The Babysitter

by Sheryl Browne

  ‘What on earth was all that about with DCI Edwards?’ Melissa asked him, over the sound of wine being poured. If that was her glass, she would definitely be sleeping tonight. Like a dead thing. Jade only wished it were that easy. ‘I couldn’t believe it when he asked me to confirm that you were driving Evie around rather than driving around on your own in the dead of night.’

  Mark paused, then said, ‘You did, though, right?’

  ‘Of course,’ Melissa assured him. ‘I couldn’t remember specific nights, obviously, but I told him you were driving her around to try and get her to go off to sleep.’

  ‘Might have looked odd if you could remember specific nights,’ Mark said, sounding distracted.

  ‘So, why was he asking?’ Melissa urged him.

  Another pause, followed by a heavy sigh. ‘Cummings,’ Mark answered tightly.

  ‘Your detective sergeant?’

  ‘Unfortunately.’ Mark sounded tense now. ‘You remember we had an… er… altercation a while back?’

  ‘Oh God, yes. The womaniser. I remember you told me. You hit him.’

  ‘Not hard enough,’ Mark replied angrily, and topped up the second glass. ‘He has a penchant for younger women, outside and inside of work. Harasses female members of staff. It’s way beyond acceptable.’

  ‘But… has no one brought him to task? Reported him?’ Melissa asked, disbelieving.

  ‘Nope.’ Mark laughed sardonically. ‘Not even the girl who he was helping himself to a grope of when I clocked the bastard. Scared of losing her job. Long story short, I was reprimanded. Psychologically evaluated, not to put too fine a point on it.’

  And she didn’t know all this? Jade gawped at the kitchen door. What an uncaring, self-centred bitch.

  Melissa gasped. ‘What? Oh no…’

  ‘It was just after Jacob. My emotions were all over the place.’ Mark sighed audibly.

  ‘Precisely because you had just lost your son! They must have known that. They must have known that you wouldn’t attack someone, however emotional you were, without provocation.’

  ‘He didn’t exactly provoke me, Mel,’ Mark said, less passionately. ‘Pissed me off, severely, but in the eyes of my superiors, that wasn’t provocation.’

  ‘Idiots,’ Melissa seethed. ‘DCI Edwards is well aware of how losing Jacob affected you. He knows that you would do anything for your children, including driving endlessly around at night to try to get your baby to sleep. I honestly can’t believe someone could be so vindictive as to try to make that into anything but what it is.’

  ‘There’s more to it than just the so-called attack,’ Mark said, and then paused. ‘This is just between you and me, though. I have no evidence.’

  ‘Of?’ Melissa waited.

  ‘I saw him kerb-crawling. I’ve been keeping tabs on him. I think, but I can’t yet be certain, that he’s helped himself to drugs, possibly from various crime scenes, the evidence room maybe…’ Again, Mark paused, as if debating how much information to divulge. ‘It looks like he’s supplying those drugs to sex workers, some of them clearly underage.’

  ‘You’re joking,’ Melissa gasped, incredulous.

  ‘I wish. Bottom line is, he knows I’m on to him. I suspect he’s out to discredit me before I get enough to make sure he’s kicked off the force and, hopefully, banged up.’

  ‘So, he’s a sexual predator and a drug pusher,’ Melissa growled angrily. ‘What a disgusting individual. I can’t understand how he’s been allowed to get away with it.’

  Digesting this latest information, Jade gulped back a sudden overwhelming nausea. Hard though she tried not to, she felt it over again, the repulsion broiling in the pit of her stomach, the pain, the powerlessness of being at the mercy of such an individual, touching and pawing, salivating and thrusting and grunting. Closing her eyes, claustrophobic in the confines of the hall, she tried to block it out: the odious smell of him, body odour and beer; the look in his eyes as he studied her face, one of lust, his exhilaration fuelled by the fear of being found out, by her fear. The taste of him. She would never forget the sour, salty taste that would make her gag until she was sick.

  Sweat prickling her forehead, her heart thrumming a drumbeat in her chest, she didn’t hear the sound of Melissa’s chair scraping back. She did register the sudden silence though. Sensing body contact in there, Jade snapped her eyes open. She couldn’t allow that.

  Time to announce her presence. Taking a few steps back up the hall, she started singing. It was the same song her mother had sung to her, a mother who actually couldn’t have cared less if she’d cried. ‘Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird. And if that— Whoops! Sorry,’ she said, pretending embarrassment at finding Melissa on Mark’s lap. She was kissing him! Stuffing her tongue down his throat probably, the slut.

  Melissa shot to her feet when she saw Jade. And Mark – poor Mark – looked as if he wanted to drop through the floor. Gathering herself, Jade beamed in his direction. It wasn’t his fault, she reminded herself. He was trying to be a good husband. He would continue to try until he saw Melissa in her true light. That was simply who he was: a good man right to the core. She hadn’t needed to hear his revelations about his detective sergeant to realise that. Jade couldn’t force it. She had to handle it carefully, peel the scales from his eyes slowly. He would realise eventually that to deny his heart’s desire for a weak woman who was using him as a cash cow was a ridiculous waste of a life.

  As for this DS Cummings, who was trying to ruin Mark, Jade thought it was time the man got his comeuppance. She would make sure that Mark did get some evidence he could use against him. She couldn’t entice the man to supply her drugs, as Mark would obviously become aware of her involvement, but Jade was quite sure she could entice him to other things. Yes, using his pathetic inclination to abuse women in order to ensure his downfall was entirely feasible. She needed to make the acquaintance of the delightful Cummings, Jade decided.

  ‘No need to apologise, Jade,’ Melissa said, as Jade went to fill up the kettle. ‘We shouldn’t have been canoodling in the kitchen.’

  Canoodling? How twee. Jade tried to hide her immense irritation behind a sweet smile.

  ‘We got carried away, I’m afraid.’ Melissa smiled and yawned. And stretched, showing far too much boob over her low-cut top for Jade’s liking. Mark could hardly avoid noticing them, could he?

  ‘Why don’t you go on up and run yourself a nice hot bath,’ he suggested, averting his gaze as he got to his feet. ‘I’ll clear up down here.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Jade said, possibly a touch too enthusiastically. ‘You look absolutely exhausted,’ she added, fancying that, given the woman’s age, saying she looked tired wouldn’t go down very well. ‘I’ll give Mark a hand and then bring you up a hot chocolate.’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother, Jade,’ Melissa said. ‘It’s really sweet of you, but you’ve done far too much for one day.’

  ‘It’s no problem,’ Jade assured her, already on her way to the table to collect up the plates. ‘I’m making one for myself anyway. A good night’s sleep is what you need, isn’t it, Mark?’

  ‘Looks like it.’ Mark smiled as Melissa tried and failed to supress another yawn, and then, conceding defeat, headed sleepily for the door.

  Seventeen

  MARK

  She really was exhausted. Mark looked down at his wife, sleeping on her tummy as she usually did, her face turned towards him. Ripe for kissing. His eyes strayed to her lips, her glorious copper hair, which was splayed sexily around her. He would very much like to make slow, sensual love to her but, despite her suggestion that he do all the work, he guessed that waking her up might not be deemed pleasurable foreplay.

  Undressing quietly, Mark thanked God again for Jade, who he’d left downstairs in the lounge, making sure Hercules was well tucked up. True to her word, she’d made hot chocolate for Melissa and brought it up to her, checking on Evie and Poppy as she did. She’d practically shooed him up to b
ed when she’d found him dozing in the lounge. She really was a godsend, arriving just when they’d needed her.

  Safe in the knowledge that Jade would turn off the lights – he’d already made sure that everything was locked up, twice – Mark slipped carefully in beside Mel.

  She didn’t stir. Mark searched her face again, before turning off the bedside lamp. Not a flicker of the eyelashes. Slow, sensual lovemaking definitely wasn’t on the agenda tonight. She was dead to the world. Ah well, there was always tomorrow. Mark pulled the duvet up over her shoulders and dropped a soft kiss on her cheek, at which Mel finally did stir, wriggling onto her side and into their usual sleeping position, her back facing him, her bottom tucked well into him. Smiling, Mark wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

  He was drifting in and out of sleep himself – fitful sleep, broken by stark images of the missing little girl, curled into a ball in some cold dark place. And other images: another time, another place, another child, curled up, eyes milk-white and empty, screaming in terror from the depths of the smoke-blackened room he couldn’t reach. He desperately tried to wrench himself from the dream. Her heartbreaking sobs were growing louder… too loud. Too much to bear.

  Rolling over, Mark pulled himself upright. Blinking hard against the dark, sweat pooling at the base of his neck, he realised the cries were real. Here. Not inside his head.

  Evie?

  Scrambling out of bed, Mark checked the bedside clock and realised it was nowhere near feed time. Feeling panicked, and not sure why, he headed for the landing. He was outside the nursery door when he heard the soft lullaby: ‘Hush, little baby…’

  Jade. Mark felt his heart rate return to somewhere near normal. She’d obviously beaten him to it. A godsend. Definitely. Mark sighed, relieved, and then, remembering he was stark naked, he about-faced and headed back to the bedroom, where he found Mel still sleeping, amazingly. Normally she would wake if Evie or Poppy so much as sneezed.

  Eighteen

  MARK

  Two weeks she’d been missing. Fourteen days and cold nights and they were still no nearer to finding her. Mark studied the latest photo of Daisy: a pretty, rosy-cheeked child, similar in colouring to Poppy, she didn’t look unhappy, scared or lonely. There were no shadows haunting her smile. She was just a normal, trusting little girl. A little girl whose innocence had probably been irretrievably broken. Swallowing back the bile in his throat, trying to dismiss the images that thought evoked, Mark dragged his hands through his hair. He didn’t know why, but he was sure she was alive. The pictures that flashed through his dreams every night, elusive and wispy at first, were now so clear he could almost reach out and touch her; her fear so tangible, he could feel it. He could even smell her surroundings: mildew, damp moss, leather. Definitely a property in the countryside somewhere, but it could be anywhere. Was he being fanciful? Some might call this a hunch. Mark worried it was just wishful thinking.

  Feeling utterly jaded, he sat heavily back in his chair. So where did he go from here? Forensics had found other spatters of blood, but they were so small as to be insignificant, and possibly from the foot injury the parents had offered as explanation for the stain on the stairs. Whilst not ruling them out yet, the parents looked to have played no part in her disappearance.

  Searches were continuing locally and nationally, but Mark was running out of ideas. Unable to ignore the nagging instinct that she was still alive, he’d taken it on himself to revisit some of the neighbouring properties. Hawthorn Farm, a mile or so from his own house, was on his agenda later. The owner, a recently bereaved widow, wouldn’t welcome another intrusion into her life, but he had to do something. She had enough on her plate with the farm up for sale and a son who was amiable enough but not the brightest tool in the box. He’d once been arrested, nine years ago, according to the details on file. The charge, indecent exposure, had been dropped when a local guy had marched his fifteen-year old daughter into the station. Turned out her and her mate had decided it would be a ‘laugh’ to remove ‘drippy Dylan’s’ clothes while he’d been skinny-dipping in the river. Dylan, sixteen years old at the time, had never lived it down. Kids could most definitely be cruel sometimes. Now living in one of the small cottages on the farm, he seemed harmless, with no other misdemeanours or mishaps on his record. Impressionable, gullible, but harmless. Still, though, Mark wanted to revisit the farm in the vain hope that something had been missed.

  Sighing, he looked back to his computer. Rereading statements wasn’t likely to produce anything new, but he had to do something. Pulling up another file, Mark scrolled through it, reaching distractedly for his ringing mobile as he did.

  ‘Mark, hi, it’s me,’ Mel said, over the noise of Evie crying, which immediately made Mark tense up. Evie was now waking several times most nights and Mel seemed permanently on edge. But then… Mark tried to suppress it, but the thought popped into his head anyway… Mel hadn’t actually had to see to her at night over the two weeks since Jade had moved in. Jade’s antennae always seemed to be on red alert. He’d met her on the landing a couple of times over the last week (he’d taken to wearing boxers at night now, just in case).

  ‘Did you remember to book the table for tonight?’ Mel asked him.

  Crap. ‘No, sorry.’ Mark squeezed his eyes closed, realising he’d forgotten. They were supposed to be going out with the Chandlers to celebrate Emily’s birthday, and it had completely slipped his mind. The broken nights, coupled with his increasing nightmares, were taking their toll on him too.

  ‘Oh Mark, honestly… I thought you’d done it days ago.’ Mel sounded utterly despairing.

  ‘I’ll do it now,’ Mark promised.

  ‘Forget it. I’ll do it,’ Mel said tetchily. ‘I doubt they’ll have a table now anyway.’

  ‘Mel, I’ll do it,’ Mark assured her, concerned by her obvious agitation. He’d been trying not to worry about it, putting Mel’s irritability down to stress, but, frankly, he was alarmed. Whether or not she was getting up in the night to see to Evie, she was exhausted. She looked exhausted. And where previously Mel would have been unfazed by something like a dripping tap – grabbing the tool box, in fact, and changing the washer herself – the one that was constantly dripping in the utility was driving her mad. Mark had put it on his weekend to-do list. It was no big deal – but to Mel it obviously was. She’d looked… edgy. It was the only way to describe it. It just wasn’t like her.

  He was about to reassure her again that he would ring the restaurant and then call her straight back when Mel practically growled down the phone, ‘Oh for God’s sake, now the bloody fuse box has blown. We really need to spend some serious money on this house, Mark, or move.’ And with that, she ended the call.

  Staring askance at his mute phone for a second, Mark shook his head. Mel had chosen the house. A detached farmhouse in the peaceful countryside, but with neighbours close enough for it not to feel isolated, she’d loved it on sight, particularly the outbuilding, which was perfect for her workshop. A fantastic family home, she’d said, her glorious green eyes dancing with excitement as she’d viewed it. She’d been willing him to love it too. Mark had, but with reservations. Despite the obvious attractions – oak flooring, oak joinery, stone fireplaces and the airy feel to it, thanks to the many windows looking onto the spectacular Herefordshire countryside – it was going to need a hell of a lot of money spent on it. Even with the small trust fund Mel had been left by her mother, the renovation was going to have to be done as and when finances allowed, they’d both been aware of that. That hadn’t been a problem either. Until now, apparently.

  Mark swallowed back an uneasy feeling, wondering whether her recent behaviour might be symptomatic of something more, something he hadn’t realised she might be struggling with. She hadn’t suffered postnatal depression after having Poppy, but might she be suffering with it now? Mark had no idea. He was debating whether to suggest Mel make a doctor’s appointment, which he was loath to do, recalling how hard she’d worked to be
free of doctors and psychotic drugs after losing Jacob, but…

  ‘Hello, earth to Mark,’ Lisa said, standing next to his desk.

  ‘Sorry.’ Mark shook himself. ‘Miles away.’

  ‘I gathered. Coffee,’ she said, parking a mug next to his PC. ‘You look like shit,’ she added bluntly.

  Running a hand over his unshaven cheek, Mark straightened himself up in his chair. He guessed he did, which wouldn’t go down well with Edwards. ‘Cheers, Lisa,’ he said, then feeling in need of a caffeine kick, picked up his coffee. ‘You do my ego the world of good.’

  ‘I’m thinking a decent night’s sleep might do you more good.’ Lisa cocked her head to one side, studying him thoughtfully. ‘I take it Evie’s disturbing your beauty sleep? Not that you need much beauty sleep, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Mark concurred, his mouth twitching into a smile. ‘Her routine’s gone to pot,’ he confided, glad, not for the first time, that he could talk to Lisa. It made life a whole lot easier at work, particularly now Cummings was back after his sudden mystery illness. It had been no surprise to Mark he’d gone off sick, probably hoping to avoid a confrontation with him. Mark’s anger boiled afresh as he recalled his treatment of Tanya Stevens.

  Rolling her eyes, Lisa empathised. ‘Babies.’ She sighed expansively. ‘If anyone had told me what I was in for, I’d never have had sex.’

  ‘Still, at least it was only the twice, hey, Moyes? Brave bloke,’ Cummings commented crassly, winking over his shoulder as he swung by towards the coffee machine.

  Lisa settled for giving him a finger rather than verbalising her thoughts. ‘I take it you’ve tried all the usual tricks?’ she asked Mark. ‘White noise, temperature, lighting, varying the rocking, breathing deeply if none of the above work?’