Chapter 71
iris
It’s over.
I walk through my miserable mausoleum of a house, taking in the breathtaking views of the lake, the open, airy rooms, the edgy, modern art on the walls. I’ve never been happy here. I should have left a long time ago.
I woke up this morning with sudden clarity of mind, as if all the smoke and chaos of the last fifteen months had suddenly cleared.
It’s time to set us all free.
Whatever affection Jesse and I once shared, it didn’t outlive our son.
Deep down, I’ve always known marrying him was a compromise I should never have made.
He offered me security, safety, stability – all the qualities I thought Finn needed.
I wanted to give my son a good father to make up for my shitty mothering, and for all his faults, I can’t deny Jesse was exactly that.
But gratitude is no substitute for love.
I can’t undo the past. But I can make sure my daughter feels seen and loved now. I can try to undo some of the damage I’ve caused.
And it starts with this jail of a marriage. Jesse and I may deserve our shared misery, but we’ve imprisoned our daughter with us. We need to stop punishing each other.
Losing Finn is punishment enough.
Our divorce should be straightforward. I don’t want anything from him. I’ll find a small place in town to rent until Rose goes to college, and next year, after she graduates, I’ll leave Stowebury behind forever.
But there are scores I have to settle first.
Starting with Colt and my sister.
The front gate intercom buzzes loudly from the kitchen, making me jump. I reach automatically into the back pocket of my jeans for my phone to check the Ring cam, but I must’ve left my mobile upstairs.
The marble is cold on my bare feet as I pad through to the kitchen. I can’t wait to leave this place and move into a small, cosy cottage with warm wood floors and rag rugs, like the one Finn and I lived in when he was little. No more acres of white marble and huge expanses of glass.
No more endless views of water.
Quinn Wilde’s face looms on the security monitor. She hasn’t been in touch since I gave her the story about Jesse four days ago, and I’m surprised to see her here.
She presses the buzzer again impatiently.
‘I was just going out,’ I say over the intercom.
She looks up at the Ring cam. ‘Don’t you ever fucking answer your phone?’
‘What d’you need, Quinn?’
‘Let me the fuck in.’
‘You’ve got five minutes,’ I say.
Her car pulls into the circular driveway in front of the house moments later. Quinn lurches unevenly up the front steps into the house, her ginger-haired cameraman staying behind in the car.
‘What’s so urgent?’ I say.
‘Where’s Rose?’
‘On her way home from school, I imagine.’ I glance at my watch. ‘Actually, she’s normally home by now. Why?’
‘Call her,’ Quinn says.
A knot forms in my stomach. ‘Tell me what this is about, first.’
‘She could be in trouble,’ Quinn says.
‘Wait here,’ I say.
I run upstairs for my phone, a band of anxiety tightening around my chest. It’s not what might happen to Rose that frightens me.
It’s what she might do.
Ever since Ashley woke up from her coma, the storm clouds have been gathering. This town’s secrets are cracking open.
My phone isn’t beside my bed, or in the bathroom. I remember checking my emails when I woke Rose up this morning; maybe I left it in her room.
But it’s not there, either.
I call Rose from the landline in my bedroom, but she doesn’t pick up, and I take the stairs back down to the kitchen two at a time.
‘You need to tell me what the hell is going on, Quinn.’
‘Fuck. This isn’t going to be easy to hear.’
‘Spit it out.’
‘Up in the mountains, where they found the body yesterday,’ she says. ‘There were signs someone had been living rough nearby. I think it might be your nephew, Nicky Gray.’
‘Where is he now?’ I ask.
Quinn pierces me with that singular, brilliant blue eye of hers. She smiles with the satisfaction of someone who’s just had a hunch proved right. ‘You knew.’
‘I had no idea—’
‘You knew he was alive.’ She tilts her head. ‘You’ve known all along. Now, why would you keep that to yourself, Iris?’
‘Stop playing games with me, Quinn. What does this have to do with Rose?’
She pulls out one of the stools at the kitchen island and sits down.
‘I’m not trying to fuck with you, Iris. I’m trying to help you.
I don’t have proof it’s Nicky up there, but I’ve got a strong fucking feeling it is, and I think you know I’m right.
You saw him alive after the accident, didn’t you? ’
I hesitate, and then nod.
‘He must’ve had a good reason not to go home,’ Quinn says, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her bag.
She doesn’t take one out, instead turning the pack end over end on the marble counter with her good hand, her brain whirring.
‘And you must have had good reason to keep your mouth shut. I think it’s not just about what happened on the Lady that night.
I think it’s about what happened the week before, when Luke Connelly disappeared.
Nicky was involved in that somehow. Maybe he was helping someone else? ’
She pins me with that shrewd gaze.
‘I wasn’t sure who it was until right now,’ she says, ‘but there are only two people you’d cover for, and it wasn’t Rose with Nicky that night.’
‘Finn’s dead,’ I say. ‘How does dragging his name through the mud help anyone?’
‘I think Rose knows Nicky’s alive, too,’ Quinn says. ‘I think she might be helping him, which is why we have to find her.’
‘I don’t understand. Helping him do what?’
‘Amy’s missing,’ Quinn says.