‘No, you’re different.’ And that was why she loved him. ‘No two fathers are the same. There isn’t only one right way to be a parent.’
‘Maybe not. But there are a million wrong ways and I know far more about those than I do the other.’ His tone unusually cold, Daniel stood up and scooped up the tray, his body language announcing that the conversation was at an end. ‘I’ll take these to the kitchen. Do you want coffee or anything?’
‘No, thanks. It will keep me awake.’ Feeling pushed out and strangely isolated, Stella transferred the sleeping kitten to the sofa and stood up, too. ‘I’ll go up and check on Posy. Then I’ll go to bed. An early night would do me good.’
‘With any luck you won’t be disturbed. Sleep well.’
They were stiff—formal—as if their conversation hadn’t been deeply personal. As if they hadn’t once been lovers.
Stella looked at his hard, handsome face and knew he was hurting. And suddenly she desperately wanted to say something that would make everything all right. She wanted to fix things. She wanted to hug him.
But life really wasn’t that simple, was it?
The past couldn’t be undone. Experiences couldn’t always be forgotten. And a hug would lead to something that would complicate an already complicated situation.
Feeling tired and low, Stella picked up the small bag she’d packed. ‘I’ll sleep in the room with the sloping roof. Call me if you need me. Goodnight, Daniel.’
Putting the bag on the bed, she nipped across the landing to check on Posy and found her sleeping peacefully, her breathing calm and even.
Relieved, Stella returned to her room. She had a long, lazy bath, changed into her nightdress and then slid under the duvet and switched on her laptop.
‘All right, Mr handsome hunk, shall we meet up before Christmas?’ Determined to push forward in her quest to meet someone else, she scrolled through the messages people had left her.
After an hour of staring at the screen and not really seeing anything that was going on, Stella gave up and closed the computer. None of them was Daniel.
And that was a good thing, wasn’t it?
She’d ended their relationship because they didn’t want the same thing. She didn’t want or need another Daniel!
Perhaps she would go to the hospital Christmas party after all. Try and meet someone the old-fashioned way.
She heard Daniel’s footsteps on the landing and froze, wondering if he’d tap on her door. Hoping? When the footsteps moved past, she found that she’d been holding her breath.
Exasperated with herself, she flicked off the light and slunk under the duvet. She was a sad, sad case. Maybe it would be a good thing if he did move to Chicago. Maybe that would force her to get on with her life instead of staying in this state of romantic limbo, comparing everyone to Daniel. ‘How is Daniel coping?’ Ellie locked the drug cupboard and slipped the key
s back into her pocket. ‘When is Patrick due back?’
‘Tonight. And Daniel was still alive last time I looked. Just.’
‘Posy’s better?’
‘Yes, fortunately. But Daniel didn’t want her to go back into the crèche.’
Ellie gave her a curious look. ‘So he’s spent three days with her? I thought he was allergic to children.’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’ Stella found it a relief to talk to someone. ‘It’s more that he thinks he’s going to mess them up.’
‘Is he good with her?’
‘Oh, yes, but he can’t see it. He’s been painting with her. The entire house is covered in artwork.’ Stella walked with her towards the reception area where the board was flashing up a waiting time of two hours. ‘And this morning he was making her a papier mâché snowman because there wasn’t enough snow outside to build a real one.’
‘Oh…’ Ellie’s eyes filled with tears and she covered her mouth with her hand. ‘That’s so gorgeous.’
‘Posy thought so. She was covered in glue and bits of newspaper and I doubt her fairy pyjamas will survive the experience, but I’ve never seen a child so happy.’
Ellie sighed. ‘There’s something about a big strong man looking after a little child that turns me to jelly. Are you the same?’
‘Everything about Daniel turns me to jelly,’ Stella said gloomily. ‘That’s the problem. It doesn’t matter that he’s totally wrong for me. I still want him. I’m thinking of seeing a counsellor. I need a twelve-step programme or whatever they’re called.’