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Operation Arrival went as efficiently as Jack could hope for. “We’ll set up in the breakfast room,” he instructed, and the boys were right on his heels with the first load of baby necessities—the bath, the change table, the nursery bucket, the shopping. Spike fell into step on the other side of the capsule, keeping an eye on the new pup as Jack carried it inside.
The breakfast room was open to the kitchen. The boys usually ate their lunch there. It had a good solid oak table with half a dozen sturdy chairs around it. A TV set and one comfortable recliner chair for Jack’s convenience comprised the rest of the furniture. There was plenty of space to set up the change table and all the paraphernalia that went with it. A bathroom was just off the kitc
hen, so the major work areas for a baby crisis were handy.
Jack put the capsule down near the TV set, out of the way of the action. “Watch her, Spike. Anything wrong, let me know.”
The dog squatted, sticking his head over the side of the capsule for a closer look. It was a pity the pup was all covered up. It smelled as though it needed a good lick.
Jack unpacked the shopping, loading it along the kitchen counter for easy access. The boys brought in the bags of nappies, Nina’s suitcase and the load of clothes and other stuff he’d packed for Charlotte.
“That’s everything, Jack,” Ben assured him. He was seventeen, a cheery-faced, red-haired kid who was always eager to please.
“Great. You guys start sterilising the bottles and teats while I get the change table ready for action.”
“Why are we boiling up nine bottles?” Gary asked. He was a thin, wiry, intense nineteen-year-old who had a passion for knowing the whys and wherefores. As a statement of rebellion against standard conformity he tied his long brown hair in a ponytail and wore one earring. “I didn’t think a baby could drink that much,” he added with a frown.
“Mathematics, Gary. We’ve got three different formulas to try and three different teats, a fast flow, medium flow and slow flow. I want every combination ready, three bottles of each formula with each size teat on them. That way we can find out what suits the kid best without too much delay in between trial and error.”
“If we boil the teats in three different pots we won’t get the sizes mixed up,” Ben suggested.
“Good idea,” Jack said, warmly approving. Nothing like effective and efficient initiatives to get a project off the ground. “You’re in charge of that, Ben. Only five minutes for the teats. Ten minutes for the bottles. I’d better get some towels out of the linen cupboard. This kid can be a champion spewer if we get it wrong for her.”
Jack privately congratulated himself on sounding calm and practical and in control. He collected a box of tissues and some face washers, as well. Being prepared for the worst would stop any panic setting in. He had to keep hoping the worst wasn’t beyond his capabilities. He double-checked that he had every possible need assembled on the change table, then joined the boys in the kitchen.
Charlotte—bless her little heart—slept on as Jack and his two helpers started mixing the formulas. The assembly line of bottles was quickly achieved. Each set of three was placed in a pot of lukewarm water so the formula would come out at the right temperature.
Jack congratulated his boys on having done a great job. The initial pressure was off, and they were all feeling pleased with themselves when a mewling cry signalled time up. Spike leapt up and barked a warning. Action stations again.
Jack quelled a twinge of fear that all the preparation in the world might be of no avail if Charlotte felt they’d lost the plot her life had followed since she was born. Dogs sensed fear. For all he knew, babies did, too. I’m a rock, he sternly told himself, and rapped out an order to demonstrate his unshakability.
“Test the temperature of the formula while I change her nappy.”
“How do we do that?” Gary asked.
“Sprinkle some on your wrist. Shouldn’t be any hotter or colder than your skin.”
He scooped Charlotte out of the capsule just as she was screwing up her face for a full-blooded yell. The shock of being lifted opened her eyes and turned the yell into a splutter.
“It’s okay. Your dad’s going to take care of business,” he assured her as he carried her to the change table.
She kept her eyes on him as he disposed of her wet nappy. Spike almost upset everything, standing on his hind legs and resting his fore-paws on the table so he could get a proper view of proceedings. His weight pushed the lightweight table, rocking it for a moment, but he quickly adjusted his balance.
“Gently does it, Spike,” Jack admonished him, desperately controlling a wild flutter of apprehension. He didn’t want Charlotte’s confidence in him undermined before he’d even started to offer her a bottle.
Luckily Spike provided distraction, Charlotte transferring her wide-eyed and wary gaze to the dog. Spike sniffed the baby oil. He sniffed the talcum powder. He sniffed the fresh nappy Jack fastened around the pup. It was all very curious.
“There you go,” Jack said triumphantly, putting her legs into the body suit. “Your mum couldn’t do it any better.”
Big round eyes looked up at him. Jack sensed a belligerent challenge, possibly even a clash of wills in the offing. All was not right in her world. She knew it, and she was not about to be fooled.
“This next bit is going to be strange to you, Charlotte,” he warned respectfully as he did up the press studs. “Nothing can really take the place of your mum, but there are some things you’ve got to accept in life, like it or not. It’s up to you to make your choice of the options I’ve lined up. And Charlotte—” his voice gathered in eloquent appeal “—please try to understand this is all there is for you.”
The grave look she returned was full of suspicion. Jack was full of trepidation. But he’d told her the truth, and what more could he do? Life did bowl a curve sometimes. One had to adjust and move on. He hadn’t planned on being a father, and here he was, taking on the role of both parents.
“Going to do a good job of it, too,” he muttered as he carried Charlotte over to the breakfast table and sat down, cradling her in the crook of his arm. He tucked a hand towel under her chin to catch spillage and spread a bath towel over his knees for bigger accidents.
“Temperature’s fine, Jack,” Gary declared.
