There’s a happy coo, and water splashes over us, hitting us both in the face. I choke, jolting back. Cami splashes the water again, squealing delightedly.
Seb clears his throat and reaches for the towel I’ve left folded on the edge of the bath.
I grab his arm, stilling him. “I’ve got this. Go to bed,” I say. “It’s all going to be okay.” He hesitates, and I smile. “I’ve got everything under control, remember?
He nods jerkily and stands, touching the top of my head lightly before turning and leaving the room. I wrap the towel around Cami’s shoulders and lift her out of the bath, bundling her up.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” I ask, my voice low.
She beams up at me, clapping her hands.
Forty-One
Beth
Sebastian is unnaturally quiet on the drive up to his parents’ house. They live up in Macclesfield, which is almost a four-hour trip. Cami sleeps for most of the journey, lulled by the gentle vibration of the engine, so we only stop once at a service station to change her nappy. I spend most of the drive sitting in the back seat next to her, watching the countryside flash by outside the window.
“I can’t believe you grew up inCheshire,” I say, as we pass the fiftieth sheep-filled field. The landscape here is unbelievably different to London. “Where’s your accent?”
“Never really had one,” he mutters, staring straight ahead at the road.
I glance at him. “You okay? You sound stressed.”
He nods, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles blanch. I decide to just shut up and let him drive.
Eventually, he pulls up outside a pretty stone house shaded by large, leafy trees. It’s not flashy, but it’s certainly expensive. A sudden wave of heat washes over me as I look up at the building, and I shuck off my jacket.
“Jesus. I thought it was supposed to be cold up here,” I mutter, fanning myself. “I’m boiling.”
Seb frowns, twisting in his seat to look at me. “It’s eight degrees out, Beth.” He reaches over and touches my cheek. “Your face is all pink. Are you okay?”
“Just hot.” I swallow, stroking down the skirt of my dress. My heart is pounding uncomfortably hard, and I can feel myself sweating under my clothes. He gives me a sharp, assessing look, and I smile. “I promise. If I thought I was sick, I wouldn’t go anywhere near Cami.”
“It’s not Cami I’m worried about. If you don’t feel well—”
“I’mfine,” I insist. “Meeting peoples’ parents always makes me nervous. Shall we go?”
Without waiting for a response, I open my door and step out onto the road, turning to lift Cami out of her car seat. She yawns hugely, butting her head against my shoulder. I can’t help but kiss her cheek.
She looks adorable today. I put her in a little dalmatian-spotted babygrow, with pink hair clips pinning back her wild curls. I don’t care if Seb’s mum is the meanest bitch in Britain; there’s no way she’ll be able to resist her.
Seb grabs Cami’s baby bag, and we traipse up the path to the house. Seb is so tense he’s probably in danger of spraining something. He keeps glancing back at the car, like he’s thinking of packing back up and driving away.
I squeeze his elbow as we pull up by the front door. “It’ll be okay.”
He swallows, looking down at Cami. “They’re going to try and bait me,” mutters. “Will you take her away, if I get angry?”
I smile at him gently. “No.”
He blinks. “What?”
“No, I will not remove your daughter from the premises if you get angry. You’re not a bomb; you won’t just detonate and explode her to pieces.”
He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want to shout in front of her—”
“Then don’t.”
“You’re a nanny!” He says incredulously. “You wouldn’t remove a child from the room if her parents were having a screaming match?”