Don't Want To Miss A Thing by Jill Mansell Page A

never will.’

Chapter 12
    Dex was shattered. Henry hadn’t been kidding about social services; they didn’t just hand out small children willy-nilly. Instead they asked hundreds of questions, made pages and pages of notes, filled in many complicated forms and drank the countless cups of tea he made for them in his gleaming, space-age kitchen.
    Were they secretly marking him out of ten on his tea-making skills too?
    Some of the social workers had been jolly pretty, but Dex sensed he should reign in his natural inclination to flirt. Taking responsibility for a nine-month-old baby was a serious matter and they needed to be convinced he was up to the task. Accordingly, he was giving an excellent impression of a serious and completely responsible adult.
    Apart from when they’d asked how he’d cope with Delphi and a pushchair if all the lifts in the apartment building happened to be broken and he’d said, ‘Maybe tie her to a bungee rope?’
    But other than that he thought he was managing to acquit himself pretty well. And they were nice people, that was the thing; on his side and keen to do all they could to help. They even took it in their stride when they discovered the oven was full ofcrockery and Dex was forced to admit he didn’t know how to switch it on.
    When in doubt, eat out. That had always been his motto, and it had served him well.
    ‘You won’t be able to take Delphi out to the Ivy every night,’ the younger social worker, Jen, had teased him.
    Which was an alarming thought, although Dex thought he probably could. Children weren’t actually banned from restaurants, were they? Train them up from a young age, surely, and they’d be OK.
    He had to stretch the truth on a few occasions of course. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be asked to provide character references from three different people who’d known him for at least five years. Luckily that excluded most of the girls he’d dated, who might have been less than complimentary about him if they’d been asked. He’d gone for Henry in the end, and a kind-hearted married friend who could always be relied upon to say nice things. The third reference had come from Phyllis, the dear old lady who had lived next door to Laura and liked to bake cakes for Dex, who in her mind was still the cheery helpful boy who had walked her dog for pocket money as a teenager. She’d got a bit flustered at the prospect of constructing a reference so he’d ended up having to dictate the words himself.
    Well, didn’t everyone like to portray themselves in a flattering light?
    But, bit by bit, it was all beginning to come together. The requisite hoops had been jumped through, hurdles were steadily being overcome. As the weeks passed, what had initially seemed impossible was now actually starting to take shape. Having already walked out of his job, the days took on a holidayish glow. Delphi was still being cared for by the foster family in Islington and waspalpably happy there; visiting her and being recognised made his heart expand every time. When her face lit up at the sight of him, Dex knew he was doing the right thing.
    And when she drank too much milk too quickly and it made an untimely reappearance down the front of his shirt . . . well, he was still doing the right thing. It wasn’t Delphi’s fault the shirt was Ozwald Boateng.
    It wasn’t her fault her mother had died either. Thankfully, she was blissfully unaware of what had happened, at least for now.
    Dex knew he’d made an impulsive decision that would change his life for good. One minute he was excited, the next minute terrified by the enormity of what he was taking on. But he couldn’t back down now. This was what Laura had wanted.
    Well, obviously it wasn’t what she had wanted ; she’d have far preferred to have carried on living and bringing her daughter up herself. But since that wasn’t possible, he was just going to have to step up and learn how to be second best.
    And no one could say he