Suzie shakes her head. “No, he didn’t mention her by name. Listen, Cathy, I really have to go.”
Cathy tails her to the door. She asks if she can keep the receipt, Suzie tells her of course. Outside, the sky is hard and gray, like washed stone. Cathy opens the door and looks over her shoulder at Scout in the living room before saying softly, “Listen, Suzie, I’m sorry about the way I spoke to you the other day. My head’s all over the place right now.”
“I understand.”
“So when can we go?”
Suzie frowns at her, uncomprehending. “Go?”
“To Belle Vue. I can ask the neighbor to babysit. We can be there by four.”
Suzie is speechless. She feels the wind scissoring her hair like cold, curious fingers. “Why don’t you just call them, Cathy?”
Cathy colors, her cheeks flushed with heat. “I’m blacklisted. When Joe had Hazel admitted, he put me on some restricted access list. I couldn’t call and I couldn’t visit. They said it would be detrimental to her recovery.”
“Why?”
Cathy takes another look at her son in the next room. She keeps her voice low. “Because we fell out. You must have known about it. I know what this fucking town’s like, Suzie, I know how people talk to each other. You saw the way Mr. Jenner was treating me, like I was some sort of criminal.”
Now it’s Suzie’s turn to blush. She nods. Of course she knows, everyone knows. Cathy had stolen the gifted money from Joe and Hazel’s wedding reception. Nearly four thousand pounds in cash, give or take. At least, that’s what people had been saying.
“I’m blacklisted,” Cathy says again, “butyou’renot, sweetie. We just need to confirm she’s there. That’s all. Then maybe I can get some sleep.”
“I have to work, Cathy. I need to open the shop back up. Maybe afterward?”Teddy won’t like that, the mean little voice says, and Suzie can’t ignore it, because the voice is right.
“They don’t allow visitors in the evening. I tried back last November. Couldn’t get past the woman at the desk. That wasbeforeshe knew who I was. After I told her my name, she threatened to call the police. Besides, it might be snowing later, and then we won’t have the choice.”
Suzie glances away, chewing her lower lip. She’s late back to work, she’s angsty. Her heart is beating so fast she feels like it might punch right out through her chest. She knows Teddy will be pissed and he’ll know she’s keeping something from him. The skin of her hands is burning, the compulsion to wash them like a pulse right in the center of her head. She digs them deeper into her pockets.
Hazel isn’t evenhersister—she’s an old friend she hadn’t seen for twelve years until just the other day. She tells herself she can say no. She can walk away. But then an image comes to her, of Hazel standing outside the house on Beeker Street, her shadow long and crooked on the pavement.Two shadows, the voice in her head reminds her,and one of them was monstrous.
“Okay.” Suzie nods briskly, pulling her bag tighter around her. “Go on and speak to your neighbor.”
“Thank you! Oh, thank you, Suzie. I’ll pay you back somehow, I promise you.” Cathy is already reaching for a pair of scuffed cowboy boots just inside the door. Her eyes are gleaming, and Suzie returns her smile, even though deep down her unease is twisting like a worm on a hook.
25
The moment I see Maria for the very first time, I think she must be sick.
She is tiny and birdlike, almost skeletal. Her thin frame swims in layers of oversized clothing; pink lace petticoat beneath a man’s flannel shirt, a mismatched pair of thick woolen hiking socks rolled up to her shins. On top of this she wears a navy-blue fisherman’s jumper at least three sizes too big. It hangs off her, giving the impression of a little girl playing dress-up.
“Hello, Maria,” I croak, reaching out a hand toward her as I emerge slowly from the fetid air of the cellar. “You can put that down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Maria looks at me with wide, limpid eyes the color of a winter sea. She is holding the screwdriver out in front of her, thin arms trembling with the effort. I take a step toward her and her lip curls like a feral dog.
“Show me your hands.”
I lift both hands and hold them out to her so she can see they are empty.You’re not going to hurt me, are you?she’d asked me, and perhaps I hadn’t sounded convincing enough or perhaps she’s beenburned by these circumstances before and isn’t taking any chances. Either way, I don’t blame her. I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile, moving close enough to gently push the screwdriver away.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “You can trust me.”
As soon as I say the words, I realize I actually mean them. Maybe it’s her visible vulnerability—bony and malnourished, so slight a strong gust of wind could carry her away—or maybe it’s because she let me out of the basement in spite of the danger it puts her in. What Idoknow is that something about her inspires some deeply buried maternal instinct in me. I kneel in front of her, so that we are eye-to-eye. I know I must smell bad, because she wrinkles her nose as I get closer. I reach up and pull the wool hat slowly from her head, revealing a pale, shaved scalp, covered in nicks and scratches. Dark flecks of regrowth sprinkle it like black pepper. It makes her look like a victim of some great plague or famine, a woodcut from the dark ages.
“Thank you, Maria.” I’m almost teary with gratitude. “Getting that padlock off was a great idea. Now I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for your help again.”
I point down the hallway toward the front door. I’m no expert but I can see that it is good and strong—robustis the word that springs into my mind—and is reinforced with a type of metal. Steel, probably.
“I’m not getting out that way, am I, Maria?”