Chapter 84
Jon
Thursday
Jon had skipped all his meetings on Thursday afternoon and now he’s leaving work at four, telling his PA he has a headache.
It’s not a lie; he really does have the mother of all headaches.
His wife has moved out—not officially, not formally, but that’s what this is, right?
—and taken his baby with her. He believes Susan when she says she’s staying in Leesa’s to keep Bella safe, but he also knows it’s to escape him and the unbearable distance that’s developed between them.
Jon stops himself there, sufficiently self-aware to admit that using the passive tense is not valid or fair.
The distance did not develop of its own accord.
He caused it by having an affair. And maybe there’s more to it.
Does Susan think he did something to Savannah?
Where was she last Wednesday morning, and how does she have Savannah’s bracelet?
He’s going around in circles, and his brain is about to explode.
· · ·
The house is eerie in its emptiness. It hits him now that he’s rarely been here alone since Bella was born.
He comes home to find both of them here every evening, and sometimes he wishes he could arrive to solitude, throw off his suit jacket, collapse on the couch and crack open a beer.
He knows that’s not fair, and that’s why he’d never say it out loud—he’s not an imbecile—he knows that Susan’s the one at home all day with the baby.
He knows it’s his turn after work and he absolutely accepts that.
But it doesn’t stop him wishing every now and then that he could come back to quiet emptiness.
And now that he’s home alone, throwing off his suit jacket, collapsing on the couch, it’s not so appealing. In fact, it’s not what he wants at all.
· · ·
Within three minutes of arriving, he’s leaving again.
Down his own driveway and into Greta’s. Her car is there, gleaming under late-afternoon sun.
On the porch, three planters of blue flowers wilt in the heat.
A full watering can sits by their side and Jon picks it up now to give the soil some much-needed water.
That’s not like Greta. She’s usually religious about her plants.
Before he can hit the bell, the door opens. Greta’s face furrows into a frown.
“What do you want, Jon?”
“I thought we should chat.”
She pulls the door wide to let him into the hall.
“I don’t have long.”
Jon suspects she’s not going anywhere, but Greta is good at that—marking her boundaries without apology.
“Susan’s moved out.”
“What? Where?” She looks around her hall, as though Susan might appear.
“To Leesa’s.”
A hurt expression crosses her face, but she covers it quickly.
“Why?”
He tells her about the noises Susan heard, and Greta clicks her tongue dismissively.
“Though, obviously,” Jon continues, “as I told you, I think she knows about the affair, so maybe…”
“Maybe indeed. OK, I’ll call her.” She starts to reach for the door handle to see him out. “I need to get on with things, Jon.”
“I’m worried. I’m afraid she went to Savannah’s, the bracelet…”
“OK, and what do you want me to do? Why are you telling me this?”
“Because…” Because a problem shared is a problem halved? Because she was there too.
“Jesus, Jon, pull yourself together and stop being such a baby. I take that back—that’s an insult to babies. You made your bed, now lie in it.”
“But you were there—”
“Stop! I’m stressed to the hilt—I’m about to lose my business. You need to handle this yourself.”
He folds his arms, straightens his shoulders. “Greta, you know as well as I do, we’re in this together.”
“And you know as well as I do, this is all down to you. Now get out of my house before I tell Susan what really happened last Wednesday morning.”
· · ·
Fuming, Jon marches back down Greta’s driveway but stops short when a garda car pulls up outside his own house.
A sick feeling takes hold. Calm down. They probably want to speak to Susan again.
And knowing that Savannah’s keys are lying at the bottom of a public litter bin gives him some solace. He swallows and pastes on a smile.
As he approaches his gateway he spots Juliette Sullivan walking down her driveway, a box of paper cups in her arms. She slows her step and cranes her neck. Shit. This is the last thing he needs.
A woman in uniform gets out of the garda car and steps toward him.
“Mr. Mullane?”
“Yes. Susan’s not here, unfortunately. She’s at her—”
“It’s you we’d like to speak to.” She nods toward his car. “Is that your vehicle?”
“Yes…”
“Right. Could you come down to the station to answer a few questions?”
“Uh…sure.” Jon takes his car keys from his pocket.
“We’ll bring you in our car. We may need to take yours in for forensic examination.”
Jon swallows, discreetly sliding his keys back into his pocket. The garda smiles.
“Don’t worry, we use a tow-truck.”
His throat bone dry now, all he can do is nod.