Keep You Safe: A tear-jerking and compelling story that will make you think from the international multi-million bestselling author. Melissa Hill

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СКАЧАТЬ had to hear her – mums just knew, somehow, when their kids needed them. Particularly her mum.

      Sure enough, a moment later, Rosie heard, ‘Coming, honey,’ and she felt some of her panic subside.

      Mum would make this OK, she thought. In just a second, Mum would tell her that everything was fine – that this was just a flu and she would be right as rain in no time.

       *

      On Friday morning, I pushed the button on the Nespresso coffee-maker Greg had bought the year he died, and waited for my morning dose of caffeine to be dispensed.

      Looking quickly at the clock on the microwave, I guessed that I needed to get Rosie up this morning. Usually she was very good about getting herself out of bed and ready for school. No worries, still plenty of time, I told myself as I grabbed my coffee cup and took a tentative first sip, savouring the warmth.

      Then, picking up my phone to check for any messages from work, I heard a small whine coming from upstairs.

      Rosie was calling for me, and something about her voice wasn’t right.

      Immediately, my brain defaulted to panic mode, as it did so often.

      How would I shuffle my day around if she needed to stay at home because she wasn’t feeling well? Trying to summon just how many days of annual leave from work I had left, I called out back to her.

      In fairness, I’d been lucky – Rosie hadn’t missed a single day since starting school last September. Quite the feat considering most of her classmates seemed to have perma-sniffles, and I chalked it down to my insistence on her eating Vitamin C-rich fruit and veg as well as a regular multi-vitamin for us both to heighten our immune system – especially given my own exposure to various bugs at the hospital.

      But it was impossible to fight everything all of the time.

      I placed my coffee cup on the counter and raced upstairs, mentally reorganising my day as I opened my daughter’s bedroom door to make the inevitable diagnosis: Yup, you’re staying home today. My thoughts drifted to Madeleine Cooper who had evidently faced that self-same scenario earlier in the week.

      But nothing could have prepared me for what I actually saw when I entered Rosie’s room.

      My little girl lay uncovered, her dark hair limp and damp and sticking to the sides of her face. Her skin was flushed and her pyjamas had patches of wet here and there, as if she had been sweating throughout the night.

      And on the surface of her skin that wasn’t covered by clothes there were spots. Lots and lots of small red spots on her face, her neck, her hands, even her feet.

      My mouth dropped open in shock, and my mind automatically jumped to the thought: Of course she had to be the kid who gets chicken pox twice.

      But then my professional training sprang into action and cautioned me against being too hasty with my diagnosis. I saw Rosie looking at me, studying me, and a small crease appeared on her forehead, while her expression changed from worry to fear and finally… panic.

      I quickly tried to rearrange the look on my face, willing myself to appear calm and in control.

      When I was feeling anything but.

      ‘Mummy, I don’t feel well,’ she whimpered.

      I picked up my pace, closing the distance to her bed. I sank to my knees and reached out, placing my hand on her forehead.

      She was burning up.

      ‘Do I have chicken pox again?’ she asked weakly. ‘How could I have it again?’

      ‘Shush, honey, I don’t know. Let me take a look at you,’ I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice as I peered at the spots on her skin. ‘Let me unbutton your top, sweetheart, I want to see your chest.’

      Rosie allowed me to unbutton her pyjama shirt while my fingers trembled. Somehow I just knew what I was going to find next.

      Her chest was covered with a rash. Small, red clusters. Everywhere.

      My mouth was suddenly dry and I licked my lips, willing myself to say something to comfort my daughter.

      ‘I’m so itchy, Mummy. And so hot.’ She was still watching me closely, and then she coughed violently, spittle lining the corners of her mouth.

      My mind raced as I placed a hand on her forehead again and my heart pounded with fear. ‘I know, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’ll take you to the doctor. We’ll get you sorted.’

      The rash, the clusters. This is different, the nurse inside me protested. This isn’t chicken pox. Chicken pox don’t cluster. And they aren’t flat either. This was something different…

      And with a sudden terrifying realisation, I knew. But I couldn’t allow myself to even think the word.

      No, it simply wasn’t possible. Where would Rosie have picked it up? It was chicken pox that was going around the school. Not…

      Unless…

      My thoughts turned then to the other sick child, Clara Cooper. Who, according to Christine, wasn’t vaccinated against serious childhood illnesses.

      Just like Rosie.

      Clara – who had been sent home from school three days ago with suspected chicken pox.

      Except she hadn’t. This wasn’t chicken pox.

      This was out and out measles.

Chapter 6

      ‘It’s OK, petal, we’re going to make you feel better,’ Madeleine soothed as she hovered over Clara’s bed.

      On Tuesday morning, while in make-up at the TV station, her worst fears had been realised with a text from the school principal confirming that Clara was indeed sick. Talk about timing…

      She’d given her some Paracetamol after all the coughing and sneezing the night before hoping to nip whatever it was in the bud, but noticed at breakfast that her youngest was still a bit off. But she really couldn’t keep her at home that day, she had the TV thing to do, and Tom had already left for work hours earlier…

      So Madeleine had very quickly weighed up the odds and decided that she’d chance sending Clara to school, and would rush straight back once she’d done her thing at the studio. It was a gamble but what choice did she have? She couldn’t cancel Morning Coffee at the last minute; the show aired at eleven and she needed to leave right after the school drop-off.

      Chances were Clara would be grand – kids were always up and down with these things and usually rallied well – but just in case Clara felt worse, she could mitigate the risk by asking Lucy to do her a turn. No point (or indeed time) in getting her husband to trek all the way home from Dublin, and she couldn’t ask her mother-in-law for a dig-out either, because Harriet didn’t have a car.

      Ever the trooper, Madeleine’s friend immediately agreed to collect СКАЧАТЬ