Turned (10 page)

“That's six then.”

“No—” Surely Jodie hadn't added hugs and kisses to a text Dane would assume came from Amy.

“Too late.” Jodie laughed and handed back the phone. “Can you push both of us?”

“I can try.” Amy pushed both swings, desperately hoping Jodie was teasing about the kisses.

Not more than ten minutes later, Dane stomped over to them, his face set and his eyes dark and glittering. His whole body resonated anger.

Vicky jumped off the swing and ran to him.

He picked her up and held out a hand to Jodie. “Let's go.”

Jodie nodded and took his hand, walking with him back to where he'd left the car.

Amy stood there. Was it something she'd done? Maybe she'd done the wrong thing in coming out with them. Should she follow or stay here?

Dane glanced over his shoulder. “Come on,” he said in a don't-mess-with-me tone.

Amy followed slowly.

He didn't speak to her the entire drive home. Dinner was just as silent, not even Jodie dared say anything. Dane sat there, seething as he ate. Finally, he stood and beckoned to Vicky. “Bedtime.”

Amy watched him exit the room with Vicky and sighed. Leaving the dishes where they were, she put on her coat and went for a walk in the rain. She liked it here. She loved the kids, and the way Dane interacted with them, no matter how tired he was. She just wished she knew what she'd done.

 



 

Dane sat in the lounge. He'd put the girls to bed and come down to talk to Amy to find her gone. Not even a note. On the plus side, she'd only taken her bag and coat, so he was hopeful that she would be back at some point. Did he text her? Or did he leave it a little longer? He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. It had been a lousy day, and he really didn't need this on top of everything else. Finally, the front door opened and closed. Footsteps crossed the hall. He stood and walked to the doorway. “Amy, can I have a word?”

Her hair stuck to her head in rat's tails, dripping onto her shoulders. “Can I just change first? It's chucking it down out there, and my coat isn't as waterproof as I thought it was. I'll be five minutes.”

“OK.” He went back into the lounge and put the TV on. He tried to focus on the program, but his mind was too caught up with other things. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, not sure how to say what he needed to. He still felt married. He didn't need the growing attraction to the nanny, never mind any affection she bore towards him, however inappropriate it might be, and he certainly wasn't about to—

Amy came in, wearing a tracksuit that showed off her figure beautifully, towel dried hair falling over her shoulders.

Dane mentally shook himself. Now wasn't the time to be admiring how pretty she was. He couldn't go that route. Couldn't and shouldn't. So why did he want to more than anything?

She sat on the edge of the sofa, her unease apparent. She looked as guilty as her body language indicated. “Did the girls go down all right?”

“Yes.”

“That's good.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “I understand from Jodie that you took them to the cemetery this afternoon.”

Amy swallowed, her fingers lacing and unlacing. “Yes, I did. They made cards. We put them in clear plastic bags and left them on their mum's grave.”

“Why?”

“It's obvious both girls miss her a lot.” She shifted under his gaze and looked at the floor. Was she hiding something? “I—I thought this way they could at least visit, tell her they love her. Then we went to the park on the way home and you picked us up there.”

He nodded, pushing down his irritation. At least her motives had been in the right place. “Yeah. About those texts you sent…”

Amy sighed. “Actually, Jodie sent them while Vicky was on the swings. How many kisses did she put in the end?”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You knew about that?”

“She threatened to do it. I told her no.”

“Six.”

Amy grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Nate found it amusing. My boss didn't.”

“I'm sorry.”

He sucked in a deep breath, his anger tempered slightly. “The first one had kisses, as well.”

Amy shifted in her seat, picking at a fingernail.

He narrowed his eyes. His copper's instinct went on full alert. She was definitely hiding something, but what? Was this going to be Adeline all over again? He knew Nate had had his doubts about her at one point.

“You're my employer,” she said finally. “I wouldn't do that.”

“OK.” He dropped it. “Did you do any more drawing with them?”

“Yeah. I'll get them.” She got up and left the room.

Dane picked up the TV remote and changed channels, putting the football on. Maybe this would take his mind off things for a while.

Amy returned and held out two pieces of paper. “Here.”

Dane took them and studied them. Concern gnawed at him and goose bumps rose on his skin. Both pictures scared him. Maybe the girls did need to see a doctor or a psychologist. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What I find interesting is Jodie's.”

He jerked his head up to look at her. “Interesting?” That was so not the word he'd have used to describe it.

“Yeah. That's not her mother's grave in the picture. And each time she draws it, it's bigger than before.”

“It's her initials. Jodie Kathlyn Philips.” He looked at the picture. Had he missed something? She seemed fine outwardly, coping at least better than Vicky was, and to some extent better than him. But this? This was way out of his comfort zone, and he had no idea what to do. “What is she trying to tell us? That she wants to die?”

“I don't think so. But she is worried about dying and death.” She paused for a moment. “All teenagers feel worthless at some point. All those hormones kick in and they don't know whether they are coming or going. Maybe this is her way of expressing it.”

He didn't bother to point out again that Jodie wasn't a teenager, but twelve. “But what if it isn't? What if she's self-harming or something?”

“She's too fond of those very short strappy tops, and I haven't seen any signs of it. But I'll keep an eye out.”

“Thank you.” He took a deep breath. “And the next time you want to take them to the cemetery, let me know, and I'll drive you all over there. It's not the best part of town to be in after dark.”

“OK. I'm sorry.”

He nodded. A sudden cheer from the TV distracted him, and he glanced up to watch the replay of the goal. “Good one. About time Reading scored an away goal.” He paused. “Do you mind if I keep this on? I could do with the distraction tonight.”

“Not at all. I did want to mention something. I walked by the school twice today and Vicky was crying both times.”

“The teacher says Vicky is constantly crying, but I'll speak to her teacher.” He stifled a sigh. It wasn't just his boss who evidently thought he was a bad parent. From the constant comments from her teacher, she probably did as well. And when he did try to ask about things at school, the blame was put on Vicky's inability to talk.

There was silence for a minute then Amy stood. “I'll see you in the morning. I have some stuff to do upstairs.”

“OK. Good night.” He leaned back heavily in the chair as she left and closed his eyes.
Well that went well. Nice one. Managed to mess that up good and proper.
He reviewed his reaction to the texts he'd received. They'd been flippant, teasing, almost flirty and those kisses? He should have known she wouldn't have sent them. It was now obvious it was Jodie, but at the time?

Get over it. Amy's a lot younger than you. You're an old man, Dane. End of.

He looked at the photo on the sideboard of him, Jas and the kids. He would die alone and probably, like his grandmother, be widowed longer than he was married in the first place. Love was what he had felt for his wife. Not his children's nanny. What he felt for her was—

He paused. He wasn't sure. He liked having her around. Liked having someone to talk to in the evenings and to be with rather than sitting alone.

OK, I admit it. There is something there. Something there shouldn't be.

Infatuation, he decided. Nothing more. Nothing that would be returned. No matter what he thought or hoped or anything else for that matter.

A loud crash echoed from the kitchen. A short cry of pain, cut off. He leapt to his feet and ran the short distance across the hall.

Amy stood by the sink, a bloody tea towel clamped over her wrist. She was shaking, her wide brown eyes staring and haunted, and more worrying than anything else, she had no color whatsoever.

 

 

 

 

 

6

 

“What happened?” Dane ran over to Amy and gently guided her to the stool.

She kept shaking. “Just being an idiot. I jumped at my own reflection and dropped a glass into the sink. It shattered and cut my wrist.”

“Let me see.” He gently lifted the tea towel and grimaced, his stomach turning. The cut was deep and gushing. He put the towel back and applied firm pressure to it, raising her arm above her head. “We need to get you to the ED, now.”

“No.” Her response was too fast for his liking. Her eyes closed and then reopened.

“Why not? This needs stitches.”

“It means waking the girls and taking them.”

“That's not a problem.”

She shook her head, abject terror written in her eyes. She shuddered hard, but that was probably from shock rather than fear. “Please, I don't like hospitals.”

The towel oozed beneath his fingers. He grabbed another one, wrapping it tightly over the first, not liking the amount of blood she was losing and the speed at which this was happening. “You need stiches.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He'd ring the doc attached to the station as police surgeon and beg a favor. If Janice couldn't come out, then he'd take Amy in, whether she liked it or not.

Janice answered the phone on the second ring. As a doctor, he imagined she was used to being on call. Something he could never do—the doctoring bit, not the being on call. First aid was his limit of medical knowledge. “Hello.”

“Hi, Janice, it's Dane. Sorry to ring so late.”

The tiredness vanished from her voice. “It's not late, not by my standards anyway. What's up? Do you need me at the station?”

“No, but I do need a favor. My kids' nanny has cut her wrist pretty badly and has a morbid fear of hospitals. I don't suppose there is any chance you could come and take a look? It'll need stitching most likely.”

“For you, sure. I'm on my way.”

 



 

Amy sat in the kitchen as Dane showed the doctor out. He seemed really friendly with her, which was good, because she didn't stand a chance with him, no matter what direction her thoughts took at times. She looked at her bandaged wrist. It had been a close call, in more ways than one. She was stupid. She'd seen a figure in the window and thought it was
him
. But it had been her reflection. It was her fault for not closing the blind when it had gotten dark. But she liked the way the solar lights lit the edge of the pond and twinkled its reflection.

She ran her fingers over the bandage. It was bloodstained already. She had to go to the doctor's in the morning and get the stiches checked and the wound redressed. She'd argued that she didn't have a GP yet, but the woman, Dr. Janice Chandler, had said she could go and see her at the end of morning surgery and wouldn't need an appointment.

She reached over and pulled the blind down over the window.

Dane came back in. “How are you doing?”

“OK,” she whispered closing her eyes. In reality, she felt cold and sick and light-headed, but if she mentioned that, he'd have her on the way to the ED and then the game would be up. He'd know who she was and send her away.

Dane's voice came from a long way off and echoed. “Amy?”

“Really tired…” she managed. “Might go to bed.” She stood to find her legs buckle underneath her.

Just before she fell, strong arms surrounded her and she was enveloped in clouds of Dane's aftershave. She leaned against his chest, hearing his heart beat in time with hers as he carried her up the stairs and into her room. He laid her on the bed and sat by her. His voice still echoed. Why was he speaking from so far away? She struggled to focus on his voice.

“I should have taken you to the ED. Maybe I still should.”

“No,” she managed. “Your friend fixed it.”

“You've lost a lot of blood.”

Blood…

A squeal of brakes and a series of three loud thuds—bumper, bonnet, and windscreen. The glass cracked, blood streaked the windscreen and the road…

Amy jumped, her heart pounding and thudding in her ears. “I didn't mean it…”

Dane's warm fingers cradled her face, pushing the hair from her eyes. “Hey, where did you go?”

“Hmmm?”

“You zoned out on me. Said you didn't mean to do it?”

Her cheeks burned. “Cut myself,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to break the glass either. I'm sorry.”

“Accidents happen. Get some sleep.”

She nodded, closing her eyes, a shaft of grief stabbing her as he moved his hand and got up. She tugged the covers around her, drifting in and out of sleep until a shadow appeared in front of her. She jerked awake to find Vicky standing by the bed, eyes wide. Amy reached out a hand for her.

Vicky backed away, screaming, and waving her arms.

Amy threw the covers back, reaching for Vicky. “It's OK, sweetie.”

Vicky kept screaming.

Dane ran into the room. “What's going on?”