The Babysitter(69)

Tightening his grip, Mark attempted to pull it out, but the clay seemed reluctant to part with it. Bloody hell, what was it? A two-litre bottle? He pulled harder. The package finally unsuckered itself with a squelch, causing Mark to fall back on his haunches. Retrieving the parcel from where it had landed on the floor, he eyed it curiously, wiped some of the muck from it, and then dropped it, scrambling backwards.

Jesus Christ. Mark’s heart slammed into his ribcage, his stomach turning over as his mind registered what his eyes refused to believe. The cat’s eyes were wild, wide and terrified, its fanged mouth wide open, the polythene clinging to its face.



* * *



Mark’s hand shook as he poured a whisky. Knocking it straight back, he poured another and was about to swallow that when he remembered what time it was. Shit! Poppy. Mark pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, breathing in hard and trying for some kind of composure, some equilibrium in a life that was fast careering out of control.

Attempting to pull himself together, he dumped the glass back on the table and headed for the kitchen, where he heaped coffee granules into a mug. He made it strong and black, topping it up with cold water so he could swill it down as fast as he had the whisky. How much had he had? Two fingers? Three? Mark couldn’t recall. His hands were still shaking. Badly.

He raced for the stairs, cursing the creaking floorboards on the landing as he approached the main bedroom door. He wanted to check Mel was all right, but he desperately didn’t want to wake her. He couldn’t have a conversation of any kind with her until he’d got his head around what was going on. As if he could. As if anyone other than a trained psychiatrist could make sense of any of this.

His breath hitched in his chest as he went quietly into the bedroom. Mel was on her stomach, her normal sleeping position, and not one that would normally worry him, except he couldn’t tell whether she was breathing. Going closer, Mark hesitated, and then crouched down and studied her face. Seeing the rapid eye movement behind her eyelids, he dropped his head to his hands, relief sweeping through him. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. To berate the god he wasn’t sure he believed in. A god who could do this! Why?

He needed to be at the school. He needed to take Evie with him. There was no way he could leave her here, not now. Quickly rechecking the bathroom, praying he hadn’t missed anything, Mark went into the baby’s room, talking softly to her as he gathered her warm, fragile body from the cot. Evie whimpered sleepily, but she didn’t cry. Mark was grateful for this smallest of mercies.

The tablets. He couldn’t risk leaving them. But he couldn’t empty the whole house of possible suicide tools either. What the hell was he going to do? Thinking of the long row of carving knives in the kitchen, Mark knew he couldn’t do it. Not on his own. Glancing down at Hercules, who was nervously wagging her tail, Mark closed his eyes against the stark image of the startled, petrified cat. Was it even safe to leave the dog?





Forty-Five





JADE





Jade very nearly had a heart attack as she saw Mark pulling out of his drive. Parked in the lane, her skin prickling with apprehension, she held her breath and waited. Then she closed her eyes with relief as Mark turned in the other direction. He must be running late to pick Poppy up from school, Melissa no doubt demanding his attention. As if the poor man hadn’t got enough on his plate without having to deal with his drug-addled wife’s drink problem. Jade understood why he felt he should stay – of course she did, she knew him – but surely he must realise by now that exposing his children to that kind of environment might be worse than the damage a broken home could wreak? But Mark would carry some guilt if he simply walked away from the needy cow. He couldn’t help his caring nature, which was obviously why he hadn’t sought further professional help yet. She would talk to him about it, subtly, when the time was right. Meanwhile, she had to up her game. If Mark was reluctant to do what it was blatantly obvious he should do and get her sectioned, then Jade had to make damn sure Melissa had every reason to leave him.

‘Are you sure it wouldn’t have been better to just take her in? You know, just tell him,’ Dylan asked, irritating Jade immensely. Hadn’t she already explained in great detail that Mark didn’t want the child?

Curtailing her impatience, Jade turned to him. ‘It would be too risky, Dylan,’ she said, arranging her face into a suitably sad smile. ‘He’s… unpredictable. And don’t forget, he’ll have his colleagues behind him whatever I say. Trust me, it’s better this way. She’ll be safer at my house, for now.’

‘But… Isn’t your house burned out?’ He was looking in the direction of her cottage, which was little more than a blackened shell. God, he really had been the last in the queue when they handed out brains.

‘I’ve made a nice space in the basement,’ Jade assured him. ‘I’ve got her favourite duvet and all her favourite toys. She’ll be fine.’

‘She looks a bit pale,’ Dylan said, glancing worriedly back to the girl.

Jade had to concede she definitely looked peaky, her complexion the shade of a delicate white lily. But the Calpol would help. And she’d probably feel better after a nice sleep. At least she wasn’t suffering at the hands of the bitch mother and paedophile father who’d made her short life such a misery. With any luck, she might slip off quietly, which had to be better than being stuffed in a kiln while still alive.