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“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 excellent. 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.

By the time she returned to the girls, Vicky had finished. Over the whole top of the picture was a pair of red slanted eyes, with evil eyebrows. Lots of black lines surrounded it. Amy shuddered at the sheer evil that seemed to emanate from it.

Amy pointed to the bigger of the two figures. “Is that you?”

Vicky shook her head.

“Someone from school, then?”

She shrugged.

Amy tried again, this time tapping the eyes looking down on the figures. “And this?”

Vicky pushed the chair back and ran from the room. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and her bedroom door slammed shut.

Amy looked at Jodie. “Any ideas?”

Jodie shrugged. “Maybe it's the bogeyman.”

“You know he isn't real.”

“He killed Mum.”

Amy shook her head. “No. A bad man killed your mum and he's now locked up, right?”

“Dad says he won't ever get out. He killed a lot of people. The Prime Minister, too. And he tried to kill Auntie Adeline. Uncle Nate and Dad saved her just in time.”