Chapter 28
Susan
Sunday
Leesa’s in her front garden with a watering can when I arrive at four on Sunday afternoon, holding back the skirt of her pink sundress so it doesn’t get wet as she pours.
The weeks of sunshine that have lightened her hair and bronzed her skin have also parched her flowerbeds.
She turns when she hears me, pushing her sunglasses to the crown of her head.
Her greeting is slightly flustered, accompanied by a sheepish expression.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Nothing!” Breezy. She’s definitely hiding something. She squints, leaning closer. “Are you OK? You look a little…wild-eyed?”
I tell her about the supermarket. And horrible though it was, it’s much easier talking about this than everything I’m not telling her about Jon’s affair and my resurfacing fears of hurting Bella.
“Oh god,” she says. “I remember the baby-brain days.”
“I don’t know if it was baby brain…what if someone moved her on purpose?”
“Eh, why?”
“To scare me, maybe, like the broken window and the texts?”
Leesa bites her lip. “You know me, I’m up for any kind of conspiracy theory, but that sounds a bit…” Her raised palms finish the sentence.
A bit nuts. A bit out there. A bit paranoid. I know.
“Look,” she goes on, “I did stuff like that all the time when Maeve and Aoife were babies.”
I know she’s right. But I feel like I’d know if it was me, if I was the one who moved her to the next aisle and then forgot. Wouldn’t I? Leesa is looking at me now with a worried expression.
“Yeah. Maybe another customer got confused and wheeled the trolley…Anyway, she’s safely home with Jon now and I’m free to hang out here for a bit.”
“What did Jon say about it?”
“I didn’t tell him.”
“OK, well, actually…there is something I have to tell you. Now don’t kill me, OK?”
I knew there was something. “What did you do?”
“So…I texted Moira Fitzpatrick, the woman whose son got hurt when Cody Geary was minding him.”
“I didn’t know you were on texting terms?”
“I’m not, but Maeve babysat her kids a bit when they were smaller, so I have her number. Anyway, I messaged her when we were talking about it, explained that we’re worried that the Gearys are sending you threats and—”
“Leesa! You can’t say that. We don’t know who’s sending the threats.”
“I know, but she’s not their biggest fan, so I figured it would get her on side. And it did. I’m due to call there shortly. Want to come with? Here, I’ll text her to say you’re coming too.” She’s already on her phone, typing.
I hold up my hand to stop her.
“Just give me a sec to think. I don’t know if I should go. It might fan the flames.”
“Oh, sorry.” A grimace. “I’ve already pressed send.”
I’m really not sure about this. A huge part of me just wants to know. To figure out who’s so upset by my message they’ve started targeting me. But still.
“Look,” Leesa says, “we can ask her not to mention to anyone we were there. It’s not going to make anything worse, is it?”
I stand there, immobile with indecision, until Leesa looks down at her phone again. “OK, Moira’s already replied, she says she’d love to talk to you—a big uppercase ‘love’ by the way, so come on, there’s nothing to lose.”
She’s probably right. If Moira doesn’t tell anyone, it can’t hurt. And if nothing else, it’s a distraction from the rose-gold bracelet.
· · ·
The Fitzpatricks live a few roads over from where we are in Oakpark.
Like Celeste’s, theirs is one of the five-bedroom homes with larger gardens and longer driveways.
Moira Fitzpatrick answers the door and greets us with an easy smile.
In her late thirties, she has long blonde hair loose around her shoulders and a tan that looks more tennis court than Marbella.
She’s wearing white shorts with a coral tank and gold flip-flops and she invites us through the house and out to the back garden.
From the living room comes the strain of a TV show, something high-voiced and animated.
“Cannot believe they’re indoors on a day like this,” Moira says, gesturing back to the house as we take seats around her garden table. “I live for the sun. Hope it lasts till Thursday now—you’ll both be at the Oakpark summer party, won’t you? Down on the big green? We have fireworks this year!”
Leesa nods enthusiastically, never one to let a small thing like not actually living in Oakpark get in the way of a night out.
“I don’t think I can make it, unfortunately,” I say. I can’t think of anything worse than hanging out with neighbors right now.
Moira pouts a little. “Oh. Well, I’m helping Juliette Sullivan organize it—please do come if you can. We’ve got a loan of some speakers for the music and heaps of wine. It’s going to be epic.”
I nod and smile. “OK, I’ll try.” She won’t even notice I’m not there on the night.
On a round wicker tray, there’s a cafetière, three cups on saucers, and a plate of shortbread fingers.
“Sorry, all I have are biscuits, I meant to pop to the shop before you arrived but my husband didn’t make it back in time and no way was I taking the kids.” She does an exaggerated shudder and Leesa and I smile.
“So,” Moira says, pouring coffee for each of us, “you want to know about Cody Geary?”
Leesa nods. “Yes. And look, if it’s hard for you to talk about—”
Moira cuts her off with a wave. “I don’t mind. And if Cody’s done something else, I’ll help in any way I can.”
“Right. We’re not sure if he’s done anything, but I guess the more information we have, the better. To give you some context—you may have seen Susan’s message about the Gearys?”
I flush, and Moira nods.
“I did.” She turns to me. “And everything you said was true, so don’t worry one bit.”
I force a small smile.
Leesa continues. “We’re concerned about some threats Susan’s been getting, and wondering if it’s linked to the message and one of the Gearys.
Maybe Cody.” We had agreed on the way over we wouldn’t mention Savannah Holmes.
“Would you be able to tell us about what happened with Cody when he babysat for you?”
“Sure.” Moira’s lips tighten. “You obviously know some of it, despite the Gearys’ desperate efforts to cover it up.
We had asked for Nika to babysit, but she couldn’t do that night, so Celeste offered Cody.
At first I wasn’t sure—he was only fourteen—but we were just popping for pizza down the road and would be two hours max.
So I said yes. I’ll never forgive myself for that. ”
From inside the house, a door slams, and a girl aged about eight or nine comes out.
“Mum, Senan is sitting on the remote and won’t let me change the channel.”
“Can you watch what he’s watching?”
“No way, it’s for babies. Can you tell him to give me the remote?”
Moira grits her teeth. “In a minute, Tilly. I’m just talking to our neighbors for a sec.”
The little girl sighs and slopes off, cross but resigned, it seems.
“That’s Tilly. She told us what happened when we got home that night.
” Moira shakes her head. “God, when I think of it…Anyway. Cody arrived and we went out, all fine, but then apparently Senan wouldn’t go to bed when Cody told him to, and things got out of hand.
Obviously, Cody should have tried reasoning with him and then threatened to call us and then he should have actually called us, but it seems to have escalated way beyond that and, all of a sudden, Cody had locked Senan out in the garden.
” Tears glisten. “Sorry.” She waves a hand in front of her face, composing herself.
“Senan was distraught, as any four-year-old would be, and he decided to try to find us. He walked through the side gate, out to the front, and started along the path”—she points, indicating her neighbor’s house—“and as he passed next door—” She stops and swallows, unable to speak now.
“Take your time,” Leesa says gently.
“God! I honestly thought I could tell this without getting upset any more!” Moira lets out a slow breath and rubs her hands on her lap.
“OK. Next door, Paddy—our neighbor—was reversing out and Senan was hit.” The word “hit” comes out in a whisper.
She clears her throat. “We got a call from Paddy while he was waiting for the ambulance. Luckily, we were so near, we got home in like, ten minutes, but Jesus Christ, I’ll never forget it.
Never forget seeing Senan’s tiny body crumpled on the ground. I thought he was…you know.”
The first time I heard the story, it sounded like hearing a news report or watching something on TV. Removed. This time, it feels all too real.
“But he was OK?” Leesa asks.
“Yes. Bruising, broken rib, concussion. Thank god Paddy was reversing so slowly.”
“And did you talk to Cody?”
“I couldn’t bear to. My husband did. I never want to see him again.
” Her eyes spark with anger. “What kind of psychopath does that to a four-year-old child? Locks them out at ten o’clock at night?
Because he couldn’t get Senan to go to bed?
Apparently Cody wanted to watch something on TV and Senan was insisting on watching something else.
” She waves toward the house. “A bit like just now, but even Tilly, who is eight, knows that sometimes you just suck it up. You don’t lock a child out. ”
“And what did the Gearys say?”
“Oh, they doubled down, protected their child. Said Senan must have provoked their son. I mean, for the love of god, provoked him? The child was four. Cody should have known better.”
I clear my throat. “Do you think Cody has the propensity to be violent?”
Moira nods vehemently. “Anyone who does what he did? Absolutely. And like, it’s not as though he just politely asked Senan to go out. He pushed him out the door.”
“Did Cody admit that?”
“No. Of course not, he wouldn’t admit any of it. But little did he know, we had a nanny cam on. Here, have a look.”