Leesa walks over and touches my arm.
“What’s up? Are you guys OK? Is it the stuff that’s been going on with the message and all that?”
I nod. If only that’s all it was.
She scrutinizes me; sympathetic, I think, but also not quite buying it.
• • •
I can’t believe I’m doing this, but Leesa’s just gone and Jon is upstairs with Bella, and I’m texting Felipe to see if he wants to meet again tonight. It’s a little bit to talk, a little bit to escape, and a little bit because, well, I like him. Not inthatway. Not that I’m trying to have my own affair to get back at Jon, but it’s nice being in the company of someone who isn’t my cheating husband. And sometimes it’s easier to talk to strangers.
• • •
We agree to meet in Conways this time, a cozy pub with low lighting and a flagstone floor. Despite the warm atmosphere, I’m on edge. All the way through my walk here I felt like someone was watching me, and I try to push it away now as I greet Felipe. I’m just being paranoid. There’s one table free at the back, with two small wooden stools—I grab it while Felipe goes to the bar. I don’t have the chance or, to be honest, the inclination, to tell him not to buy a whole bottle this time, and he arrives back with just that. I ask about Venetia. She’s struggling still, he says, and changes the subject then, asking me what it’s like teaching maths. He had a brilliant maths teacher in school, he tells me; she’s the reason he became a software engineer. His parents, an artist and a musician, were surprised at his choice of career, as were his brothers. They’re all big personalities, he explains, larger than life. He lights up when he talks about his family, becoming animated. “They think a software engineer is the most boring job in the world and I am the most boring man in the world, and they are probably correct,” he says with a grin. “I am the quiet one.”
“Well, you know what they say.” I clink my glass to his. “It’s always the quiet ones.”
He asks me about my family then, and I find I can talk in a way that I usually don’t.
I tell him about my useless dad and my beautiful mother. About myserious sister and my fun sister. How close we are. He talks a little then about Venetia and Aimee and their closeness: messaging every day, borrowing each other’s clothes, watching the same TV shows, texting throughout. They’d both been through tough times, he says, then, with a tell-tale glisten in his eyes, he tells me about his cousin back home who died from a drug overdose. I can’t work out how we jumped from Aimee and Venetia’s “tough times” to his cousin’s tragedy, exactly, but I don’t ask.
Eventually, as we near the end of the bottle, I take a big gulp of wine and bring up the elephant in the room.
“Felipe, I didn’t mention this last night or when I called to your house on Saturday, but…you don’t think there’s any link, do you, between my message and what happened to Aimee and Rory? Like, it’s such a huge coincidence,” I rush on. “Three people died and I’m the common link. I’m just worried…” I trail off.
His stares at me, his expression hard to read, then shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. If anything, it’s mine.”
“What do you mean?” I ask softly.
He raises a hand to wave it away, but his expression belies his gesture—he’s desperate to let this out, whatever it is.
“What is it, Felipe?”
A pause. “It was me. I forwarded a screenshot of your message to Rory. He was not on Facebook. He would not have seen it if it wasn’t for me.”
“OK…” I’m not entirely sure where this is going, but there’s a curl of anxiety twisting through me. Does he mean Rorydiddo something to Aimee? I mean, otherwise, surely it doesn’t matter that Felipe sent the screenshot? My heart rate quickens. This is bad.
Felipe continues, staring into his glass. “Rory was always mocking Venetia—to her face and behind her back. Suggesting that fidelity isn’t her thing.”
“Oh.”
“All disguised as a joke, of course.” He looks up at me. “Have you noticed that people can say anything they like if they say ‘It’s ajoke’ after?”
I nod.
“Anyway, it became too much. He was, excuse me, sometimes a very annoying asshole. So when I saw your message shared on Facebook, I sent a screenshot to Rory. So stupid.” He shakes his head. “I was tired of the way he spoke about Venetia, but I should never have done it.” His shoulders slump. “And look what has happened.”
I’m listening, but I’m also panicking. “What are you saying? Did Rory…but the police said he was murdered?”
He blinks. “He was murdered, yes.”
Oh, thank god. “Not a murder-suicide.”
“Not a murder-suicide.”
Relief washes over me. But confusion too.
“Then the fact that you forwarded the screenshot to Rory didn’t really cause anything?”
