The Husband's Secret(83)
“No you’re not,” said Tess. “I’ll drive you home. You can hop into bed, and I’ll drop your daughter’s shoes back off at the school.”
“I can’t believe I nearly forgot Polly’s damned shoes again,” said Cecilia. She looked utterly appalled at herself, as if she’d put Polly’s life at risk.
“Come on,” said Tess. She took Cecilia’s keys from her unresisting hand, pointed the key at the Tupperware car and pressed the unlock button. She was filled with an unusual sense of capability and purpose.
“Thank you for this.” Cecilia leaned heavily on Tess’s arm as she helped her into the passenger side of her car.
“It’s no problem at all,” said Tess in a brisk, no-nonsense voice entirely unlike her own, closing the door and heading around to the driver’s side.
How kind and civic of you! Felicity spoke up in her head. Next thing you’ll be joining the P&F!
Fuck off, Felicity, thought Tess, and she turned Cecilia’s key in the ignition with a deft flick of the wrist.
TWENTY-FOUR
What was wrong with Cecilia this morning? She was certainly not herself, mused Rachel as she walked into St. Angela’s, feeling peculiar and self-conscious about her bouncy, flat-footed walk in her sneakers instead of her normal heels. She could feel moisture in her armpits and along her hairline, but actually, walking instead of driving to work had left her feeling quite invigorated. Before she’d left the house this morning, she’d momentarily considered calling a taxi because she felt so exhausted after the previous night. She’d been up for hours after Rodney Bellach had left, mentally replaying that video of Janie and Connor in her head over and over. Each time she remembered Connor’s face it became more malevolent in her memory. Rodney was just being cautious, not wanting her to get her hopes up. He was old now, and a bit soft around the edges. Once a snappy, smart young police officer saw the video, he (or she!) would instantly see the implications and take decisive action.
What would she do if she ran into Connor Whitby at the school today? Confront him? Ask the question? Make the accusation? The thought made her feel dizzy. Her emotions would soar like mountains: grief, fury, hatred.
She took a deep breath. No, no, she would not confront him. She wanted this done properly, and she didn’t want to forewarn him about the new evidence or say something that might cost her a guilty verdict. Imagine if he got off on a legal technicality because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. She felt an unexpected sense of not quite happiness, but something. Hope? Satisfaction? Yes, it was satisfaction, because she was doing something for Janie. That was it. It had been so long since she’d been able to do something, anything, for her daughter: to go into her bedroom on a cold night and place an extra blanket over those bony shoulders (she was always cold), to make her one of her favorite cheese and pickle sandwiches (with heaps of butter—Rachel was always secretly trying to fatten her up), to carefully hand-wash her good clothes, to give her a ten-dollar bill for no reason at all. For years she’d felt this desire to do something again for Janie, to still be her mother, to look after her again in some small way, and now at last she could. I’m getting him, darling. Not much longer now.
Her mobile phone rang in her handbag and she fumbled for it, anxious to catch the caller before the silly thing stopped ringing and went to voice mail. It must be Rodney! Who else would call at this time of the morning? With news already? But surely it was too soon; it couldn’t possibly be him.
“Hello?”
She’d seen the name, just before she answered. Rob, not Rodney. The “Ro” had given her a moment of hope.
“Mum? Everything all right?”
She tried not to feel aggrieved with Rob for not being Rodney.
“Everything is fine, love. Just on my way in to work. What’s up?”