and Josie packed Maria’s clothes and toys, he felt more at sea than in charge. What had he let himself in for? Loren had calmed now, softly murmuring, ‘This is good of you. I’ll be fine when I’ve had a break to get my head together.’ Nico wished he shared her confidence. After what he’d witnessed tonight, things getting so bad that Loren had failed to hide her undesirable behaviour, he couldn’t imagine when or if he’d be able to leave Josie with Loren overnight again and that thought led logically to uncomfortable conclusions about Maria’s vulnerability. He might find himself in the position of telling social services that Maria was at risk.
Once all was ready, they said goodbye to Loren, who managed watery smiles. With a feeling of unreality Nico pushed the buggy bearing a toddler in pyjamas and a big coat through the chilly October streets, bags hooked over the handles. Josie hadn’t needed a buggy for five years so he felt stiff and clumsy as he negotiated kerbs. Maria sang to herself for a couple of minutes then, no doubt exhausted, plummeted into the sudden sleep of the very young.
Josie kept glancing silently, uncertainly at Nico.
He wasn’t happy with the situation but they were in it so it was up to him to make it work. ‘So, this is a surprise.’ He made his voice encouraging and calm and not as if the logistics of what came next were frying his brain. He had less than twenty-four hours in which to arrange childcare for a two-year-old. ‘Shall we make up the pull-out bed in your room for Maria?’ A mattress on wheels slid out from beneath the pink frame of Josie’s bed. It was meant for the occasional school friend sleeping over but it would suit a toddler.
Josie nodded, managing a quick, watery smile. ‘And if she wakes up in the night I’ll cuddle her until she goes back to sleep.’
She was so quick with the response that Nico suspected, with a flash of anger, that it must already be a familiar situation. He toyed with saying something to remove the responsibility but decided that if Maria cried he’d hear her and would naturally intervene.
Once Nico had manoeuvred the buggy through their front door, wondering if the space had narrowed since he’d last tried it, he left Maria slumbering peacefully while he made up the pull-out bed. Josie alternated between excited assistance, shrill uneasiness and getting in his way. The ability to ease a slumbering toddler out of a coat and slide her into bed didn’t seem to have deserted him and soon Maria lay looking tiny in the bed, fair hair curling over the pillow, eyelashes thick enough to cast their own shade on her cheeks. Nico wondered with detachment whether the curls came from her father. All he knew about him was that he had had a fling with a married woman and ignored his own kid.
That it had ended his marriage Nico had minded especially for Josie. He remembered the feelings of loss and grief when his own parents had parted, even though, at fourteen, he’d been better equipped to cope.
Purely for himself, the end of the relationship had, along with the sorrow, brought some relief. No more pretending he didn’t mind living a sterile existence in which he could hardly remember what a woman’s touch felt like. No more putting up with. No more being embarrassed by.
‘I’ll get in my ’jamas then turn out the big light and leave the lamp. Maria doesn’t like full dark,’ Josie whispered, suddenly older than her years as she pulled her pyjamas and dressing gown off the hook on the door.
Nico gave her a hug. ‘I’ll make us hot chocolate.’ It would be too much to expect Josie to go straight to sleep, though it was past her usual bedtime. He was pouring the hot milk onto the drinking chocolate when she reappeared, her purple fleece dressing gown dotted with crescent moons.
She pasted on a bright smile and began to chatter. But the words wavered on her lips and suddenly she was crying instead. He shoved the milk further onto the worktop and caught her against him, holding her tightly, murmuring, ‘It’s OK, sweetheart. It’s OK,’ even though he knew a drunken mum and a neglected baby sister couldn’t be an OK thing for an eight-year-old to see.
All he could do was cuddle up on the sofa and talk about what had happened, learning in dribs and