Except that she didn't want to put her down-not even for a moment.
Or bath the baby first? But then the baby would get all smelly again when Shelley picked her up in her own soiled clothes. And she was too little to sit up in the bath on her own. Besides which-what if she turned out to be seriously ill? How would she cope then? She wasn't a single mother-she didn't have to struggle on her own. She could pick up that phone right now and Uncle Drew would come haring over to help.
And it wasn't fair to make the baby suffer, simply because she and Drew weren't speaking. Was it?
With one hand on the baby, she punched out his number.
She thought he sounded sleepy when he answered. 'Hello?'
'Drew?'
'Shelley?' Did she imagine the wary note which had crept into his voice? 'What's happened?'
At least he had the sense to know that she would only be calling him in an emergency. 'Jennie's gone out with Jamie and I'm looking after Ellie, only she's sick-'
'Sick?' He fired out the question rapidly and she could hear someone in the background talking to him. 'How sick?'
'I don't know! She's vomited all over me, and I don't know whether it's just an upset stomach, or whether-'
'Stay right there!' he barked. 'I'm on my way over!'
She wasn't going anywhere! She hugged the baby to her with sheer relief. Because of all the men in all the world who she would choose to cope with any kind of emergency she knew exactly who would be her number one choice. 'Drew's coming,' she whispered against Ellie's clammy cheek.
She calculated that it would take him ten minutes at the earliest to scramble up the pebbly beach and into his car, and to drive over here.
He made it in five, letting himself in with his own key to find Shelley standing white-faced in the middle of the sitting room while Ellie continued to cry fretfully against her shoulder.
He ran his eyes over the two of them, before swiftly crossing the room to put the back of his hand over Ellie's forehead. 'How is she?' He scowled as he touched the baby's skin. 'Hell! The child's burning up!' he exclaimed urgently.
'What do we do?'
'We need to cool her down,' he said. 'Strip her off and put her on a towel first-I'll go upstairs and run a tepid bath.'
Shelley's hands were shaking as she struggled to get the vest over the child's head. She could hear Drew moving around upstairs and could have wept with relief when he came back down.
'We mustn't panic,' he said calmly as he took the naked child from her and cradled her in his arms.
'No. We mustn't.' Kind of him to say 'we' when he clearly meant 'you'. He seemed so cool-headed, acting as if he was used to dealing with an emergency like this every day of his life.
'Do you know where Jennie's gone?'
Shelley licked her lips nervously as she tried to remember. 'I think she said she was going to the Smugglers first-yes, I'm sure she did, but she mentioned going dancing, too!'
'Damn!' he swore. 'That means they've probably driven into Southchester.' He frowned and then nodded, as though he had made his mind up about something. 'Can you go and put Ellie in the bath? It's already run. Just lower her in slowly and dabble the water over her, so that her skin gets cooler. I'm going to ring for the doctor. Even if it is a false alarm.'
Shelley nodded. 'Yes, do.' She thought of Dr Milne who had seen her through every childhood ailment in the book. He didn't just know his stuff-he made you feel safe, too.
She carried Ellie upstairs and put her in the bath, remembering from something she'd read that you could lose a lot of heat through the surface of the head. She splashed some water over the baby's flushed face and Ellie kicked her legs, though whether it was in appreciation or in protest Shelley couldn't tell.
She heard someone coming up the stairs and suddenly there was Drew standing by the open door of the bathroom, too dark and too tall to do anything other than completely dominate the small room.
He looked down at the baby, and his face softened with concern. 'How is she?'
'The water seems to have quietened her down. Maybe we called the doctor too hastily?'
He shook his head. 'I don't care! Imagine if it was-' He seemed to swallow one word down and substitute another. 'Your baby. Or mine.'
'Yes,' she said, trying to imagine Drew's baby. A baby he might very well have some day. With somebody else. Shelley was horrified to feel jealousy ripping through her like a sharp knife. 'I expect you're right.'
His eyes were trained on her. 'You're covered in baby-sick,' he observed. 'Do you want to-?' He paused delicately, and Shelley found it ironic that the presence of the baby seemed to have turned him into some kind of gallant. And as unlike the man who had made all kind of crude suggestions to her last week as was possible to imagine. 'Take something off?'
Shelley carried on calmly splashing the baby. At least that kept her occupied. 'It's only my sweatshirt. I'll wait until the doctor arrives-'
But then their eyes did meet as if some outside force had compelled them to, and she dared him, just dared him to make some cheap crack about taking her clothes off at a time like this.
But he didn't.
'Okay,' he agreed. 'He should be here any minute. I'll go downstairs and phone the pub to see if Jennie is still there.'
A few minutes later she heard the front door open and close and Drew called up to her.
'Shelley? Can you bring her down?'
She wrapped the baby loosely in a big towel and carried her downstairs, startled when she saw that it wasn't the familiar family doctor who stood next to Drew at all, but a distinctly good-looking man of about forty who was just drying his hands.
His eyes flickered over Shelley with interest as she put the towel and the baby down on the floor of the sitting room, and he rolled his sleeves up to examine her.
He poked and prodded and gave a little grunt as he listened to Ellie's chest through his stethoscope.
'How is she?' asked Shelley and Drew at exactly the same moment and the doctor smiled.
'I can't hear anything on her chest. It's just a temperature at the moment-we'll have to keep an eye on her to check that she doesn't develop anything else-like spots or a rash. In the meantime, I'll give you something which will bring her temperature down.' He began taking something from his bag. 'If you turned the central heating down, it would help. And try to get as much clear, sweet fluid into her as you can. Hopefully, it will all blow over by the morning.' He looked at Drew. 'But tell Jennie to call me at any time if she's worried. I don't care if it's the middle of the night. Understand?'
'Okay. I will.' Drew nodded. 'Thanks, Jack.'
'Don't mention it.' The doctor glanced at Shelley and his eyes crinkled. 'Who are you, then? I'm Jack Simpson.'
'Shelley Turner,' she smiled. 'I'm pleased to meet you, Jack!'
'Oh, so you're Shelley!' Jack nodded, his eyes twinkling. He looked from Drew to Shelley as he stood up and picked up his bag. 'Maybe I should get my wife to invite you both over to dinner?'
Or maybe not, thought Shelley, watching Drew shrug his shoulders with a wry smile.
'I'm here out of necessity, Jack,' he murmured. 'Shelley and I weren't actually spending a cosy evening babysitting together.'
'Oh, I see.'
Once Jack had gone she felt … redundant … ill at ease. And not just because her top was all sticky. With the doctor there, the room had seemed a little crowded to start removing her clothes. But now he had gone-and she only needed to take her sweatshirt off. It wasn't as if she was about to strip down to lace panties and bra-for heaven's sake!