Page 24 of Worth Every Risk

The noise repeats, dragging me from the dream.

I blink awake. My room is dark, and the clock on my bedside table says 2.33 am.

A small, shadowy figure stands at the side of my bed. Blearily, I sit up, trying to make sense of what’s going on. “Lucie?”

She’s sobbing and rubbing at one eye. She’s still in her clothes from the day before.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

She doesn’t answer, but keeps crying. I reach out to pull her into a hug, but my hand hits damp fabric.

It takes a moment to register.

She’s wet herself.No wonder.I can’t even remember when she last went for a wee before we sat down to watch the movie yesterday.

I sit up and swing my legs out of bed. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. Let’s clean you up. We need new pyjamas. Can we go to your room?”

I take her hand and we potter along to her room. Thankfully, there’s the orange glow of a night-light which is enough to see by. I strip the wet clothes off her and find some dry pyjamas inthe chest of drawers before helping her to the bathroom. I don’t want to run a bath or shower at this time of night, so I do what I can with a sponge and towel, and help her into the fresh clothes.

We go back to the bedroom, and I run a hand over her bed.

It’s soaking.

Shit. I start pulling off the sheets. Luckily, there’s a plastic mattress protector on the bed.Maybe this isn’t such a rare occurrence.

“Do you know where the clean sheets are?” I ask her, straining to keep my voice calm. It’s not Lucie’s fault that I feel out of my depth, but a mild sense of panic is bubbling in my gut. I’m not prepared for bed-wetting. This is only my second night on the job, and dealing with this is like sitting an exam without revising beforehand.

Lucie’s still half-asleep, but she manages to shake her head. I run through my options. I can search the house for sheets, but I don’t know how long it will take, and I don’t want to keep Lucie up too long in the middle of the night. I could take her to my room and let her sleep in my bed, but I’m not sure how Mr Hawkston would feel about that. I could put her in one of the many other bedrooms, but that doesn’t seem like a good idea.

I could take her to her dad’s bedroom.

No.That’s the worst idea yet.

Lucie begins to wail again. “I want Daddy.”

Oh, crap.

“Daddy’s sleeping, honey. You can sleep in my bed.”

The wailing gets louder. If this continues, she’ll wake him up anyway.

I crouch down and put my hand on her shoulder and a finger of the other hand on my lips. “Shhh. It’s nighttime. Everyone’s sleeping.”

She opens her mouth so wide I can see her tonsils, and the noise that’s about to erupt will wake the dead, I’m sure of it.

I hoist her up into my arms, and the scream she was about to release never materialises. Instead, she tucks her legs around my hips. “Okay. Let’s go find him,” I whisper, stroking a hand down her back.

The tension in her body dissolves, and her head rests against my shoulder as I take the stairs. The lift at this time of night seems excessive and disruptive.

I remember where Mr Hawkston’s suite is from the tour of the house Lucie gave me when I arrived. When we reach his room, I knock on the door.

No response.

“He’s sleeping,” I say.

“Mm. Want Daddy,” she mumbles.

This is a really bad idea.Maybe if I wait long enough, she’ll fall asleep in my arms and I can put her in my bed. I could sleep on the floor. Problem solved.

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