‘The dog was naughty,’ he’d said. ‘He barked. He barked lots. Then he was naughty, and he bit me.’
That was when Finlay had shown her what appeared to be bite marks on his leg; a small circle of tiny pink indentations. Had his mother seen the marks? If so, why hadn’t she said anything?
‘And then I smacked him,’ Finlay had continued, matter-of-factly. ‘Because it was naughty to bite me.’
‘Then what did you do?’ Cassie had asked with a sense of dread.
‘I picked him up and told him to be good. But he wouldn’t be good. He barked in my ear and tried to bite me again. So I threw him into the water to make him be good. That’s what you do when children are naughty.’
‘What, throw children into the river?’ repeated Cassie, horrified at what he’d said. Surely the boy had to be making things up now.
He’d looked up from the iPad screen at her question and shaken his head. ‘No. A swimming pool. That’s what happened to me when I was naughty. It was to make me be good.’
‘Really? When was that?’
‘At home. Before Daddy died.’
‘And who threw you into the pool?’
He lowered his gaze, returning it toBlueyon his iPad. ‘It’s a secret,’ he mumbled.
‘Why is it a secret?’ she asked, cautiously.
‘Mummy said it was. She said Daddy would be cross if I told anyone. And if I told anyone then something really bad would happen to her.’
‘Are you saying Daddy would be cross with Mummy?’
When he didn’t answer her, Cassie said, ‘Finlay, would Daddy have been cross with Mummy?’
He gave an imperceptible nod, and Cassie could see he was growing bored with the conversation. But she had one more question.
‘So you threw Bon-Bon into the river to make him behave, just like what happened to you? Is that what you did last night?’
He rubbed his nose then slipped an exploratory finger inside a nostril. Pulling it out and wiping it on the front of his T-shirt, hesaid, ‘Yes. But he still barked … and then he stopped barking, so that meant he was being good. And I called his name, but he didn’t come out of the water, and I couldn’t see him. I looked. And then I was scared because I was all on my own and I didn’t know how to get home. And then I wet myself and I cried. Don’t tell Mummy I did that.’
Cassie swallowed. ‘What don’t you want me to tell Mummy?’
‘That I wet myself. I’m a big boy now and big boys don’t wet themselves.’
‘I’m sure Mummy wouldn’t be cross with you for having a little accident. All children do.’
He shook his head. ‘Mummy said Daddy wouldn’t like it if I had an accident. He’d be cross.’
With a disturbing image of family life in Dubai now fast developing in her mind, Cassie knew that she had to talk to Rosalyn, to tell her what Finlay had shared with her. But ever since last night the boy’s mother was so volatile. Would it be better to wait until things had settled down?
What was absolutely clear was that Finlay needed to speak to a professional, some kind of therapist who would teach him that you didn’t go around drowning dogs to make them behave! If he could do that at so young an age, what would he do when he was a grown man?
Or was she overreacting? Was she too quick to give credence to what the boy had said because she still hated Drew and wanted to believe he was capable of being an abusive father and husband?
The answer could wait until Ben was home that evening, she decided. With his wholly rational and objective way of looking at things, Ben would know exactly what they should do.
Chapter Forty
Once more it was raining and as Nina stood at the gallery window looking out at the deserted cobbled street, she was grateful that the weather had held that morning while she and Cassie had been in the woods with Venetia burying Bon-Bon. To have carried out their sad task in the pouring rain would have been so much worse.
Cassie had originally planned to come in to the gallery today but had opted to stay at home to be with Emily. Nina had understood perfectly, and besides there really wasn’t much to do. Other than worry if things would ever pick up again. Even during the pandemic when everything was shut during the various periods of lockdown, it hadn’t felt as bad as this. People had still wanted nice things, perhaps more so when life had suddenly felt so fragile and ephemeral, and in consequence Lavelle’s online sales had been remarkably buoyant.
But now, and following weeks of dreadful weather and endless news reports of the economy stalling, business was far from brisk. Nina wasn’t the only one to feel the lack of customers; her neighbours in St Anne’s Court – Jeremy who owned Quantock’s Antiquarian Bookshop on one side and Philip who owned Blythe’s Antiques directly opposite – had both complained bitterly that if things didn’t improve, they might just as well pull the shutters down and go home. For good. To ease their boredom, they hadtaken to popping in to chat with Nina. She knew them of old as they’d both been great friends with her parents. They had known Nina since she was a child and still occasionally treated her in much the same way, especially so since Hugh’s death, seeing it as their duty, in the guise of avuncular uncles, to ensure she was all right.
