“Yes,” said Cecilia. “He does, actually.” It was an odd question for Virginia to ask. She knew perfectly well that John-Paul didn’t get involved in the planning of birthday parties. She put the milk back in the fridge and turned around to look at Virginia. “Why do you ask?”
Virginia helped herself to a piece of coconut slice. “He didn’t mind?”
“Why should he mind?” Cecilia carefully pulled a chair out and sat down at the table. She felt like someone was pushing their thumb right through the center of her forehead, as if her head were made of dough. Her eyes met Virginia’s. She had John-Paul’s eyes. She’d been a beauty once, and had never forgiven one of her hapless daughters-in-law for not recognizing her in a photo hanging in the family room.
Virginia looked away first. “I just thought he might prefer not to have too many outsiders at his daughter’s party.” Her voice was off-key. She took a bite of coconut slice and chewed it awkwardly, as if she were only pretending to chew.
She knows. The thought dropped straight into Cecilia’s head with a thud.
John-Paul said nobody knew. He was adamant that nobody knew.
They were silent for a few moments. Cecilia heard the refrigerator hum. She felt her heart thud. Virginia couldn’t know, could she? She swallowed: a sudden involuntary gulp for air.
“I talked to Rachel about her daughter,” said Cecilia. She sounded breathless. “About Janie. On the way home.” She paused, took a breath to calm herself. Virginia had put down the coconut slice and was scrabbling for something in her handbag. “Do you remember much about . . . when it happened?”
“I remember it very well,” said Virginia. She pulled a tissue from her bag and blew her nose. “The papers loved it. They had pages and pages of photos. They even showed a photo of the . . .” She crumpled the tissue in her hand and cleared her throat. “The rosary beads. The crucifix was made of mother-of-pearl.”
The rosary beads. John-Paul had said that his mother had lent him her rosary beads because he had an exam that day. She must have recognized them and never said a word, never asked the question so she’d never need to hear the answer, but she knew. She absolutely knew. Cecilia felt a clammy, shivery sensation creeping up her legs, like the start of the flu.
“But that was all such a very long time ago,” said Virginia.
“Yes. Although it must be so distressing for Rachel,” said Cecilia. “Not knowing. Not knowing what happened.”
Their eyes locked across the table. This time Virginia didn’t look away. Cecilia could see tiny particles of orange face powder embedded in the drawstring of wrinkles around Virginia’s mouth. Outside the house she could hear the soft midweek sounds of her neighborhood: the chatter of cockatoos, the twitter of sparrows, the far-off buzz of someone’s leaf blower, a slam of a car door.
“Although it wouldn’t really change anything, would it? It wouldn’t bring Janie back.” Virginia patted Cecilia’s arm. “You’ve got enough on your mind without worrying about that. Your family comes first. Your husband and your daughters. They come first.”
“Yes, of course,” began Cecilia, and stopped abruptly. The message was loud and clear. The taint of evil was all through her house. It smelled like sesame oil.
Virginia smiled sweetly and picked up the coconut slice again between her fingertips. “I don’t need to tell you this, do I? You’re a mother. You’d do anything for your children, just like I’d do anything for mine.”
TWENTY-NINE
The school day was nearly over, and Rachel was busy typing up the school newsletter, her fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard. “Sushi is now available in the cafeteria. Healthy and yummy! More volunteers are needed to cover library books. Don’t forget the Eggscellent Easter Hat Parade tomorrow! Connor Whitby has been charged with the murder of Rachel Crowley’s daughter. Hooray! Our warmest wishes to Rachel. Applications now open for the position of PE Teacher.”