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‘Papa?’ she repeated encouragingly.

Ella grinned. ‘Mum-mum-mum.’

‘I think that’s the only word she knows.’ Rafael was also smiling but Abbie could sense his disappointment. She tried to distract him.

‘She’s pretty good at “no.” You should have heard her at lunchtime when I tried to persuade her to eat some carrots.’

‘She doesn’t like carrots?’

‘Not yet. Same with pumpkin.’

‘Maybe it’s the colour she doesn’t like.’

‘Hmm... You could be right.’ Abbie smiled and caught Rafael’s gaze. ‘It does clash with pink, doesn’t it?’

His answering smile was swift and, for a heartbeat, things felt good. There were more of these moments now, when it felt like there was a real connection between them again. The time they’d spent in the park together had been a good starting point but, even with more time with both of them here with Ella and more moments when they were in tune with each other, that distance between them didn’t appear to be shrinking.

Ella was the driving force behind Abbie’s motivation for trying to repair her marriage. She desperately wanted her daughter to grow up with a loving father in her life. For them all to make a real family. But the connection had to there between her parents, too. It had to be more than physical and it had to be strong enough to last the distance. While they were reaching out tentatively to see if they could find and build on that kind of connection, sadly it was Ella who was making things harder.

Oh, she loved the presents. And she loved seeing her daddy and having a cuddle. As long as she wasn’t tired. Or sore. Or hungry. Or had a dirty nappy or anything else that was making life a little less joyful. At those times, she only wanted Abbie.

Mum-mum-mum.

As the days passed it was obvious that Rafael was feeling excluded. It wasn’t just an Italian’s pride that was being dented. Any father would feel disheartened by the preference that Ella made crystal clear when it was needed. And it wasn’t something that Abbie could fix, was it? Rafael hadn’t been there for such a long time. A quarter of Ella’s life. Was it any wonder that the baby saw him as a visitor in her life? That she expected her mother to provide everything from food to comfort?

Abbie glanced at her watch. Any minute now and the nurse would arrive with Ella’s night-time bottle. And Rafael was here. She should let him feed her.

Maybe it was the biggest olive branch she could offer?

She couldn’t put it into words but when she picked Ella up and offered her to Rafe as the nurse came in with the bottle of warm milk, she could see that he understood how significant this was. The way his gaze held hers with a flash of surprise and then gratitude and then a flood of warmth that felt like pure love was enough to bring a huge lump to her throat.

Rafael sat down in the armchair with Ella in his arms. She was happy enough to lie there until she caught sight of the bottle. The hungry whimper was followed by her head craning so far sideways Abbie feared for her neck.

‘Mum-mum-mum...’ Small arms were reaching out for her.

Rafael chased her mouth with the teat of the bottle but Ella was having none of it. She arched her body into a stiff bow and her face went an alarming shade of red.

Abbie had to force herself not to scoop Ella out of her father’s arms. ‘Try again,’ she said above the noise Ella was starting to make. ‘She’ll get used to the idea of you feeding her in a minute.’

But Rafael shook his head. ‘I can’t bear to hear her this unhappy. You do it, Abbie.’ He stood up and all but shoved Ella into her arms.

It felt like defeat. Worse, even when Ella settled and started sucking hungrily, the joy of doing this was somehow diminished. Abbie could feel Rafael’s gaze on her, and she could feel his despair. And there seemed to be something accusing in the gaze Ella had fixed on her, too. She felt like the meat in a sandwich. All she was trying to do was stick the layers back together. Why was it so difficult?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly to Rafael.

He gave one of those eloquent shrugs. ‘It’s not your fault. Fiorella is a baby. All she knows is what she wants to make her happy.’

But Abbie knew what she wanted to make her happy, too. And it seemed as far away as ever.

‘I...um...thought I might come home tomorrow. After work.’

Rafael went very still. Oh, help...

‘Just to see if I find a suitable dress and shoes and things or whether I’ll need to go shopping. For the wedding on Saturday?’

‘Ah... Of course.’

‘I thought you might like to be here with Ella while I’m gone. If you’re free about five o’clock, you could feed her her dinner.’

A faintly incredulous huff escaped Rafael but Abbie ignored it. ‘If I’m not here, she might be happy to let you feed her. And food is different from a bottle. She lets nursing staff feed her sometimes. We can only keep trying, can’t we?’

A sigh this time. ‘Si...’ Rafael’s expression was unreadable. ‘This is true.’

* * *

‘She’s doing well, isn’t she, Mr de Luca?’

‘She certainly is.’ Rafael stroked the hair of the little Afghan girl, Anoosheh, and smiled at her. It had been nearly two weeks since her massive surgery and the swelling was going down nicely.

‘She’s learning English fast,’ his registrar put in. ‘Can you say hello to Mr de Luca, Anoosheh?’

‘’Ello,’ Anoosheh said obligingly. ‘I am ’appy to see you, Dock-a-dor.’ The words were an effort to produce and then her face twisted into an odd expression.

‘She’s trying to smile,’ the nurse told them. ‘It’s still hard.’

‘Keep trying,’ Rafael told his small patient. ‘Soon you will be lighting up the world with your smile.’

They all had to keep trying, didn’t they?

Even when it didn’t seem to be working.

The parts of his life were all there and, if you took each one on its own, there wasn’t anything obvious that was broken.

Work was fine. Little Anoosheh was a triumph and one that was being followed closely enough by the media for Rafael’s reputation to be growing rather too fast for his liking. Only this morning he’d had to pass a request to appear on a television talk show over to Ethan—who probably passed it to Declan. Far better that the charity projects of the Hunter Clinic got some good publicity than that he became the poster boy for reconstructive plastic surgery.

Ella was fine, too. Doing better each day. The three-month mark when her bone marrow could be checked again was rapidly approaching and if the results were good, her central line could be removed and she would be allowed home. Even better, his precious daughter was happy and she had no trouble lighting up the world with her smile.

There had been no objections when he’d been the one to feed her the other evening and he’d done it again last night because it seemed that Abbie did need a new dress for Leo and Lizzie’s upcoming wedding and it had given her a chance to hit the high street.

Yes. The wheels of his life were turning perfectly well.

It was when Rafael’s ward rounds took him to visit Lucy, the little girl who’d been in the car crash, that he realised what was bothering him so much.

Lucy’s grandmother was beside the bed, holding a drink that Lucy was sipping through a straw. She watched as Rafael checked the chart and then gently examined the little girl’s face.

‘Can you open your mouth a little for me, chicken? Does that still hurt?’

‘Mmm.’