The Babysitter: A gripping psychological thriller with edge-of-your-seat suspense

by Sheryl Browne

  Mark shook his head. ‘I could think of a few.’

  ‘And modest with it. Be still my beating heart.’ Lisa fluttered her eyelashes theatrically. ‘Well, you know what they say, practice makes perfect and all that. It’ll happen,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder as one of the first attending officers approached from the house. ‘Probably when you least expect it. Keep it up, Detective.’

  Mark’s mouth twitched into a smile as she gave him a thumbs up and turned to liaise with the uniform. Praying it would happen, for both of their sakes, Mark pulled in a sigh and turned his attention back to the task of setting up the perimeter.

  ‘I’m heading back in,’ Lisa said. ‘They’re removing the bodies.’

  Turning back, Mark arched an eyebrow, surprised she was so keen. He was all for facing fears head on – his biggest fear in his young life had been his own father, until he’d plucked up enough courage to confront him – but Lisa had been visibly upset in there. ‘You sure?’ he asked her. ‘You can always take over out here while I go in.’

  Lisa nodded resolutely. ‘I’d like to be with her. Make sure she’s all right, if that makes any sense.’

  ‘Perfect sense.’ Mark smiled, understanding. It was pointless, the little girl was dead, but making sure she was treated gently might possibly lay a ghost for Lisa.

  Gesturing her on, Mark made his way around the side of the house to liaise with the officers out back, plucking his ringing mobile from his pocket as he went. It would be DCI Edwards calling, he assumed, wanting a progress report – i.e., checking up on him, after his psych report had labelled him borderline fit for work. Yes, he’d lost it with Cummings, and flooring a fellow officer hadn’t been the proudest moment of his life, but the bastard had deserved it. And, yes, he might have been ‘borderline’ at the time – his emotional state hadn’t been great after the funeral – but he was fit for work now.

  But when he looked at the screen, it wasn’t Edwards. ‘Mel? What’s wrong?’ he asked, a knot of apprehension tightening inside him.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Mel assured him. ‘Does there have to be something wrong for a wife to call her husband?’

  Mark glanced at his watch. ‘It’s six in the morning.’

  ‘Nooo, really?’ Mel said, in mock surprise. ‘Funnily enough, that’s exactly what I thought when I groped for your body and came up empty-handed.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Mark apologised distractedly, his attention drawn by activity further down the garden. ‘I didn’t want to wake you. I had a call-out. I left a note by the kettle.’

  ‘I haven’t been down yet. I was too busy lying in bed contemplating the thin blue line.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Mark said again, his attention now definitely elsewhere.

  ‘Thin – blue – line,’ Mel repeated slowly. ‘Work it out, Detective.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, actually, I have blue lines and pink lines and… I’d say you’ve done a very thorough job, DI Cain.’

  Not sure he was hearing her right, Mark stopped walking. Was she saying… Jesus. Conflicting emotions assailed him, and he dragged a hand through his hair. He wanted to whoop and cry at the same time, to sound jubilant, for Mel’s sake, but how could he? Here? Now? ‘Mel, I’m going to have to call you back,’ he said, his throat tight. ‘I—’

  ‘Mark?’ Mel cut incredulously across him. ‘Did you hear what I just said?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did. It’s… I can’t talk now, Mel,’ he said, kneading his forehead in frustration as two officers walked someone towards him. ‘I…’

  ‘Oh.’ Now she sounded deflated. Bitterly disappointed.

  ‘It’s a house fire,’ Mark explained quickly. ‘A family. There’ve been fatalities. I have to—’

  ‘Oh no.’ Mel obviously realised his circumstances immediately. ‘Go,’ she urged him, as the officers, plus charge, stopped in front of him. ‘Call me back when you can.’

  ‘I will,’ Mark promised gruffly, realising the absolute impossibility of remaining detached as he looked into the tearful, terrified eyes of another child. A child they’d been unaware of and had obviously missed in the pandemonium. Still dressed in her unicorn-print pyjamas, she was shaking from head to foot. Her cheeks, smeared in crap from the fire, were tear-stained, her cognac-coloured eyes wide and utterly petrified.

  ‘Shit,’ Mark uttered under his breath. ‘Where was she?’ he addressed one of the officers.

  ‘Hiding out in the bushes,’ he said, nodding at the trees behind him.

  ‘Looks like she didn’t want to be found,’ the second officer observed.

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ His heart constricting for the girl, Mark looked back at her, unsure what to say, what to do that could possibly help. There was no way she would have even begun to process the enormity of what had happened. Nor would she for a long time to come – if ever.

  ‘All right if we leave her with you, sir?’ the first officer asked. ‘There’s some debris needs shifting on the landing.’

  Mark nodded. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Get another ambulance here pronto and alert DS Moyes on your way, will you?’ he added, as the officers skirted around him. Apart from the fact that he hadn’t got a clue how to handle this, protocol dictated he should have a female police officer present.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, turning to the girl and trying to sound as reassuring as possible. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Cain.’ The girl peered at him through a straggle of mousey hair. ‘Mark for short,’ he added. ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘G… Grace.’

  ‘Grace. That’s a nice name.’ Mark smiled again, wishing he could do more than just stand there. ‘Do you live here, Grace?’ he enquired gently.

  The girl glanced past him, nodded, and then hastily dropped her gaze.

  Nice going. Despairing of his ineptitude in such a situation, Mark sighed inwardly, and then, removing his jacket, crouched down to her level.

  She flinched as he moved towards her, her expression one of alarm, he noted.

  ‘To keep you warm,’ he said. ‘You’re shaking fit to break something loose.’ Again, he smiled and prayed he wasn’t doing anything to add to her terror and confusion.

  The palpable fear in her eyes diminished a little as he wrapped the jacket around her, making sure to hold her gaze as he did. ‘Can you tell me what happened, Grace?’ he asked softly, pulling it close at the neck.

  Warily, she searched his eyes. Her own were wide and dark, Mark noticed, as she glanced at the house and then back to him.

  ‘I was asleep,’ she said, her gaze flicking guiltily away for a second. No surprise there. Skinny under her pyjamas, her demeanour that of a frightened five-year-old, she looked around twelve, thirteen maybe. Too young to have to deal with this, but old enough, he guessed, to have realised her family had possibly perished. ‘But something scared me,’ she said. ‘A crash.’

  ‘Like breaking glass?’ Carefully, Mark probed a little further.

  She nodded, then, gulping in a breath, dragged a sleeve under her nose.

  A break-in, Mark wondered, or a window popping? The latter, he suspected.

  ‘I smelled smoke,’ she said, swiping at her nose again. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I shouted and screamed but no one came. I tried to get to out, but I couldn’t, and I got scared and—’

  ‘Hey, hey, slow down,’ Mark urged her, as the words tumbled from her mouth in a garbled, hiccupping rush.

  ‘I didn’t know what to do,’ she repeated, choking back a sob. ‘I was going to wake Mummy and Daddy, but… but…’

  ‘Was there smoke on the landing, Grace?’

  ‘Yes,’ she sobbed. ‘And fire. I couldn’t get past it. I couldn’t get through it. I didn’t know what to do.’

  So she ran. What else was there to do but fucking burn, Mark thought furiously.

  ‘I left them,’ she said, the sheer anguish in her voice cutting him to the core.

  ‘You had no choice,’ he told her firmly.

  ‘My sister. She
was screaming. I couldn’t save her.’ It came out little more than a whisper.

  Useless. Feeling powerless as the girl’s gaze hit the ground again, Mark ran a hand over his neck. Stuff protocol, he thought, getting to his feet, as she began to cry in earnest. It wasn’t a criminal offence to hold a child while she broke her bloody heart, was it? Briefly, he hesitated, and then reached out to wrap an arm around her as another sob escaped her throat.

  The girl, obviously in need of physical contact, moved towards him in an instant, her arms around him, her face pressed hard into his torso. Fresh, heart-wrenching sobs now wracking her frail shoulders, and Mark tried to soothe her, stroking her hair, offering her banal words of comfort.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, Grace,’ he said throatily, but she only cried harder.

  She was glued to him like a limpet when Lisa appeared, running towards them, to Mark’s huge relief.

  ‘The ambulance has arrived,’ she said, casting Mark a warning glance as she slowed her run to a walk.

  Reading the look, Mark shrugged helplessly. Lisa was right, of course. This definitely wouldn’t be listed as appropriate behaviour in the child protection and safeguard manual, but what else was he supposed to have done? ‘Grace,’ he said softly, ‘you need to go with Lisa now. Just to the hospital,’ he added quickly, as her startled gaze shot to his. ‘I’ll be in trouble with my superior officers if I don’t ensure you get adequate medical attention.’

  Again, the girl scanned his eyes, a new fear in her own.

  ‘It will be all right, Grace.’ Mark tried to reassure her, his heart sinking as he realised it was utter bullshit. Things wouldn’t be all right for this child ever again. How could they be? ‘I’ll check up on you as soon as I can, okay?’

  ‘Promise?’ she asked uncertainly.

  It meant he would get back home later than he wanted to, but… ‘Promise.’

  She seemed to accept that, giving him a small nod. ‘I’m frightened,’ she said tremulously, causing Mark’s heart to constrict afresh.

  ‘Don’t be,’ he said, making sure to hold her gaze now. ‘You can always contact me if you need to, Grace. I’ll always be there if you need someone to talk to or to protect you. That’s an absolute promise.’

  One

  MELISSA

  PRESENT

  ‘Mark!’ Hoisting their six-week-old baby girl higher in the crook of her arm whilst simultaneously hanging onto their wriggling seven-year-old, Melissa called frantically after her husband, who’d set off at a run towards the burned-out cottage diagonally opposite their own. The fire was doused now, fire officers wearily reeling in hoses, but it couldn’t be safe to go near the property yet.

  ‘Mark, come back!’ she shouted, and he hesitated for a split second, obviously debating his options before deciding on access to the back of the cottage via the garden gate. And then he was off, the distressed mewl of a cat driving him to instinctively react, as he tended to.

  Oh God, what was he doing? Melissa held her breath as he scaled the back gate and disappeared over it, then her heart lurched violently in her chest as their daughter tore her hand from her own and made a determined dash to go after him. ‘Poppy!’ she screamed.

  ‘It’s all right. I’ve got her.’ Moving faster than Melissa, their neighbour, the owner of the property that had caught fire in the night, went after her, sweeping Poppy up into her arms.

  The fire officers had cordoned off the lane, and Melissa would have caught her before she’d gone far, but even so… Her world had gone off kilter for a nauseating few seconds. ‘Thank you.’ Her heart rate returning to somewhere near normal, Melissa smiled gratefully at the woman as she walked back towards her. She’d moved in just before Evie had been born. Melissa had meant to pop over and see her, but then, with a new baby to care for and her business beginning to take off, providing she could fulfil her orders, she hadn’t managed to make time. She should have. She was clearly the kind of person you would hope to have as a neighbour.

  * * *

  ‘I want to go with Daddy,’ Poppy whimpered, kneading her eyes tiredly with her knuckles. ‘I’m frightened.’

  ‘He’ll be back in a minute, sweetheart,’ the woman assured her, gently coaxing her hand from her face. ‘I think he knows how terribly frightened my cat is, too, so he’s gone to try and rescue her. He’s a very brave man, isn’t he?’

  Poppy surveyed the woman uncertainly for a second, then she sniffled and nodded over the thumb she’d plugged into her mouth. ‘He’s a policeman,’ she said shyly.

  ‘Is he?’ The woman widened her eyes, looking impressed for Poppy’s sake. ‘Well, he’s a very brave policeman indeed. I think he should have a medal, don’t you?’

  Poppy nodded happily at that. ‘Yes,’ she said, settling more easily into the woman’s arms.

  ‘I’ll hold onto her, shall I?’ The woman smiled and nodded towards Melissa’s bundle. ‘You seem to have your hands full.’

  Melissa followed her gaze, down to the content little miracle in her arms, who, amazingly, had slept through the cacophony of noise around them. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, looking back to the woman, who was actually not much more than a girl in her early twenties at most. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked her worriedly. Just a few short hours ago, Mark, having noticed the ominous orange glow through their bedroom window, had raced outside to find Monk’s Cottage thoroughly on fire and her sobbing in the lane.

  ‘Well, you know.’ Managing a tremulous smile, she shrugged. ‘I suppose there’s always a bright side. At least I’m alive.’

  ‘Mummy, when’s Daddy coming back?’ Poppy asked, as Melissa pondered the stupidity of her question. Of course she wouldn’t be all right, what with all her earthly possessions gone up in flames.

  ‘Soon, sweetie,’ Melissa promised, glancing from her daughter’s huge chocolate-brown eyes, which were so like her father’s, every emotion dancing therein, and then back towards the smoke-blackened cottage, praying that Mark hadn’t gone into the building. No, surely not. Distressed cat or not, he would be well aware of the dangers. Nevertheless, Melissa’s apprehension grew as she watched one of the fire officers heading that way after him.

  ‘I don’t know your name,’ the woman said, chatting to Poppy, trying to distract her. Melissa was grateful.

  ‘Poppy… What’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Jade. And I think your Daddy will be out very soon. Do you know how I know?’

  Poppy furrowed her brow over the thumb she still had wedged in her mouth. ‘How?’

  ‘Listen.’ Jade cocked an ear. ‘What do you hear?’

  Poppy tilted her head to one side, the little furrow in her brow deepening as she concentrated. Then, ‘The cat’s stopped meowing,’ she said delightedly.

  ‘That’s right. Which probably means your daddy’s found her, which means your daddy’s a hero.’

  ‘He is.’ Poppy nodded importantly. ‘He catches all the baddies and puts them in prison so we can all be safe.’

  ‘I bet he does.’ Jade exchanged a knowing glance with Melissa. ‘I bet he rescues all sorts of animals and people from all sorts of dangers, too.’

  ‘He does. And he shoos the scary bug monster from under my bed,’ Poppy informed her, her little face earnest. ‘I’m going to be a policeman when I grow up, aren’t I, Mummy?’

  ‘That’s right, sweetie.’ Melissa smiled distractedly, her gaze still fixed on the gate.

  ‘Daddy’s going to teach me, isn’t—’

  ‘Oh, thank God.’ Melissa blew out a sigh of relief as her husband finally reappeared, nursing the cat, which appeared to be subdued, miraculously. No doubt Mark had worked a little bit of his magic on it. The man was as soft as a brush when it came to animals and children. Melissa had no idea how he did the job he did, witnessing such despicable acts of cruelty sometimes, things that really could make a grown man cry. Mind you, she arranged her face into a suitably annoyed expression as he neared her.

  Obviously sensing he might be in
the doghouse, Mark did his usual trick, disarming her with that sheepish and far too winning smile of his, the look in his soulful brown eyes somewhere between contrite and teasing. DI Mark Cain obviously knew her too well, confident she would forgive him his sins – because she loved him, irrevocably. He was her rock, there for her when she’d been lost, gently helping her find the will to go on when depression had been a dark, cloying blanket threatening to suffocate her. She hadn’t wanted to go on after losing Jacob. Wouldn’t have, if not for Mark, whose heart had been quietly breaking too. Mark had loved their little baby boy, who’d been so outwardly perfect, but whose tiny lungs couldn’t function independently. It had been there in his all-telling eyes. He’d so wanted the family she couldn’t give him. The normal functional family that, with his awful, abusive childhood, he’d never had. He’d never made her feel inadequate, not with a look, not with a gesture, but she had felt inadequate. Especially after the miscarriages.

  Mark had his flaws, a tendency to withdraw when he was immersed in some horrendous case, seemingly moody to those who didn’t know the caring man underneath, but from the first time she’d met him, forcing herself to report her previous boyfriend, a manipulative excuse of a man who’d eventually shown his true colours and hit her, she’d known Mark was one of the good guys. He’d handled the case sensitively, checked up on her afterwards, become her white knight. He’d been a catch. This much Melissa knew, because, having told him that much once, Mark had never missed an opportunity to remind her he was. He didn’t do a bad back massage either, she reminded herself, unable to stop her mouth curving into a reciprocal smile as he stopped in front of them.

  ‘He’s got her! He’s got her!’ Poppy exclaimed, bouncing excitedly in Jade’s arms. ‘Daddy! You’re a hero!’ She extended her own small arms, obviously wanting to latch herself onto him, inconsiderate of the poor cat.

  ‘Definitely a hero,’ Jade agreed emotionally, her eyes filling up as she stepped towards him. Blue eyes, Melissa noticed – striking ice-blue. The sort of eyes you couldn’t fail to be mesmerised by.