Come Fly With Me.... Fiona Brand

she would remember the disintegration of her five-year relationship, as both of them struggled to cope with their bereavement.

      The whimpering was getting worse, turning into full-blown screams.

      She’d have given anything to hear the screams of her daughter. She’d have given anything to see her daughter screw up her face and let out a yell like that.

      She shifted the baby onto her shoulder. Five minutes. Dan would be back in five minutes.

      She put her hand on the keyboard of the computer and did a quick search. If she could keep her mind on something else, she could fight back the feelings. She could stop them from enveloping her. How to sterilise and prepare bottles.

      She read the screen in front of her, scanning quickly. Her hand automatically moving and patting the baby on the back. She could do this. She could help him make a bottle and then leave.

      He couldn’t expect any more. She couldn’t give any more.

      She could feel herself pulling in—withdrawing inside herself. Turning into someone else. Stepping outside herself to a place where there was no hurt, no memories. Switching off.

      It was the only way she’d coped before. And it was the only way she could cope now.

      She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes maximum.

      She could keep this face painted in place for ten minutes when he got back. That was how long it would take to sterilise the bottle, make up the powdered milk and leave him positioned on the sofa.

      Her eyes registered something on the screen. Darn it! Cooled boiled water. How long did the water have to cool for before it was suitable to give a baby?

      Maybe he’d only just boiled the kettle. She juggled the baby in her arms and walked over to the kitchen countertop, putting her hand on the side of the kettle. Stone cold. She picked it up and gave it a shake—and practically empty.

      Nightmare.

      She ran the tap and filled the kettle, putting it back into position and flicking the switch for it to boil.

      Then she felt it—and heard it.

      That first little squelchy noise. Followed by a warm feeling where her hand was resting on the baby’s bottom.

      No nappy. This little boy had no nappy on.

      Her heart sank like a stone as she felt the warm feeling spread across her stomach. Could this night really get any worse?

       CHAPTER THREE

      DAN ENDED THE CALL on his phone. His captain had let out the loudest, heartiest laugh he’d ever heard when he’d told him about the baby. It hadn’t helped.

      He could hear pandemonium in the background at the station. He should be there helping. Instead of doing a late-night recce for baby supplies.

      Mr Meltzer, on the other hand, had been full of concern. Loading up supplies on the counter and waving his hand at Dan’s offer of payment.

      ‘If I help the little guy get a better start in life that’s all I need.’

      The words tormented him. Ground into him in a way they shouldn’t. If only everyone felt like Mr Meltzer.

      He pushed open the door to the apartment building and kicked the snow off his favourite baseball boots. They were really beyond repair.

      Carrie was waiting and she pulled open the inside door. ‘Did you get some milk?’

      He nodded and dumped the bags on the counter.

      ‘Wow, how much stuff did you get?’

      He pulled his arms out of his jacket. ‘Who knew a baby needed so much? Mr Meltzer just kept pulling things off his shelves and saying, “You better take some of that”.’

      Carrie tipped one of the bags upside down. ‘Please tell me you got some nappies and dummies. We need both—now.’

      ‘What? What are you talking about?’

      She waved her hand in the air. ‘Oh, you Americans. Nappies—diapers. And dummies— what do you call them? Pacifiers? He’s starting to get restless and it will take a little time to sterilise the bottles.’ She rummaged through the bags. ‘You did get bottles, didn’t you?’

      ‘What’s that smell?’ He wrinkled his nose and caught sight of the expression on her face. ‘Oh, no. You’re joking. He can’t have. He hasn’t eaten yet.’ He pulled out a pack of baby wipes. ‘I take it we’ll need these?’

      She nodded. ‘Do you have a towel we can lay him on? I’d say getting a nappy on the little guy is a priority.’

      Dan walked over to the laundry cupboard and started throwing things about. ‘I know I’ve got a brand-new set of towels in here somewhere. My friend Dave just got married. He was drowning in the things. Ah, here we are!’ He pulled out some navy blue towels and laid one down on the rug, a little away from the fireplace. He glanced at his cast. It was more inconvenient than he first thought—to say nothing about the constant ache that was coming from his wrist. ‘Can you do this?’

      He could see her taking a deep breath. ‘Fine,’ she muttered through gritted teeth. She grabbed the bag of diapers from the counter, along with the wipes and some diaper sacks. ‘Did you get some cream?’

      ‘Cream? What for?’

      ‘For putting on the baby’s bum, of course. Everyone knows you put cream on a baby to stop them from getting nappy rash.’

      He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Mr Meltzer didn’t seem to know—and he knew everything else.’ He pulled something from a second plastic bag. ‘Look—ready-made formula in a carton. We’ve got the powdered stuff, too, but he said this was ready to use.’

      She scowled at him as she laid the baby down on the fresh towel and peeled back the blanket.

      ‘Eww!’

      ‘Yuck!’

      The smell was awful and filled the apartment instantly. The baby, on the other hand, seemed to quite like the freedom the open blanket gave and started to kick his legs.

      ‘How can all that stuff come from one tiny little thing?’ He really wanted to pinch his nose shut.

      Carrie was shaking her head, too, as she made a dive for the baby wipes. ‘I have no idea, but the next one is yours.’

      He looked at her in horror. ‘No way.’ He waved his pink cast again. ‘Can you imagine getting a bit of that caught on here? It would stink forever. I would smell like this for the next six weeks.’ He shook his head. ‘At least you can wash your hands.’

      Carrie was deep in concentration, wiping and thrusting the dirty wipes into the supposedly scented diaper sack. She pulled out one of the diapers and held it up. ‘Well, at least you seemed to have got the right size.’

      Dan bit his lip. ‘Actually, there was a whole shelf of the things. Mr Meltzer picked them out.’

      She raised her eyebrow. ‘Can you ask him to come babysit, too, please? He seems to be the only person around here who knows anything about babies.’

      ‘I tried. He wasn’t buying it.’

      Carrie positioned the diaper under the clean little bottom and snapped the tapes into place. ‘There, that’s better. Pity the smell hasn’t disappeared.’ She picked up the blanket by the corner. ‘This will need washing. Where’s your machine?’

      ‘In the basement.’

      She let out a sigh. ‘I don’t get that about New York. Why does everyone have their washing machine in the basement?’ She waved her hands around. ‘You’ve plenty of room in here. Why isn’t your washing machine in the kitchen? Everyone in