Delivered: One Family. Caroline Anderson

to the surface in Ben. He looked past her again to the taxi sitting on his drive with its engine running. The driver cut the engine, and in the silence he could hear the insistent wailing of a tiny baby.

      ‘You’ve got the children?’

      She nodded, and he raked his hands through his close-cropped hair and released a sigh of relief. ‘Come in, Liv—all of you, come in,’ he said gently.

      Her shoulders straightened, pride yanking her upright. ‘Ben, I wonder if I could ask a favour? I can’t pay the taxi—I cleared out my handbag this morning and I must have forgotten to put my credit card folder back in, and I don’t have any cash—’ She broke off, biting her lip, and Ben guessed she was at the end of her tether.

      ‘Sure. I’ll deal with it. Come in before you freeze.’ With a deep sigh he led her inside, sat her down before she fell and went out to the taxi driver.

      ‘What do I owe you?’ he asked, and winced at the reply. ‘OK. I’ll just take the children inside. Could you bring the luggage?’

      ‘No luggage, mate,’ the taxi driver told him. ‘Just her and the screaming kids. One of them’s got a real fruity nappy, as well. Don’t envy whoever changes that one!’ He chuckled, and Ben opened the back door and reached in, lifting the tiny squalling baby off the broad seat and tucking it carefully into his arms. Poor little beast, he was only about four weeks old—maybe less. Ben couldn’t remember exactly.

      A toddler with Liv’s tumbling dark curls was slumped in the corner, thumb hanging from her lip, fast asleep. The aroma seemed to be coming from her. He carried the baby in to Liv, handed it to her, found the money for the taxi in his wallet and went back for the other child.

      She woke, stared at him for a second then started to cry.

      ‘Come on, sweetheart. Mummy’s inside,’ he reassured her, and held out his hand. She wouldn’t trust him that far, but she squirmed off the seat and stumbled to the door. He helped her out of the cab and watched it peel away, stripping his gravel in a way that made him wince.

      Oh, well. The little girl was heading determinedly for the front door, leaving a trail of nappy-flavoured fog behind her. Ben followed, shutting the front door and leaning on it, looking down at Liv, seeing her clearly for the first time.

      She was exhausted. There were bags under her eyes that were weeks old, her face was drawn, her eyes were bleak and hopeless now she’d stopped pretending, and the despair in them made him want to kill Oscar.

      Slowly.

      Inch by despicable inch.

      He crouched down beside Liv and squeezed her leg. ‘Your daughter needs a new nappy.’

      She found a smile from somewhere, and his heart turned over. ‘I know. I noticed. I don’t have one.’

      The baby started to cry again, and Ben looked at it thoughtfully.

      ‘Can I help you give him a bottle? Or are you breastfeeding?’

      She looked suddenly even sadder, if that were possible. ‘I was—Oscar didn’t like it. He was jealous. He said it didn’t do my figure any good, but I didn’t think that was why we’d had children—’ She broke off, biting her lip, then looked up at him with eyes that tore his heart. ‘Ben, I don’t have anything—not for any of us. No bottles, no nappies—nothing. I’m sorry to land on you like this, but I didn’t know where else to go—’

      She broke off again, hanging on to her control by a thread, and Ben squeezed her knee again and stood up. ‘I’ll find you some little towels you can use as nappies as a stop-gap, and you can help yourself to anything you need in the kitchen while I go to the shops. There’s an all-night supermarket—I can pick up some emergency supplies.’

      He ran upstairs, threw on his clothes and ran down again, a handful of little towels at the ready. She was still sitting there without moving, the screaming baby nuzzling at her jumper and the toddler lying against her leg, whining with exhaustion.

      ‘Come on,’ he said gently, and helped Liv up and led her through to the kitchen. Then he passed her the towels, took the crying baby and left her to make the best she could of the new makeshift nappies. She took the little girl out to the cloakroom, following his directions, and he could hear them talking in the lulls between the baby’s screams.

      ‘Poor little tyke,’ he murmured, rocking it gently. ‘Do you have a name? Probably something stupid like Hannibal, knowing Oscar.’

      ‘He’s called Christopher, after my father. Oscar wasn’t interested in his name. I call him Kit for short.’

      Ben looked up at her, holding her daughter in her arms, and wondered what else Oscar hadn’t been interested in. He hadn’t even cared enough to give this brave and lovely girl his name.

      ‘Does he always cry like this?’ he asked as Kit struck up again.

      ‘Only when he’s hungry, but I haven’t got anything to feed him—’

      ‘When did you stop feeding him yourself?’ he asked.

      ‘Last week. Why?’

      ‘Because you could try. He might not get much food, but he’d get comfort, surely? Just until I can get to the shops? The supermarket down the road is open twenty-four hours. I can be back in half an hour with some formula and bottles.’

      She looked doubtful. ‘I could try, but I don’t think it’ll work. I don’t know what else to do, but he’s so hungry, I can’t bear it.’ Tears in her eyes, Liv took him, cradling him tenderly against her shoulder and patting him consolingly, but he didn’t want to be consoled. He wanted to be fed, and he was going to scream until it happened.

      ‘I’ll put the kettle on for you. Why don’t you curl up on those big chairs by the window and settle them down, and I’ll nip out? Is there anything you particularly want?’

      ‘The contents of their nursery?’ she said drily, with a brave attempt at humour.

      ‘I’ll take my mobile phone. The number’s here, on the wall. Ring me as you think of things. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

      He went through to his garage, pressed the remote to open the door and then the gate, and drove up the road towards the supermarket, deep in thought. So Oscar, the scumbag, had thrown them out empty-handed in the middle of the night, had he? On what feeble pretext?

      He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He pulled up at the supermarket, went in and stood staring dumbly at the endless rows of disposable nappies. Some for boys, some for girls, all different sizes and ages, umpteen different makes, with resealable tabs and pretty pictures and a bewildering array of specialist features, each purporting to outdo the other brands.

      The formula milk was no better. He stared hopelessly at the different makes and wondered if the wrong one would upset Kit. And what about the girl, Melissa? He couldn’t remember her nickname—Maisie or something. What did she eat?

      It was a minefield—and his chances of getting through it without being blown apart were so slight it wasn’t worth considering. Pulling his mobile phone out of his pocket, he punched in his home number and waited.

      The phone startled Liv, waking her and Missy who started to whinge again. Kit was asleep at her breast, too exhausted to cry any more. Without moving him she struggled to her feet and picked the phone up cautiously. ‘Hello?’

      ‘What size and brand of nappies and milk formula?’ Ben asked without preamble.

      She told him, and she could hear him muttering to himself as he went up and down the aisle. ‘Got them. How many?’

      ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘One packet of each for now. I’ll have to sort something out.’ She paused for a moment, then abandoned diplomacy, because there was no diplomatic way to ask it, and said, ‘I take it you were alone last night? I mean, nobody’s about to come downstairs and ask awkward questions or get embarrassed? I didn’t