‘Shh. It’s okay, sweetheart.’ She didn’t want to shout at the girl again, but she wanted her gone. Alert to the girl’s slightest movement, she picked up Ollie’s drinking cup from the worktop and passed it to him. The girl wasn’t looking at Emma now. Her eyes were darting around the room, her brows knitted together slightly. Was she searching for an escape route?
Emma looked at Ollie, still sitting in his chair watching the girl, and she felt her anger grow as she took in his sparse blond curls and his plump cheeks, damp from his momentary tears. Nobody was going to hurt her baby. It struck her with force that if the girl came anywhere near Ollie, she would fight against that knife with her bare hands without a second’s hesitation.
She had no idea what to do. David wouldn’t be back for hours, but maybe the girl didn’t need to know that.
‘Look, I don’t know why you’re here and what you want, but my husband will be back any minute now. And I’m warning you …’ Emma stopped. She didn’t want to threaten her. She didn’t know if this girl was mentally ill and could be inflamed by talk of violence. ‘Please, talk to me.’
Emma’s fraught mind replayed everything that had happened. If the girl had wanted to attack, she’d had plenty of opportunity before Emma realised she was in the room. She had been silent, her expression blank, until she thought Emma was going to contact the police. She seemed to want something from Emma, but Emma had no idea what it was.
‘I know you don’t want to speak to me, but if I give you a piece of paper and a pen, will you write your name down for me?’ Emma asked with a sudden flash of inspiration. It occurred to her that maybe the girl couldn’t speak.
Gently easing Ollie’s chair back slightly, well out of the girl’s reach, she took a notepad and a pen from a shelf above the worktop and pushed them across the kitchen island towards the girl.
‘Please, write your name down for me. I don’t know what to call you, and if I’m going to help you I need to know who you are.’
The girl stared back at Emma, ignoring the paper and pen that were in front of her.
Emma closed her eyes in frustration. Maybe David would have more luck, and if not it would be down to the police to sort it out.
As if thinking of her husband had conjured him from nowhere, the throb of a powerful engine invaded the oppressive silence as David’s Range Rover pulled into the drive. Relieved as she was, she had no idea why he was home so early.
A few seconds later, the front door slammed, and Emma desperately wanted to rush out into the hall to greet him. But somehow she was scared that if she turned round the girl would have disappeared and nobody would believe she had ever been here.
Her relief was tempered by surprise as the girl threw the knife onto the worktop, pulled the notepad towards her and started to write. Just a few letters, and she turned the paper round to face Emma.
‘Emma?’ She heard David drop his keys in the bowl in the hall and heard his footsteps coming towards them. ‘Emma? Something terrible has happened. Where are you?’ he called. She could hear anxiety in his voice as he strode towards the kitchen.
She stared at the five letters as if they made no sense. But they did. A shiver ran through her body and goose bumps covered her arms.
I must warn David. But it was too late. He pushed open the door and his eyes went straight to Emma.
‘Em. I’ve had some shocking …’ he began. His eyes were suddenly drawn to the corner of the kitchen. He glanced at the girl, and his brow knitted into a frown. He looked back at Emma as he walked across the room, his head on one side as if asking her a silent question. She knew she should speak, but for a moment she couldn’t find the words.
‘Ay, Dada. Ay,’ shouted Ollie.
But David didn’t respond to his son. He turned back to the girl and stopped dead, his mouth slightly agape. He stared, speechless, at her, and his face drained of all colour.
The girl stared back, two bright red marks on her cheeks betraying some emotion that was absent from her eyes. The silence felt heavy, and Emma was suddenly certain that from this moment forwards her life was never going to be the same.
Finally, David spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.
‘Tasha,’ he said.
6
As soon as David had uttered those two syllables, the silent spell was broken. A gasp burst from his throat as he crossed the room almost at a run. Emma looked on helplessly as her husband stood in front of his daughter, his open palms stroking her upper arms as he stared down at her face, his expression switching from puzzlement to joy. Tears spilled from his eyes and ran unchecked down his cheeks as he tried to pull Tasha’s rigid body towards him.