‘Hi Mum, Dad’s not here, he’s in work. The babysitter’s here.’
Although they were at opposite ends of the sofa, Cassie could hear the outraged voice piercing through the peaceful atmosphere of murder and mayhem. She watched tension return to Con’s face as he handed her the phone with a shrug.
‘Sorry .?.?. who are you?’ came down the phone at her. This was not fair. She wasn’t prepared for this shite.
‘My name is Cassandra and I was called in to babysit for a few hours.’
‘Where did he get you?’
Oh my God, the sheer rudeness and aggression took her aback. What was it that felt so familiar? That woman in the pub who’d no compunction about making a scene in front of the entire place. Her first impulse was to tell this bitch to fuck off. She was here out of her own good nature to dig Finn out of a hole and see that these children were safe and cared for and, inexperienced as she might be, she was doing a perfectly good job.
When she didn’t respond immediately, the voice became even more insistent. ‘Are you government-registered? Are you Garda-vetted? Where can I find your full name?’
Oh, come on, she felt about one more aggressive question away from hanging up, phoning Finn and telling him she never wanted to see him again. She replied in the tone she’d used for Viola inTwelfth Nighttwo years ago in pub theatre.
‘I was contacted at very short notice by Mr Reynolds who, it seems, was called into work in an emergency.’
‘Very well, I am going to level with you. My older daughter has forwarded me a photo which I have examined, and I need to ask you a question. Are you an escort? Not that I am in any way prejudiced against your profession, but I would like to know.’
Oh Lord, she could murder Ramona for landing her in this.
‘I can assure you I am not. It’s simply a costume .?.?. I am a performer. It was all very last minute.’
Her story was about as watertight as a colander. There was an intake of breath and Marisha’s tone softened slightly.
‘I see. Well, in that case it’s not your fault.’
That was something, at least. Obviously, Mrs Boiled Spuds was the type to attack first and ask questions later.
‘For future reference, I like to be kept in the loop where my own young children are concerned and, as it happens, their father is not picking up his phone.’
Thankfully, Con had had enough sense to pause the murderous sound effects while his mother was listening. Cassie realised he was frozen to the spot and breathing shallowly as he took in every word. So much for doing all the right things, if your kid was afraid to breathe when you were around. Still, she’d the sense to keep her trap shut – this woman was threatening and could be trouble.
‘By the way, how old are you? You certainly don’t sound like a teenager.’
She hadn’t thought this through properly at all. If this woman had a mind to, she could level any accusation against her.
‘I am a responsible adult, and I can assure you that I am simply waiting for the children’s father to come home so I can leave.’ A knot of anxiety gripped her stomach. The conversation could have gone two ways, but thankfully Momzilla recognised that berating the person in charge of her children mightn’t be the wisest plan.
‘Well, thanks for stepping into the need for care, however inappropriate. My issue is clearly with their father, not with you. Hand me back to my son, please.’
Cassie overheard some instructions about breathing exercises and how many times to switch the bathroom light on and off, then the phone went dead.
‘D’you think I’m in trouble?’ he asked in a subdued voice.
‘No, I am, if anyone.’
‘Is Daddy? Sometimes she gets very cross with him.’
‘There’s just been a little mix-up around your dad’s work, that’s all.’
Poor kid, no wonder he liked to have some control over his vegetables, not to mention killing zombies in his spare time.
‘OK, five more minutes, then bed.’
Just then her phone buzzed. She slipped out into the hallway.
‘Finn? You have no idea what—’
