She’s typing on her phone now. “Don’t worry, Bella’s face isn’t in shot, and Maeve, I’ve cropped you out.” She looks at her watch. “Don’t forget you’re babysitting in an hour. You’re OK to walk over to the Fitzpatricks?”
A heavy sigh from Maeve makes it clear just how much she’s looking forward to that.
• • •
As soon as we’re done cleaning up, I feign a headache and go to the guest room. My phone sits silently on the night-stand, daring me to try calling Jon. To say what?You absolute fucker, how could you cheat on me? And where were you last Wednesday morning?
And I keep wondering, should I be phoning the guards to tell them Jon had our car that morning? But I can’t bring myself to do that any more than I can imagine confronting Jon. So, for now, I do nothing but worry.
It’s only when I start to get Bella ready for bed that I realize I’ve forgotten to bring her sleep suit and her soother. I’ve also forgotten to bring spare socks, my book, and my vitamin C serum, all of which I can do without, but I don’t want to put Bella to bed in the milk-stained dress she’s been wearing all day and Leesa’s house is a little chilly for sleeping in a vest. Much more crucial is the soother—there’s no way she’ll sleep without it. But I’m not brave enough to go home to pick up what I need—I don’t want to see Jon. Bella is lying on the guest-room bed, kicking her legs and gurgling.
“Oh, you look so happy now, but just wait until we try to get you to sleep without your dodie…” I stoop to kiss her, resigned to what’s ahead—I’m going to have to walk up to Dunnes to buy replacements.
I pop Bella on to my shoulder and go downstairs. The house is quiet,apart from the low hum of the TV. Leesa has gone to the Oakpark summer party, and Maeve has left for babysitting. My options are either bring Bella with me to the shops or ask Aoife to mind her. I peep in the living-room door, eyeing up Aoife as she lies on the couch looking at her phone. I love her. She’s great. She’s quirky and funny and interesting. But in terms of leaving my only child with her, I’m not convinced. Quietly, I close the door.
• • •
As I’m easing Bella into her pram, my phone dings with a text from Juliette Sullivan.
Saw Jon being picked up by the police—very stressful for you all, I’m sure. I’m busy with the Oakpark summer party right now, but if I can help in any way, let me know. I could call in to keep you company in the morning?
Oh god. What does this mean? Was he at Savannah’s on Wednesday? Or is it simply procedure; question him and rule him out? God, I hope so. The entire situation is hideous…and now Juliette Sullivan is dying to get in on the action.
It does, however, mean that Jon is out of the house and I can go there to pick up the sleepsuit and soother instead of walking all the way up to Dunnes Stores, which, to my everlasting regret, is what I decide to do.
86
Susan
Thursday
It’s warm and bright outside, the kind of July evening you’d have on tap if you could, but none of it lifts my spirits as I push the pram down Leesa’s driveway. I stop at the gate, thinking. My gut is telling me I’d feel better with company on my return trip to our house. But with Leesa at the Oakpark party, I’m not sure who else to ask. My friends are great, but none of them live so near that I can text at nine on a Thursday night to ask them to keep me company going to my own house…then Felipe pops into my head. Sweet, funny Felipe, who is easier to talk to than anyone else right now. Could I ask him? Would it be weird? I’m past caring about weird. I scroll to his number and hit call, but it rings out. I text instead of leaving a voicemail:
Staying with my sister Leesa for a bit but have to head home to pick up some things. If you’re around, company would be great!
I start walking, pushing the pram along the footpath. On the green, a group of kids kick a ball, their shrieks reminding me of my own childhoodsummers. A dog barks somewhere ahead and a car engine revs somewhere behind. I check my phone. No blue ticks, no reply from Felipe. That leaves Greta. And I don’t know how I feel about her right now, which is giving me a pain in my heart. She definitely lied to me on Monday night when she said Jon wasn’t in her house. And for as long as I’ve known her—my whole life—she’s never lied to me. I mean, sure, she’s told me I look good when I don’t look good, and she’s told me I wasn’t that drunk when I really was that drunk. But an outright lie? Then again, it’s Greta. There must be a good reason. Also, I’m out of options. So I message to ask if she’ll come with me to pick up stuff from the house, and she says to call in to her when I get to Oakpark.
• • •
As I walk toward her house, the sound of the summer party wafts through the evening air. Chatter and peals of laughter and Pharrell Williams’s “Happy” on the speakers. The Oakpark partygoers are down on the green, too far away to see me, but I turn my face away anyway. It’ll be a long time before I can hold my head up at any social gathering in our neighborhood.
When Greta answers her door, she looks the same as she always does—dressed in leggings and an oversized hoodie, hair in a pony-tail and a no-nonsense expression on her face. She’s just made a cup of decaf tea and she makes one for me too. For the first time in forever, I feel lost for words. I don’t want to tell her I might have left Jon or that he’s been taken in for questioning. My “someone put Bella out in the garden” story is sounding increasingly batshit. And I can’t bring myself to ask her why she lied about Jon on Monday night. So we talk about my upcoming birthday and she asks me if I’m free on the twentieth because she’s booked a sister-dinner in our favorite restaurant in Dún Laoghaire. She tells me I should dress up, and a funny look crosses her face, like she’s trying not to smile.
And suddenly a piece of the jigsaw slips into place. I dismissed it so quickly earlier, but oh my god, itisa surprise party. I let out a silent breath.This doesn’t change the fact that Jon has been sleeping with Savannah Holmes, but it does explain why Greta and he have been conspiring. My sister is not lying to me for any terrifying reasons, she’s just being her usual slightly prickly but secretly lovely self.
Buoyed by this realization, I feel lighter. Not because of a surprise birthday celebration (certainly not one organized by my husband) but because my sister, one of the three most important people in my world, is still the person I thought she was.
• • •
I’m still feeling lighter when we walk up my driveway. Jon’s car isn’t here—maybe he drove himself to the station, which is at odds with Juliette’s dramatic “picked up by police” text. This makes me feel better again—it can’t be that serious if he drove himself. We let ourselves in the front door. There’s no way to know how long Jon will be in the garda station; I guess he could arrive back any minute. I leave Greta holding Bella in the kitchen and dash up to our bedroom to grab what I need. But before I do anything else, I check my night-stand drawer for the bracelet. Did Savannah want to be caught, I wonder now? Or did she simply lose the bracelet when she was here? And how did she die? And does her death have anything to do with Jon or with me? This brings me back to Greta. Would she really go into Jon’s office to talk about a surprise party, something they could easily discuss over text? Or was it something more urgent, something she didn’t want to discuss by phone? My earlier elation feels false and flat now. Maybe I need to bite the bullet and ask Greta outright. As the first fireworks go off outside, I pocket the bracelet and go downstairs.
And what I find stops me cold.
87
Savannah
Last week
