The Turn of the Key(38)

“Well . . . ,” Jack said, rather slowly. He reached out one of his big, work-roughened hands—the nails still a little gray with oil in spite of what must have been repeated scrubbing—and picked up the baby monitor I had laid down on the table, turning it thoughtfully. “Well . . . I wouldn’t say—”

But whatever he had been about to say was cut short by a loud, rather peremptory voice saying, “Rowan?”

Jack broke off, but I jumped so hard I bit my tongue and swung round, looking wildly for the source of the voice. It was that of an adult female, not one of the children, and it was very human, quite distinct from the robotic drone of the Happy app. Was someone in the house?

“Rowan,” the voice repeated, “are you there?”

“He-hello?” I managed.

“Ah, hi, Rowan! It’s Sandra.”

With a rush of mingled relief and fury, I realized—the voice was coming out of the speakers. Sandra had somehow dialed in to the house system and was using the app to talk to us. The sense of intrusion was indescribable. Why the hell couldn’t she have just phoned?

“Sandra.” I swallowed back my anger, trying to restore my voice to the cheerful, upbeat tone I’d mastered at the interview. “Hi. Gosh, how are you?”

“Good!” Her voice echoed around the kitchen, magnified by the surround-sound system, bouncing off the high glass ceiling. “Tired! But more to the point, how are you? How’s everything on the home front?”

I felt my eyes flicker to Jack, sitting at the table, thinking of how he had been the one to get Petra down. Had Sandra seen? Should I say something? I willed him not to cut in, and he didn’t.

“Well . . . calm, right now,” I said at last. “They’re all in bed and safely asleep. Though I have to admit, Petra was a bit of a struggle. She went down like a lamb at lunchtime but maybe I let her sleep too long, I don’t know. She was really hard to get down this evening.”

“But she’s asleep now? Well done.”

“Yes, she’s asleep now. And the other two went down quiet as mice.”

Scared, defensive, angry mice—but they had at least been quiet. And they were asleep.

“I let them have supper in their room as they seemed really tired. I hope that was okay.”

“Fine, fine,” Sandra said, as though dismissing the question. “And they behaved okay the rest of the day?”

“They—” I pursed my lips, wondering how truthful to be. “They were a bit upset after you left, to be honest, especially Ellie. But they calmed down in the afternoon. I offered to let them watch Frozen, but they didn’t want to. They ended up playing in their room.” Well, that part was true enough. The problem was that they hadn’t come out of their room. “Listen, Sandra, are there rules about the grounds?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, are they really allowed to just roam around, or should I be keeping them in? I know you and Bill are relaxed about it, but there’s that pond—I’m just—it’s making me a bit nervous.”

“Oh that,” Sandra said. She laughed, the sound echoing around the space in a way that made me wish I knew how to control the volume on the speakers. “It’s barely six inches deep. Honestly, it’s the reason Bill and I bought a place with big grounds, to give the children a bit of freedom to run wild. You don’t need to helicopter them every second. They know they’re not allowed to do anything silly.”

“I—I’m—” I stopped, struggling with how to put my concerns without sounding like I was criticizing her parenting. I was horribly conscious of Jack sitting across the table from me, his eyes politely averted, trying to pretend he wasn’t listening. “Look, you know them better than I do, of course, Sandra, and if you’re happy that they’re okay with that I’ll take your word on it, but I’m just—I’m used to a closer level of supervision, if you know what I mean. Particularly around water. I know the water isn’t that deep, but the mud—”

“Well, look,” Sandra said. She sounded a little defensive now, and I cursed myself. I had tried so hard not to sound critical . . . “Look, you must use your common sense, of course you must. If you see them doing something stupid, step in. It’s your job to supervise them, that goes without saying. But I don’t see the point of having children stuck in front of the TV all afternoon when there’s a big beautiful sunny garden outside.”

I was taken aback. Was this a dig about the fact that I had tried to bribe them with a film?

There was a long, uncomfortable pause while I tried to figure out what to say. I wanted to snap the truth—the fact that it was impossible for one person to adequately supervise a five-year-old, an eight-year-old, and a baby who could barely toddle when they were scattered across several acres of wooded grounds. But I had a feeling that doing so would get me fired. It was plain that Sandra didn’t want to discuss the risks involved in letting the girls roam.

“Well,” I said at last. “I totally take that point, Sandra, and obviously I’m very keen to take advantage of the beautiful grounds for myself as well. I’ll—” I stopped, groping for what to say. “I’ll use my common sense, as you suggest. Anyway, we had a pretty good day, considering, and the girls seem—they seem to have settled well. Would you like me to check in with you tomorrow?”