Chapter 54 Fenna – Day 11
Fenna glances across the serene lake. Raffi didn’t need a feed but she used him as an excuse to sit somewhere quiet.
She leans her aching back against the wooden bench near the water’s edge.
The night air smells of pine and the last of the day’s heat.
There is the faint sound of helicopters in the distance.
Perhaps searching for Carla? Clearly the Frasers didn’t care to cancel tonight’s celebrations as a sign of respect to Carla’s family.
She went into the party to get herself a drink and slipped out before anyone noticed, but in that brief moment she was taken aback by the number of guests.
Faces she’s not seen before. Names she won’t remember.
Such a lot of effort for a sham engagement party.
She doesn’t want to be here, surrounded by people she doesn’t know, to celebrate this bullshit union.
Marriage is a mistake.
Luke’s confession plays on repeat in her head. He’s spent all their savings without telling her and thought it was a clever idea to stage a home break-in. What the hell is wrong with him?
A faint commotion comes from the house. Whatever drama is going on over there, she doesn’t want to be part of it.
A gull swoops near the surface of the dark water.
She inhales Raffi’s newborn smell. The sweet biscuit scent instantly calms her.
She nestles him against her and kisses his velvety soft cheeks.
Luke has no idea of the pain he’s put her through.
The nightmares she’s endured because of that burglary have plagued her.
She’s tortured herself with the many ‘what if’s’ from that night.
What is she going to do? The police haven’t called her again. She replays the voicemail, trying to decipher the police officer’s tone. It sounds friendly. Perhaps it’s a courtesy call? Maybe they don’t have any suspicions? Whatever the reason, this is Luke’s mess. He needs to fix it.
She tries to focus on being in the moment, reminding herself of the hypnobirthing breathing techniques she learnt when she was pregnant.
But she’s never been any good at meditating.
Her mind is always too full. She gently places Raffi back in his pushchair, silently doing the clasps so he’s nice and snug.
Earlier, a blur of colour caught her eye.
Theo tore down the garden, heading towards the lake. Rosie followed him not long after. She was too fast and too far away to call her name. Neither of them saw her.
Has she told him the truth about who she is?
He must have broken off the engagement. Good. Fenna glances at the time on her phone, it’s gone ten o’clock. Hopefully they can all go home soon. A faint beat of music starts from the house. Voices fill the air once more. Whatever drama happened at the party has been forgotten.
Where have Rosie and Theo gone? It looked like they headed into the woodland. Richard and Evelyn own so much land it’s easy to get lost. Wherever they are, they’ve not reappeared. God knows what Marianne will say about her golden boy and his precious Rosie breaking up.
She heaves herself to her feet and unlocks the brakes on Raffi’s pushchair, deciding to follow the shingle path that edges this part of the lake whilst he’s asleep.
She’s relieved not to be making small talk with anyone.
Luke will no doubt be getting wasted on Richard’s hospitality.
She prays that he’s convinced him to financially bail them out.
But what if Richard says no?
Her phone trills to life. Her husband’s name flashes up. She rejects the call, too angry to speak to him. Right now, she could kill him.
She stomps down a path flanked by sharp, spiky, thorn bushes. Too distracted by her furious thoughts, to focus on where she’s going.
Darkness suddenly wraps around her.
Luke told her that he’d acted out of desperation and that he would do anything to protect his family.
She remembers what Marianne said at the gallery about the lengths you go to for the ones you love.
How dare her mother-in-law and Theo not help them when they need it?
Families should look out for one another.
If they were in the position to offer a financial handout to a relative, they would in an instant.
So why wouldn’t Theo lend his brother the money? Luke had told him how desperate he was.
Further ahead, is a small stone cottage, hidden behind spindly trees and unkempt foliage. A solitary porch light casts an ominous glow on the water’s edge. Is this where Rosie and Theo went when they raced past earlier?
Fenna steps closer. What is this place? It looks like a groundskeeper’s lodge, a little lake house, or perhaps a bolthole for Richard’s fishing trips.
Judging by the thick layer of dust on the windows and the neglected planters on either side of the weather-damaged front door, it’s not been used in a while.
A rush of balmy evening air rustles the branches of the trees. Is someone watching her? There is a crunch of a twig and she spins, her heart leaping to her throat before seeing a tiny brown bird in the undergrowth. It’s your mind playing tricks on you.
Fenna knocks on the front door. She needs to talk to Theo and see if she can persuade him to help them. She needs to clean up her husband’s mess for the sake of her family.
No one answers. She tries the rusting metal door handle. It opens with a sinister creak. The sound shoots under her skin.
‘Rosie? Theo?’
She holds her breath to see if she can hear anyone talking but the only sound is crickets in the long grass and the faint hum of music from the party back at the main house. She spots Rosie’s heels kicked off beside the front door. She won’t have gone anywhere without them on.
‘Hello?’ she calls into the silence.
There’s no answer. She walks inside, keeping an eye on Raffi sleeping in his pushchair with every step she takes away from him. A full-length window in the lounge reveals her reflection, making her jump. She can smell coffee, red wine, and something else. Something unpleasant and metallic.
‘Theo? Are you here? I need to talk to you,’ she calls. She glances around the tidy lounge. What is that smell? She walks towards the kitchen at the back of the room. ‘It’s out of order that . . . Oh God.’
She sees a foot on the floor, poking out from behind the tall breakfast bar. As she gets closer she is confronted with a scene from a nightmare.
Cream-coloured Le Creuset pans are splattered with an arc of blood that climbs the kitchen walls. Glittering shards of glass and coffee granules are scattered on the floor tiles.
Fenna shoots a trembling hand out to steady herself against the kitchen counter and clenches her eyes shut praying this is a nightmare. A bubble of bile rises from the base of her stomach.
A body is lying face down. There’s a deep, purposeful crack in their skull. No one can survive an oozing, gaping wound that big.
She throws her head back and screams.