“Oh, they doubled down, protected their child. Said Senan must have provoked their son. I mean, for the love of god,provokedhim? The child was four. Cody should have known better.”
I clear my throat. “Do you think Cody has the propensity to be violent?”
Moira nods vehemently. “Anyone who does what he did? Absolutely. And like, it’s not as though he just politely asked Senan to go out. He pushed him out the door.”
“Did Cody admit that?”
“No. Of course not, he wouldn’t admit any of it. But little did he know, we had a nanny cam on. Here, have a look.”
She opens the cover of an iPad and presses play. We lean in. It’s hard to see in the sunlight and Leesa is closer than I am, but I can make out what looks like a couch and two figures in the foreground, one tall, one small.
“There’s no sound,” Moira says, “but you can see what’s going on.”
The taller figure—Cody—is towering over the smaller figure,presumably Senan. Even without sound, everything signals an argument. Cody is pointing now, to something or somewhere offscreen.
“He’s pointing toward those,” Moira says, indicating glass doors behind us. “They were open on the night.”
Senan grabs something, we can’t see what, and runs, disappearing from the frame. Cody follows, striding after him. Moments later, Cody is back onscreen, flopping on the couch, arms folded.
Moira presses pause.
“Basically, Tilly told us what happened, and the camera backed her up, so”—a shrug and a grim smile—“he was caught.”
I think of the baby monitor camera I have attached to Bella’s crib. I’ve only ever seen it as a way to keep an eye on her, see if she’s awake or asleep, but maybe we should have more cameras in the house.
“God, what an awful thing to go through,” I say. “I suppose they’re all just kids—Cody too.”
This was the wrong thing to say. Moira’s jaw tightens and her cheeks flush.
“My children are ‘just kids,’ but they’d never hurt someone or treat another child the way Cody treated Senan. Would yours?” She directs this at Leesa.
Leesa shakes her head. “Not at this age. Though they used to batter each other when they were small.”
“That’s different though,” Moira says tightly. “A toddler hitting a big sister is normal behavior. What Cody did is not normal. He should be locked up.” She looks from me to Leesa, daring us to disagree. We don’t risk it.
A door slams from inside, and suddenly a small barrel of energy races out, remote control in hand, his big sister racing after him. Senan. He flings himself on to his mother’s knee, clinging to her, the remote control buried somewhere between them.
“Mum!” Tilly is shouting. “It’s my turn now and he still won’t give it!”
“No!” Senan turns to shout and nestles his head back into his mother’s neck.
Moira is unperturbed. “Ah Tilly, can’t you watch a little bit later? He’s only holding on to it because he knows you want it.”
“Then can I have your phone?”
Moira passes her phone and Tilly skips inside.
“Whatever works, right?” Moira arches her brows in a rhetorical question.
Senan twists on his mother’s knee and reaches across to grab a handful of shortbread fingers. Moira tells him to stop and manages to get two of the five biscuits out of his hand. He slides off her lap, races to the other side of the garden with the remaining three and crams them into his mouth, watching his mother, pushing it to see how far he can go.
“Sorry, he’s a demon for sugar.” She puts the two rescued biscuits back on the plate and eyes them for a moment. “I was going to say they’re safe, his hands are clean, but you know what? I wouldn’t risk it.”
• • •
“So that was pretty telling,” I whisper to Leesa as we walk down Moira’s driveway. “Did you see how quickly she reacted when we asked if Cody could be violent? No hesitation.”
Leesa shakes her head. “Doesn’t mean a thing.”
