The light woke her. She shook her head as if to shake off nightmarish images and pushed a damp clump of hair from her face.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she repeated as she dragged herself back to reality. ‘Oh God, this is so embarrassing.’ She turned her face to the wall as Stevie came over to the bed.

‘Don’t worry, most people have nightmares Emma.’ Stevie sank onto the edge of the mattress and touched the girl’s arm. ‘Do you want to tell me what yours was about?’

Emma wiped her bare arm across her face and glanced at her watch on the bedside table. ‘I’m sorry I woke you, it’s Saturday, you should be having a lie-in.’

‘Usually, yes, but things are very busy so we’re working today. Luckily Izzy has a play date with a school friend.’ She took in the tear-smudged face. ‘How about I make us a hot chocolate?’ she said.

‘I’d rather a cold Milo if that’s okay.’ No hesitation. Despite the state she had woken in, she remained polite but forthright. Here was a girl who knew her own mind.

Emma followed Stevie into the kitchen, sat at the table and watched her make their drinks. It was too warm for dressing gown and slippers, too warm even for hot chocolate. Stevie slapped across the lino in her bare feet and oversized T-shirt and made two cold Milos. Just after seven in the morning and the light shining through the kitchen blinds was already the colour of warm honey.

‘I go through phases where I get the same nightmare over and over again—is that what happens to you?’ Stevie fished.

‘I usually control my nightmares or I use my wings and fly away from them. But I couldn’t control this one. Something horrible was happening to someone else and all I could do was watch, helpless.’

Stevie saw Emma’s eyes stray to the newspaper on the kitchen table. Bianca’s murder was still on the front page. The girl visibly paled and her eyes began to well again.

‘Emma, are you okay?’ Stevie folded the paper in half and pushed it away. She hadn’t taken the child to be quite this emotionally delicate. ‘You didn’t know her did you?’

Emma placed one hand over her mouth and gestured to the paper with the other. ‘No, but I hate all that. I don’t know how you do your job.’

‘I sometimes wonder too.’ Stevie took a sip of Milo and decided a rapid change of subject was necessary. ‘What do you want to be when you leave school?’

‘A teacher,’ Emma replied without hesitation, brightening up immediately. ‘I want to teach underprivileged children, you know, kids from homes where education is not considered important, especially if the child is a girl, like in third world countries. I believe lack of education is the root of all the world’s troubles. I want to encourage literacy, I’ve already got my own...’ Emma broke off mid sentence, as if she thought Stevie might be bored or might reproach her for her enthusiasm.

Stevie didn’t want her to stop, she was fascinated by the animation in the small intense face. The girl was way older than her years. Emma Breightling didn’t fit at all with the image of what a girl her age was supposed to be.

‘Go on,’ Stevie encouraged.

‘You might think this sounds dumb, but I want to have my own website for kids, to encourage reading, have story writing competitions, prizes and stuff. One of the teachers at school has one, but I want mine to be totally kid friendly, do you know what I mean? Not preachy and teachy. It’s a good idea, don’t you think?’

‘I think your ambitions sound fantastic. I’ll bet your parents are very proud.’

Emma fell silent, as she always did when her parents were mentioned. She took a sip of her cold drink.

‘You’ve given yourself a Milo moustache,’ Stevie said.

The girl wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and laughed; she had a wide mouth, designed for laughter.

‘Izzy always does that,’ Stevie said.

Emma had become serious again. ‘Apparently,’ she said, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘I cause my Dad nothing but anxiety. I was kept down a year at school you see. I should have started high school this year. I’m glad I didn’t because they want to send me over east to boarding school and I don’t want to go. I had bad hearing when I was little—glue ear—and they seemed to think it set me back.’

‘And did it?’

‘No way, if anything it’s helped me more. I don’t care about being kept down at school; I like it there. I learn what I want to learn, no one bothers me and I know where I’m going—that’s the main thing, isn’t it?’

To know where you’re going? Lucky you. Stevie’s gaze fell to her left hand. She usually kept the ring on while she slept, but last night she’d taken it off and put it on her chest of drawers.

‘You’re not wearing your engagement ring,’ Emma said with a frown, ‘did you lose it?’

Stevie waved away the child’s look of concern. ‘No, it was ... it was getting in the way.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, the set up you have here is kind of funny,’ Emma said, licking the crust of Milo from the edge of her glass.

‘Funny?’ Stevie queried, ‘In what way?’

‘The way you and Mr McGuire don’t live together and you never even have. It’s like Izzy comes from a broken home, only the home was never fixed in the first place, was it?’

Was the girl lumping Izzy among her clutch, settling her within her nest of disadvantaged children? If Stevie hadn’t had such a bad evening with Monty she might not have taken the statement so much to heart. She found herself curling her toes into the lino under her feet. ‘Maybe you should think about going back to bed,’ she said. ‘You might be able to snatch a second sleep; they’re always the best.’

Emma put her hand over her mouth, eyes widening behind the magnifying lenses. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve offended you.’

‘Not at all,’ Stevie lied. Jeez, the girl didn’t miss much. She was better than most adults at seeing through the crap and getting to the very heart of things. And not big on self censorship.

‘I can go home now if you like. I’ve got a school assignment to work on and lots of other stuff to do. I was planning on going early anyway.’

There was something about the hurried way Emma spoke, the way she eagerly jumped to her feet that made Stevie ask, ‘Emma, you really did get permission from your parents to stay over, didn’t you?’

‘I left a note.’

‘Yes, but what did your note say?’

‘Look, they don’t care where I am. Dad’s at a conference in Queensland and Mum’s always so busy worrying about something or other she doesn’t even know if I’m at home or not.’

Stevie searched the little face intently for a moment. ‘Busy with work you mean?’

The girl’s face lit with a cheeky smile. ‘Yeah, that too, but mostly what to wear out to lunch, laser or electrolysis for hair removal, worrying if collagen gives you Mad Cow—if it does she’s living proof.’

Resisting the urge to return the smile, Stevie repeated her question with more firmness. ‘What did you say in your note, Emma?’ She climbed to her feet and stood over the seated girl, suddenly feeling as if she was interviewing a suspect.

Emma gazed into to her Milo and said softly, ‘I left a note saying I’d gone to bed early. She never checks up on me once I’ve gone to bed.’

Stevie folded her arms. ‘Emma, does she even know you’ve started working for me?’

Emma nibbled at her bottom lip and shook her head.

‘But she knows you work for Mrs Carlyle, right?’

‘Yes, she doesn’t mind that,’ Emma said quickly.

‘Then why didn’t you tell her you were working for me?’

Emma’s eyes had not strayed from her glass. ‘Because you’re a cop. My mother doesn’t like cops.’

Stevie sat down again. ‘Look hon, this isn’t acceptable, whatever your reasons I can’t be party to this deceit. We’re going to have to get dressed, go and see your mother and explain the situation.’

‘But then you’ll be stuck without a babysitter!’