Chapter 37 Fenna – Day 8
Fenna grips the sideboard as the door bursts open and Evelyn and Marianne rush into the lounge. Their eyes widen at the sight of the smashed vase and Rosie’s tear-stained face.
‘It was my fault. I felt faint and tripped. I’ve had too much sun.
Luckily Fenna came to help me. I can’t believe it .
. . I’m so sorry, I’ll pay you to repair it,’ Rosie manages to say in between sobs.
She lifts a trembling hand to push back a strand of hair that’s come loose.
Her forehead is speckled with beads of sweat.
Fenna tries to speak but words don’t come out.
‘You poor thing.’ Evelyn and Marianne cluck, telling her it was an accident, the vase can be repaired, no harm was done. They usher her to the upper deck, leaving Fenna alone. She overhears them telling the captain to turn around. They need to get Rosie home.
Yacht trip over.
A crew member calmly sweeps up the ceramic shards and asks Fenna if she’s ok. She can barely nod. Her legs shake with adrenaline. Rosie’s secrets suffocate her.
She emerges from the lower deck in a daze, blinking in the sunlight. Blood rushes in her ears. The briny lake water turns her stomach.
‘You alright, Fen?’ Luke slings a sunburnt arm around her. His whisky-laced breath hits her face. ‘You were gone ages.’
Fenna can’t think straight.
‘Fine.’ She shrugs him away. She can’t bear to be near him. He told her he did a background check on this girl.
He lied to her.
***
She gets back to the house and puts the children to bed. Luke stumbles over one of Alba’s books left on the floor and flops to the armchair opposite their bed.
‘You ok?’ Luke asks. ‘You’ve acted weird all afternoon.’
She doesn’t want to talk about it. About anything. Rosie’s confession plays on a loop. Her brain is in overdrive since getting off the yacht.
‘I’m fine,’ she mumbles, struggling to look at him.
Rosie told her to observe Luke for twenty-four hours.
She thinks of his white lies – the damage he and Jonno got up to when they last visited Laprezia, moving their money without asking her, and the fact he’s drinking more than she’s ever known him to drink.
Sometimes when he says things that don’t sit right, she puts it down to her hormones and exhaustion. But what if there’s more to it?
She remembers when Giovanni came to the house.
He said Luke tore down Danielle Dixon’s missing poster on purpose.
Why would he do such a thing? What if being back here is bringing something out in him?
Theo was away when the schoolgirl vanished.
So if Rosie’s dad’s theory is right that it was someone from the Fraser family meeting her on the night she died, then it must be Luke . . .
She catches herself. No. This is ridiculous.
Her husband is not involved in the disappearance of Danielle Dixon.
This is the desperate act of a woman unable to believe her father could do something horrific.
Unthinkable. Even though it was never proved that Jonathan Mills harmed Danielle, he was tried by public jury.
There has never been suspicion around anyone else. No one else is linked to the case.
Yet, something niggles.
Rosie didn’t come across as deluded. There was a steeliness in her eyes. A desire for Fenna to help her discover the truth. She has evidence that has never come to light, which begs the question – what if this is a miscarriage of justice? What if the real killer is still out there?
‘Is it my mum again? Has she said something?’ Luke waves a hand in front of her face. The action breaks her spiralling thoughts.
‘Hmm? Oh, no.’ All she wants is to get into bed and try to go to sleep. She makes a fist and thumps her pillow, certain that Luke keeps taking the plump ones for himself.
She realises he is still talking. ‘. . . especially as they’re planning on selling this place.’
Fenna darts upright. ‘What? They’re selling Villa Speranza? When? Why?’
‘Weren’t you there? I overheard Mum say to Richard that she’d be in touch. The paperwork would be with him soon.’
She swallows. ‘That could be about anything. How do you know they’re selling?’
‘Why else would Richard be involved? He used to be a solicitor.’
She doesn’t have an answer for that. The thought of this house not being in the family makes her feel sick.
She can’t imagine strangers living here.
What happened to Marianne promising them mates’ rates to stay here?
No. She can’t lose this house. She had hoped that one day they would inherit this place and raise the children here.
Marianne once said she would be carried out of Villa Speranza in a box.
There’s no way she’d sell. He must have misheard, he was drunk for most of the afternoon after all.
Luke continues, unaware of the thoughts in his wife’s head. ‘Still, it’s odd. Like, what’s the rush? I guess you never know with Mum what she’s thinking.’
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ she mutters.
‘You’re not annoyed at me, are you?’ He yawns. ‘I know I should have helped more with the kids today. Sorry.’
She turns to finally look at him, slumped in the chair. There is a drunken sheen to his pink, sunburnt cheeks.
‘Do you know what? Yeah, I am pissed off about that. Why do you have to drink so much?’ She knows this isn’t the right time but she can’t help herself.
‘We’re on holiday!’
‘That’s not an excuse; you can’t keep thinking about yourself. No one else is drinking as much as you.’
‘You don’t know what I’m dealing with.’ He gets to his feet.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Forget it.’ He storms to the ensuite. It’s like he can’t get away quick enough.