The Girl in the Mirror(75)

“That’s right, darling,” I say. “Helen is with the angels.” I don’t have time for this right now.

“Mummy happy now,” says Tarquin.

“Where’s Daddy?” I ask, flicking off the TV.

Tarquin is silent.

“Adam!” I call again. “Adam!”

Still no reply. I pick Tarquin up and carry him from room to room. Has Adam fallen asleep? I feel a chill at the thought of Tarquin having the run of the house alone. Adam must be exhausted.

I’m at the foot of the stairs when my phone rings. It’s Adam. I answer, and there’s a burst of wind in my ear. Adam’s voice is distant, like he’s calling me from space.

“Hi, babe!” he shouts.

“Where are you?”

“About four miles south of Cairns!” he yells. “I’m passing a headland so I might lose reception. The breeze is a bit fresh. I’m really moving! How’s Esther?”

“She’s great,” I say. I can’t decide whether to tell him where I am. Tarquin is snuggling sleepily into my shoulder, but if he perks up and starts talking, I’ll have to explain. I try to sound tired. “I should let you sail. They’ve told me to get some rest.”

“Can’t wait to see you, babe.” Adam hangs up and the noise cuts off.

Annabeth must be here, but where? She never leaves Tarquin alone.

“Where’s Grandma?” I ask.

“No,” says Tarquin.

I phone Annabeth. She answers instantly, bursting with questions about Esther. I cut through her words. “Was Adam meant to drop Tarquin with you tonight?”

“What? No. Why would he do that?”

“Mum, I know about Bathsheba,” I say. “I know Adam’s going to get her for me.”

Annabeth starts enthusing about what a great husband Adam is, while also suggesting that this solo sail is a little reckless of him.

Perhaps he got a babysitter. I climb the floating staircase slowly, weighed down by Tarquin and postpartum fatigue. I let Annabeth keep talking, hoping she’ll say something that will fill in the blanks for me.

Across the landing from the master bedroom, the door to the baby’s nursery is open. We haven’t bought a crib yet, but there’s a crib in there now, and it’s not Tarquin’s; it’s brand new. I go in to take a closer look. The cot has been made up with fresh linen. Everything is adorned with delicate pink roses.

Rosebud.

“Adam must have decided to take Tarky with him,” Annabeth says. “I’m sure there’s still a crib on the boat.” She gushes about her new granddaughter. She’s already started sewing pink lace onto the christening gown, and do I think it’s too hot for knitted booties?

The master bedroom is empty. I walk into the closet, put Tarquin down, and haul out my old suitcase. Tarquin is tired; he clings to me, rubbing his eyes.

I kneel and open the case. My phone is right on top, lying on musty clothes along with its charger. I crawl across the bedroom to the outlet and plug it in. The screen lights up.

“Gotta go, Mum,” I say and hang up. I sit cross-legged beside the outlet. Tarquin crawls across the room behind me, like it’s a game. He climbs onto my lap and yawns.

“Ginia,” he says. “Ginia.”

The word resolves into a name. Virginia. Of course!

“Is Virginia looking after you, Tarq?”

“Ginia.”

Of course Adam would ask Virginia to babysit. She must have stayed here last night. I haven’t checked the guest bedroom yet; it’s downstairs by the garage. She’s probably staring at YouTube, oblivious to passing time, or asleep.

I don’t need to tell her I’m here. Not yet. Perhaps I can get away without her knowing.

“Lie down, kiddo,” I murmur. For once in his life, Tarq does what he’s told. He lies across my lap and closes his eyes.

I stroke his hair with one hand while I turn on my phone. I click on my mail app. The number is bold: 208. Two hundred and eight new emails, dating back to April. Most of them are from one person. Ben.

My hands tremble as I open the most recent one, dated today.

I guess you’ll be wondering why I’ve been sending you all these messages. No, I didn’t suspect anything. It was therapy, I guess. It’s not like I had anyone else to talk to.

I want you to know that I don’t hate you. I always thought Summer would get the cash, but I think you kind of deserve it. It’s just that I can’t be a part of this.

I was going to have a beer with Noah this afternoon, and I guess I still will, but then I’ll fly back to New York, and you won’t hear from me again. I want you to know that I will never expose you. And that you are the dumbest person I know.

Love you forever,

Ben





Tears are splattering on the screen. I wipe them away with my dress. Of course this is the email that Ben would send, that I should have known he would send. I can’t believe I was expecting demands, talk of money, threats of betrayal. How could I have thought my brother would do that?

I ought to feel relieved. I’ve escaped again, and I can carry on as Summer. But all I can think is how much I miss my brother. And all this time he has been emailing me.

I open another email.

It’s so crowded here. At rush hour we’re packed like sardines on the subway. But I feel like I’m alone in the middle of the ocean. I feel like I’m the only human being left alive.