I roll my eyes and manage a half-smile. ‘I don’t know, Dom.’
‘Kirstie, come on. You love going out with your friends.’
‘Yeah, but I’m just so tired.’
‘So try and put Daisy down for an hour or two and get some more sleep. Look, I’d better go. I’ve got a meeting first thing. I’ll try and be back by six – give you an hour to get ready in peace.’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Thank you. You’re amazing.’
‘I know,’ he quips. And then he turns serious. ‘Don’t worry, Kirst. You’ll feel better after another little sleep. I promise.’
Suddenly, the thought of Dominic leaving for work sends a tidal wave of panic through my system. ‘I wish you could stay home with us today.’
‘Nothing I’d like more, but someone’s got to whip those sales teams into shape. Why don’t you have that extra sleep then go and see your mum for an hour or two? Change of scenery. Look, I really do have to go. See you later, Kirst. Bye, Dais.’ He gives us both a kiss and a wave before leaving. I listen to the thud of his feet on the stairs, to the jingle of his keys, and finally the slam of the front door. The house falls silent.
Daisy reaches her hand up to my face, her eyes wide, fingers grabbing at my cheek. I force out a smile, but my guts are churning, my heart racing. This is crazy. I need to snap out of it.
One hour later, I’m showered and dressed and sitting on the sofa sipping tea. Daisy is lying on her mat under her play mobile, batting the hanging toys with her hands and toes. Yet unease still clings to me. This is ridiculous. I’ve always been comfortable in my own skin. My home is my sanctuary. The place I can relax and feel content. Yesterday’s ‘incident’ is the first time I’ve felt unsettled in my own house. Things like that just aren’t supposed to happen in places like this.
Wimborne Minster is a pretty market town not too far from the coast and surrounded by countryside. Everyone knows everyone and there’s hardly any crime here. Even the weather is mild and sunny most days. I’ve lived in Wimborne all my life. So has Dominic. So have most of my friends and neighbours. It even topped one of those polls for the best place to live in Britain. One of the happiest places. And it is. It is a happy place. I’m happy. I am. Or at least I was. But now my happiness has been contaminated. I don’t feel quite the same as I did this time yesterday morning. That easy contentment has curdled like cream in the sunshine. How can things change this quickly?
Am I overreacting? Hearing those voices yesterday has tipped everything off balance. Just thinking about them makes my palms sweat. But did anything actually happen? No one else seems to think so. Not Dom. Not the police. Not even my neighbours. It was only me who heard those voices. And no one actually broke into our house. No one took Daisy, or even attempted to take her. But what if they did take that other child? What if they harmed the parents? Left them for dead? I hate not knowing what happened. What if they decide to come back for Daisy?
I have to keep her safe. It’s my job. My duty. I rise to my feet, scoop Daisy up into my arms and check that the bifold doors are locked. I test the handle twice. It’s fine. It’s secure. I think about the way I’ve spent most of my mornings this summer, pottering about in the garden with the doors wide open, walking inside and out while Daisy was in her crib often out of my sight. How could I do that now?
I move over to check the kitchen windows above the sink. There are three panes of glass, but only the middle one can be opened. It’s closed but unlocked, and the key isn’t on the sill where it should be. We never usually bother to lock any of the windows. Never again. I won’t be so lax in future.
I head into the lounge and take the key from the front windowsill, using it to lock the kitchen window. With Daisy still in my arms, I check and lock all the other downstairs windows along with the front door. Then, I put the key in my dress pocket. I’ll have to think of a safe place to stash it. Next, I head upstairs. I won’t feel safe to put Daisy down until everything is secure. Maybe I’m going overboard, but she’s our miracle baby. It took us four years to conceive her and I suffered three miscarriages before finally carrying her to term.
The first time I fell pregnant, I miscarried at eight weeks and the sense of loss was crushing, especially as I had excitedly told everyone I was pregnant as soon as I found out, so I then had to explain all about my loss, suffering everyone’s well-intentioned sympathy. The second time I fell pregnant, Dom and I were more cautious, keeping the news a secret. But at exactly eight weeks, the same thing happened. I spent months afterwards drifting around in a daze, convinced I would never be able to carry a baby to term.
It took me a whole two years to fall pregnant again, and this time, I finally made it past the cursed eight-week mark. When I reached four months, we were cautiously optimistic and Dom wanted us to tell our parents, especially as I was starting to show. But I wouldn’t let him, and it was a good job we didn’t because, yet again, it wasn’t to be. At my twenty-week scan, they couldn’t find a heartbeat. I think, at that point, I decided that it was too painful to continue trying. The fear of hoping to have a child was too great.
However, the following year I fell pregnant again. I spent the whole time in denial, convinced I would lose the baby. Even when my twenty-week scan showed me a healthy baby girl in the monitor, and I heard her heartbeat, strong and fast, I couldn’t let myself become attached or make plans, or buy any baby clothes or equipment. But my worries were unfounded. Our wish eventually came true and I gave birth to our daughter. I thought that once she was born, my fears would evaporate in a puff of smoke, but instead, they intensified.
After Daisy was born, I got to meet her, to hold her in my arms and fall in love. And I realised that even though she was here – alive – she still wasn’t entirely safe. None of us are. So I consciously vowed that I would do everything in my power to protect her. And I remember my promise every day. I will not let anything or anyone threaten my little family.
Finally, with the house locked up tight, I think I can probably allow myself to relax a little. On the upstairs landing, I yawn. Tiredness tugs at my eyelids and shoulders. I really do need to lie down. Daisy should be safe next to me in the Moses basket while I crawl back into bed for a couple more hours. The thought of closing my eyes is delicious. But before I get the chance, the doorbell rings.
Maybe it’s the postman. I could ignore it, but it might be important. What if it’s the police back with more information? My heart begins to pound. I carry Daisy downstairs with me, starting to feel like she’s permanently attached, like a baby koala. I should think about getting a baby sling.
With clammy hands and a racing pulse, I slide the chain back, turn the key and open the door.
Five