Closing In. Sue Fortin
They are over at Chichester. If he’s not there, then he’s down at the police station. I’m based either here or at the consulting rooms, depending on whether he has a clinic that day or not.’ Carla paused. ‘Did they tell you what he does?’
‘He’s a psychologist, I think they said.’
‘That’s right. A criminal psychologist for Sussex Police. Hence the reason for spending a lot of time there.’
‘Is that where he is now?’ asked Ellen.
‘Yes, they called him in earlier. I don’t know what time he will be back; these things can drag on for hours. You will probably have to wait until tomorrow to meet him.’ Carla strode down the black and white-tiled hallway to the back of the house where Ellen had first seen Izzy that morning. Ellen followed her down the corridor and into the kitchen.
Izzy was bent over a mixing bowl at the kitchen table, attempting to knead a piece of dough about the size of a tennis ball.
Mrs Holloway was standing on the other side of the table doing the same with her much larger piece of dough. She looked up as Ellen and Carla entered the room.
‘Hello,’ she said, smiling at them. Then she spoke to the child. ‘Izzy, you’ve got visitors.’ She nodded towards the doorway.
Izzy gave a quick glance in Ellen’s direction but then immediately turned her attention back to the piece of dough. Ellen sat down beside her at the table. ‘Hello, Izzy,’ she spoke gently and with warmth. ‘What have you got there? Dough? What are you making with that?’
Izzy shrugged and let the dough drop into the bowl. She began picking at her fingers. Ellen carried on, understanding that it was going to take a while before she earned the child’s trust
Ellen picked up the dough ball. ‘Eww, it’s all sticky. Look, if we sprinkle some more flour into the bowl and roll the dough around, it will stop it being so gooey. Here, you do it.’
Izzy hesitated for a moment before putting her hand into the bag of flour and taking a handful, sprinkling it into the bowl. Ellen dropped the dough ball into it. A puff of flour ballooned into the air, showering them both in white dust. Ellen made an exaggerated yelp of surprise, followed by some spluttering noises.
It had the desired effect. Izzy giggled. ‘Oh my word,’ said Ellen. ‘What a mess I’ve made.’ She wiped her hand across her face, purposefully leaving a trail of flour over her nose and her cheek. This was rewarded by more giggling from Izzy.
‘You’ve got it on your face,’ said Izzy.
‘Have I? Where?’ Ellen wiped her face, knowing full well she was making it worse.
‘There!’ Izzy laughed out loud, pointing at Ellen’s chin.
‘Here?’ More flour on her face.
‘No! There!’
The two of them were now laughing together, as was Mrs Holloway. Only Carla remained immune to the fun. ‘Don’t make too much mess,’ said Carla. ‘It will be your bedtime soon.’
Immediately, Izzy’s face fell and she lapsed back into a subdued silence. Ellen bit down the urge to say something to Carla. Now wasn’t the time, not in front of Izzy and certainly not in the first few hours of her new job.
‘Doesn’t she stay up to see her father?’ said Ellen instead.
‘Izzy needs routine,’ explained Carla. ‘Donovan likes it that way. And truth be told, the child does too. In fact, while I think about it, there’s a folder up in the nursery I should have told you about. It’s got Izzy’s routine set out. When she has her meals, how she spends her time. If you can acquaint yourself with that, then it will make the transition easier and create minimum disruption for Izzy.’
Poor Izzy, it made her sound like some sort of Stepford child. Every minute of her day planned out. Where was the fun in that?
‘I’ll have a look. It may be that I make a few changes once I get used to everything,’ said Ellen, trying to keep her voice casual.
‘Not too much. We like things to run smoothly around here.’ There was a distinctly challenging tone to Carla’s voice.
Once again, Ellen resisted the urge to argue but nevertheless, she resolved to make changes as she saw fit. Carla could take a running jump with her timetable. Ellen contemplated her new employer. Was he a stickler for routine as well? Maybe that was why the previous nanny had left; too much control? She shuddered to herself as this idea nudged painful, not too distant memories, to the fore. Control like that was never a good thing. She couldn’t help but wonder if that’s why there was no Mrs Donovan. The agency had said that the mother had left three years ago but had offered no explanation as to why. What would make a mother leave her young child? It must have been bad. Was it as bad for Mrs Donovan as it had been for herself? A slither of mistrust towards her new employer coiled itself in her stomach.
The French Marseillaise sounded out on Donovan’s phone; the tune he had specifically assigned to Amanda, his soon to be ex-wife. As he drove into Felpham village, he flirted with the idea of ignoring it. However, previous experience told him this would be futile. She would simply keep ringing. With much reluctance, Donovan hit the accept button for the hands-free kit.
‘Amanda.’
‘Donovan.’ Their usual minimalistic greeting. ‘I’m in the UK this week. In fact, I’m going to be in the UK a lot more. Sebastian and I are relocating to London.’
Donovan’s eyes snapped to the handset as if it would confirm what he had just heard. ‘London? Permanently?’ He tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. It never did to let Amanda think she had the upper hand on anything.
‘That’s right. Now, I expect to be able to see Isobel far more often. In fact, it’s something my solicitor will be writing to your solicitor about. I envisage joint custody, Isobel to spend equal time with both of us and in the long term, I’m looking to her living with me.’
Donovan brought the car to halt worthy of emergency-stop status. ‘What?’ He managed to grind out. Joint custody. Izzy living with Amanda. No way.
‘It’s really quite simple, Donovan,’ replied Amanda, her tone clipped and matter of fact. ‘I’m Isobel’s mother. I’m going to be back in the UK and I want her living with me. It’s how it should be. An eight-year-old girl living with her father may be nice now, but as she grows up she will need her mother for all sorts of reasons. You’re an intelligent man, Donovan, use your brains.’
‘Wait a minute. When did you decide all this? What’s wrong with France and lover boy’s chateau all of a sudden? You can’t just announce you’re coming back and Izzy is going to live with you. As I have sole custody I don’t think it’s a case of simply handing her over. She’s with me for a very good reason.’ Donovan manoeuvred his car over to the side of the road.
‘All that’s in the past now,’ snapped Amanda. ‘I’m not going to get into an argument with you, Donovan. I’ll be in touch about seeing Isobel soon.’
The line went dead.
Donovan cursed out loud. Amanda back on the scene. Great. Exactly what he could do without. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. Then taking his usual pragmatic approach, Donovan decided there was little he could do about it tonight. He needed to get home. It had been a long day and he was shattered. However, Amanda’s words refused to fade from their continuous loop replaying in his mind.
Toby squeezed the remote key to his Audi TT, the clonk of the central locking reassuring him it was secure. As he approached Kate’s front door, he caught sight of his reflection in the glass panel. He looked dishevelled, his hair was ruffled and his tie dragged to one side, where he had snatched at his top button to undo it. He hated