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Standing just outside the open gates is a woman in an immaculate white skirt suit greeting the flood of children. She has a short, dark fringe that’s slightly wonky and bright-red lipstick.
It feels like someone has driven a spike through my chest and pinned me dead against my seat.
The woman’s lips curl into a smile and the warmth of it beams from her, but it turns my blood to ice.
She looks like an angel. No one could ever guess what lies beneath.
‘Who’s that?’ I ask.
Jenna squints out and zips up her backpack. ‘Who… Miss Smith?’
Miss Smith. I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.
‘She’s great,’ says Jenna, opening the door. ‘Kind of perfect, actually.’
I never thought she’d come back.
‘Mum?’
I never thought I’d have to see her again.
‘Mother?’
I snap a smile on my face. ‘Okay, love, have a nice day!’
Jenna mumbles something and slams the door.
I notice, as Jenna approaches the gates, that Miss Smith gives her a wide-mouthed grin. I do notice that. But I’m too busy keeping the smile on my own face, thinking, It’s fine, everything is fine, on repeat, to think much about it. To think much about anything at all.
4
NOW
I stand in our foyer with no memory of driving home. Nervous energy pings across my chest.
Today was meant to be a me day. I was going to have a long bath. No one is home. No need to pretend I’m working at the gallery.
But Georgia Smith is back.
I should call Tristan.
But no. It can wait till tonight. The universe has given me a day home alone and I’d say now I deserve it more than ever.
Dan has left a coffee cup on the sideboard and I return it to Tristan’s kitchen, then sneak upstairs to borrow some of Mina’s bubble bath.
Who knew Chanel made bubble bath? And while I’m here, maybe I’ll borrow this anti-aging cream. I’m sure Mina won’t miss it – I’ve never heard of Helena Rubinstein anyway.
Sitting by the bath is one of Tristan’s old toy battleships. It must not have been played with in half a decade. I brush cobwebs from the portholes, remembering when Mother used to bathe us in here together, our voices echoing against the tiles, and then the next generation: Ash and Ava sharing this same little ship with Jenna, losing it in the bubbles, committing stealth attacks on unsuspecting legs.
It was only when Tristan’s political career stepped up about eight years ago that we all disentangled ourselves from the main house. He started having to entertain a lot. The people Mother and Father got to convert the barn revamped the lodge too. Dan and I are saving to redo the extension.
At the thought of Dan my stomach clenches and I push him out of my head. I scurry back to our side of the house, set up Netflix on my laptop at the end of the bath as water thunders in. The tub’s enamel is chipped and stained with rust but soon it’s covered in sumptuous bubbles and I breathe in the cloud of orange, rose and musk.
I’ve been doing so well, but as I sit still, the skin on my neck begins to itch and my mind wanders…
Georgia Smith. That makes sense, doesn’t it? The stolen card, the mysterious firing, the scratched car… even Dan and his affair.
If anyone were going to try to destroy me, it would be Georgia Smith.
