A Southern Star (32 page)

Blake’s eyes narrowed, assessing her actual mood contrasted with the front he knew she was almost certainly putting on. Saying nothing, he moved over to look at the baby, noticing she was awake. Her eyes fluttered open briefly; Blake tensed as he saw miniature blue eyes moving, unfocused, seeming to look at him, around the room. Christie’s eyes.

“What are you calling her?” Blake asked, clearing his throat to disguise his emotion, noticing the baby’s hand moving up to her face, the minute fingers brushing her chubby cheek. Christie blushed, still determined to stay with her original choice.

“Isla,” she said, realising the irony of Blake being the first person she told, seeing Blake’s impassive expression.
He hasn’t guessed
, she thought, relieved.
 

Shaken, Blake retreated to a chair, trying to focus on sorting out practical issues, almost certain Christie was more upset than she was letting on. “Did you have much of a talk with the midwife about—” he hesitated, “—feeding Isla?” Instantly, he noticed Christie’s defensiveness.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “No worries.” Blake braced himself for the inevitable reaction as he spoke, making a suggestion. “What’s that?” Christie asked suspiciously.
 

“A milk supplement for lambs. Dad used it all the time on the farm.” Christie’s mouth trembled. “I really don’t see it as a major problem, Christie. Formula, breastfeeding, either way, Isla will be fine.” Blake’s voice was flippant, casual.

“You don’t understand,” Christie said, her voice shaking, hurt by his words, uncomfortably wondering if he had deliberately provoked her into a reaction.
 

“No, I don’t,” Blake said calmly. “So explain it to me and we’ll sort it out.” Christie burst into tears, losing her composure in the face of his matter-of-fact suggestion.

Blake moved to sit on the end of the bed, masking his concern, knowing he needed to remain neutral, detached. He waited, realising Christie was becoming calmer. “Tell me,” he said bluntly.
 

“I wanted to feed her myself,” she said haltingly. “I hoped…” She broke off. “I just want to do everything the best way I can, be a good mother. It’s disappointing, not being able to give Isla the best thing for her, bond with her,” Christie finished miserably.
 

“Why the hell can’t you bond with Isla?” Blake asked before he could stop himself, his practical mind unable to accept Christie’s sweeping statements. “She’s your daughter. The way she’s fed doesn’t change that.” Uncomfortably, he thought of his own mother.
 

Christie shrugged. “Because everything I’ve read says breastfeeding helps with bonding. I hoped the milk would start…” Her voice trailed off; she glanced at Isla. Blake’s eyes narrowed as he watched Christie. Deciding to tread carefully, he told Christie about the second opinion he had arranged, hoping she would confide in him. “That would be great,” she replied, a spark of interest in her eyes. “But, Blake, I don’t think I can change it.”
 

“Maybe not,” he said, still choosing his words, regretting his earlier outburst. “But no harm in getting another opinion anyway.” Christie nodded silently, feeling calmer at Blake’s suggestion, one she had been too upset to think of herself. He continued talking, casually mentioning the midwife was going to call in soon, would have some suggestions about formula. “So you can talk to this other doctor, and if you still need formula, then you can talk to the midwife, sort out the best one for Isla.” Blake’s simple, practical suggestion made Christie relax more, start to think ahead. “Or I’ll get Dad to bring in some supplement from the farm,” he added teasingly as he stood up to look again at Isla.
 

Christie smiled, suddenly recognising his friendly attempt to cheer her up was genuine, another effort to make her realise that an inability to provide milk happened throughout nature; she was not the first mother to give her baby formula through necessity.

The colleague of Christie’s doctor was tactful but definite, emphasised the range of reputable formulas available. Christie was silent. “What about bonding? How is that affected?” Blake asked bluntly, unable to stop thinking of Christie’s distress. The doctor looked at him, clearly incredulous at Blake asking such a question. Blake registered the other man’s look; his face set with determination, wanting an answer.

Christie looked at Blake, her heart lurching, recognising the effort he was making to address her concerns despite his masculine view she was overreacting.
I should be asking these myself,
she thought, suddenly angry with herself.
Blake’s organised a second opinion and all I can do is sit here silently.
Suddenly, Christie felt a burst of sureness, confidence
. I need to sort this out, for Isla’s sake, not leave everything to Blake.

She smiled slightly at the doctor. “That’s really my question,” she said. “Everything I’ve read talks about the mother-child bond being helped by breastfeeding. I’m worried I’d… we’d miss out on that.” Blake sat back, relieved.
 

The doctor emphasised Christie could still hold Isla, connect with her, talk to her while bottle feeding. “And your partner can still bring Isla to you, help you bottle feed even.”

Christie held herself still, not daring to look at Blake. “In fact,” continued the doctor, “this may not be the right example but you could almost compare it to a child on a farm, giving milk to a pet lamb. Of course a bond forms. Between both of them.”

Christie burst out laughing, as much as to release the tension she felt as at the doctor’s coincidental example. She could hear Blake laughing as well, glanced at him, meeting his eyes. “Told you I was right,” Blake said when the doctor had left, relieved to see the genuine change in Christie. He tried to make a joke, gestured to her hospital bag. “If your pack was anything to go by, I bet you’ve got everything Isla would even remotely need for bottle feeding in there.”

Christie’s face fell as she heard Blake’s words, unable to look at him.
I didn’t want it to be true…I didn’t plan…I don’t have what my baby needs.
“Actually, no,” she replied, trying to be matter-of-fact, ignored the maternal guilt coursing through her. “But I’ll speak to the midwife, and organise something.”
And what will I organise, exactly,
she wondered bitterly, interpreting Blake’s silence as disapproval at her failure to plan.

Just then the midwife arrived; Blake said nothing as Christie asked questions, fighting down her guilt, determined to take things one step at a time.
I’ll choose a formula, maybe the hospital has some, a bottle I can use…my mother can go out later…
Taking a deep breath, she started to ask the midwife about whether there was any formula available through the hospital, heard Blake interrupt.

“I’ll go out and get some, the supermarket’s just down the road. Isla will need feeding soon, won’t she?” The midwife nodded, said she would come back in around an hour to go through things with Christie. Christie coloured with embarrassment as the midwife left, was stilted as she thanked Blake for his offer.
 

He shrugged, knowing her lack of planning was an indication of how she had felt. “It’s no problem, Christie. What formula do you want?” A sudden thought hit him. “Have you included it in your budget?” Her eyes became shadowed; he guessed the answer.

Christie took a deep breath. “I’ve still got some savings anyway,” she said quickly. “It will be more expensive but really, it’s the one essential, isn’t it?” She kept her eyes fixed on
 

Isla. “I want to get Isla the formula the midwife recommended for her.”
 

Blake nodded. “What about that other one she mentioned?” He tried to remember the name, realised how distracted he had been thinking of those bright blue eyes, the long dark lashes.
Both pairs of them,
he added silently.

“Apparently, it’s cheaper,” Christie said, faltering slightly. “With slightly different ingredients. The midwife thought the other one would be better to try first. And I don’t want to compromise on something as important as formula.”
 

Blake’s face set; he nodded in agreement. “Probably best to follow the midwife’s recommendation for now, see how it goes.” He stood up, stretched. Christie averted her eyes.
I should be thinking totally of Isla, not torturing myself with what might have been…

“I’ll head off then,” Blake said, more to the room at large than to Christie, leaving the room abruptly, surprising her. Shrugging to herself, Christie settled back on the bed, her mind playing over the day, looking again and again at Isla, fascinated.

— # —

Christie looked up as she saw movement at the door of the ward. Stunned, she saw both her mother and father walking towards her, started crying with happiness. She reached for her mother as her father patted Christie’s arm, hugged her also, his smile wide, loving, as she exclaimed at seeing him. “A surprise for you, darling,” her mother said. “We couldn’t imagine not being here.” She smiled at Christie. “And so. Do we have a—”

“It’s a girl,” Christie burst out, all three of them talking at once as she showed them Isla, watched her being held by her grandparents.

Forty minutes later, Christie was still talking, buoyed by her mother’s calm practicality, her father’s obvious delight in Isla, in seeing Christie. She was telling both of her parents about having to give Isla formula when Blake walked back into the room, strangely hesitant. Christie’s eyes narrowed as she introduced her parents, watched Blake make polite conversation. “Thank you for helping Christie through today,” her mother said warmly to Blake, clasping his arm, smiling at him. Christie’s father echoed his wife’s thanks, shaking Blake’s hand.
 

“I would have done the same for anyone,” Blake said politely. Christie’s mother continued talking, obviously taken aback by Blake, assuming Christie had planned for him to be at the birth.

Christie quickly corrected her mother, humiliated by Blake’s impersonal reply, emphasising to her mother she had pressed the wrong name on her list of saved numbers, mentioning Blake’s heavy work schedule, the inconvenience she had caused. Listening to her, Blake deliberately remained silent, hurt by her dismissive comments. Sensing the undercurrents between them her mother hastened to change the subject. “Christie, if Isla needs formula, should I go out and get some? What do you need?”

“All sorted,” Blake said, holding out two bags to Christie who immediately reached for her wallet, asking how much she owed him. He shrugged, smiling, remembering his earlier determination to support her through this, no matter what. “Let’s just get Isla organised, deal with all that later.”
 

Christie frowned, suddenly remembering Blake’s response to her question in Dunedin about gold diggers. “I definitely do want to pay for the formula, Blake.”

“I know you do,” he said. “But later.” He glanced at Isla, fell silent.
 

“Blake…look, Christie, what a great idea!” Her mother’s enthusiasm distracted Christie, she turned to see what her mother was looking at. Suddenly nervous, Christie reached to pick up the two different packages, immediately drawn to the bigger box, with a rounded, dome shaped plastic bottle. The other box held a more compact, traditional bottle. Christie glanced at Blake, realising he had bought two different bottles and some sterilising solution as well as two big tins of the formula she had wanted.

“Thank you so much, Blake,” Christie said softly, ashamed she had not emphasised his vast support over the day to her parents. “But—”
 

He stepped towards her, gestured to the box she was holding. “I went to the chemist to look around,” he said. “I hadn’t seen a bottle like that before, I thought it might help—” he hesitated, conscious of Christie’s parents, “—with what the other doctor mentioned this morning.” He noticed Christie still seemed uncertain, hesitant.

“Christie, just try it until you figure out what suits Isla best. If she likes it, fine. I’ll swap the other one for a spare. If not, we—you can just try the other one. But it’s worth a shot, anyway.”
 

“What other doctor, Christie? Was there a problem this morning for you? Or Isla?” Hearing the concern in her mother’s voice, Christie explained vaguely that Blake had arranged for her to get a second opinion about feeding, not wanting to worry her mother, tell her how upset she had been.

Blake’s eyes narrowed as he heard Christie avoid her mother’s concern, looked around as the midwife arrived. If he were honest with himself, he knew that he had hoped to stay at this meeting with Christie, see Isla being fed from the bottle he had chosen, be involved.
 

He thought back to the brief hold the nurse had suggested immediately after Isla’s birth, the way the doctor had allowed him to help cut the cord, probably just assuming he was the baby’s father.
An assumption I didn’t correct,
Blake thought, guilt mingling with amazement as he thought back to the emotion that had coursed through him as he lifted a fully separate Isla up into his arms.
 

The same doctor had made a real effort at the later checks to include him, answer his questions, allowed him to wrap Isla in a soft blanket after her bath. Blake remembered the nurse smiling as Isla’s small foot escaped from the fabric, patiently explaining to him the best way to hold Isla, how to support her neck and head.
That only happened because Christie wasn’t there to contradict them,
he realised.
And it was the doctor who suggested I be at those checks.
Now Blake hung back, saying nothing, rapidly realising he could hardly justify staying when Christie’s parents had now arrived and she herself had made no suggestion that he should stay, no offer for him to hold Isla.