The Babysitter(67)

‘Don’t worry.’ Jade pressed a kiss to his cheek, though with Dylan’s sweat glands in overdrive and that faceless old hag staring up at her, she actually felt like vomiting. ‘I’ll help you, I promise.’

By which she meant she would offer moral support. Jade had no intention of getting her hands dirty. She was meeting the delightful DS Cummings tonight. And, as much as the thought of being anywhere near him made her skin crawl, she intended to look her provocatively enticing best.



* * *



‘We have to go, Dylan,’ Jade said gently an hour or so later, watching him sobbing in earnest, chest heaving and huge round shoulders shaking as he looked down at his poor soon-to-be-deceased mother.

Realising he’d be there for the foreseeable future if she didn’t hurry him up, Jade stifled a despairing sigh and attempted to comfort him. Placing a hand on his arm, she rubbed it gently, sending goose pimples up her own – and not in a good way. ‘Come on, my love,’ she coaxed, encouraging him away. ‘We need to move Daisy. Your mum’s at rest now.’

‘Do you think she’s happy?’ Dylan looked at her beseechingly.

Delirious, I should think. Jade really had to work at keeping her face straight. ‘Of course she is. She’s with your dad now, isn’t she? Her heart won’t be hurting any more, Dylan. She won’t be in pain.’

Appeased, Dylan nodded slowly. ‘Bye, Mum,’ he said gruffly, running a hand under his nose and finally turning away. Thank God, Jade thought, taking his hand as they walked back towards the cottage. They needed to get a move on if they were going to get this done while Mark was collecting Poppy from school. Melissa shouldn’t be a problem. She’d dosed her up with enough drugs to knock out a horse.





Forty-Three





MELISSA





Mel was lying down when Mark finally came into the bedroom. She didn’t want to be. She’d tried so hard to get up, to get dressed. But with the room spinning around her, she’d made it halfway to the bathroom before giving up and crawling back to bed.

‘Mark?’ Mel struggled to sit up. She was desperately trying to piece the events of the last few weeks together, trying to work out how in God’s name she ended up here, but everything was fragmented, disjointed. She couldn’t seem to separate dream from reality any more, memories slipping away from her like wisps of smoke on the air.

Easing her legs over the edge of the bed, Mel summoned up what little energy she had and heaved herself to her feet. Taking a step, she stumbled, and her heart, already heavy with guilt and confusion, plummeted like a lead weight in her chest. Mark didn’t move to help her, as he would have done a short time ago. His face white, his expression inscrutable, he stayed where he was by the door, watching. Waiting? For her to fall? Mel swallowed hard.

‘Here,’ he said, walking across the room after a second, during which time Mel had sunk heavily back down on the bed. ‘If you need it so badly, take it.’

Stopping in front of her, he lifted his hand and tossed a bottle onto the duvet.

Vodka? Mel glanced at it, bewildered. ‘I don’t…’ She drew her gaze back to his. ‘We don’t drink vodka.’

‘Apparently one of us does,’ Mark said, scanning her eyes, his own dark, thunderously dark, and… accusing?

She blinked at him, stupefied for a second, before the disturbing realisation dawned. ‘You think it’s mine?’ she asked, incredulous.

‘It was in the cupboard under the sink. I sure as hell didn’t put it there,’ Mark said coolly. ‘So, tell me, Mel, who else might have?’

Mel stared at him, stunned. He didn’t really think…? No, surely not. She never drank vodka. She didn’t even like the stuff. ‘It’s not mine. Whoever put it there, it wasn’t me.’

Mark held her gaze. Apart from a telltale tic in his cheek, his expression didn’t flinch. ‘Right,’ he said, shortly, and turned away.

‘Mark! I didn’t. It’s not mine!’ Mel sounded desperate, even to herself.

Mark stopped.

‘It’s not, Mark. I swear it’s not.’

Mark pushed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders tensing.

‘Why would I put it there?’ Mel implored him. ‘Why would I do that, and then tell you the sink’s blocked? Why would I do that, Mark?’

Mark shrugged. ‘Because you forgot you’d put it there?’

‘It’s not mine!’ Mel screamed it.

Mark whirled around. ‘So, who did put it there then, Mel?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Hey? Jade? Poppy? Evie?’

Mel shook her head, confused and scared – by the tone of his voice as much as the nightmare her life had become. She was losing him. He was pulling away from her. Second by second, right there in front of her, he was pulling away. And there was nothing she could do about it.

‘Hercules?’ Mark shouted when she didn’t answer, causing her to jump. ‘The fucking fairies?’

Mel bit back her tears. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. Her heart twisted painfully, because, truthfully, she knew he wouldn’t come to her now if she did. ‘I… I don’t know,’ she stuttered, desperately scrambling through her dysfunctional brain, acknowledging, not wanting to acknowledge, that there was only one person it could be. ‘Jade,’ she whispered finally. ‘It must have been Jade.’