Chapter 48
Venetia
Tuesday
Venetia puts her key in the lock but doesn’t turn it.
She leans her forehead against the front door, spent.
Her elation, so high, so brief, has flattened, and grief has taken over.
What did she expect? Nothing can bring Aimee back.
But god, for a moment, it felt good to do something.
To give Susan O’Donnell a shake. To poke her where it hurts.
She thinks about the surprised look on the baby’s face when she pulled it by the ankles into the sun.
Just a few inches, that’s all it took. A little burn for baby, a little worry for Susan.
Venetia turns now, sagging against the door, and stares down the front path toward the small gate and beyond to the street. People walk by, getting on with their days as though nothing has happened. As though her life hasn’t come to an end. She hates those people. She hates everyone.
The door behind her is pulled open and she stumbles back before righting herself. Felipe’s arm goes around her shoulder, steering her gently into the kitchen.
“Where were you?” He propels her into a chair.
She shakes her head.
The high cupboard above the fridge hangs open, the dark green paint chipped on the inside. A carton of juice sits on the countertop, its lid missing. Below the washing machine, a pile of laundry sits unwashed. All things that would have annoyed her before. Before.
Felipe follows her gaze.
“The washing machine stopped working again. A guy is coming to look, but not until next week.”
“I’ll take the washing to the laundrette,” she says dully. “Put it in my brown holdall and leave it in my car. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
Felipe nods emphatically, pleased, no doubt, that she’s talking about normal things like chores. He fills a glass with water and places it in front of her.
“Where were you?” he tries again.
“Out for a walk.”
“You didn’t answer my messages…I was worried.”
She turns to look at him. “What, that I’d do something to myself?”
He shakes his head. And she gets it now. “That I’d do something to her?”
A nod. There’s a look in his eyes that she hasn’t seen since her worst days as an addict. It’s not just worry. It’s fear.
“Promise me you’ll stay away from her.”
She thinks about the house. The side gate with the sliding bolt.
The ease with which anyone—anyone—could slip a hand through the slats and slip the bolt across.
The baby, lying on the playmat. The sisters, chatting in the garden like one of them didn’t just kill someone.
Chatting about a documentary on diving and buying sunglasses.
Then the unexpected opportunity. The irresistible chance when they went inside.
Venetia quite liked the sense that the baby had no idea what she was doing.
Squinting at the sudden sunlight, unaware of burning skin.
Unable to understand the change of circumstance, unable to move itself back under the shade.
Confused, not fearful. Babies are very trusting.
She imagines Susan’s reaction on finding she’s somehow left her own baby out in the sun, and a shiver of pleasure runs through her.