Then this afternoon she had been the malevolently confrontational woman accusing Cassie of hating her, followed soon after by the out-of-control woman hurling photograph frames at the wall.
And now she was a woman who was wholly in control of not only herself, but the rest of them, dictating terms and expecting everyone to fall in line with what she wanted.
She really did seem to be extraordinarily adept at changing according to the situation, just like a chameleon.
And there was something else that had occurred to Cassie. There had not been a single tear shed during that explosion of emotion in the guest bedroom this afternoon, just a lot of shouting and smashing. It seemed a bit performative when Cassie really thought about it.
But hadn’t all of it been performative, including how they’d been made to act around Rosalyn so as not to upset or offend her. All that tiptoeing around the grieving widow that Cassie had been reduced to. All that gritting her teeth at the mess Finlay created. Ben cancelling the party he’d wanted to arrange for Cassie’s fortieth, and worse still putting on hold their wedding plans. All to avoid upsetting Rosalyn. Had they been played for mugs?
Then there was Emily who had carried out the lion’s share of looking after Finlay, while his mother did what precisely? Not alot as far as Cassie could tell. Or had she been working on this latest role, that of abused wife?
But why? To garner yet more sympathy? Was she thinking of how many more likes this would gain her on her social media accounts?
‘I’m getting seriously weird vibes from you guys,’ said Emily, breaking the silence while helping herself to a handful of pistachios. ‘What’s going on?’
Good question, thought Cassie as Rosalyn looked up from the glass of wine in her hand and met Cassie’s gaze across the island unit. Her eyes were narrowed ever so slightly as if seeking Cassie’s permission to continue.
No!Cassie wanted to say.No, No, a million times NO!
But before she could think of a way to stop Rosalyn from going ahead, it was too late.
‘Emily, there’s something I need to tell you,’ Rosalyn began, her voice cool and steady, her gaze now switching to Emily. ‘It’s not going to be easy for you to hear this, but I want you to know that everything I’m about to say is true. I wish it wasn’t, and I’m only doing this because I value our friendship and everything you’ve done for me. For Finlay too. You’ve been such a fantastic big sister to him, and I never want that to change. But your mum’s been right all along, your dad wasn’t a good man. He was an abusive bully. He was controlling, coercive and frequently violent towards me. And Finlay.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
Venetia wished she had never given in to the whim of returning to Hope Hall in the foolish belief it would bring her closure and peace of mind. If she’d only stayed where she was, her beloved Bon-Bon would still be alive and she wouldn’t be cursing herself and that wretched boy, Finlay.
She didn’t care what the child’s mother said, or how vociferous her denials were, Venetia knew in her bones that Bon-Bon was dead because of something that boy did. And the sheer nerve of the woman shouting at Venetia the way she had and dismissing Bon-Bon’s death as being of little importance compared to losing a child. How dare she say that Bon-Bon could be easily replaced! To Venetia, a life was a life!
All life, so Lady Constance used to say, was sacred and equal in the sight of God.
‘Including nits?’ Venetia had asked during a Religious Instruction class which Lady Constance was in charge of. They’d just had a few weeks when all the children were lousy with nits and poor Edie Buckle was beside herself while waging war on the beasts and eggs that infested their heads.
‘Perhaps we could make an exception in the case of nits,’ Lady Constance had said with a smile.
‘How about fleas?’ someone else had asked.
‘And rats?’ piped up another.
And what about bullies like Terry Sands? Venetia had thought.
Closing her eyes for the briefest of moments, Venetia cast that memory from her mind, and thinking how quiet the apartment was, she looked around the sitting room wondering where Bon-Bon had got to. Her body responded before her brain did and feeling as though she had been punched in the chest and the air knocked out of her, she reached for the back of an armchair to steady herself and then sat down heavily, a tremble running through her.
It was not the first time something like this had happened since Bon-Bon had died, but the pain of it didn’t lessen with each occurrence. She knew that it was going to take time to break herself of the many habits and rituals that had developed between her and Bon-Bon. Like the way he’d see her tote bag and immediately hop into it because he knew they were going out. Sometimes he even went in search of her bag and dragged it towards the door because he’d decided it was time to go somewhere. She missed the way he’d comically pricked up his ears when she was talking to him as though he were hanging onto her every word. She missed how he had loved to sit on her lap, and would sometimes jealously nudge the book or newspaper she was reading out of her hands so she would give him her full attention. She missed the way he’d circle round and round in his basket, arranging himself and his blanket until all was just right before settling down to sleep. She especially missed his presence on her bed at night. Oh yes, she’d been one of those dog owners who had proclaimed at the outset that no dog, no matter how sweet, would ever sleep on her bed. That rule had soon fallen by the wayside and now more than anything she wished she could still be woken in the morning by a small black nose nudging at her cheek.
Seized with a wave of tearful emotion, she went over to the drinks cabinet and with a shaking hand, poured herself a tumblerof whisky. She was just about to toss it back in one large restorative gulp when there was a knock at the door. She debated whether to answer it. But then, and following what she’d overheard earlier, or imagined she’d heard, she wondered if it was Cassie wanting to explain and apologise for the noise.
Venetia had fallen asleep in the armchair that afternoon – sleeping so badly at night these days a daytime nap often crept up on her. This time she had been woken by strange noises coming from Cassie’s apartment above hers. She couldn’t be sure, the walls and floors were so thick and solid, but it sounded like something being thrown. Then there had been a cry, or possibly a scream. But equally it could have been a piece of furniture being moved and emitting some sort of squeal of resistance, like the castor of a chair or sofa. It had fleetingly crossed Venetia’s mind to text Cassie to see if everything was all right, in case it had been a cry she had heard, but she really didn’t want to be that kind of neighbour, the type who poked her nose into other people’s business.
There was another knock at the door and downing the whisky in one long swallow, she went to see who it was.
It was Nina. ‘I shan’t mind if you tell me to go away,’ she said, ‘but I wondered if you might like some company and something to eat. That’s if you haven’t eaten already.’
‘I’m not sure I’d be the best of company right now,’ Venetia said.
‘You don’t have to be. And I understand that you might prefer to be alone. I’d have hated anyone turning up unannounced like this on my doorstep when Hugh died, so send me packing and I won’t take offence, I just wanted you to know that—’
‘It’s fine,’ Venetia interrupted her, not wanting to hear the wordsI was thinking of youone more time. ‘I haven’t eaten,’ she said. In fact, she couldn’t remember if she had eaten anything that day.
