The Turn of the Key(46)

The rest of the morning passed without incident. We had a quiet—even a nice—lunch on the shores of the peat-dark burn that cut through the corner of the grounds, and then afterwards the girls took off their shoes and socks and paddled in the tea-colored waters, screeching at the cold, and flicking me and Petra with ice-cold droplets that made me shriek, and Petra babble with excited glee. Only two things marred the general contentment—the first, Ellie’s shoe falling in the burn. I managed to retrieve it, but she was tearful, and sobbed when we had to go and she had to put the soggy shoe back on.

The other was the prickling of my forehead, where the creeper had brushed me. From an initial tingle, it was now properly itching, like a nettle sting, but more painful. I splashed the cold water from the burn onto it, but the itching continued, hard to ignore. Was it some kind of allergic reaction? I’d never experienced a plant allergy before, but perhaps this was something native to Scotland I would not have encountered down south. Either way, the thought of the reaction getting worse while I was alone with the children was not comforting—nor was the realization that I had left my inhaler back at the house.

All in all I was glad when the sky clouded over and I could suggest packing up and starting home. Petra fell asleep on the way back to the house, and I parked her buggy in the utility room. To my surprise, both Maddie and Ellie fell in with my suggestion of a film, and we were cuddled up in the media room, me with a growing sense of superiority, when there was a crackle and Sandra’s voice came over the speakers.

“Rowan? Is now a good time to chat?”

“Oh, hi, Sandra.” It was less unnerving the second time around but still unsettling. I found myself glancing up at the cameras, wondering how she knew which room I was in. The girls were both absorbed in the film and didn’t seem to have noticed their mother’s voice coming over the speakers. “Hang on, I’ll go through to the kitchen, so we can chat without disturbing the girls.”

“You can divert the call to your phone if that’s easier,” Sandra’s disembodied voice followed me as I eased myself out from beneath Ellie and walked through to the kitchen. “Just open the Happy app and click on the phone icon, then the divert arrow.”

I did as she said, ignoring the bloody Home is where the Happy is!, and pressed the icons she had instructed, then lifted the phone to my ear. To my relief, her voice sounded again, this time from the phone speaker.

“Done?”

“Yes, I’m on the phone now. Thanks for showing me how to do that.” If she could only have mentioned it last night rather than having that awkward conversation in front of Jack . . . but never mind. The rash on my forehead prickled, and I tried to ignore the desire to scratch it.

“No problem,” Sandra was saying briskly. “Happy is amazing when you get used to it, but I have to admit, it takes a while to figure out all the intricacies! How’s today going, anyway?”

“Oh, really good.” I perched on the edge of a stool, resisting the urge to look up at the camera in the corner. “It’s going great, thanks. We had a really good morning exploring the grounds. Petra’s asleep, and the girls are—” I hesitated, thinking of her remark yesterday, but then forged on. No point in second-guessing myself all the time, and besides, she would presumably know what the girls were up to if she had checked the cameras before calling. “The girls are watching a film. I thought you wouldn’t mind as they were out in the fresh air this morning. I think they needed some down time.”

“Mind?” Sandra gave a little laugh. “Heavens, no. I’m not one of those helicopter parents.”

“Would you like to speak to them?”

“Absolutely—it’s why I called, really. Well, and to check you were coping of course. Do you want to put Ellie on first?”

I went back through to the den and handed Ellie the phone.

“It’s Mummy.”

Her face was a little uncertain as she picked up the phone, but she broke into smiles as she heard her mother’s voice, and I went back into the kitchen, not wanting to hover too obviously, but listening with half an ear to Ellie’s end of the conversation. At some point Sandra must have asked to be put across to Maddie, for there was a short whining complaint from Ellie, and then I heard Maddie’s voice, and Ellie came padding disconsolately through to me.

“I miss Mummy.” Her bottom lip was wobbling.

“Of course you do.” I crouched down, not wanting to risk a hug that might be rejected, but trying to make myself available on her level if she wanted comforting. “And she misses you too. But we’ll have lots of—”

But my remark was cut off by Maddie, coming through with the phone held out and a strange expression in her black eyes. I was not sure what it was—a mix of trepidation and glee, it looked like.

“Mummy wants to talk to you,” she said. I took the phone.

“Rowan,” Sandra’s voice was clipped and annoyed. “What’s this I hear about you taking them into the locked garden?”

“I— Well—” I was taken aback. What the hell? Sandra hadn’t said anything about the garden being out of bounds. “Well, I did, but—”

“How dare you force your way into an area of the grounds that we expressly keep locked for the children’s safety, I can’t believe how irresponsible—”