Page 10 of Redeem Me

‘Come here, sweetie,’ Ivy coos. ‘You and I are going to be great friends. We’re going to have so much fun together.’

Actually, you’re not.

There’s no way she can stay. No way in hell. It’s implausible. Nanny or not.

I rake my nails over my scalp and blow out an indignant breath as she continues her attempt to win over my daughter.

‘Come over here and let me wipe those tears away,’ Ivy singsongs.

To my utmost surprise, Orla wiggles free from my arms and darts across the hallway, hovering in front of Ivy, hopping from foot to foot in her favourite pink Nike runners.

Unbelievable.

Ivy scoops her into her arms as if she’s a six-month-old, instead of a six-year-old, and kisses her forehead. The air whooshes from my lungs.

‘I’m Ivy. I’ve been so excited about meeting you.’ She straightens her spine and runs a thumb over Orla’s tear-streaked cheek. ‘What happened, honey?’

‘Jasmine died.’ Orla hiccups another sob.

Ivy frowns at me, rubbing soothing circles on Orla’s back. ‘Who’s Jasmine?’

‘My fish,’ Orla says, before I have the chance to intervene. ‘It’s the tenth one I’ve killed.’

‘Ah, I’m so sorry, sweetie. Fish don’t live long, I’m afraid. Not like humans,’ Ivy continues.

I stiffen, bracing myself for what I already know Orla is going to say.

‘Neither do humans,’ she sniffs. ‘Jasmine died and now she’s with my Mammy and the other fish in Heaven. And it’s not fair. I want to see them. But Daddy says I’m not going to Heaven for a very long time.’

Ivy’s palm slows to a stop on Orla’s back. Her eyes drift to my wedding ring. Realisation, then pity, clouds her eyes.

I don’t need her pity.

I need a nanny.

Preferably not one I’ve finger-fucked in a bar.

The colour drains from Ivy’s rose-hued cheeks and her smile fades into a sympathetic grimace. Thankfully, she keeps her focus on Orla. ‘Oh, Orla, I’m so sorry. It must be so hard for you. I can only imagine.’ She shifts my daughter from her right hip to her left. ‘You know Heaven isn’t that far away, though. I’m so sure your mammy is watching over you. I bet she’s so proud of what a big girl you’re growing into.’

Orla buries her face in Ivy’s hair and lets out another heart-wrenching sob.

She’s coped exceptionally well with her mother’s death, with the help of an excellent play therapist, but every time one of those damn fish dies, it triggers her again, which naturally triggers me.

There’s nothing worse than seeing your child in pain.

And as much as I hate to admit it, Ivy’s soothing murmurs and gentle rocking motion are doing a surprisingly stellar job of easing Orla’s pain or, at the very least, distracting her from it.

But that doesn’t mean she’s staying.

No way.

Samuel stalks in the front door laden down with a green leather suitcase that’s about three stitches away from bursting all over the hall floor.

‘I’ll take this upstairs.’ Samuel starts towards the wide, winding staircase.

‘No need.’ I hold a hand up to halt him. ‘There’s been a mix up at the agency. Miss Winters isn’t staying.’

Ivy’s head snaps up and her blue eyes blaze like twin flames. She opens her mouth to speak, but Orla beats her to it.

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