The Shadow House(34)

‘Michael is washing the side of your house,’ Frank said, as if this might be news to Renee. ‘You’re not repainting again, are you?’

‘Why is there a Christmas angel hanging on the porch?’ April said, almost simultaneously. ‘Isn’t July a little early for decorations?’

Renee swallowed. The tree-topper. In all the chaos, she’d forgotten to cut it down. ‘It’s not a decoration,’ she sighed, accepting both the wine and the gift from her mother. ‘There was … an incident.’ She led them into the living room.

April looked around, her eyes widening, her jaw falling.

Frank went straight for the windows. ‘What on earth happened?’ he said, touching the plywood.

‘Nothing much,’ said Renee, heading back to the kitchen and setting the gifts down on the bench. ‘Some idiot thought it’d be fun to throw paint at our house.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Oh, who knows? Just local kids, I’m sure.’

April, quite rightly, raised an eyebrow. There were no local kids, not really; the farms were all too spread out. ‘Have you reported it?’

Fetching three glasses from a cupboard, Renee opened the bottle and poured the wine. ‘Not yet. We didn’t want to spoil today.’ Not strictly true. Renee had wanted to call the police, but Michael had said no. No point making a fuss. I’ll deal with it. They would call later, he insisted, after lunch.

‘You took photographs, though?’ said Frank, narrowing his eyes. ‘The insurance company will ask for photographs.’

‘Of course we did.’ That wasn’t true, either. Michael had dragged out the hose before Renee had even moved. He’d turned on the tap and hosed down half the house, leaving just a powder pink stain on the white cladding. He’d gone straight back out there this morning to scrub at the window frames, the fretwork and the light fittings, but the paint job for which they’d paid a fortune only the previous year was wrecked.

‘The sofa,’ said April sadly, her hand at her mouth. ‘Oh, the antique rug.’

‘Never mind, worse things happen at sea.’ Moving on autopilot, Renee glided to the airing cupboard for a pile of sheets, which she draped over the furniture to cover the marks. ‘There, that’s better. Let’s not give it another thought, not today.’

‘Where is Gabriel?’ April said. ‘Still in his room, I expect.’

‘He’s just getting dressed.’

Renee handed out the wine and they all sipped in silence, looking anywhere but at each other.

Eventually, Frank ambled out the back door to go and give Michael a ‘hand’, which really meant standing behind Michael and pointing out all the spots he’d missed, and Renee went to check on the lamb. Sliding her hand back into the mitt, she opened the oven door and heat blasted her face.

‘Listen, Ren,’ said April, following her. ‘Do you think that maybe …’

‘What?’

‘Well.’ April put down her wineglass and lowered her voice. ‘Do you think that perhaps Gabriel … you know.’

‘No, I don’t know.’ Renee banged the oven door closed.

‘Well, this.’ April shrugged and gestured at the mess. ‘The angel on the porch, the cat …’

‘Mum, if you’re suggesting that Gabe might have something to do with those things—’

‘No, of course I’m not.’

‘—because he was standing with me when the paint was thrown, and he would never have hurt Ivory, not ever. He loved that cat.’

‘No, Ren.’ April was standing close enough that Renee could see the tiny hairs on her upper lip, and the sharp line of her lipstick. ‘I don’t mean to suggest that he did any of it himself. I just wonder … well, your father and I were talking the other day and—’

There was a knock at the door.

Both women frowned.

‘Who’s that?’ said April.

‘I’m not sure.’ But then Renee remembered: in a fit of guilt last week, she’d called the Hassops and asked them to lunch. What a stupid idea, she thought, pulling off the oven mitt and tossing it back onto the counter. Whatever was I thinking?

She’d been thinking that Dom and his mother Bess might appreciate an invitation, they might like to see Gabe all grown up, they might serve as buffers and dissolve the inevitable tension. April’s prayers and Frank’s criticism would be replaced by light-hearted small talk and references to the ‘good old days’. But when Renee opened the door and saw her neighbours on the doorstep, waiting politely with gifts in their hands, she felt nothing but sadness. It had been too long. It would be awkward. This was a mistake.

‘Hello, Bess,’ she said. ‘Hi Dom. It’s lovely to see you, thank you for coming.’

‘Thank you for having us,’ said Dom with a gentle smile. ‘Good to see you. It’s been a while.’

‘It certainly has. I’m so sorry that I … that we haven’t—’

‘Please.’ Dom held up a hand. ‘No need for apologies.’

‘But I should’ve …’

‘Water under the bridge.’

Beside him, Bess smiled.

Hope rose in Renee’s heart; perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. It really was lovely to see them. She took their coats. ‘Come on in. Let me get you a drink.’