Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus. I spin in a circle, looking around the living room—could she have fallen out? She’s too small; she can’t even roll yet.Oh my god. Did I leave her in another room and forget? I didn’t. I’m sure I didn’t.
“Bella!” I’m shouting now, shouting and running. She’s not in the kitchen. I race to the hall and stand frozen for a moment. Did I leave her upstairs? Am I losing it? No, she was definitely downstairs. Oh my god, I’m going to be sick. I check the den: she’s not there—how would she be there? Where is she? Upstairs or…or…I look at the front door. She can’t be gone. But where else can she be? Has someone been in the house? Has someone taken her? It’s not possible. I locked the back patio door last night myself and I haven’t been out there this morning. Christ. I unlock the front door and run outside. There’s nobody in the driveway. I run toward the gateway, panting and crying, and look both ways. A car passes by at the intersection with the main road, a man walks his dog. There’snobody else. I need to call the police. I don’t know where my phone is. I don’t know what to do. I need Greta to help me, and Jon, and I need to phone the police. I turn to run back up the driveway, and then I see her.
In the front garden, lying on the grass. Bella. Oh my god. I’m with her in three quick strides, scooping her up, holding her to me, checking, checking, but she’s alive and awake and looking at me. How did she get out here? This makes no sense. Someone came into our house while I was upstairs and took her outside? Who, and why? And how? The door was locked. I’m almost certain. How could this happen?
Juliette Sullivan’s voice pulls me back to real life. She’s by her car, a box of what looks like plastic wine glasses in her arms.
“All set for the summer party tonight?” she calls, then squints at me and walks toward our dividing wall. “Susan, are you all right?”
“No.” I’m crying, I realize now. “Someone…someone put Bella in the front garden. They took her out of her crib and laid her on the grass.”
Juliette tilts her head. “That sounds distressing. Far too hot for a little one to be out in the sun. I saw she was a bit red earlier in the week—did she get sunburnt? You might be better to keep her indoors during the hot spell.”
“It wasn’t me! I didn’t put her here.”
“Absolutely. But best take her in now?”
“I need to call the guards.”
“Of course you do,” she says in an over-the-top soothing tone. “But bring her inside first, won’t you? And have a cup of tea. And if you still feel you need to call the police, you could do it then.”
She thinks I did this myself. And bloody hell, the guards are going to think the same. I’m still reporting it. Let them believe what they want about me; they need to look into it. Juliette is still talking.
“You might just want to be careful they don’t get on to Tusla, or whatever the child welfare people are called.”
Oh god.
“Between the sunburn and this today,” she continues, “they might have some…concerns about Bella’s welfare?”
Blood pounds in my ears. I hate her so much right now, but what I hate even more is that she’s right.
“Not me, obviously. I have no concerns,” she adds smoothly. “And I’m sure your husband would vouch for you. But people who don’t know you might think there are some…problems with Bella’s care?”
“I…I don’t know what happened, but yeah, I need to get her inside.”
Juliette purses her lips and nods. She’ll be straight on to her crony, Celeste, to tell her Susan O’Donnell has lost the plot and is harming her baby. Fuck.
69
Venetia
Thursday
Venetia is on a high. That felt good. Laying the baby on the grass. The confused look on its face. The sun in its eyes. Squinting. Too small to do anything else. It couldn’t roll or move or protect itself in any way. Just like Aimee couldn’t, once Rory saw that message. Venetia makes her way through Oakpark, passing a big, leafy green. Two women are setting up trestle tables, covering them in white cloths. A tall stack of crates sits nearby—plastic glasses glinting in the sun. Venetia’s been at parties like this, but only ever filling, serving, cleaning, gathering. Will Susan be at this party? Venetia smiles to herself. After what she’s just been through, probably not. She keeps going, taking a shortcut through the trees, toward the road home, imagining Susan’s panic. Imagining her shock at the empty crib. Her frantic search. Her confusion at finding the baby lying on the lawn. She might think she did it herself. She might think someone is coming to get her. Someoneiscoming to get her. It’s been cathartic, toying with her. Enough though. It’s time.
70
Jon
Thursday
Jon paces his office floor. In the conference room down the corridor, the Thursday-morning Heads of Department meeting rumbles on without him. He’d said he had a conflict. His door is closed and his blinds are drawn and he just needs peace and quiet to think. He can’t get Leesa’s revelation out of his head. Susan went somewhere the morning Savannah’s body was found, and she lied about it. Where was she, and why lie? There could be any number of reasons, realistically—maybe she just needed some time on her own. A coffee, a massage, a trip to the shops. But he can’t get away from one possible reason that terrifies him. And one cold, hard fact: Savannah was wearing the bracelet last week. And Susan has that bracelet now. What did Susan see? He needs to talk to someone. And there’s only one person who can help.
Greta picks up, sounding snappish.
“What is it, Jon? I’m having a nightmare day so please don’t make it worse.”
“Do you know where Susan was last week when…when Savannah…”
