by C. J. Duggan
‘Sorry, what did you say?’ I asked.
‘I said, when you get back, come to the third floor, there are a few things I want to talk about.’
The ‘talk’. On the forbidden third floor, of all places. I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth. This could not be happening. Maybe I would go clubbing.
‘Okay,’ I said, trying to sound like it was no big deal when all I could think of was maybe faking food poisoning, or a case of sunstroke from our outing today.
‘Well, see you in a bit,’ I said, and just as I hung up the phone, a momentary lapse of concentration saw the remnants of my dinner falling off my lap. They landed on the grubby New York City pavement where the three-second rule absolutely did not apply.
‘No!’ I cried out at the disaster at my feet.
Okay, now I was pissed off.
I took my time by admiring the lights of the Washington Arch while indulging in a peppermint ice cream, but even with the serenity of such a place, my mind was troubled the whole way home. I walked into Ben’s townhouse to find the lower floor in muted lamplight, just as it had been last night; it gave me a certain chill regardless of the warm, welcoming feel. I had turned the ten-minute walk into an hour-long one to delay the inevitable, but now had to drag myself up the stairs to the mysterious third floor.
He had told me not to make a noise when I came in and yet I could hear music: Pink Floyd’s ‘Comfortably Numb’. Along with the brighter light that glowed on the third-floor landing, the first time I had seen it that way, the music made the usually quiet, soulless house feel very much alive.
I crept onto the landing, then stood slightly to the side to watch Ben. He stood before a library, but not your typical library: this was a wall of records. Unaware of my presence, he was singing under his breath, wearing the thick-rimmed glasses that made him look less businessman and more sexy nerd, reading the back of a record cover. This particular look on him made certain parts of me react. All I wanted to do was to fog up his glasses in the naughtiest of ways.
The third floor didn’t reflect any other part of the house. It was open and broody with copper light fittings and navy-and-ochre furnishings; sexy and masculine, like him. A leather chair with a matching leather ottoman sat with a floor lamp directly behind it and a pile of records on a side table. One glimpse into Ben’s room and I had learnt more about him than I had in a whole week. I had obviously stumbled across Ben’s favourite pastime.
‘Good thing there’s a vinyl revival happening,’ I said, causing Ben to look at me in the doorway.
‘Nothing to revive. It never went anywhere for me,’ he said. He put the cover down, and turned his full focus on me, which only made me more reluctant to enter. If being in the kitchen was awkward, being in Ben’s room, near his luxurious king-size leather bed, was damn well unnerving. I walked in the opposite direction of the bed, even though I wanted to dive on it like a big kid.
The third floor resembled more of an apartment than a bedroom. A beautiful marbled bathroom opened into the main room – no modesty barriers like doors or walls here – as did the enormous walk-in wardrobe, which was bigger than my childhood bedroom.
I nodded in appreciation. ‘Nice man cave,’ I said, thinking how much it differed from any man cave I had known. I thought of my dad’s shed at home where he kept his old vinyl records, next to the collection of road signs he had pilfered over the years working for the local shire council. Yeah, opposite ends of the spectrum.
Ben watched me with interest, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘It’s just a room.’
‘Oh, it’s a little more than that,’ I said. ‘Still, I’m a bit relieved – at least there’s no sex dungeon on the mysterious third floor.’ I could honestly have kicked myself; when I’m nervous I tend to make jokes: inappropriate, unfunny jokes of the most tragic kind. Now Ben was thinking that I was thinking that’s what was on the third floor, like he was some kind of sexual deviant. I prayed the ground would open up. Then I saw a slow smile spread across his face.
‘Nah, the sex dungeon is on the lower level.’
His words made me feel slightly less embarrassed. ‘Oh, you mean the “media” room?’
‘Yeah.’ He laughed. ‘That’s the one.’
Were we talking about this now? I would have given anything for a subject change, until of course it happened.
‘Take a seat.’ Ben gestured to the chair opposite him, near the empty fireplace. It wouldn’t be difficult to imagine how amazing this room would be in the wintertime. Leather chairs next to the open fire, sumptuous rug, a tray full of liquor and crystal tumblers; it was a classy, sexy room.
Ben reclined casually in his big wing-backed chair, his elbows resting on the arms. ‘Did you have a good day?’ he asked.
I realised I hadn’t thanked him for, or acknowledged, today’s expedition, and I felt bad. I had been too busy trying to get my head around the reality that I was spending my day with Ben at all, and in Central Park of all places. As far as a Sunday goes, it was not the usual outing.
‘I did, thank you.’ Ugh, you are so lame, Sarah!
Ben nodded as if pleased by the response.
A silence grew between us, made even worse by the music coming to an end. The only sound seemed to be that of my heart, and the breaths I attempted to keep even as Ben’s cool eyes looked into mine. I swallowed, trying to think of ways to continue the conversation so we could put it to bed as quickly as possible. I glanced at his bed. Okay, bad analogy; now was not the time to think about Ben Worthington and his bed.
So instead of letting Ben watch me squirm and going another day waiting to talk about the elephant in the room, I squared my shoulders. ‘About last night,’ I said, trying to keep my voice even.
Aside from the slight lift of his brows, Ben’s face remained unchanged. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘What are your thoughts?’
‘Oh, um …’ I stammered. Thoughts? I couldn’t tell him those, they contradicted what my good sense wanted me to say. I couldn’t tell him how I had been on the brink of a screaming orgasm just before his daughter interrupted the hottest sexual encounter of my existence. I couldn’t tell him that I regretted nothing and if it was okay with him, I’d like to pick up from where we’d left off and finish the job right, if not multiple times. So I lied, I lied so hard.
‘Well, clearly it was a mistake.’
‘Right,’ he said.
Which felt like a slap in the face; I had to stifle the pang that created inside me, and quickly moved on with ‘my thoughts’.
‘And it can never happen again,’ I said with an edge of certainty that I was proud of.
He didn’t reply. I was about to apologise for stepping over a line but stopped myself, wondering what I had to be sorry for – he’d kissed me back!
I tried to not let myself get too excited about that, I knew it was just a reaction to the emotions and memories I’d caused with my questions, but I couldn’t help myself. If we were being candid, I needed for him to know that I had a pretty good idea why he’d kissed me.
‘Who’s Holly?’ I asked, and as soon as the words were airborne I wanted to take them back.
Ben froze over like an Arctic chill had run through the room and I broke away from his severe stare. I could tell he was angry at me for asking, and again I was ready to apologise, until he said, ‘A friend,’ which gave me an answer, but didn’t exactly clear anything up. I didn’t press for more.
Ben stood and walked to the door of his room. He grabbed it and looked at me. It wasn’t the most subtle of hints.
I got up, trying my best not to scramble as I went to the door, lifting my chin a little to present an illusion of confidence. I was more than ready to leave the third floor, leave and never linger there again.
Just as I reached the doorway, Ben’s voice stopped me in my tracks.
‘I’m going to be away all week for work.’
I don’t know why I was so shocked by this – he worked, travelled, of course he did – but the
re was something about the sheer convenience of him ‘working away’ that left me sceptical, at best.
For all the time I had felt weak for avoiding the inevitable conversation about last night, it was clear now that I wasn’t the only coward. Far from it.
‘Anything else?’ I asked coolly.
‘I’m leaving early, can you look out for Grace tonight?’
‘Of course.’
Ben nodded; it seemed his favourite acknowledgement.
I don’t know why, but I didn’t move straightaway, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was looking into the deep, cloudy depths of his eyes, or because I hoped he might say something comforting, something funny. Something to make me change my mind about resenting him, but he didn’t. He just looked at me in the same heated way he had last night right before he kissed me.
My heart thundered against my chest and I could feel my breath catch in my throat at the familiarity of the look, so when he said, ‘Goodnight, Sarah,’ I blinked out of my trance and moved onto the landing, trying to pretend like my heart hadn’t sunk to my feet.
‘Goodnight, Ben.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
With space came clarity, and I was grateful for that. Ben didn’t report in all week and with no life-or-death situations, I didn’t contact him. To most this would be a dream situation: New York City at my feet, any facilities I could dream of at a touch of my finger and an absentee boss who pretty much let me get on with things. There was just one slight problem. Grace didn’t want to sleep – ever. And come the week’s end I was beyond exhausted and beginning to doubt everything I did. Was she too hot? Too cold? Did I like the mattress in her cot, should I trust that brand? My trips into the city were limited by the fact that most days I couldn’t spare time for a shower or to get Grace ready to leave the house. I felt like I was a failure – failing Grace, failing myself – and as the week drew on I became even more jaded and angry at Ben. Of course Penny called and threatened a visit, but I always made up some engagement that made our lives sound well-adjusted and balanced. In truth most of the time all I could do for a break was to draw on the roof terrace, until Grace began to cry again, something that made my own tears well in dismay.
I couldn’t do this. I just couldn’t.
On Thursday afternoon, I was ready to break my streak and dial Ben’s work number. I had to tell him that I was tired and defeated and I couldn’t do it any more. Just as my finger hovered over the call button, the doorbell rang, causing Grace to scream louder.
I scurried down the hall, praying that the doorbell wouldn’t ring again. I didn’t care if it was Penny nor if I looked like shit, nor that the living room was a mess and Grace was screaming down the place. I was over the avoidance, I was over pretending that I had my shit together when I clearly didn’t. I wasn’t getting paid enough to be a full-time single parent, and I certainly wasn’t living the New York dream; if anything, I was living a New York nightmare.
I unlocked the door and swung it open, finding Nikki Fitzgerald standing before me. Seeing her, I couldn’t hold the tears at bay any more, and Nikki’s bright, cheery demeanour slipped from her pretty face.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, stepping forward and grabbing my arms as I began to cry.
‘I’m just so happy to see you,’ I said.
Nikki smiled. ‘Yes, well, I do have that effect on people.’ Grace’s screams drew Nikki’s attention down the hall. ‘Trouble in paradise?’
‘How did you guess?’ I said, closing the door.
‘If I know that cry, I would say that stubborn Worthington gene is kicking in.’
‘Please tell me there’s a cure.’
‘What? For being a Worthington?’
I just looked at her, praying she was about to part with words of wisdom.
‘I’m afraid not, lovely, she’s a Worthington to the bone.’
‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ I said, as I followed Nikki down the hall and closer to the screams. ‘She won’t sleep. What’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with me?’
‘Firstly, there is nothing wrong with you. You are doing a great job, and a difficult job. There is also almost certainly nothing wrong with Gracie,’ she said when we got to the living room. She held the baby over her shoulder, rubbing her soothingly on the back, instantly calming her tears. I was grateful as well as hating her a little for having the mightiest touch. When it came to babies, Nikki was an authority on the subject, and I would take everything she said as gospel.
‘Next: there are lots of reasons why a baby won’t sleep. Some of the most obvious are: they’re hungry; they’re distracted by something in the room; they’re uncomfortable – too hot, too cold or in pain. If you’ve ruled out all of those—’
‘And I have.’
‘Well, the most common reason is that they are often overtired and don’t know how to go to sleep.’
‘But how do you teach them?’ I asked, dismayed.
‘The biggest challenge with using various techniques when your baby won’t sleep is consistency. The truth is, you have to be strong in these situations. You have to be entirely consistent as much as you possibly can. That means bath, feeding, bed at the same time each day, no matter how much she fusses. Babies will pick up on the slightest change and hope that next time, they will be able to get you to feed them more quickly or get you to pick them up. They are pretty clever!’
I thought on what Nikki was saying and my shoulders sank. Grace’s care was going to be a combination of job-sharing between me and Ben. I had handed Grace over to him come the weekend and he had handed her to me on Sunday night; throw in a day with Ruth and there was no consistency at all. It was a light-bulb moment and I was too afraid to hope that there could be something to be done about this.
‘You have to soldier on, Sarah, try to help Grace learn how to settle on her own, otherwise you will always have to feed or cuddle her to sleep. Commit to being consistent for three days. If you can think of it as just three days, it doesn’t feel as daunting, and after three days, babies will usually have started to learn new habits. Really consolidating the habits can take around two weeks, but three days is a brilliant start.’
I grimaced. ‘But what about weekends?’
‘You’re Grace’s main carer, you have to set the routine, the standards, and Ben will have to follow them. For once in his life he has to conform, because if you don’t work as a team, poor Grace will be all over the place and will wear you down. By the looks of it, she’s already succeeded.’
‘Oh, please don’t tell Ben, I’m just a little tired, that’s all. I don’t want him thinking I’m incapable of doing my job.’ I had visions of a family crisis meeting, all the Worthingtons in attendance as they evaluated my performance criteria.
Nikki smiled. ‘Oh, honey, your secret is safe with me, but don’t think I won’t be giving Ben a little piece of my mind when I see him,’ she said, handing Grace over. She mercifully didn’t cry, simply looked into my widened eyes.
I felt panic spike inside me. ‘W-why would you do that?’
‘Because you should not have to be shouldering this all on your own, Sarah. Being a full-time carer to Grace is not part of your job description.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind.’ I shrugged. I might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown but at least without Ben here there was no awkwardness, no weird sexual tension.
‘It’s not right, and I know you’re tired and you probably hate admitting that, but you are only human.’
‘Well, I feel so much better, thanks to you.’
Nikki still seem enraged, though, even after I’d expressed my gratitude. ‘Sarah, it’s not right.’ She looked at me pointedly. ‘Why should he get to be at Lafayette Street, entertaining friends and getting a full night’s sleep all week when you’re here on your own with Grace?’
‘B-but I thought he had to go away for work?’
‘I don’t think Lower Manhattan counts, do you?’
I felt a knot twisting in
the pit of my stomach, as anger swirled my insides. He was in New York? At Lafayette Street? Wining and dining friends, probably hanging out with Holly, while I was in the Village raising his daughter on my own? Oh hell, no.
Nikki must have sensed my anger, even poor Grace was picking up on it as she began to squirm and whimper.
‘Listen, Sarah, don’t worry, he probably just had to put in some groundwork for a project. I’ll talk to him, you just start with your routine and leave Ben to me, okay?’
I smiled weakly at Nikki. ‘I’ll be fine, my priority is Grace.’
A silence fell between us – we both knew what the other was thinking: If only Grace were Ben’s priority, too.
It took some convincing to make Nikki promise she wouldn’t say anything to Ben. I assured her there were more important things to handle right now and, first and foremost, that was to settle Grace into a routine.
Things were about to change around here, and one of them was the means of communication. If Ben Worthington was going to hide out in his little penthouse thinking that it was a matter of out of sight, out of mind until the weekend, well, I had news for him. If I had been entrusted to look after Grace, his most prized possession, then it was up to me to enforce the routine that would roll over to the weekend. A schedule for Ben, Ruth, Penny – anyone who came into this house would have to abide by these rules. I felt like an idiot not having thought of it in the first place. Poor Grace had been dragged from pillar to post, with no semblance of routine. It was no wonder she couldn’t settle.
‘Well, Gracie girl, things are about to change,’ I said to her, sitting at the kitchen bench with the laptop open. I opened a blank email and with great pride and a whole lot of power I set about writing a detailed plan. One that Nikki and I had discussed, and which I would start immediately. The first three days of consistency would bleed into the weekend, which was not ideal, but I was more than willing to sacrifice a weekend to ensure that Grace’s routine was being adhered to. Short-term pain, long-term gain.
My email was professional, direct and fully thought out. I even attached some links to reading material to support my routine. Without alluding to my close call with an epic meltdown, I was honest about it having been a difficult week. But when I reread those words, I decided to delete that admission. Now was not the time to show weakness in any form. I had to be strong and steadfast, I had to be an authority. I wanted to add in a bit of a tongue-in-cheek dig, a ‘hope it’s sunny wherever you are in the world’, but decided against it. I settled on a brazen read-receipt request to let me know if and when Ben had read my email.
