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She also had to watch out for signals herself, bring an objective view to the scene. Jack might try covering up his real thoughts and feelings about the baby for her sake, but they would come out in the end. No one could hide the truth forever, and once resentments could no longer be contained, they had the potential to explode with devastating effect.
Having cautioned and calmed herself as best she could, Nina turned the handle and started to open the door, keenly listening for the sound of trouble—a cry from Charlotte, a curse from Jack, a muttered imprecation against children in general and the twist of fate that had bedevilled his life plan.
Music. Nothing but music playing at a reasonable volume. Nina recognised one of the Beatles’ songs. Not exactly a lullaby. Ringo’s drumbeat was not in the somnolent category, more in the foot-tapping, hand-clapping class. Jack was very fond of the Beatles’ music, but what of Charlotte?
Nina peered around the door, seeking some hint of what she was about to confront. Jack was sprawled in the cane armchair closest to the kitchenette and facing in her direction. He was half-hidden by the Herald, its large pages propped on his thighs and held up in front of him so Nina could only see his hair above them. Apparently he was engrossed in reading an article and hadn’t heard the door open.
Charlotte’s capsule lay on the floor between Jack’s armchair and the lounge. Nina couldn’t see over the raised end of it to check the baby, but concluded she must be asleep. There was not a peep out of her. A glance at the kitchen counter assured Nina Jack had cleaned up after their meal, as promised.
Relief washed through her. His relaxed air, Charlotte’s silence, work all done, no evidence of any trauma—nothing for Nina to worry over. Relief was swiftly followed by pleasurable amazement. Jack’s confidence in his competence was not misplaced. This was a better start than Nina could ever have credited, given the unpropitious circumstances.
Curious to see how well he had managed the nappy-change and reclothing Charlotte, Nina very quietly closed the door behind her and tiptoed forward. Her heart missed a beat when she saw that the capsule was empty.
“What have you done with Charlotte?” The question flew off her tongue, alarm rising rapidly and giving her voice a sharp edge.
The newspaper was instantly twitched down, Jack’s face appearing above it, beaming surprised delight. “You’re finished already. Everything go well?”
“Jack, where is Charlotte?” She gritted the words out, holding herself back from flying at him tooth and claw.
“Right here,” he answered blithely, lowering the newspaper to his knees so she could see. “Just like a puppy,” he said, smiling at the baby clinging like a limpet to his chest. Without any support whatsoever!
“A puppy?” Nina repeated, dazed, alarm subsiding into shock.
“You know how puppies snuggle up to their mother, hanging all over her. Or if she’s left them alone, they go into a huddle, clutching onto each other,” Jack expounded happily. “Must be the warmth or the comfort of another heartbeat.”
“Right!” Nina agreed limply.
It was a strain, holding herself back from rushing forward and snatching Charlotte off his chest. She told herself Jack’s arms were in a good position to halt Charlotte from rolling off him, and he was leaning back in the chair, so it wasn’t likely she would flop backwards. Apart from which, Jack liked dogs. It was okay for him to compare Charlotte to a puppy. It was a good sign he was viewing her favourably. Fondly.
“Must be instinctive,” he concluded.
It could be called bonding, Nina thought, trying to look on the bright side as she cast an eagle eye over her baby. Charlotte wasn’t moving. The nappy bulge looked right. The press studs on the body suit were all matched up, fastened properly. Nothing was askew.
“How come you picked her up?” Nina asked, curious to know more of how Jack thought about their child. She hadn’t expected him to bother with her beyond the necessary.
He gave a funny grimace. “She took a dislike to one of the songs and started yelling her disapproval. I tried telling her why she should appreciate it but she wouldn’t listen until I got her up close to me.”
“And then she fell asleep on you?”
Jack heaved a rueful sigh. “I think I must have bored her with musical technicalities. Or it was too much for her to take in. She is only little.”
Nina giggled. She couldn’t help it. Jack didn’t have a clue how to handle Charlotte. First he had referred to her as the kid, trying for an impersonal distance. Then he reasoned she was like a puppy, to account for her need to be comforted when she cried. Talking to her as though she were a fellow adult did, however, take the cake. No way was a week-old baby going to understand a word of what he said.
Jack looked at her quizzically. “What’s so funny?”
Nina quickly shook her head as she swallowed her laughter. “Hysterical relief,” she explained, not wanting to put him off any effort to come to terms with the problem of having a child he didn’t want. “I was a bit wound up, having left you with one of the worst aspects of taking care of a baby.”
He shrugged. “No worse than stripping paint.”
As he folded the newspaper to lay it aside, Nina bit her lips to stop the giggles erupting again. Jack’s logic was certainly novel, but if it worked for him, she was not about to criticise or make fun of it. Any practical parallel he could find to keep his toleration level up was fine by her.
Having got rid of the newspaper, he placed a supporting hand around Charlotte’s shoulders and head, his other hand cupping her bottom, and he leaned forward, plucking her from his chest. “Down you go, Charlie girl,” he crooned, swooping her smoothly into the capsule. “Mummy’s turn now,” he added as he tucked the bunny rug around her.
“Turn?” Nina queried, bemused by Jack’s indulgent manner with their daughter. He was even calling her by name now. At least, his version of her name.
He stood, grinning, a wicked gleam in his green eyes. “For a cuddle,” he enlightened her, stepping forward purposefully.
Was he expecting, demanding a reward? Had he calculated what he had to do in order to get what he wanted? Turn and turnabout?
