by Emma Darcy
“She is pretty damned sick. They’ll probably hold her in hospital for a couple of days. Have you got everything for Charlotte?”
It hit him with nerve-shattering force that he was on his own with the kid. Not for an hour or two. For a couple of days! And nights! No fall-back situation with Nina on hand. The responsibility was all his. He fought down an incipient sense of panic. Hadn’t he said all along that a little kid couldn’t beat him?
“All equipped and ready to go,” he said, firmly projecting confidence. “Tell Nina not to worry. Tell her Charlotte couldn’t have a more competent dad. I’ll handle everything at this end.”
Charlotte…That’s what Nina called her. Since he had to be both Mum and Dad to the kid, he’d better use that name, too. Give himself double-barrelled power.
“Good,” Sally said approvingly, as though she’d heard his thought. “I’ll come over to your place this evening and mind Charlotte while you visit Nina and reassure her. Okay?”
Relief flooded through him. He wasn’t really on his own. Sally would help if needed. And there were Maurice and Ingrid and any number of friends he could call on. The panic receded somewhat.
“That would be great, Sally. Give Nina my love. And thanks again,” he said with sincere gratitude for her forethought and friendship.
Jack put the receiver down and took several deep breaths to unwind the knots in his stomach and get some oxygen into his brain. He was going to need a clear head and a cast-iron constitution. The kid’s life and well-being were in his hands.
It suddenly struck him that depending on friends to deal with this baby emergency could be viewed by Nina as a cop-out. In actual fact it was a cop-out.
Charlotte was his kid. He’d told Nina no nannies. He was not going to shunt his kid off onto anyone else. This was the big one. The proving ground. He had to make a success of it, or Nina would wipe him off and shut him out forever. Rightly so. If he couldn’t be a responsible father in a crisis, he didn’t deserve any further consideration.
With steely resolution he marched down the hall and into the bedroom. Charlotte was still bawling. He took her from Sally’s secretary and perched her against his shoulder so her ear was fairly close to his mouth. He pitched his voice low and intense and projected urgent command.
“Listen up, kid.”
The bawling hiccupped to a halt. Jack patted her back in warm approval as he spelled out the problem.
“You and I need to come to an accommodation. Just remember, we’re in this together. You and me, kid. We did the damage, and now your mum’s out of action. What’s more, we’ve got to come through this with top marks.”
A loud burp exploded near his neck.
“That’s good,” Jack encouraged. “Don’t start crying again. It’ll only give you more wind. Going onto a bottle after being on your mum’s breast may not be—”
A full-blooded scream told Jack in no uncertain terms this communication was not welcome. It raised the hair on the back of his neck. Sheer terror was electrifying. He did his best to rectify his mistake and failed miserably.
Patting didn’t soothe Charlotte. Rocking didn’t help. She paid absolutely no attention to his claim that everything would be all right if she just trusted him. The little legs kicked, tiny fists were clenched and waving aggressively, face screwed up in constant yelling mode, body contorting against every attempt to comfort. Jack had joked with his friends about babies from hell. His heart quailed.
With another burst of determination, he forced his mind clear of the paralysing noise. There was only one answer to this. His friends had informed him that car motion acted like a sleeping pill for babies. He had to load Charlotte into the Rover and hit the road. If she didn’t calm down, he had no hope of feeding her from a bottle.
Getting the formula right for her loomed ahead of him. He couldn’t expect to strike it lucky the first time around. The pharmacist had suggested he take three different tins of it, in case one or the other didn’t suit her taste. He had to try out different teats, as well. Bottle-feeding was a complicated business. He needed Charlotte’s full co-operation if they were to find an agreeable solution.
He lowered the wildly fractious kid into the capsule and used the bunny rug like a straitjacket to hold her tucked in. Charlotte did her fighting best to wreck his arrangement. Fortunately, he had everything ready to go. Sally’s secretary had been most helpful, packing for Nina while he had loaded all the baby stuff into the Rover.
With Nina ill, he wanted the quickest and smoothest transfer to his home. It gave him a sick, hollow feeling to think of her going to hospital instead of coming home with him. Making it worse was the frantic fear of failing the fatherhood test.
He passed on Sally’s report to her secretary as she accompanied him out to the street and watched him anchor the capsule to the back seat.
“Good luck!” she said with feeling.
He waved a salute and climbed into the driver’s seat, thinking he needed all the luck he could get in these circumstances but admitting such a need sounded weak. This was a time for unshakable strength. He had to show Nina he was a rock she could always lean on. Charlotte, too.
He did his best to ignore the wailing from the back seat as he started the engine and headed for home. It took Charlotte the length of Mowbray Road to the Pacific Highway to quiet down. Jack blessed the friends who’d told him about the car-motion trick.
With peace momentarily reigning, Jack moved his brain into high gear and activated the car phone to set the next critical step in motion. He’d told his two apprentices he’d be bringing his family home and they were to be on standby to help.
Gary, his older apprentice, answered the call. “I’ll be at Boundary Street in a few minutes,” Jack informed him briskly. “Nina’s gone to hospital so I’m on my own with the kid. I need all the baby stuff out of the Rover and inside as fast as possible, so come running when I pull up.”
“We’ll be ready for you, Jack. Anything else?”
Jack thought swiftly. “Yes. Find the biggest pots in the kitchen, fill them with hot water and put them on the stove to boil. Quickest way to sterilise bottles and teats.”
“Right.”
“That’s it for now.”
It wasn’t a cop-out to use his apprentices, Jack reasoned. He was still the one in charge, and there was no telling how quickly Charlotte would wake up and demand to be fed. It was best to be ready to give satisfaction. If he could. Pleased with his forethought, Jack concentrated on picking the fastest lane through the traffic.
Gary and Ben were only in their late teens, but he’d found them completely reliable, and meticulous in following his instructions. They had the same innate drive to get things right as he had, an important character trait for French polishing. Anyone who worked with him had to take pride in doing and finishing a job properly, down to the finest detail.
Jack reflected it was lucky all his pots were stainless steel. No possible mistake with them. The pharmacist had warned him against aluminium pots for use in sterilising. Of course, once he was over the hump of the first couple of feeds, he’d use the sterilising solution and equipment he’d bought, but that took six hours. Deal with the emergency first, Jack reasoned, then establish a routine. He had to keep thinking positively.
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.
“Formula one, slow-flow teat,” Jack instructed.
Ben handed him the bottle. The boys stood by to watch the baby’s response. Having sniffed the nappy that had been dropped into the nursery bucket, Spike lined up with them. All eyes were on the teat going into Charlotte’s mouth.
“She’s sucking,” Ben said excitedly.
“Yeah, but is she getting any?” Gary questioned.
The little jaws worked away for a minute or so and gave up. She spat the teat, screwed up her face and bawled her frustration.
Jack’s stomach started tying itself in knots again. He checked the level of formula in the bottle. Hardly any gone. “Medium flow,” he commanded, willing himself to stay on top of the crisis despite his misgivings about Charlotte’s willingness to adapt to adverse circumstances.
Ben took the discard bottle. Gary handed him the next tryout. Spike whined at the strange pup. She stopped her weird barking and looked at him. Jack shoved the new teat into her mouth, and Charlotte latched onto it. She sucked. Not for long. Her mouth turned down, and the formula dribbled out the corners of it. “Yuk!” was written all over her face.
“I can tell you, kid,” Jack said sharply. “None of it’s going to taste exactly like mother’s milk.” He heard himself cracking and appreciated, for the first time, how a baby could reduce even the most reasonable adult to a quivering wreck. He pulled himself back from the brink and got on with the job, handing the bad-taste bottle to Gary. “Formula one’s a reject. Let’s try formula two, medium flow.”
Jack wiped away all trace of the yukky dribble before offering the next bottle. He didn’t want Charlotte to get confused, thinking it was the same taste. She needed food. One way or another, he had to get it right for her.
She attacked the new teat like a threshing machine. For the next five minutes it looked as though formula two was a winner. Then her stomach staged a revolt. The formula came back out like a gusher. The towels took a beating. Gary removed them to the laundry. Ben brought some more. Jack did his best to soothe Charlotte, holding her up to his shoulder and patting comfort. She vomited down his back.
Nightmare alley, Jack thought, struggling to keep his anxiety under control. Spike examined the mess and decided not to lick it up. Gary manfully took on the cleaning duty. Jack juggled Charlotte as Ben helped him strip off his soiled shirt.
Having emptied her stomach, Charlotte yelled for more f
ood. “Formula three, medium flow,” Jack called, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice. He settled her on his arm again and addressed her on the seriousness of the situation. “This is the last stop, Charlotte. You’ve run out of choices. Think about it.”
“Maybe we should try slow flow again, Jack,” Ben suggested anxiously. “Let her get used to the taste before it hits her tummy.”
Jack nodded, his mind almost numb with the possibility of all-out disaster. “Good thinking. Go slow might do the trick.”
Ben quickly swapped the bottles, and they all held their breaths as Charlotte started working the teat, more cautiously this time. She had a brooding look on her face. Her eyes clung to Jack’s. “This is the good stuff,” he crooned. At this point, propaganda was his last resort.
Her face slowly cleared of the suspicion they were poisoning her. Her sucking settled into a steady rhythm, and the content in the bottle gradually lowered.
“We’ve got it,” Ben crowed.
“That’s the one, all right,” Gary happily agreed.
Jack’s nerves sang a song of relief. To keep the sense of a positive roll moving forward, he directed the logical conclusion to this critical exercise.
“Okay, guys. We throw out the first two formulas and put the slow teats on the other two bottles of this lot. Store them in the fridge for later.”
He hoped Charlotte was storing this formula in her memory cells and would recognise it as the good stuff at future feeds. Scientific process was fine in theory, but human beings were both contrary and unpredictable. Jack had been shaken into an acute realisation that he was holding a miniature human being with a mind and stomach of its own, who was totally dependent on his meeting its needs. It was a highly sobering and humbling experience.
“Do we use the sterilising solution for the spare bottles now, Jack?” Gary checked.
“Yes. Wash them up and dob them in.”
High on success, the boys went back to kitchen duty. Spike remained on watch, his canine mind intent on collecting a bank of information on this new species of pup. Jack gradually relaxed, happy that Charlotte had apparently accepted the inevitable, at least for the time being. Maybe the surrender was due to exhaustion or hopeless resignation, but Jack preferred to look on the brighter side. His kid was not about to die of thirst or starvation. Thus far she was safe with him. As he’d promised her she would be.
