by Clare Revell
“What’s black pudding?”
“Cooked dried blood.” Amy grinned. “My Dad loved it.”
Both girls scrunched up their noses.
Amy laughed. “OK, no black pudding.”
“Mum used to get honey loops. Dad won’t buy them. He says they are too sweet and bad for us.”
“They can be if you eat nothing else besides. Would you eat them if I got them?”
“Yeah.”
“OK.” Amy looked at Vicky. “Do you like them?”
Jodie answered for her. “She likes toast with marmite and marmalade on.”
“At the same time? That sounds…”
“Disgusting?” Jodie nodded. “It’s revolting, but yeah. Marmite first, then marmalade.”
“I was going to say interesting, but sure I can make that.” She looked at Vicky. “Would you rather that instead of cornflakes?”
Vicky pushed the bowl towards her.
Amy smiled and took it away. She put the toast on and glanced at Jodie’s cold oatmeal. “That would taste better warmed up with syrup on it.”
“Syrup?”
“About a dessert spoonful I reckon. Or chocolate sauce.”
“Isn’t that bad for your teeth?”
She tilted her head. “Only if you never clean them.” She held her hand out for the bowl. “So which is it to be?”
“Syrup.”
By eight fifteen, both girls had eaten, and Jodie had left for school without complaint. Amy didn’t suppose it’d last, but it was a start. While Vicky went to get her bag and coat, Amy grabbed the notepad. Dane had left twenty pounds for any shopping she needed. Thinking quickly, she wrote cereal. Then she added sugar, as she really couldn’t continue to drink tea or coffee without it, pop-up linen bins for the girls’ rooms, and fruit.
Vicky came back into the room.
“You got everything?”
A slight nod came in response.
“Cool. Then let’s go.”
Amy dropped Vicky off and then went straight to the library. She logged onto one of the computers and did a search for fake ID. Surprisingly, the search yielded hundreds of results. Prices ranged from ridiculously cheap to ludicrously expensive. Most sites wanted online payment, but there was one based in the UK, which took cash only. She printed off the application form and filled it in. Now all she needed was a passport photo which she could get from the photo booth on the other side of the library. The site promised the card would come within five to seven days, which should be plenty of time.
Photos done, she sealed the envelope and posted it. Amy pushed down the feelings of guilt. What else could she do?
If there was another way, Lord, I’d take it, but there isn’t. This Saunders bloke wants me dead, and I can’t go to the police. Right now, I’m here and hoping You led me here for a reason and that’s to help this family. Is this You making some good come out of my breaking the law?
Having grocery shopped, she headed back to the house and deactivated the alarm. She put the shopping away and made tea. Half-way around the supermarket, she’d remembered what else she’d meant to do on line. She wanted to check for her name in the news. To see if anything had been said, and if so, what was happening. It wouldn’t take long and Dane had said she could use his laptop. She’d do a mega-quick check, then delete her search history. Just in case.
She took the mug into the lounge and fired up the laptop. Sipping the tea, she looked at the main news. There was nothing on the national news pages and only a couple of paragraphs on the local news. The local paper had more information and her picture.
Her photo, detailing the accident and court case took up the top of the page. Then in less detail was the damage to her house and the fact everything had been left on the beach, sparking a full scale rescue. This had now been called off. She was missing, presumed dead. There were short quotes from Ray and Rosalie. A memorial service was being planned for a later date.
Missing, presumed dead.
Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t expected it to hurt like this. It was what she wanted, what she’d intended, but it was all so very real now. For an instant, she had the crazy idea of turning up at the memorial.
After all, how many people got to go to their own funeral? But then common sense prevailed.
She finished her tea and stood. First order of business today was to tackle Jodie’s room and get rid of the rubbish and dirty laundry. Then to work out how to use the washing machine and set it going on what was likely to be the first of several loads.
The room was worse than it appeared on first sight. It took the best part of three hours to bag up the rubbish and clothes from the floor and under the bed. She finished by hoovering and dusting and opening the windows to let in some fresh air.
There were four loads of washing from that room alone. Never mind doing the bedding as well.
Stopping for a quick bite to eat, Amy spent the time after lunch tidying Jodie’s chest of drawers and folding and rearranging everything. Notes stuck on each drawer, told Jodie what went where, although she doubted half this stuff would actually fit anymore.
The clock in the hall struck three and Amy set off to collect Vicky from school. At first it felt weird standing in the playground with all the mothers, but no doubt she would get used to it in time and it would get easier. No one spoke to her; in fact it all seemed rather cliquey.
Vicky plodded over to her, her shoulders slumped and eyes downcast.
Amy smiled in greeting. “Hey, Vicky. Did you have a good day?”
She shook her head, scuffing her shoes on the ground.
“I’m sorry. Would milk and cookies help?”
She shook her head again, slowly heading to the gate.
Amy frowned and caught up. “Did you do any painting today?”
There was no response and despite trying several times more on the way home, Vicky wouldn’t even look at her. As soon as they got back to the house, Vicky headed up to her room and shut the door.
Amy sighed. Two steps forward and one back…it seemed that what progress she’d made that morning had been wiped out already.
She let Jodie in a few minutes later and watched her run up the stairs, waiting for the outburst she knew would come as soon as Jodie reached her room. She wasn’t disappointed.
“Who’s been in my room?”
She went to the foot of the stairs. “Something wrong?” she called.
Jodie appeared on the landing. “Where’s my stuff? Who’s been in my room?”
“I have. Your clothes are washed and either drying, or in the airing cupboard. The rest are folded and organized in the labeled drawers so you know where they are. Feel free to change them around, but you’ll find the system works fairly well.”
“And my other stuff?”
“The rubbish is gone. I’m assuming you weren’t keeping the empty bottles, cans, glasses, and crisp packets for a reason. Everything else is either in boxes under your bed or in the wardrobe. Books are on the bookcase now. There is also a laundry basket in your room for you to put things in when you take them off. Towels will be hung back in the bathroom, is that understood?”
“Or you’ll do what?” Jodie stuck her hands on her hips and screwed her face up in disgust.
“Or you can go back to living in a pigsty, and each week you will have less and less stuff and also be given the hoover to clean it yourself.”
“You wouldn’t dare. Dad won’t let you.”
“Who do you think put me in charge of your room, your laundry and so on?”
Jodie stamped her foot and raised her voice. “You’re not my mother.”
“I have no intentions of trying to be. I never knew her, but from what I’ve learned she was a wonderful lady who loved you, Vicky, and your dad very, very much.” Amy sucked in a deep breath. “The only reason your dad hired me is to look after you when he’s at work.”
“He’s paying you? But you’re living here.”
“Yes, he’s paying me. The job comes with the room. Because sometimes he has to work nights or early mornings or late. A nanny is simply a live-in babysitter who also does housework and cleaning and does a lot of fun stuff with the kids. Assuming they want to do fun stuff after school and on the holidays, that is.”
“Fun stuff like what?” A faint hint of interest sparked in her voice. Not that you could tell by looking at her.
“We could go swimming, go to the park, walking and shopping. I did see an advert for some stables, so maybe we check out riding lessons at some point. We could cook or do homework or all sorts of things you like to do. But you have to work with me here. Your room doesn’t have to be spotless. But you’ll get a lot less spiders in there if rubbish goes in the bin and clothes don’t live on the floor.”
There was a moment of hesitation, then Jodie narrowed her eyes. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.” She lightened her tone. “So I was thinking, do you want to help me cook dinner? I could teach you how to make pork casserole. Surprise your dad by him not having to cook when he gets in.”
“OK.”
Amy nodded and returned to the kitchen. She didn’t suppose every battle would be that easy, or even that she’d won this round, but it was a start.
Dane let himself in. The house smelled wonderful and it was quiet. Was he in the right place? Or had everyone gone out? He hung his coat on the rack on the wall. “Hello?”
Amy appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Hello. How was your day?”
“Busy. I’m sorry I’m late. How did it go today?”
“It went all right. Vicky is in the bath, and Jodie is in the study doing her homework. She and I cooked, and we saved you some.”
“You didn’t need to do that. I’d intended to do so when I got in.”
“I know, but we thought it’d be nice for you to be cooked for, for a change.”
“Thank you.” He went through to the kitchen, taking in a deep breath. Whatever she’d cooked smelt wonderful. His mouth watered, and his stomach gurgled in anticipation. He picked up the pile of mail and flicked through it. Bill, bill, bill, bill…nothing changed. He sat down, opening them. “So it went all right today then? Did you do much?”
Amy put his dinner in the microwave. “I tided Jodie’s room.”
“Oh, I bet that went down like a dose of salts.”
Amy put the kettle on. “It did. But she now has carpet on the floor and clothes in the drawer. We’ll see how long it lasts.”
He raised an eyebrow as the microwave beeped. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. She wasn’t.” She brought over his dinner and set in on the bench in front of him. “I shall get Vicky out of the bath.”
Dane closed his eyes and said grace. Picking up his fork he started to eat. It was good, far better than anything he’d have made. The sauce was slightly spicy, and he couldn’t put a finger on what was different about it.
Jodie came in and stood on the other side of the bench. “Hi, Dad.”
He smiled at her. “Hello. How was your day?”
“It went.”
“I heard you helped make this.”
“Yeah. It was fun.” She shifted from one foot to the other, but didn’t seem as stressed as normal. No doubt that wouldn’t last. “Do you like it?”
“I really do. Trying to figure out what’s in the sauce.”
“That’s Amy’s secret ingredient.”
He pouted. “So you won’t tell me then?”
“No, ‘cause if I did it wouldn’t be a secret.”
“OK, but you’ll have to make it again.” He took another bite.
Jodie nodded slightly. “Dad…”
Here we go. Didn’t think it would last. That was her I’ve-got-a-complaint voice. He swallowed. “Yes?”
“Amy tided my room.”
“I know. She said.” He took another bite. The casserole was all the better for not having cooked himself.
“She said that you said she could, but I don’t want her to.”
He swallowed. “Then you have to tidy it up yourself. She needs to be able to get in there to clean.”
“But, Dad, I don’t want—”
Dane resisted the urge to snap. “Otherwise she’ll keep doing it. It’s not hard, Jodie. If you get something out, you put it away when you’ve finished with it. And if it’s dirty—”
She sighed. “I know. I have to put it in the wash.”
He nodded. “So how was school?”
“Pretty rubbish.” She gave the standard response. “How was work?”
Well, two could play at that game. “Pretty rubbish.”
Vicky came in and hugged him. It looked like she’d been crying, but maybe she’d just gotten soap in her eyes.
He pulled her onto his lap and cradled her. “Hey, sweetie. How was your day?”
Vicky shrugged and leaned against him, picking at his sleeve.
Concern gnawed at him. This was unusual, even for her. He glanced over at Amy as she came into the kitchen, then back down at his daughter. “What did you do today? Did you have PE?”
All he got in response was a shrug.
He picked her up and hugged her. “What about drawing? Or music?”
Again a shrug.
Dane looked at Amy.
“She’s been like that since I picked her up from school,” Amy said. “She went to her room as soon as we got home. She didn’t even want milk and cookies.”
“That’s not like her.” He looked at Vicky. “Can I do anything? Would you like me to read to you?”
She shook her head, her bottom lip trembling and her eyes full of tears.
“Not even Sophie’s Tea Party?”
She shook her head again, clinging to him tightly.
He thought. “OK. Then how about we go and find the children’s Bible with the pictures in it. You can pick one of those.”
His sweater felt damp now, and he knew from the way her whole body shook that she was crying. Dane bit his lip. His heart ached for her, filling and threatening to break.
I wish there was something I could do, some way to get through to her, to make it better.
He cradled her in his arms and stood, leaving his partly eaten dinner on the bench. “I’ll come back for that later.”
“OK.”
Dane carried Vicky from the kitchen and up the stairs to her room. He set her on the bed and pulled the large Bible from the bookcase. It contained three hundred and sixty-five stories, one for every day of the year, especially illustrated for children. He and Jas had bought it for Vicky when she was a baby. Sitting next to her, he wrapped an arm around her. “Which one would you like?”
Vicky shrugged.
“Then how about I choose one?” He paused. “How about mummy’s favorite story? The lost sheep?” He flicked through the pages slowly until he found the story he was looking for. The picture showed a tiny little sheep, lost in a huge wilderness and caught in the brambles.
Vicky leaned against him, running her finger over the picture, yawning, as he read. After a while, the movement stopped, and she leaned heavily against him.
As he finished the story, he looked down. She was almost asleep, her thumb in her mouth. Closing the Bible, he set it to one side and began to pray.
He began with the one Jas had taught both girls, gentle Jesus meek and mild, and then carried on from there, pouring out his heart. Tears filled his eyes and slowly ran down his cheeks. He didn’t know what to do. Had he done the wrong thing in employing Amy? Should he find another job, or just stay at home with the girls instead?
5
Within a week, Amy felt settled and at home. Her first weekend hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared. Dane had taken them all to the local country park and they fed the animals in the petting zoo and the girls wore themselves out on the adventure playground. She’d loved church on Sunday. Everyone she spoke to was friendly, and the preaching was ex
cellent. Her ID had arrived and sat nestled in her purse with her bus pass and library card.
The routine was established with the girls and at least their clothes were ending up in the laundry baskets rather than the floor, even if the bedrooms still looked like a war zone most of the time. No, make that all of the time. Jodie’s floor had stayed clear for two days, but was now back to more or less normal, minus the clothes. Vicky was still coming into Amy’s room at two o’clock every morning and seemed more down than ever.
Amy was determined find the problem and sort it, preferably without worrying Dane about it. Perhaps she could try the drawing communication with her that the teacher had mentioned the first afternoon. Having researched it on the internet, and seen it used on a TV cop show to good effect, it was definitely worth a go as Vicky liked drawing and was good at it.
After school she sat Jodie and Vicky at the breakfast bar with lots of new pens and paper. “So,” she said pulling a sheet over to her. “We’re going to try something different tonight. Rather than me asking how your day was, and telling you what I did, we’re going to draw it.” She picked up a blue pen and drew a stick figure in a skirt doing the shopping, eating lunch, and cleaning. “That’s my day. Jodie, what about yours?”
Jodie rolled her eyes and drew a desk with z’s coming out of it.
Amy laughed. “Nice one. So you just slept all day. Tell you what, tomorrow I go to school and sleep and you can stay here and cook, clean, and do piles of laundry and ironing.”
Jodie grinned and then added netball posts and a maths equation. Then she drew a heart with Mum inside it and a gravestone with the initials JKP across it, flowers and long grass surrounding it.
“I like that. How about we draw her pictures and tomorrow after school we’ll go and put them on her grave.”
Both girls nodded.
Amy smiled. “Cool. OK, Vicky, how was your day?”
Vicky slowly drew a tree with a tiny figure standing under it, with huge square eyes. Next she drew a very tall person, with hands three times the size they should be reaching for the smaller figure.
The doorbell rang, and Amy went to answer it. The man flashed a gas board ID and asked to read the meter. She unlocked the garage and showed him where it was. He looked at the numbers and wrote on his clipboard. His gaze followed the pipes across the garage to where they disappeared into the house, before he nodded to her and left. Amy locked up again, surprised when he got into a van and drove away. Maybe she was his last call of the day.