The Boy with the Blind Eyes

THIRTY-THREE

Tamsin rapped on the door exactly five times and squared her shoulders. Her fingers wrung together—a nervous habit. Tamsin tried not to panic—Holly had assured her that the couple was perfect—young, wealthy, smart, and in an absolute need of children. She mentally ran through the facts again. The wife runs a child care centre for poor families. The husband owns an international bank in Thailand, as well as a branch of famous hotels scattered across Europe. The wife's parents died on a shipwreck five years ago in Brazil. The husband's mother died of cancer when he was six. The husband's father is still alive, but he is bitter and old, so they hardly ever see him. They have a dog, Lily, and a fish named Irene. On weekends, they visit their other married friends and play polo.

Tamsin bit her lip worriedly. Trey wouldn't understand them, and this worried her more than anything. Of course, if Tamsin hated the couple, they could review others. But Holly pushed her towards the rich ones, claiming that they were the most financially stable for obvious reasons, and were generally the most supportive in terms of education. If Trey did well now, in the future it wouldn't matter who raised him. He'd be someone and wouldn't need anyone to take care of him. He would be set; taken care of. It wasn't just the present she had to think about, it was his future.

The door opened a moment later, and a fresh-faced young woman smiled brightly at her. Tamsin immediately felt inadequate in her skinny jeans, converses and casual hoodie. The young woman—the wife, Tamsin presumed—was dressed prudently in a white pencil skirt, hemmed just below the knee, decorated in a pattern of green and yellow daisies. Her platinum blonde hair had been twisted back into an elegant French twist, showing off the nape of her long neck, which had been adorned with a slim silver chain. Her teeth were unbelievably white, no doubt whitened chemically. She held out a glowing, perfectly tanned hand to Tamsin and said, 'Hello there! You must be Tamsin. My name is Evangeline.'

Tamsin smiled back at her instantly. 'Hi. It's lovely to finally meet you.'

'Likewise,' Evangeline nodded. 'Please, won't you come in?' She stepped aside and widened the door to reveal a long, wooden-floored hallway, the walls along the side decorated with ivory and brass paintings. Tamsin was sure she must have been gaping at the sight of it. She should have known what the house would be like, given their background. Evangeline politely grasped Tamsin's arm and intertwined it with her own as they walked down the long hall. Tamsin spoke up, trying to disrupt the heavy silence growing between them.

'So, er, did you decorate the place yourself?' She asked. Her words came out sounding all wrong; not at all as she'd intended. She didn't want to sound as unpleasant as she looked—poor, and uneducated. Evangeline would have probably decided that Tamsin was from the wrong side of the tracks.

Evangeline laughed a light, airy giggle. 'Heavens, no! I would have drowned in homewares,' she joked. When Tamsin smiled politely, she elaborated. 'It's a big house. Actually, our interior designer planned it. We just had the house all remodelled. The themes are different now, too. Don't you like it?' She smiled proudly at the walls. 'It took months to get just right. My husband was just so flippant about it, but I said no, Bronson, no. It has to be perfect.' She gave Tamsin another dazzling smile.

'It certainly is very...articulate.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, it's very clean, and...' Stop talking!

'I suppose I've heard worse,' she laughed.

'Oh, no, I meant it in a good way. I really like it,' she said quickly, clamming up before she said anything else stupid.

'That's kind of you to say,' Evangeline said, clearly satisfied. Finally, they approached the end of the long hall, into a very large room, decorated with plush carpets, heavy cream curtains, and antique brass coffee tables. 'My husband really isn't interested in decorating. Sadly, I'm the only one who appreciates it the majority of the time.'