“No…but you’ll be running for the rest of your life. Scared to be caught.”
She took his hand. “I’m not scared. I’m fucking furious. I want to burn the whole world down. And I want to see the woman who sent the message. I’m going to her house.” She held up her phone, showing Felipe the Facebook page with the screenshot and the doxing: SO’D aka Susan O’Donnell, 26 Oakpark.
“It’s just across the road. A two-minute drive. I’m going there now.”
“Venetia, you cannot go to that woman’s house.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“I’m trying to help. I can’t let you do this.”
Still holding his hand, she twisted the car keys from it and, before he could process what she’d done, she was running down the stairs and out to the car.
76
Venetia
Last week
The homes in Oakpark were mostly in darkness, but in number 26, the living-room light was on. Venetia stood at the porch, not yet sure what she wanted to say or how to get Susan to answer her knock. She could see into the hall through the tall glass panels on either side of the front door. A black-and-white tiled floor. A slim glass table beneath a huge silver-edged mirror. A lamp emitting amber light. A coatstand with no coats. And a package, just inside the door. Venetia knelt to read the name on the label. Susan O’Donnell. Venetia’s anger swelled. To her right, just beyond the porch, a bicycle leaned against the wall. Would that make her come out? Venetia pushed the bike, knocking it flat. The crash jarred with the night-time silence. Loud enough for Susan to hear. Not loud enough for neighbors to notice. At least, she hoped. She glanced back toward the end of the driveway, where she’d left the car.
From inside the house came the sound of footsteps. Venetia slipped into the shadows and waited. The door opened and a head peered out. Adark-haired woman with an unfocused expression and a drink in her hand. Venetia rushed forward, pushing the door, shoving the woman backward. The drink flew out of her hand, its contents spilling on the hall floor. The woman stumbled backward, shock all over her face. Venetia stepped inside and closed the door.
77
Savannah
Last week
Savannah stared at the woman, her mind scrambling to understand. On some level, there was tiny relief.It’s a woman. A woman in a black T-shirt and black jeans and heavy Dr. Martens boots. No mask hiding her face. Whatever this person wanted, at least it was a woman. Women didn’t hurt people, right? She took in the wild hair, the angry, red-rimmed eyes. Someone having a psychotic episode? A neighbor, maybe? Someone who’d been drinking? She couldn’t smell drink. It didn’t seem like a drink thing. A burglary? Did women burgle?
Savannah opened her mouth to tell her to leave, to ask what was happening, but couldn’t find the words. Her throat seemed to have closed over. The woman stepped forward, towering over her. Savannah shrank against the wall.
“I…I have jewelry. It’s upstairs. Take it all. I don’t have cash. But take the laptop, my phone, whatever you want.” She swallowed, her voice gone again.
The woman stepped closer.
“I don’t need your jewelry, Susan,” the woman hissed. “I need you to take responsibility for what you’ve done.”
Susan?
“I’m not Su—” A hand shot out and grabbed the front of her T-shirt, twisting the fabric, pulling her close. Hot breath on her skin. The stale smell of cigarettes and coffee. And eyes flashing with white-hot rage.
78
Susan
Thursday
When the gardaí leave, I sit with my head in my hands. I should have told them I was out on Wednesday. And what about this car they mentioned? A dark blue Ford Mondeo, one that looks like Jon’s—well, ours, but I know it wasn’t me—outside Savannah’s house the morning she was murdered. And according to Jon’s assistant, Jon wasn’t in his office at the time. It might mean nothing. There are lots of blue Ford Mondeos around. But realistically, it can’t be a coincidence, can it? And yet, I didn’t say any of this to the guards just now. I don’t know why. Some kind of self-preservation, making me slow down and think before blurting it out? Protecting Jon to protect Bella, at least until I think things through? Or the fear that if I go up against Jon, he might have Bella taken off me…
And then there’s Greta. Greta lied about seeing Jon on Monday night. And she couldn’t babysit last Wednesday but didn’t say why. And now I know she met with Jon in his office that morning. I can’t think of a single reason Greta would do that. I mean, OK, if it wasn’t for the cheating, I’d thinkmaybeJon was organizing a surprise party and getting help from mysisters. Leesa and I surprised Greta with a trip to Paris for her fortieth, and then Greta and I surprised Leesa with a weekend in Monart after all the stuff she went through with Maeve. I keep telling them it’s my turn for a surprise. Idohave a birthday next month, but…it’s not a milestone one, and my husband cares so little about me he’s been having an affair while I’m at home with our newborn baby. So no. I don’t know why Greta was in Jon’s office and there’s a horrible, sick feeling in my gut telling me this is all linked to Savannah Holmes.
A noise from the garden catches my attention and, for a moment, I freeze. The doors are locked, the side gate’s padlocked now too: nobody can come in. But still. The idea that there’s someone out there, someone trying to get at me or trying to hurt Bella, or maybe…maybe deliberately making me look like an unfit mother? I pull Bella close and stand, craning my neck to look out the window. A squirrel darts across the lawn and up an apple tree. That’s all it was. But it’s enough. I can’t live like this. I’m not staying here.
And although she’s the obvious choice, I don’t want to go to Greta’s. I hate admitting it to myself, but I don’t fully trust her. Leesa’s house is not ideal—it’s smaller than ours, and two extra people is a lot—but I don’t know what else I can do. I pick up the phone.
I give Leesa an abbreviated version. Someone tried to get into the house while I was upstairs. This is true. I don’t tell her the person actually did get in and took Bella and put her outside in the front garden, because the last thing I need is my own sister thinking I’ve lost it and my child isn’t safe with me. She says we’re welcome for as long as we want to stay and, within an hour, I’m unpacking in her spare bedroom as she sets up the bassinet beside the bed.
