Page 75

‘Stella, whose baby is that?’

She swallowed. ‘Yours.’

The cries were incessant but so too was the silence from Gabe. He just stared, his hands gripping her arms tighter, almost as if she were the one holding him up.

‘Shouldn’t you go to…’

Gabe felt as if his head was exploding as she not only told him he had a baby but the realisation hit that he didn’t even know what sex their child was.

‘What did you have?’

‘A girl.’

He released her then, stepped back, and his voice, when it came, was curt. ‘Shouldn’t you go to her, then?’

‘Gabe—’ she was shaking ‘—I tried to tell you.’

‘Clearly, not hard enough.’

She headed for her room, but Gabe just stood there, making no attempt to follow, to question her further, no attempt to do or say anything.

‘Are you coming?’ she asked in a very shaky voice, not really capable of thinking.

‘Just go,’ he responded, his voice monotone, his expression unreadable, not allowing her so much as a glimpse into his thoughts.

‘Don’t you even want to see her?’ Then she snapped her mouth closed, realising perhaps the foolishness of her own words as Gabe turned his head and looked at her.

Those grey eyes flinty with anger.

‘Isn’t that a question you should have asked me some months ago?’

‘Gabe, please…’ she started, but he cut her off.

‘No, I don’t want to see her now, because I don’t want the first impression our daughter gets of her father to be the two of us arguing over her crib. I don’t want her seeing me angry.’ His eyes did not leave her face. ‘And I am angry.’

He was more than angry; he was incandescent with rage and trying to hold it in. Gabe leant against the wall and listened to the silence fill the corridor again, the only sound his rapid breathing.

How had he been walking around in the world, been getting on with his life, been working, sleeping, eating and not even know he had a child, a daughter who must be…

He did the rapid maths—three or four months old.

* * *

‘Mummy’s here.’ Stella lifted her hot and angry baby from the crib and held her for a moment, breathing her in, and knowing in her heart she should have made more effort to tell him.

She sat and fed her hungry baby, covering herself and therefore Sophia with a muslin cloth when there was a soft knock on the door.

‘I’ve seen them already,’ he said, and somehow kicked things off with a slight smile. ‘I’m not going to argue here.’

‘We don’t have to row…’ Her voice was a little shaky, perhaps realising how futile her words were, especially when she looked over and saw his tense features and the grit of his jaw. ‘I tried to tell you.’

‘I don’t want to hear that now; I want to know about my daughter. How old is she?’

‘Thirteen weeks. Just.’

‘Is she well?’

‘Very.’ Tears were starting to trickle as she answered his questions.