How did it come to this?

Laurie Davis stared dully at her uneaten plate of nut roast. Across from her, propped companionably in his high chair, sat Brahms. She glanced up, feeling as she always did when she gazed upon that smooth porcelain face, that her own psyche might shatter at any moment like a busted windscreen. What the hell am I doing here?

Surviving, a small demon pecked in her head. Getting your ass as far away from Joel as possible since you couldn't afford to fly to fucking timbuktu.

She sighed and pushed her plate away. She was having a bad day. Some days she coped, others she didn't, and on those bad days the energy created by Joel's actions hung around her like a pall, sucking every vestige of hope and joy from her heart.

Joel. Joel who said he couldn't live without her, who declared undying love, who had kicked their baby from her womb. No wonder she was running. She couldn't run far enough. Well, the UK was as far away from Montana as she could go, and here she was in the Welsh wilderness, nanny to a doll.

Laurie stared over at Brahms' placid face and wondered if the Heelshire's had planted a hidden mic or camera behind those grey pretendy eyes. The thought made her squirm. She was here to shower him with devotion, adhere to the set of rules imposed by his 'parents'. Dress him each morning. Never cover his face. Read a bedtime story. Play music loud. Never leave Brahms alone. Kiss him goodnight. No guests. And a few others she thought were just as weird and abnormal. But she was so well paid, earning more in a week than she could earn in a month, she'd be an idiot to turn it down. So here she sat, surrogate mother and chief bottle washer to a lifesized doll. One dummy to another.

"Fits me like a glove," she muttered, then took out her mobile phone, knowing there was no signal but hoping there might be. She was disappointed.

"Ah, here you are!"

Mrs Heelshire entered the kitchen, wearing her usual inscrutable face. Laurie considered her very elegant if a little stand-offish. There was something about her demeanour that spoke of deep waters; of things ineffably sad underlying those patrician features. The woman was pleasant in a quintessentially British way, softly spoken with clipped southern vowels. She was a good looking woman too, with great bone structure and curling grey hair still thick and vibrant. Probably a beauty in her youth. Laurie guessed her age to be early seventies with her husband a little older. She'd learned that the Heelshire's hailed from Kent originally. They lived at Fern Deane Mansion in the Welsh countryside because of its seclusion. No bloody wonder, Laurie had thought when she'd first met Brahms.

"We're just finishing our lunch, aren't we, Brahms." Laurie smiled. "He's been hungry today." She watched as Mrs Heelshire removed the doll's full plate of food, carefully covered it with foil then placed it in the chest freezer. Keep smiling, she told herself.

"My dear, Mr Heelshire and I have decided to go away for a few days. We haven't had a holiday in...well, for some time."

"Anywhere interesting?"

"A little seaside town not too far from here." The older woman turned to regard her. "I'm sorry it's so sudden."

"We'll be fine."

"Yes. I've made a list. Of the Rules. It's very important for Brahms to have structure, you see."

"I won't forget, I promise. I'll treat him like my own."

"And his music. Nice and loud. He loves music so."

"I won't forget".

"Brahms has taken to you so well. You're the favourite by far we've had try for the job."

"Have there been many others then?"

"Oh, none that mattered. None that stayed. Now, Mr Heelshire is to show you how to empty the rat traps."

As though on queue, the old man appeared dressed for the outdoors. His wife picked up Brahms and gestured for Laurie to fetch her coat. Outside, Mr Heelshire showed Laurie where he'd hidden the traps and how to empty them. "Put the bodies in the plastic bags. A boy from the village comes once a week to take them away. The same boy will drop off groceries and anything else you might need. We do our best to keep the house going. We don't use the fireplaces anymore after...well, they're a bit of a hazard at our age. The last tradesman we employed painted all the windows shut so you'll have to get outside for a bit of fresh air." Heelshire sighed then shook his head. "Personally, I don't think all this is business with the rats is necessary but my wife fears they'll get into the house, between the walls. Brahms has never been very good with animals. He's quite shy too."

Laurie nodded mutely because she couldn't think of anything to say.

"I know how this must look to you, Miss Davis. I'm not sure how it came about. We got lost along the way, I think. Indulged Brahms more than we should, and he's such a special boy...so particular. Our son is... What I'm trying to say is that we love him. Dearly."

Laurie had the urge to take the old man's arm and squeeze it reassuringly. Instead she smiled and said, "Of course."

It was with a sigh of relief that Laurie finally waved the Heelshire's away on the doorstep holding Brahms up with one arm. As their car disappeared down the driveway, she plonked the doll on a chair then chucked a cloth over him. Mrs Heelshire's parting words echoed in her head. "Be good to Brahms and he'll care for you too." Then just before the couple left, she'd put her face close to Laurie's and whispered, "I hope God forgives us, my dear."

"Forgives them? I should think so." Laurie grimaced down at the covered doll. "And you can sod off too!" Then she poured herself a glass of claret and stalked to the library to read a book.