He’s on his way. And asking me something about a screenshot, some message that’s doing the rounds.
Venetia would give anything, anything in the world, to be wrong. But her gut is telling her she’s right to be scared.
Felipe had been waiting up for her and had offered to drive when he saw her getting in her car. He still didn’t get what was going on, though she’d explained it twice now. He ran another red light. Almost there.
Venetia had the passenger door open before Felipe put on the handbrake. She made her way past Aimee and Rory’s cars, deciding not to ring the bell. Instead she used the spare key from their lockbox. If it was all a mistake, there was no point in waking them. And no need to explain toRory what had gone through her head. Not when they’re this close to Aimee leaving. And if it wasn’t a mistake…
Venetia ran down the hall and into the kitchen, but it was dark and empty. The living room too. Felipe stepped inside and opened his mouth to speak. She shushed him with a finger to her lips, then pointed up the stairs. The carpet, new and deep pile, muffled any noise as she went up toward the landing, with Felipe following. Straight ahead was the bathroom. To her right, the spare room, and then Aimee and Rory’s bedroom. Aimee had been so proud when they got the keys to their smart, new-build townhouse. A pretty two-story in showhouse neutrals. Rory would be easier now, she’d said. Calmer, less stressed, once out of the tiny flat they’d been renting until then. And he had. For a week or two. Then he’d realized that parents from a local school were parking outside their house every morning, and he’d taken it out on Aimee.
Venetia swallowed, digging her nails into her palms. Felipe was right behind her, still confused, but knowing better than to speak.
She stepped forward and touched the bedroom door. For a moment, she couldn’t move. Afraid of what she might find, afraid it would be too late. Then a sound caught her attention. The sound of sleep. The sound of snoring. Relief swept over her. Briefly, she closed her eyes. It was going to be OK. They were asleep, he hadn’t seen the message, and Aimee would leave him tomorrow.
She pushed the door of Aimee’s bedroom.
And that’s when she saw it all laid bare. Red sheets where there should be white. Dark stains on the carpet. A metal bar with something heavy on the end. A barbell. One of Rory’s barbells. And Aimee. Her beautiful, perfect, innocent sister lying across the bed. Her head lolling, hanging down over the side. Arms by her ears. Eyes open. But gone. So gone. And as Venetia stepped forward, to do the impossible, to will her sister back to life, a noise caught her attention.
There he was. In his chair, head thrown back. The sound of snoring,the rattle of sleep. He’d killed her sister and taken a nap. Rage and grief and horror surged inside Venetia and rose like a volcano spilling out in a roar as she picked the barbell off the floor, raised it waist high and slammed the weight against Rory’s head. And again. And again. Then arms were around her as Felipe pulled her away. And Rory slumped sideways on to the floor.
Venetia had two regrets. Not making Aimee leave earlier that day. And not making Rory suffer for what he’d done. He never knew what hit him.
67
Maeve
Thursday
Maeve Khoury stares at her bedroom ceiling, willing herself to get up, to take a shower. To change out of the tracksuit bottoms and T-shirt she’s been wearing day and night. A shower might be too much; maybe she could just wash her face and brush her teeth. But despite her mother’s pleas and her own best efforts, she can’t make herself move.
It’s Thursday morning, and Maeve hasn’t left her house in three days, not since the diary video on Monday. She’s barely left her room. But she knows exactly what’s going on in the world, through the window of her phone. She knows it was Nika who shared the diary video, and she knows people have completely forgotten about Nika seeing Ariana’s boyfriend, which was presumably what Nika intended. Word is going around that Greta tried to hurt Nika. It’s only a rumor, and Nika is keeping quiet. Probably because she knows she’ll be in trouble for the AWGoss Snapchat account otherwise. Online harassment is against the law in Ireland; they’ve been told that in CSPE class at school. She turns on her side, curls her knees to her chest, throws her phone down toward the end of the bedand sighs. From downstairs comes the click of the front door, then Greta’s voice. She sounds stressed. Guilt and worry curl through Maeve.
Celeste’s message about Greta has led to people pulling out of hockey camp, apparently, and Maeve isn’t sure what to think of any of it. Surely Greta didn’t do it? She’s not shy about confrontation or speaking up when something isn’t right. But would she hurt someone? She couldn’t have.
Then again, if it’s a coincidence, it’s a fairly massive one: Maeve googling what happens if you put nuts in someone’s lunch and then someone puts nuts in Nika’s lunch? Greta was alone in Maeve’s room on Tuesday when she asked Maeve to get her naltrexone, and the laptop was open. She could have seen it…and she wouldn’t have known that Maeve didn’t really mean it. Or maybe shedidknow and that’s why she did it. To follow through where Maeve wouldn’t. And Greta knows Nika would have an epi pen on her, and maybe there’s one in the first-aid box too. Greta would have been on hand to make sure it was nothing more than a scare.
Maeve waits for some kind of response to kick in. Shouldn’t she feel glad that her aunt tried to avenge her? Some kind of satisfaction? But all she feels is scared.
68
Susan
Thursday
God, how am I hoovering when my life is falling apart? Like some kind of 1950s housewife, just getting on with things. My husband has been cheating on me with a woman who was murdered last week, my sister is lying to me, my niece hasn’t left her room in three days, and I’m hoovering.
My mind wanders back to last night, to the conversation with Felipe in the pub. His reassurance that Aimee and Rory’s deaths had nothing to do with me. The warm touch of his hand. His guilt over sending the screenshot to Rory. Rory’s “jokes” about Venetia’s fidelity or lack thereof.
Something strikes me now. I stop in the middle of the landing and switch off the hoover. Venetia’s supposed infidelities. Felipe’s claim that cheating wasn’t in Aimee’s nature. Felipe’s account of Aimee and Venetia’s closeness—daily texts and swapping clothes. The silver jacket that night in Bar Four.
Oh my god. Did I get it wrong? After all this fuss and drama, was I mistaken? Was it Venetia I saw with Warren? And if so, having spread it far and wide with my message, do I set the record straight? Or with Aimeeand Rory both dead, does it matter at all? Felipe certainly doesn’t need to know that his wife may have been cheating on him, marriage of convenience or not. Warren obviouslydoesknow who he was kissing but isn’t going to say. Nobody benefits from any kind of clarification, I realize.
It’s too little, too late, but this time I’ll keep my mouth shut.
Still thinking about it, I head downstairs to check on Bella and make a coffee. The only good thing that’s happened in the last week is that Bella has started to nap properly mid-morning and, even when your world is falling apart, a sleeping baby can feel like a miracle. I go to the kitchen first to power up the coffee machine, then into the living room, oh so quietly, to check on Bella. I tiptoe, listening for those deeper, quieter breaths I don’t want to disturb. She’s sleeping so deeply there’s no sound at all. I move closer and peer in.
Only the crib is empty. Bella is gone.
Jesus Christ. My throat seizes up and blood pounds in my ears.
