Single Dads Collection. Lynne Marshall

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      There was no word from him.

      She’d thought, in all the time that had elapsed, that either he or one of the team could have given her a call, but no. There had been nothing.

      She knew he was all right. She’d seen him landing at Heathrow two hours ago, battered and bruised, his left eye swollen shut, his arm in a sling and both hands bandaged to the fingertips, but she’d had no word.

      Well, what had she expected? That was Harry all over, dropping in and out of her life as if nothing had ever happened, breezing through and leaving her a mangled wreck in his wake.

      She stared at the ceiling, wondering when he’d turn up. He would, of course. There was no question about that. He’d come back to sort out Kizzy, as he’d put it. And if she was stupid enough to encourage him, he’d probably stay for a while, but he’d go in the end, like he always had.

      Well, she wouldn’t encourage him. She’d let him make his arrangements for the baby, and she’d wave him goodbye and get on with her life.

      Somehow.

      She turned over and banged the pillow, but she couldn’t sleep. She heard a car stop on the street, then drive on, and then a few moments later there was the sound of stones against her bedroom window.

      What on earth…?

      She heard it again, and got out of bed and peered round the curtain.

      ‘Harry? What on earth are you doing?’ she whispered hoarsly, throwing up the window and telling her heart to stop it, but he just grinned, and her heart flipped again and raced.

      So did she, all the way downstairs, out of the back door and round the corner, straight into his arms. Well, arm. The other one was a hard line across her chest, and she realised it was in a cast.

      ‘Ouch,’ he said, laughing, and then the laughter died and his face contorted a little. His bandaged right hand came up to touch her face. ‘It’s nice to see you,’ he said, and she gave a little hiccup of laughter that could just as easily have been a sob, and nodded.

      ‘It’s nice to see you, too. I wondered—when they showed it…’

      She broke off, unable to finish, and he hugged her hard against his side with his right arm and led her into the house.

      ‘Do you want a drink?’ she asked, but he shook his head.

      ‘All I want is to talk to you. To hold you. To try and let myself believe that I’m really here with you. But first I need to get my head down.’

      ‘Do you want your keys?’

      ‘Keys?’

      ‘To your house. So you can go to bed.’

      His eyes searched her face. ‘Where’s Dan?’

      ‘Here. Upstairs in bed.’

      ‘Then come with me.’

      She shook her head. ‘I’ll need to feed Kizzy.’

      ‘Can’t Dan do it?’

      She shook her head. ‘No, because…’ She looked away. ‘I gave up with the pump. It seemed pointless. Wrong. So I need to be here. But you could stay,’ she added, and then held her breath.

      ‘Em?’

      She shrugged. ‘I know I shouldn’t. I know you said you were going to give her up for adoption, and it’ll tear me apart to let her go, but—it was all I could do for her, and you weren’t here for her, and I just…’

      ‘Oh, Em,’ he breathed, and wrapped his arm around her. ‘Come to bed with me. We need to talk, but I have to lie down. We’ll go in your room.’

      So they went upstairs, Harry limping slightly, his right leg reluctant to bend, and she led him into her bedroom, closed the door and undressed him, her eyes filling at the sight of the bruises.

      ‘Sorry. It’s a bit gaudy,’ he said with a strained smile as she helped him ease back onto the mattress.

      ‘You could have stuck to one part of the spectrum, instead of going for the whole rainbow,’ she said, but her voice cracked unconvincingly and he sighed and drew her down against his chest.