97

Saffron

Saturday lunchtime, I’m eating American Hot pizza with the children, when the doorbell rings. Miles is still away at his conference. Caprice is shopping at her favourite boutique. Hayley is off somewhere with her boyfriend, Jono. I wasn’t ex-pecting anyone. It’s 1.30 p.m. Strange time for a visitor to call.

I open the front door. A mousy woman with shoulder-length wavy hair stands in front of me, wearing a cream-coloured trench raincoat and flat court shoes. No make-up. No jewellery. Carrying a large black briefcase.

‘Can I help you?’ I ask.

‘Are you Saffron Jackson?’

‘Yes.’

‘Married to Miles?’ Another nod. ‘And you have two sons, Ben aged eight and Harry, who is six.’ She flashes a wallet containing a badge. ‘Sonia Watson. Social Care. Elmbridge Borough Council.’ She pauses. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Why? What are you here for?’

She takes a deep breath and widens her shoulders. ‘We’ve had a complaint about the care of your children. That someone may be harming them.’

I go cold inside. ‘What …?’ I splutter. ‘As if that could be happening! Who has complained? Who is lying about us?’

She shakes her head. ‘Calm down. I’m not allowed to say. It’s confidential. I just need to see your children to ask them a few questions.’

She flashes her badge at me again. A photo of herself with an inky stamp across it. ‘I’m just going to phone the council to check your identity.’

Her face darkens. ‘It’s Saturday. The office is closed.’ She pauses. ‘If you refuse to allow me to enter your property, I will have to file a report of non-cooperation. That never looks good when we are reviewing cases.’

Fear pulsates through me. Cases? When did my life become a case?

‘Do come in,’ I manage, trying to push my fear away. Breathe. Breathe. All I need to do is keep calm and show her my happy children.

She steps into the hallway and pulls a pad and pen from her coat pocket. ‘Does anyone else apart from your direct family live in this house?’

‘Yes. My mother-in-law, Caprice, and our nanny, Hayley.’

She makes notes in a spidery scribble. ‘Are you satisfied with your nanny?’ she continues.

‘Yes. Yes. She’s great,’ I reply.

She stares at me. ‘Great in what way?’ she asks.

‘Kind. Competent. Reliable.’

‘What about your mother-in-law? Does she help look after the children?’

‘Yes, from time to time. But she’s nearly seventy so we don’t like to put upon her too much.’

Sonia Watson carries on making notes. ‘Is she good with the boys when she’s with them?’

‘Yes. Yes. Of course.’

She looks up at me. ‘So, who is here today?’

‘Just the boys and me. We’re having lunch in the kitchen and then we’re going to swim in our pool. They love swimming.’