And now . . . four more days added onto my term. And not just with the little ones, but with Rhiannon too. How did I feel about that?

The idea of having someone else in the house was undeniably comforting. There was something absurd about the memory of those slow, measured footsteps, but even in daylight, I could feel the hairs beginning to rise up on my arms as I recalled lying there, listening to them pacing back and forth. Having someone, even a stroppy fourteen-year-old, in the next bedroom would definitely take the edge off.

But as I started up the Tesla, the image that flashed through my head was a different one—that scarlet scrawl across the bedroom door: FUCK OFF, KEEP OUT OR YOU DIE. There was something there. Something very close to Maddie’s furious, wordless anger.

Perhaps, whatever it was, I would be able to get to the bottom of it with Rhiannon.

The school run back to Heatherbrae took longer than the previous morning, because there was a van on the road ahead of me. I followed it slowly from Carn Bridge, tapping gingerly at the accelerator, sure that it would turn off at every junction we came to, but inexplicably it seemed to be going the same way, even as the road narrowed and grew more rural. It was with some relief that I realized we were nearly at the turn off to Heatherbrae House, and I was just about to signal left when the van signaled too, and drew up over the drive, forcing me to stamp on the brakes.

As I waited, the Tesla silently idling, the passenger door opened and a girl jumped out, a rucksack on her shoulder. She said something to the driver, and the back door of the van popped open. She dragged a huge case out, thumping it carelessly onto the gravel, and then slammed the door and stepped back as the driver pulled away from the curb. I was just about to lean out and ask her who she was and what she was doing in the middle of nowhere when she pulled her phone out of her pocket and held it up to the proximity sensor of the gates, and they swung open.

It couldn’t be Rhiannon, surely—she wasn’t due back until the afternoon, and that disreputable van certainly didn’t look like it belonged to anyone’s mother. Was it someone who worked here? But in that case, why the huge trunk?

I waited a few minutes for her to clear the gates, and then pressed on the accelerator. The Tesla slid smoothly up the drive, behind the girl, who turned, with a look of surprise on her face. However, instead of moving out of the way she stood her ground, hands on her hips, and the huge case at her feet. I braked again, feeling the gravel scrunch beneath the tires, and wound down the window.

“Can I help you?”

“I should be the one asking you that,” the girl said. She had long blond hair, and a clipped expensive accent, without a trace of Scots in it. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my parents’ car?”

So it was Rhiannon.

“Oh, hello, you must be Rhiannon. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you back for another few hours. I’m Rowan.”

The girl was still looking at me blankly, and I added, beginning to feel a little impatient, “The new nanny? I thought your mum told you.”

It seemed stupid to be carrying on this conversation through a car window, so I put the car into park and got out, holding out my hand.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry not to be expecting you, your mum said you wouldn’t be here until twelve.”

“Rowan? But you’re—” the girl began, a furrow between her narrow brows; then something cleared and she shook her head. There was a smile on her lips, and it was not a very nice one. “Never mind.”

“I’m what?” I dropped my hand.

“I said, never mind,” Rhiannon said. “And don’t pay any attention to what my mum told you, she hasn’t got a fucking clue which way is up. As you may have already realized.” She looked me up and down, and then said, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“What?”

“Give me a hand with my case.”

I was getting more and more irritated, but there was no point in starting off on the wrong foot, so I swallowed my anger and wheeled the case around to the back of the Tesla. It was even heavier than it looked. Rhiannon didn’t wait for me to load it up, but climbed into the back seat, beside Petra.

“Hello, brat,” she said, though there was an undertone of affection in her voice that had been notably absent when she spoke to me. And then, to me, as I slid into the driver’s seat, “Well, let’s not sit here all day admiring the view.”

I gritted my teeth, swallowed my pride, and pressed down so hard on the accelerator that gravel spat from behind the wheels as we began to move up the drive towards Heatherbrae House.

*

Inside the house Rhiannon stalked into the kitchen, leaving me to unload both Petra and the huge heavy trunk. When I finally made it inside, Petra in tow, I saw that Rhiannon had already installed herself at the metal breakfast bar and was eating a giant sandwich she had clearly just put together.

“Sooooo,” her voice came out like a drawl. “You’re Rowan, are you? I must say, you don’t look anything like what I was expecting.”

I frowned. There was something a little malicious in her voice, and I wondered what exactly she meant.

“What were you expecting?”

“Oh . . . I don’t know. Just someone . . . different. You don’t look like a Rowan, somehow.” She grinned, and then before I could react, took another bite of sandwich and said, thickly, through the mouthful, “You need to put more mayonnaise on the fridge order. Oh, and where the hell are the dogs?”