The Shadow House(35)

Dom took Bess’s arm and guided her gently through the hall and into the kitchen. ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Something smells good.’

‘Dominic,’ said April, gliding forward in a cloud of perfume. ‘My goodness, it’s been a long time. You look well.’

Renee cringed at the lie. Dom didn’t look well at all. The years had ravaged his former boyish good looks and his face was now lined and pallid. Bess, too, had aged a great deal in a short space of time; she seemed to have shrunk since Renee had last seen her. Her skin appeared unsure what to do with the lack of her, and there wasn't much going on behind the eyes. Dom was now probably caring for her full time, and with a divorce on his hands as well … Renee winced – another guilty twinge – and made a mental note not to mention Rachel or the girls.

‘How’s Rachel?’ asked April. ‘And the girls? Last time I saw them they were barely walking.’

‘Oh,’ said Dom, his face visibly falling. ‘They’re doing okay. But, you know, the separation – sorry, the divorce – has been tough on us all.’

‘I can only imagine.’ April patted him on the arm. ‘What’s the custody arrangement?’

‘Um.’ Dom flinched. ‘The, uh, decision hasn’t been made yet.’

‘And are you sleeping?’

‘Well, I have a good doctor, if that’s what you—’

‘Of course.’ April gave his arm a squeeze. ‘If there’s ever anything I can do for you, if you need to talk, just say the word.’

‘Thank you,’ said Dom, in a way that suggested he would be doing no such thing.

‘And Bess …’ April turned to Dom’s mother. ‘How wonderful to see you, too.’

Bess looked startled, as if she’d just arrived by time machine and was trying to figure out what year it was.

Renee tried to catch Dom’s eye – How’s she doing? – but he was already wandering away into the living room. ‘The house looks great,’ he said, then stopped. ‘Oh dear. What happened here, then?’

Renee balled her hands into fists. The floor was swept, the dining table set with the best china, and a vase of dahlias stood on the kitchen counter. There were presents and wine and very soon the cake would be iced. If you didn’t look at the windows or the walls or the sofa or the rug, you might think that everything was fine. Better than fine: perfect. So why did everyone keep looking?

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Just a little accident. What can I get you to drink?’

But April was already swooping in, entering the conversation like an actor who’d been waiting in the wings for their cue. ‘Terrible, isn’t it,’ she said. ‘Happened overnight, and they have no idea who did it. And they haven’t even called the police yet, which I think is a mistake – but then again, you never know how helpful the authorities will be. My friend Denise was robbed the other week, someone broke into her house while she was out shopping, and the police did nothing. No evidence of a crime, they said, because technically nothing was taken, but Denise said …’

Renee tuned out. The day was slowly but surely slipping from her grasp. April was droning on and on, Dom was frowning as if April were speaking a foreign language, and poor Bess was staring around the room as if she thought the furniture might sprout wings and fly away.

In an attempt to regain control, Renee went back to the kitchen to arrange cubes of cheese and cabanossi on a plate. Then she removed the bowl of icing from the fridge and spread it over the cake with a butter knife, taking her time to smooth the whole thing into a perfect creamy column. When the spongey surface was completely covered, she hurried down the hall and knocked lightly on Gabriel’s door.

‘Are you ready, love? Everyone’s here, and lunch is almost done.’

He didn’t answer.

‘I’ve made your favourite.’

Nothing.

Don’t do this, Renee thought. Please, not today. She rattled the handle, but the door was locked. ‘Gabe?’

‘Alright, I heard you,’ came a low muffled reply.

She waited, her insides trembling, but the door remained closed.

Back in the living room, Michael was standing by the dining table, swigging a beer and clapping a stone-faced Dom on the back with a soapy hand. ‘Hate to say it, mate,’ he was saying, ‘but I never liked your Rachel. Always suspected she might do a runner. She’ll probably get the kids, but the women always do – and, to be honest, it might not be such a bad thing. All that space, all that time to yourself … I’d chew me own arm off for a bit of that sometimes, you know? I’d kill for a bit of peace and quiet.’

April was still talking to, or rather at, Bess, appraising the stains on the sofa as though reviewing an art exhibition. She’d tugged back the sheets so the whole place once again looked like a crime scene; the only thing missing was a chalk outline. ‘Dead as a doornail,’ she said. ‘In a cardboard box. And headless. Headless! Can you believe it? Who would do that to a cat?’

Bess had picked up one of Gabriel’s ruined school photos and was cradling the broken frame, shaking her head at the smashed glass and the smeared picture within. Her eyes were as round as saucers, her sinewy body small and vulnerable next to April, who looked grotesque in comparison, her make-up too thick and parody-bold, her hand gestures too wild.