The Turn of the Key

I became suddenly aware that Jack was watching me, his arms folded across his very naked chest. I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the glass wall of the kitchen—braless in my skimpy top, with my face still pillow-crumpled, and my hair like I’d been dragged through a bush backwards—so far from the neat, buttoned-up professional image I tried to project during the day that the contrast was laughable. I felt my cheeks grow hot.

“God, I’m so sorry Jack. You didn’t have to—” I ground to a halt.

He looked down at himself in turn, seeming to realize his own state of half dress, and gave an awkward laugh, a flush of red staining his cheekbones.

“I should have put something on. I thought you were all being murdered in your beds, so I didn’t really stop to dress . . . Listen, you get the girls to sleep, I’ll put a shirt on, settle the dogs, and then I’ll run some antivirus software on the app.”

“You don’t have to do that tonight,” I protested, but he shook his head.

“No, I want to. I can’t for the life of me see why it’s playing up, and I’ll not have you all out of your beds a second time in one night. But you don’t need to wait up for me. I can lock up after myself. Or I can sleep here if you’re worried.” He gestured to the couch. “I can bring over a blanket.”

“No!” It came out sharper and more emphatic than I had meant, and I struggled to cover my overreaction. “No, I mean . . . you don’t have to do that. Honestly. I’ll—”

Shut up, you stupid girl.

I swallowed.

“I’ll get the girls to bed, and come back down. I won’t be long.”

At least, I hoped I wouldn’t. Petra was looking worryingly wide awake.

*

It was maybe an hour later, after I’d tucked the girls back into bed for the second time that night, and soothed Petra into a state of not quite sleeping but at least almost there, that I made my way back down to the kitchen. I was half expecting Jack to have packed up and gone, but he was waiting for me, a checked flannel shirt on this time, and a cup of tea in his hand.

“Do you want one?” he asked. For a minute I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, then he raised his cup, and I shook my head.

“No, thanks. I won’t sleep if I have anything caffeinated now.”

“Fair enough. Are you okay?”

I don’t know why it was that simple question that did it. Maybe it was the genuine concern in his voice, or the enormous relief of being with another adult after so many hours spent alone with the children. Maybe it was just the shock of what happened, finally setting in. But I burst into tears.

“Hey.” He stood awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets and then taking them out again, and then, as if making up his mind, he crossed the kitchen quickly and put an arm around me. I turned—I couldn’t help it—and buried my face against his shoulder, feeling my whole body shake with the sobs. “Hey, hey there . . . ,” he said again, but this time his voice came to me through his chest wall, deeper and softer, and somehow slower. His hand hovered above my shoulder, and then settled, very gently, on my hair. “Rowan, it’s going to be okay.”

It was that one word, Rowan, that brought me back to my senses, reminded me of who I was, and who he was, and what I was doing here. I gulped furiously and took a step back, wiping my eyes on my sleeve.

“Oh my God, Jack, I’m so s-sorry.”

My voice was still shaky and rough from crying, and he put out his hand. For a minute I thought he was going to touch my cheek, and I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to pull away, or lean into his caress. Then I realized—he was offering me a tissue. I took it and blew my nose.

“God,” I managed at last, and then I moved across to the kitchen sofa and sat down, feeling my legs about to give way. “Jack, you must think I’m a complete idiot.”

“I think you’re a woman who’s had a bad scare and was keeping it together for the bairns. And I also think—”

He stopped, biting his lip at that. I frowned.

“What?”

“No, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Suddenly I wanted him to say whatever it was he had been about to say very badly indeed, even though I was more than a little afraid of what it might be. “Tell me,” I pressed, and he sighed.

“I shouldn’t say it. I don’t bad-mouth my employers.”

Oh. So not what I had been half fearing then. Now I was just plain curious.

“But?”

“But . . .” He broke off, chewing his lip, and then seemed to make up his mind. “Ah, fuck it. I’ve said too much already. I think that Sandra and Bill should never have put you in this position. It’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on the children, if it comes to that.”

Oh.

Now it was my turn to feel awkward. What could I say to that?

“I knew what I signed up for,” I said at last.

“Aye, but did you?” He sat down beside me, making the sofa cushions squeak. “I bet they weren’t one hundred percent honest about yon one, eh?”

“Who, Maddie?”

He nodded, and I sighed.

“Okay, no, you’re right, they weren’t. Or not totally. But I’m a childcare professional, Jack. It’s nothing I haven’t encountered before.”