I bury my head in my hands and groan. I don’t know what to do. Confront them both, or keep the discovery to myself? Although deeply suspicious, it’s not evidence. Simone might blame Maria for mixing the necklace up in the laundry or claim it fell off when she was changing the sheets, even though I haven’t seen her lift a finger all week.
No. I will keep it to myself. For now. And I’ll watch them both so closely I won’t miss a damn thing.
* * *
My stomach is churning as I head back down to the pool after a shower. I’m not sure what I think I’m going to find: Dominic and Simone canoodling on the daybed? Cavorting in the water together? I needn’t have worried. Dominic, Felix and Victoria are playing cards on the terrace, Willow is draped over a sunbed, on her phone, Barney is working his way through a bottle of red and Simone is nowhere to be seen.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ Dominic says, his face breaking into a smile. ‘Come and join us.’
‘I might just read my book, if that’s OK?’ I clutch Nessa’s paperback to my chest like a shield. ‘Where’s Simone?’
Willow looks up from her phone. ‘In her lair sharpening her talons or sticking pins in her favourite voodoo doll, probably.’
Victoria and Felix both laugh. Even Dominic’s mouth twitches, and the knot inside me loosens a fraction.
‘Actually, I will join you for a couple of hands.’ I slide into the seat next to him, glad to have another chance to practise my poker face, because I can’t help thinking I’m going to need it before the week is out.
As Felix deals, I rest my head on Dom’s shoulder. He snakes his arm round me, drawing circles with his thumb on my bare shoulder until I shiver with pleasure. Dom loves me. I should never have doubted him. There’ll be a rational explanation for Simone’s locket turning up in our bed, and if I accuse him of something he hasn’t done I could jeopardise everything.
34
WILLOW
Just before the Easter break, I had a one-to-one with Mrs Purvis, the school’s careers adviser, a harassed-looking woman who’s so patently unsuited to helping people find their dream job that it would be funny if it weren’t so tragic.
‘What do you want to do when you leave school, Willow?’ she asked me in her usual weary tone.
‘I want to be a professional agitator,’ I said.
She blinked. ‘A what?’
‘You know, someone who upsets the status quo. Who asks the right questions. Who challenges authority and calls out the people who think they’re untouchable.’
She smiled the exact same smile Simone employed when I announced I was going vegan, like it was a phase I was going through, and I’d soon grow out of it, thank goodness. I sat up straighter in the hard plastic chair – don’t even get me started on the evils of plastic – and held her gaze. ‘The state the world’s in right now, we need people to call out the liars, the cheats and the hypocrites. Because if everyone just looks the other way, if everyone keeps swallowing the shit we’re fed by the people in power, we’re completely fucked.’
Mrs P winced but, credit to her, didn’t give me a detention for swearing. Instead, she glanced at the ceiling, as if seeking inspiration, then cleared her throat and said, ‘Have you considered politics? Or investigative journalism, perhaps?’
‘Yeah, maybe. DoesPrivate Eyetake interns? That would really piss off Dad and Simone.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure. But there’s always the school newspaper if you want to get your foot in the door. I can have a word with Miss Gregory if you like?’
‘Nah, it’s all good. I’ll rattle cages my own way, thanks. Are we done here?’
‘I…um, yes, I suppose we are.’
‘Good.’ I pushed the chair back, slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out with a spring in my step.
I had a job title. I had a manifesto. Now I just needed a cause.
* * *
Sitting alone in the villa’s stark white living room, I think about my cause and how well it’s going. It’s gone midnight, everyone else went to bed about an hour ago, and I have the place to myself. It’s a relief. I’m beginning to wish I’d never come. Much as I love fireworks – and there have been plenty to watch already this week – the truth is, I’d rather be at home, suntan or no suntan.
I’m making the most of the peace and quiet to wrap the Wicked Stepmother’s birthday presents. Not that I think she deserves anything, the evil witch, but Dad had a go at me when I didn’t even bother to get her a card last year. I told him I didn’t have any money so he gave me a hundred quid to buy her a present. I’ve got her a book of Sudoku puzzles, a packet of Tena incontinence pants and an expensive tub of night cream for mature skin. I’ve wrapped them in pages torn from the latestedition of theSocialist Worker, a nice touch, even though I do say so myself. It all came to just under fifty quid. I’ll donate the rest to Greenpeace.
I stick the last bit of Sellotape down on the book of Sudoku and sign my name with a flourish on the sympathy card I chose for Simone. My thoughts drift to tonight’s barbecue. Dad took charge of the grill, beer in hand, spending literally hours producing platefuls of charred offerings I wouldn’t have given one of the stray dogs down at the harbour. No one had thought to cook anything veggie for me, so I had to make do with the Greek salad Maria had made earlier. And they say teenagers are selfish!
The atmosphere was off, and that’s not just me overanalysing. It was seriously sketchy. Simone had a go at Dad because he wouldn’t stop ranting about the villa down the road. Barney was completely wasted. Amber looked like someone just died and barely said a word all evening. Victoria spent most of the night staring at her phone. When Barney asked what she was looking at, she claimed she was checking to see if there were any messages from their kids. Yeah, right. Even Dom wasn’t his usual chatty self.
