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Had she cried like that before?
Not really. A little on the plane, but that had been more like a kind of fussing.
His chest felt suddenly leaden with tension, and he sat up and switched on the bedside light.
It was ten to three now.
Was that a long time for a baby to cry?
Why wasn’t she stopping?
He tried to remember his half-brothers and sisters at Sóley’s age, but all the adults in his life had alw
ays been more than happy to let a crying baby or toddler disappear with a nanny.
His pulse sped up as the baby carried on wailing. She had seemed fine earlier, but she didn’t sound fine now. Her cry was changing, intensifying in pitch, so that even at this distance he could feel her distress resonating inside his chest.
And suddenly he was moving—rolling out of bed and walking swiftly out of his room.
The noise grew louder and louder as he got closer. For a moment he stood outside the door to his daughter’s room, but when the crying began again he pushed it open.
Lottie was standing in the centre of the room with her back to him, wearing some kind of robe, her hair spilling over her shoulders. She was rocking the baby gently, making soothing sounds, and as he spoke her name she turned, her eyes widening with shock.
‘Is everything okay?’
It wasn’t. He didn’t need to be a childcare expert to see that Sóley was upset and so was Lottie.
The baby’s cheeks were red and tear-stained and she was burrowing against her mother’s shoulder like some little mammal, then abruptly rearing backwards, her small face scrunched up in inconsolable fury.
Lottie looked pale and exhausted. ‘She’s teething.’
She winced as Sóley jerked her head up and banged into her chin, and then immediately began crying again.
As her ear-splitting crescendo of rage and frustration filled the room, Ragnar took a step forward. ‘Here, let me.’
‘No—’ Her eyes flared, and she half turned away, clutching her struggling daughter. ‘I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t want it.’
He could hear the fatigue in her voice—and something like fear.
Only why would she be scared?
He stared at her back in silence. He didn’t know the answer to that question, but he did know that he didn’t like the way it made him feel.
‘Lottie,’ he said again. ‘I know you don’t need my help. Of course you don’t. You’ve managed without it for eleven months. I’m not trying to interfere—really, I’m not. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.’
‘You can leave.’ She turned, her eyes fierce. ‘That’s what you can do.’
He stared at her, biting down on his own corresponding rush of anger. Earlier she’d got upset about the letter from his lawyers, and now she’d turned on him like a cornered lioness with her cub—so what exactly was the right way for him to be a part of his daughter’s life?
As though Sóley had heard his thoughts she lifted her head, her blue eyes fixing on his face, and then without warning she reached out for him. Shocked, he caught her, intending to return her to Lottie, but her tiny hands were already grasping his neck and he felt his heart swell against his ribs as she tucked her face against his shoulder, her sobs subsiding.
Her body felt hot and taut, but after a moment he felt her grow heavier and automatically he began to rock her in his arms, shifting slowly from side to side, holding his breath, his entire consciousness fixed on the softness of her cheek against his skin and its confirmation of his incontestable role in her life.
‘Here.’ Lottie was laying a blanket over her daughter’s back. ‘When you put her in the cot she needs to go on her side,’ she said flatly.
He leaned over and placed the baby carefully on the mattress. As he slid his hands out from under the weight of her body she shifted in her sleep, her fingers splaying out like tiny pink starfish, but then she gave a small, juddering sigh, and as he tucked her bear underneath the blanket her breathing slowed and grew steadier.
He felt a rush of relief and exhilaration and, straightening up, he turned towards Lottie. It wasn’t quite a team effort, but it was the first time they had worked together as parents. He wanted to share the moment with her and, stupidly, he had assumed, or hoped anyway, that she might feel the same way.
