It’s perfectly reasonable but still makes me squirm. To be fair, Felipe isthe opposite of intimidating. Wearing a loose linen shirt and board shorts, he reminds me of a cute surfer I met on my gap year in Australia.
“Of course,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “I wanted to explain Venetia’s reaction. She’s very emotional right now.”
“I think emotional is allowed under the circumstances…”
“Absolutely. But when she told you to leave, I imagine you weren’t sure what to think, so I wanted to explain…” The hands are back in the pockets and he’s looking at his shoes. Flip-flops. I find myself wondering what his job is. “She struggles to manage her emotions at times—loses her temper, shouts, then feels bad after.”
I lean against the doorjamb. “Honestly, she doesn’t need to feel bad. I’d be the same if something happened to one of my sisters.”
He nods and grimaces.
“And it’s me who should be apologizing,” I continue. “I should never have written that message about Aimee. I’m truly sorry.”
“Did you really see her with that man Warren?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He looks baffled. “What was she thinking?”
“I guess she wasn’t thinking.”
“No, but—” He stops himself.
I’m curious now.
“What is it?”
“She’s normally…a careful person.”
“You mean she had lots of affairs but never got caught?”
A soft, sad laugh. “No, quite the opposite. Her husband, he was…well, he was her only boyfriend ever. They’d been together a long time. They married young. She knew him very well.”
There’s something in the halting way he says all of this, something he’s not saying. I wait.
“She certainly knew him much better than I did,” he adds with a sadsmile. “Anyway, that is all. I’m sorry about Venetia, but she is upset, so I think perhaps don’t call to the house again…” He looks down, embarrassed maybe at asking me to stay away. “Best you avoid her.”
Again, there’s something he’s not saying. Something between the gaps in his words but, whatever it is, it’s not forthcoming.
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “I’ll leave you guys in peace.”
• • •
That evening, Jon arrives home from work at six thirty on the dot for the first time in weeks, and this gives me pause. Is he trying to divert suspicion? Does he know I know? Is that why he’s been so on edge? But how would he guess? Could he have discovered that I have the bracelet? I should have left it where I found it…but then what’s the point of that? I’m not the bad guy here. I haven’t done anything wrong. When he goes upstairs to change, I grab his keys and connect his AirTag to my phone. Now. Let’s see where he goes when he’s not with me.
40
Nika
Monday
The diary is on Nika’s bedside locker, dusty after almost five years under her bed. What would Maeve think if she knew Nika had it? She’d be fucking terrified. Nika remembers when it went missing. (“Missing.”) Maeve frantically checking all over her bedroom, asking Nika if she’d seen it. Nika putting on a worried face and helping her search, the diary buried at the bottom of her bag. Why she took it, she’s not sure. An impulse. Curiosity. The knowledge that someday it might come in useful. She’d seen Maeve writing in it from time to time, her hand crabbed around the page, shielding it from anyone who might walk into her bedroom. Nika was newly thirteen then and Maeve was still twelve, the two of them fresh to secondary school, holding on to their primary-school friendship. Or at least, Maeve was. Nika was ready to meet new people, and Maeve was…well, kind of basic. A try-hard. Always trying to walk home with Nika, tagging along with Nika’s new friends. And by October, just two months into their secondary-school life, Nika was over it.
It was Halloween, and Maeve wanted to go trick-or-treating together, then have Nika stay over. Nika wanted to go to a party in Ariana’s house.So she compromised—which, if you think about it, was actually really nice of her—and got Maeve invited to Ariana’s party too. But it annoyed her all the same. This dragging feeling, being held back by Maeve. It bugged her that she had to call by Maeve’s house on the way to Ariana’s. And walking into Maeve’s room, finding her hunched over her diary, not yet ready to go, annoyed her even more. Maeve shoved her diary under her pillow and went out to the bathroom to change. Nika sat on her bed and pulled the diary back out, one eye on the bedroom door. What would Maeve write about? Wishing she had more friends, maybe, wishing she looked more like everyone else? Her curly hair didn’t fit with the straightened look everyone else went for and her clothes were just kind of…well, still a bit primary school. The first pages were exactly as Nika expected—boring nonsense about the new school, and witterings about her sister coming into her room uninvited. (“AOIFE IF YOU’RE READING THIS YOU’RE DEAD.”) Then Nika turned a page and found something else entirely. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped and, just then, the bathroom door unlocked. She needed more time. She hesitated for a second, then slipped the diary into her backpack and got up from the bed as Maeve came back—to Nika’s horror—dressed as a Minion. She was twelve, not three, for god’s sake. Nika had put huge effort into her outfit—strappy black dress, black boots, cute black button nose, smoky eyes. (“What are you?” her dad had asked. “A cat, Dad, obviously?”) And now she’d have to walk into Ariana’s party with a Minion.
That was the end of it, really.
Nika did her best at the party to steer clear of Maeve, leaving the room each time Maeve came in. It would be mortifying if the others thought she was friends with the Minion. She heard them laughing about Maeve’s costume and slid over to join in. She thought of the diary. Imagine what they’d think if they knew what was in that.
