We. She couldn’t help feeling he and Susan were still very much a family. A trio. And Savannah was the bit on the side. Disposable.
“So what happens now? Your wife gives us her blessing and we carry on seeing each other? I don’t think so, Jon.”
He held up his hands. “No argument from me. Best we end it.”
How magnanimous. She launched into another series of “how could you?”s while he stood there, head down, taking it all, saying nothing. Just as she was about to take off her bracelet and fling it at his stupid head, a figure appeared at the front door, visible fleetingly through the glass at the side.
Jon opened the door. And Savannah came face to face with Susan.
She wasn’t what she’d expected, but then again, she’d only known of her existence for about twelve hours and she hadn’t found any photos online. Susan was tall, taller than Savannah by a good six inches, and had long, curly auburn hair framing a porcelain-skinned face devoid of makeup.No jewelry, no adornments of any kind. Without thinking about it too much, Savannah had assumed subconsciously, she realized now, that Susan would look like her, but an older, more matronly, more mediocre version. She took in Susan’s clothes—navy tracksuit and Asics trainers, the kind of clothes Savannah wouldn’t be caught dead in. But somehow they suited Susan.
“Savannah, this is Susan.”
Still on the doorstep, Susan threw Jon a dagger look, and Savannah caught it.Interesting. However this woman felt about her husband’s affair and whatever truth there may or may not be to the open-marriage story, she clearly wasn’t happy to be there.
Jon was speaking again. “Susan, I’ve told Savannah that you don’t mind me seeing other people. Understandably, of course, Savannah didn’t believe me, so I thought it would make sense if you came and explained and we could all move on.”
Savannah shook her head. God. He was talking about it like it was a minor workplace dispute over unwashed cups in the kitchenette.
Susan stepped forward. “Savannah, I’m sorry you got caught up in all this and had to find out this way. In all honesty, Jon is a complete fuckwit.”
In spite of herself, Savannah grinned.
Jon looked like he wanted to argue, but clamped his mouth shut.
Susan kept talking. “I don’t care what he gets up to away from home, but we have a small baby, we live in a very nosy neighborhood, and I work in the local school, so I absolutely cannot have this brought to my door.” She stepped forward again. Savannah stopped grinning. Susan was kind of scary. “Do you understand?”
Savannah nodded, feeling like a naughty child being chastised by a teacher.
Susan tilted her head, as though appraising her. Then she turned to Jon. “Jon, why don’t you head into work? You’re going to be late. I’ll have a coffee with Savannah here to make sure we’re definitely on the same page.”
Jon hesitated, looking as though he wanted to speak. Then something else crossed his face. Relief maybe? He was dying to get out of there, Savannah realized, happy to leave Susan to deal with her. What a coward. What had she ever seen in him?
Jon hesitated for just a second more, then nodded and turned to walk out the front door.
Leaving Savannah alone with his wife.
92
Venetia
Last week
Venetia hadn’t slept Tuesday night. And now, at ten o’clock on Wednesday morning, she was still upright on the living-room couch, events of the last twelve hours playing on a constant loop. Aimee’s death mask. Rory’s pulped head. And that woman, Susan O’Donnell, cowering in her hall as Felipe pulled Venetia away. The gurgle of pipes told her Felipe was in the shower. His third shower since they’d come home. Horrified at what she’d done to Rory, terrified they’d be caught. More worried about her than about himself, she conceded, but when did that ever get anyone anywhere? And Susan O’Donnell was just getting away with it. Felipe had told her to steer clear now. But Aimee wasn’thissister. He didn’t get it. She picked up Felipe’s old phone, the cheap pay-as-you-go he’d bought when he first moved to Ireland, and copied Susan’s number from the WhatsApp screenshot. Then typed out a text:
You got away lightly last night. You deserve to die for that message and what it’s done.
Whatever Felipe thought, this wasn’t the end of it. Susan O’Donnell would be seeing her again. And again and again and again.
• • •
At lunchtime, the guards arrived. One of the hardest things Venetia ever had to do was feign surprise when they knocked on the door. She forced a smile, before remembering nobody smiles when the police arrive, and adjusted her expression accordingly.
“Could we come in?” the younger of the two gardaí asked, after introducing herself and her colleague. Orla was the speaker’s name, that’s all Venetia could remember. A garda who looked to be no more than thirty, with the kind of perfect makeup and glossy pony-tail Venetia didn’t associate with gardaí.
Venetia ushered them into the living room, frowning a warning at Felipe as he padded down the stairs. Felipe was a loose cannon.
“What can I help you with?” she asked, as she imagined someone might.
