Chapter 15
Fifteen
LATER THAT DAY TERRENCE came over, and the four of us squeezed ourselves beneath a quilt on the sofa.
After some general squabbling about what to watch, we settled on Willy Wonka I thought of Stefano’s words at the kitchen table: You acted like Victoria; I thought of his confused texts when he woke to find me gone the next morning – I’m sorry.
Talk to me, Shannon. What did I do? What did I do?
; I thought back to the violinist and the old man, to the square and my feet on the cobblestones, to that whirling feeling I’d had when I’d danced; the crowd’s grinning spinning faces, their features blurring into one as I transformed before their eyes.
‘I feel different,’ I said.
The children led the presenter along the trail, stomping across leaves and twigs, towering oaks and spindly grey saplings bending around their path.
‘Why do you think that is?’ she asked.
‘Well,’ I murmured, ‘Frida said something to me.’
‘Frida?’ I felt Victoria’s body tense beside me. I glanced sideways. Her face remained impassive, a pleasant mask of indifference. ‘What did she say?’
‘It was nothing really,’ I said, attempting to retreat.
‘You can tell me,’ she said. ‘Go on. What did she say?’
‘Erm, well . . .’ I hesitated. ‘She told me my performance in Macbeth was, well – she told me it was magic.’
I knew it was a mistake as soon as I’d said it.
‘Oh,’ she replied. ‘Is that it?’
The wall rose up like a physical thing between us.
‘Well, yes, that’s what she told me, and I don’t know, it’s kind of made me feel more—’
‘You know she said the same thing to me, right?’
A jab. Something sharp against my side.
‘She did?’
‘Yes.’ Victoria glanced at me, then back towards the screen. ‘Oh, don’t worry.’ She smiled. ‘I’m sure she totally meant it with you too.’
When I didn’t say anything, she turned and looked at me, her face veiled with concern. ‘Oh babe, I’m not trying to shit on you!’ Then she laughed – no – she cackled. ‘If looks could kill! You’re scaring me. You look so serious!’
‘She told you the same thing?’ I said, trying to keep my voice even, blank, holding off on any tone she might weaponize.
‘Mm-hm.’ Liar. ‘Yep.’ She threw off the blanket and went and stood in the doorway. The hallway light was on. Her shadow spread like a stain across the wall. ‘It’s good,’ she said. ‘It’s good that she likes us both the same. It means we’re both doing well.’
‘Yes.’ Liar, liar, liar.
She beamed at me. ‘Do you want a drink or something? A cup of tea?’
‘No.’ She couldn’t just let me have this one thing. ‘Thank you.’ Just this one good thing. ‘I’m OK.’
‘I’m having cocoa,’ she said, her smile frozen in place. She didn’t move. But then . . . a moment of hesitation. The mask faltered and a well of absence pooled in her eyes. She saw me notice and her gaze blazed back to life again. ‘God, don’t you just love Sundays?’