Chapter 11 Fenna – Day 3
Sunlight and birdsong stream into the dining room through the open double patio doors.
Alba is singing to herself, swinging her pudgy legs under her highchair, a circle of crumbs at her feet.
She’s on her second breakfast of the day; after demolishing cereal and a sliced apple, she is now munching honey toast fingers.
Fenna tears a warm almond croissant apart, needing the sugar hit to keep her awake. Luke barrelled in drunk at one o’clock in the morning, waking Raffi, who she’d just got back to sleep. She was awake for another hour listening to Luke’s snoring, debating how she could get away with murder.
She tried to force him to get up with the children so she could sleep in, but he mumbled incoherently into a saliva-damp pillow, blasting foul beer breath at her.
It’s safer for the kids to be with a responsible adult right now.
She blinks away the tears that press the back of her sandpaper-like eyes.
Alba’s singing grows louder. She clatters her plastic spoon against the table and throws it to the polished wooden floor.
The sound makes Fenna jump. Raffi lets out a frustrated cry, his startled arms leap in panic.
She shushes him and tries to resettle him against her breast.
Carla, the young housekeeper, rushes across and picks up Alba’s spoon.
She pulls a funny face and pretends to make the spoon dance across the table.
Alba shrieks in delight. Fenna tries to rearrange her buttoned-up nightshirt that is half-open as she feeds Raffi.
The poor girl doesn’t want an eyeful so early in the morning.
‘Caffè?’ Carla asks Fenna in a timid voice, her Italian accent heavy.
‘Sì, grazie,’ Fenna replies.
She’d made herself a cup a while ago, but Raffi needed feeding and it now sat tantalisingly out of reach growing cold. Marianne’s remark yesterday evening about how long Fenna was planning on breastfeeding returns to her.
‘Express some milk. Let someone else feed him,’ she’d said. ‘It’s the only way you’ll get a decent chunk of sleep. My friend’s daughter-in-law does that and her baby sleeps for twelve hours a night.’
Fenna was too tired to defend her choices.
‘Prego.’ Carla wobbles a large cappuccino over and places it before her.
Fenna smiles gratefully. She burps Raffi and places him gently in his bassinet, turning on the mobile above his head, and takes a sip. It’s delicious.
‘It’s like a sauna in here,’ Gerry announces as he bursts through the door dressed in his gym kit, followed by Marianne, wearing a chic white blouse and linen A-line skirt with a full face of make-up. She beams at the kids. ‘Hello, my little loves.’
Soon the room is full of noise and kisses for the children. Fenna answers questions about how they slept, what the plan for the day is, and what they’ve had to eat.
‘You ok, Fenna? You look ever so tired. Tough night?’ Marianne asks.
If she was truly honest, she would reply that she could say the same to Marianne.
Clearly she’s hiding the effects of a hangover.
They must have had a nice evening with a bottle of wine, or two, as her skin looks sickly despite the blusher she’s applied.
Flecks of her taupe-coloured eyeshadow sit in the many creases under her eyes.
‘I’m fine. I simply need a steady supply of coffee,’ Fenna replies, taking another sip.
‘Have the rules changed about caffeine and breastfeeding? I remember when I fed the boys it was very strict – one cup a day, or at least certainly no more than two. I know it was a long time ago, but I didn’t think they’d relaxed the rules so much.’
Fenna puts her mug down and tries to hold back the tears that unexpectedly arrive.
‘This is decaf,’ she lies. What she wants to yell is how this is her only vice. How else would she function? She doesn’t need an old bag making her feel guilty about it.
‘Oh, good.’ Marianne smiles. Correct answer. She starts to peel a satsuma, digging her long, painted nails into the flesh. ‘Where are the boys?’
‘Luke’s still sleeping. I’ve not seen Theo or Rosie yet,’ Fenna says.
‘I’m so pleased they went out last night.
It will do them good to spend time together.
I dreamt they would grow up to be the best of friends as that wasn’t always the case when they were younger.
Gosh, I remember their squabbles over the same toy.
Each wanted what the other had. It was exhausting.
You’ve got all that to come.’ She nods at the children. ‘Do you want cereal, Princess Alba?’
‘She’s fine. She’s already had a bowl, and a round of toast,’ Fenna says.
‘One more won’t hurt her, she’s a growing girl.’
Fenna bites her tongue as her mother-in-law pours an adult-sized portion of Coco Pops for her grand-daughter.
The door to the dining room opens.
‘Here he is.’ Marianne beams as Luke slopes into the room in his silk kimono robe that has a toothpaste stain near the frayed collar. ‘Morning, darling, how did you sleep?’
He lets out a noise between a hello and a groan and drops into an empty chair. ‘Any breakfast going? Where’s Julietta?’ He rubs his bleary, bloodshot eyes.
‘I was thinking the same thing,’ Gerry says, glancing around the room as if the members of staff are hiding.
‘Carla was here a moment ago,’ Fenna says.
Luke covers his mouth and lets out a deep yawn.
‘You should go back to bed by the sounds of it. What time did you come home?’ Marianne asks her son who is morphing further into a teenager by the second.
‘Not too late. About midnight maybe.’ He shrugs.
Fenna makes a noise between her lips. ‘It was later than that.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Luke frowns.
‘It was.’
Gerry and Marianne share a look, evidently not wanting to get involved in this marital dispute.
‘I’m going to go and have a shower.’ Fenna gets to her feet. ‘You ok to watch the children? I’ve fed Raffi.’
Luke waves a hand, wincing when Alba loudly cries that she wants the green spoon, not the pink one Marianne is offering her.
His hangover is going to be tested today.
Fenna leaves the room but not before he asks his mum to make him some food.
Marianne replies that she’ll ‘do anything for my little prince’.
Fenna’s stomach churns.
The doorbell chimes. Fenna hesitates, waiting for Julietta to emerge to answer it, but no one appears. She reluctantly plods down the hallway and pulls open the front door.
She’s momentarily lost for words at the attractive police officer on the other side.
His pale blue shirt stretches over his muscular frame. Sunlight bounces from the glossy peak of his black hat. A leather belt across his waist holds a handgun.
She automatically tugs her robe closed, hoping to hide the milky stains around her breasts, and with the other hand, she flattens down her bed head hair.
‘Buongiorno . . .’ she stutters.
‘Where’s Julietta? Has Fenna opened the door? Next, she’ll be opening my post,’ Marianne’s voice echoes down the corridor. ‘Hello? Who is it? Oh. Good morning. Can I help you?’ She purses her lips and looks the policeman up and down slowly.
Fenna notices that he is holding something.
‘Giovanni Salvatore. I’d like to speak to your sons, please,’ the officer says, pulling himself taller.
‘Luke and Theo? Why?’ Marianne asks.
A second later, Luke barrels down the corridor, a slice of toast in one hand, a wriggling Alba in the other arm. He must have left Raffi with Gerry. ‘Did you call me, Mum?’ He tenses when he sees who is at the door.
‘Nee naww.’ Alba makes a siren sound when she sees the officer.
Giovanni flashes a brief smile at Alba, revealing a dimple in his dark stubble. The lightness fades as he makes eye contact with Luke. ‘Did you go to Tre Sorelle last night, sir?’
Three Sisters. That’s the name of the bar in the village. Why is he asking about that?
‘Yeah, why?’ Luke grunts.
Giovanni shows them what’s in his hands. ‘You were seen tearing this down.’
Fenna and Marianne gasp at the same time. It’s a poster appealing for information to find Danielle Dixon. Luke swears under his breath and hands Alba to Fenna. He lets out a steady exhale. Can the policeman smell last night’s alcohol on her husband’s unclean breath?
‘Firstly, I didn’t tear down any poster. One accidentally fell as I walked past. My brother stuck it back up again. No harm done. And secondly, haven’t you got better things to be doing? What about catching real criminals?’ Luke scoffs.
Giovanni’s brows knot in displeasure. ‘You didn’t damage the poster on purpose?’
‘No. Of course not. Why would I do that?’ Luke replies.
‘So you won’t mind me placing one of these outside this house, like many of your neighbours?’
Luke folds his arms. Fenna waits for him to say something more, but he presses his lips in a tight line.
A knot of unease stirs in Fenna’s stomach at his childish behaviour. Why is he being so defensive? Before she can say anything, Marianne sparks to life, taking the poster from Giovanni, one hand on the door frame to put an end to this little chat.
‘Of course, officer. We’re happy to help.’ Marianne smiles at him, it doesn’t meet her eyes. ‘I’ll make sure this is put up as soon as possible.’
‘Grazie,’ Giovanni replies, his gaze firmly on Luke.
Alba wriggles, bored of the grown-up chat. Fenna struggles to hear what they are saying over her daughter’s frustrated shouts.
‘Sorry, officer.’ Marianne inches the door closed. ‘Boys will be boys, I guess!’