Anything it was in her power to give. Yes, that sounded exactly like Clio. It made him smile; and, somewhere deep in his gut, it made him worry. Will loved how readily she put herself out for people, for no other reason than that was able. He loved that she refused to walk past somebody in need. But nine months was a cold dagger between his ribs, and he couldn't bear the thought of her giving more than she could afford.
"I want that too," he said. "I know there's been... some bad shit. Apart from..." (Nine months. He thought of Clio the attentive mother, whose face lit up whenever Ella was in the room, who baulked at the thought that her baby was already going off to school, where on earth had all that time gone? He thought of nine months' worth of firsts and cuddles and bedtime stories and toddler antics, irretrievably lost.) "I want her to feel safe."