Chapter 82
Savannah
Last week
Jon. Her Jon. In a social diary photograph from Image magazine.
A gala dinner for a children’s charity. Her Jon, in a tux, presenting a check to another man in a tux.
The caption identified him incorrectly as Jon “Mullane” instead of Jon McIlroy, but it was definitely him.
Why had Jon’s photo come up in a search for Susan O’Donnell?
A creeping unease set in while her eyes skimmed the text of the article.
Jon Mullane, head of Corporate Trust at GS Bank…
at the dinner accompanied by his wife, Susan O’Donnell.
His wife.
Frantically, words swimming on the screen now, she scanned further, searching for an image of Susan. There was none. But the words were there in black and white. And the words said enough. His wife.
That prick. She dialed his number and let it ring until it rang out, then tried again.
She tried a third time, checking her watch.
After midnight already. He was possibly asleep, though he didn’t usually sleep this early.
They often texted until much later than this.
Was he avoiding her calls? No, because he couldn’t know she’d just found out he was married.
Maybe he was with his wife. She should have guessed he was married.
When they always went to hotels or her house, she should have guessed.
He said he lived in Maynooth in Co Kildare and commuted to Dublin.
Only, she realized now, he didn’t live in Maynooth at all.
She picked up the package. He lived in 26 Oakpark, with Susan O’Donnell.
The other Oakpark. Which was no more than a ten-minute drive away.
She picked up her car keys, pulled on her Uggs and slammed the door behind her.
· · ·
Eight minutes later, she pulled up outside the other 26 Oakpark.
His so-called brother’s house, she realized now.
She didn’t remember much about the outside of the house that night, but of course this was it.
Her stomach hurt as she took it in. So suburban.
So neat. A couple home. And, oh god, the realization hit her—those packages of baby clothes—a family home.
Jon and Susan had a baby. All those lies. God. She texted him now.
I know about your wife. I’m outside your house. Unless you want me to come in and announce myself, I suggest you come out to see me.
Two blue ticks. He’d read it. She waited, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, staring out her car window at Jon’s well-kept lawn.
A reply pinged through:
I can’t come out. I’ll explain tomorrow. Go home and get some sleep.
Furious now, she hammered out another text.
I swear to god, come out now or I’m coming in, you PRICK.
A new reply:
Calm down. I said I’d talk to you tomorrow.
Calm down? Did he actually just say that?
Savannah yanked open the car door and ran into the driveway, fury roiling at the sight of the house in front of her.
All the lights were off: he must be in bed.
They must be in bed. She couldn’t remember which was the main bedroom but guessed it might be the big picture window on the left, upstairs.
She glanced around and spotted loose bricks on a section of the garden wall.
She picked one up, flung it hard and high.
The sound of cracking glass surprised her.
She hadn’t really expected to hit the window, let alone break it.
But that’s exactly what she’d done. That’ll show him.
On reflection though, as lights went on in Jon’s house and in a house two doors up, she decided against staying around to see the aftermath.
She jumped back in the car and sped out to the main road. She’d deal with Jon tomorrow.
· · ·
At home, back inside the questionable safety of her house, she double-locked the front door again and checked every other opening in the house, then poured herself a treble Captain Morgan rum.
Had all of that just happened? Jon had given her a fake name.
Jon was married. And not to just anyone, to Susan O’Donnell, the woman whose packages had been arriving here on and off for the last three years.
So was that the connection? Had Jon called by to leave one of the misdelivered parcels and stayed to ask her out?
He’d never handed her a package, she was certain of that.
But the first time they met was outside her house…
He was getting into his car at her gate as she arrived home from the gym.
He’d stopped, midway into the driver’s seat, and smiled at her.
Was it someone she knew, she’d wondered, someone from work whose face she’d misplaced?
She slowed and asked if he was OK. He said he was good, just doing Saturday-morning errands.
He pointed at her gym bag with the XSGym logo and asked about it, said he’d been thinking of joining.
At first it sounded like a line, but as he kept talking, he seemed genuinely interested in the gym.
He’d done a couple of trial visits there and was thinking about signing up but worried about how busy it might get on weekday mornings.
They ended up in a long conversation about gym equipment that evolved into a longer conversation about restaurants they both liked and a film they both hated.
They wondered if a just-released film from the same director would be any better.
And then, as he left, he asked for her number.
Suggested they try the new film together; it was showing in the Light House Cinema.
She glanced at his ring finger. Nothing there.
And he was certainly attractive. Not that she had any shortage of attractive men asking her out.
But it was more than that. There was, if it didn’t sound too romance-novel-ish, a spark.
So was it all a lie, she wondered now, sipping her rum, back on the bottom step of the stairs.
Or at least, a lie by omission? Was his “errand” a parcel drop to her house?
She tried to think back, but she couldn’t be sure.
Couriers delivered stuff every day, mostly leaving it outside her door.
There was no way to remember if there had been one there the day Jon came into her life.
It made sense though. And it certainly couldn’t be coincidence that he was married to Susan O’Donnell.
But none of it explained the woman who’d burst into her house earlier calling her Susan.
Unless…could that have been someone else Jon was seeing?
A third woman? Who thought she was Jon’s wife and wanted to hurt her?
That was hardly fair, Savannah thought. She had no care or concern for Susan O’Donnell in all this, but she didn’t feel inclined to beat her up, for goodness’ sake. Who does that?
Either way, Jon was going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow. She finished her rum, left the glass on the floor and went to bed.