Free The Watchful Eye by Priscilla Masters Page B

like hurling the cup across the room.
     
    Holly overslept in the morning and he fidgeted around downstairs, waiting for her to appear. Every time he put his head round the door she was still fast asleep, breathing noisily. At ten he finally heard her stir and she appeared, tangled-haired , rubbing her eyes, in her pink pyjamas. ‘Is it very late, Daddy?’
    He was reminded of the White Rabbit. Late. Late. Always late. From the time when he awoke on a Sunday he was aware that the day was foreshortened. Elaine would arrive between four and five and reclaim her daughter, so he resented the lie-in robbing him of precious time with Holly.
    He cooked breakfast, aware of precious moments ebbing away like the tide. It was a tradition that he fed her up and she loved scrambled eggs. While he was waiting for the eggs to cook she washed her wellies until they were clean enough to wear round the house and later in her mother’s car. At twelve he drove her to one of the nearby farms to see the newborn lambs and he watched her indulgently while she stroked the animals, running from pen to pen, cooing over the calves.
    They spent an hour or two there and then they went to the local pub for their Sunday carvery. Everyone there seemed jolly, happy, apart from a couple of old farmers ensconced inthe corner, moaning about the dry weather, the cold spring and the late government subsidies. He shot them a sympathising look and received a grudging smirk and a, ‘Hello, Doctor’ in return.
     
    Holly was invariably quiet when they returned home and he knew she, like him, was clock-watching, seeing the minutes tick away. She had her Barbie case packed and was sitting down, ready. Elaine couldn’t bear it if she had to wait – even for a minute. She had always been an impatient woman and some strain showed on his daughter’s face as, at half past four, they heard the 4x4 roar up the High Street, Elaine’s impatience reflected in the angry sound of the engine.
    Holly stood up, hugged him fiercely while he breathed in the scent of her No More Tears Johnson’s shampoo.
    ‘Bye, pigeon,’ he said. ‘See you soon.’
    Elaine didn’t need to knock on the door. Since she had left she had never once set foot back inside The Yellow House. It was as though she rejected everything about him. These days they barely talked except to argue about Holly.
    He waved them off, thinking how very small his daughter looked in the huge passenger seat of the Honda.
    Then he closed the door.
     
    The house was a morgue now she had gone. He wandered up to her room, noticing everything with heightened awareness: the tidy way she had made her bed, the toys neatly arrayed on the pillows. The room had an unreal look; it was like a pretend room, a children’s bedroom set out in a department store. He felt sad and sat down in the sitting room, thinking. This was a parody of family life as he had imagined it. Hiswife, the girl’s mother, was missing. Just for a moment he allowed himself the luxury of a daydream. He’d wanted a son, a brother for Holly, had even penned the imaginary notice in the newspaper.
A brother for Holly.
    He felt consumed with a sudden, hot fury. Bloody Elaine, he thought.

Chapter Five
Monday, 24 th April
    Monday morning draws the crowds into a doctor’s surgery. Everyone who’s suffered and braved it out over the weekend attends, plus a few who simply want to extend the break into the weekdays – the Sick Note Brigade with their vague tales of backache, headache, viruses or anything else the doctor can neither prove nor disprove. The waiting room was heaving as Daniel waded through, hardly registering a single face.
    Except one.
    The child was ill. He could see that in a minute. Floppy, hardly responding, eyes unfocused and dull. Dehydrated. He felt a prickle of alarm. What had he missed from the previous consultation?
    ‘Take her into the examination room.’
    Vanda Struel cradled Anna-Louise in her arms and struggled to move as quickly