Chapter 79
Maeve
Thursday
Maeve is still in bed when her mum sticks her head around the door to tell her that Susan and Bella have moved in. Just like that.
Maeve likes Susan and the baby, but this is a lot on top of everything that’s going on.
And—the realization dawns now—it’s going to pull her mother away from her.
Her mother, who’s been trying to talk to her for days now, is going to be distracted by Susan.
And even though Maeve hasn’t responded to any of her mother’s attempts to talk, she still wants her to try.
One of these days, she’s going to let her sit on the bed and she’s going to collapse in her arms and feel the hug and speak the words, but now it’s too late because Susan is here.
She knows she’s not being rational, but that doesn’t change a thing.
Now her mother has left the room again, rebuffed by an only half-intentioned scowl, and Maeve is lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she’ll ever get out of bed again.
Susan’s voice wafts in from the spare room next door. She’s on the phone to Jon, telling him she’s going to be staying here. Which is weird, because Maeve is almost certain she just heard Susan tell Leesa that she and Jon had agreed the plan together.
Maeve sits up in bed. What is going on with Susan and Jon?
Susan’s making another call now. Maeve doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but her mother has left the door ajar and Susan’s speaking as though she doesn’t know there’s anyone else upstairs. She probably doesn’t.
“Hi, my daughter did a trial run at your hockey camp last Wednesday and mentioned a coach who was very good, someone who also does one-on-one coaching. She thinks the name was Greta, but she wanted to check for sure? Last Wednesday morning?”
Maeve is alert now. What is Susan up to? Is she trying to help clear Greta’s name for the thing with Nika? The tinny sound of someone else’s voice on the other end of the line is just about audible, but the words are not. Maeve waits.
“Oh, you’re sure Greta wasn’t there last Wednesday morning?”
Another wait.
“Ah, OK. My daughter probably mixed up the names. I’ll check again. Thanks, bye now.”
Maeve is perplexed. Why the sudden interest in what Greta was doing last Wednesday morning? She casts her mind back. The morning after Susan sent her message. The morning everything came tumbling down.
Suddenly, more than anything, Maeve needs her mother.
She’s the only one who still makes sense, who hasn’t changed.
She’s just as annoying and safe and stable and warm and frustrating and cloying and comforting as she’s always been.
Maeve swings her legs out of bed, pulls on a hoodie and heads downstairs.
Leesa is in her office, at her desk, headset on. Maeve slips in behind her and sits on her mother’s reading chair. Forest green with a teal cushion, it’s Maeve’s favorite spot in the house, at least if she must leave her bedroom. Her mother turns, eyebrows raised in an “All OK?” question.
Maeve nods, and her mother indicates with a rotating finger that her call is about to wrap up.
Maeve stares out the window as she waits, at the poplars swaying against the backdrop of a cloudless sky.
She can’t imagine going out there. Seeing people.
People staring, talking, pointing. The girl with a crush on Ariana Webb.
She can never go back to that school. She can never see those people. She can never leave the house again.
Her mother has finished her call and swivels in her huge office chair.
“Hey!” Leesa says. Maeve can tell she wants to add “good to see you out of your room” but holds herself back.
“Hi.” Silence.
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“No, thanks. Mum, is everything OK with Susan and Jon and Greta?”
Her mother tilts her head, confused, and Maeve can see immediately that it’s real. She’s not covering anything up.
“You mean because Susan is staying with us? She’s worried someone tried to break in.” Leesa grimaces. “And what do you mean about Greta—the whole thing with Nika?”
“Yeah. But also because Susan just called the hockey camp about a made-up daughter who was supposedly there last Wednesday, basically so she could find out if Greta was there, I think.”
Leesa frowns. “OK, that’s odd—could you have misheard?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe she’s trying to help fix this thing with Nika…”
“How would her fake daughter help?”
“I have no idea. But I do need to get on another call. It’s good to see you looking brighter. You won’t forget babysitting tonight, will you?”
“What?”
“For Moira Fitzpatrick. I won’t be able to collect you after—I’ll be at the Oakpark party too, but you’ll be OK to walk home, won’t you?”
“Oh god, Mum, I can’t babysit. I’m not leaving the house.”
“You can’t let Moira down, love. That’s not fair. She’s part of the organizing committee. I saw on her Instagram earlier she’s got fireworks and wine and about five thousand burger buns ready to go.”
“Can’t Aoife do it?”
A wry look. “Remember what happened when the Fitzpatricks had a fourteen-year-old babysit? I don’t think they’re ready for a thirteen-year-old.”
“Can’t you tell her I’m sick?”
Leesa slides off the chair and hunkers down by Maeve.
“Love, I know it’s hard. But in a way, something like this—a night of babysitting, where there’s nobody from school, nobody your age—is a perfect way to dip your toe back in the world. You’re going to have to go out there eventually…”
“Urgh. Fine. I hate this.”
“I know. If you want to talk about the—”
“Don’t. Please.”
“OK. But if you change your mind, I’m here.” Leesa looks at her screen behind her. “Right, gotta do this call, and it’s video, so…” She nods at the door.
Maeve heaves herself off the chair and slopes out. Aoife is standing in the hall, supposedly gazing at some family photos that have been there for a decade.
“God, you’re so nosy.”
Aoife turns to look at her. “Yeah, well, sometimes it pays off.” She tosses her hair and gives Maeve a knowing look, then swishes back to the kitchen.