Sheridan stepped forward, and I flinched as her hand fell to my growing stomach, resting on the outline of my belly button which was evident through the grey material of my maternity dress. She was in movie mode now, no doubt playing some character from a past role. It was all for Daniel’s benefit, to cast me in the worst possible light.
‘Have you written any other notes?’
I shook my head. I wanted to dig a hole and bury myself in it. The note made things a hundred times worse. Only Daniel’s presence was stopping Sheridan from flipping her lid. Her face had healed from our last bust-up, but the memory still remained.
‘Quid pro quo. Do you know what that means, Roz?’ she said in the sweetest voice.
I nodded, recalling an old Hannibal Lecter movie I had once watched.
‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours?’ I replied, unable to word it more eloquently than that.
‘That’s right,’ she said, her hand rising to smooth back my hair. My skin crawled beneath her touch and the look in her eye told me she was getting a perverse kick from my reaction. I didn’t dare step back. There was something about Daniel’s expression as he watched us both. Something I didn’t like. My gaze flickered to George, and immediately, he looked away. A reluctant voyeur.
I could smell Sheridan’s skin. What I once perceived as exotic now made me feel sick. She continued to speak, her words like silk as she invaded my personal space. Daniel watched as she finger-combed my hair. I felt invaded. Used. I wanted to spit in her face. But from what I’d read, Sheridan was dangerous, and I was in no position to retaliate now.
‘Simply put, it means “something for something”,’ she continued. ‘You understand that, don’t you? It’s what our relationship has been based on these last few weeks. You play by the rules and you enjoy the fruits of my labour. You break my trust and I . . .’ I winced as she pulled on a knot in my hair.
‘I repay you in kind.’ Shaking her fingers, she allowed the blonde strands to fall to the floor. ‘So tell me. What am I to do with you now?’
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
ROZ
APRIL 2019
‘What’s a Chinese cabbage?’ I said, reading about pregnancy week thirty-two in my book. ‘Is it smaller than an Irish cabbage, do you think? Whatever it is, you’re about the same size.’ I was talking out loud again; these days I was doing it more and more. Sitting in silence was getting me down. ‘It says here that you’ve got fingernails and toenails, and it’s normal for me to be short of breath. That’s a relief, hey?’ My chin wobbled as I sat alone, deep in a pit of anxiety and loneliness.
I chewed on my nails, which were now reduced to stumps. Weeks of isolation had frayed my nerves and left me on edge. I thought about my life in Ireland, of the myriad communications I took for granted every day. Of Ronnie, the postie, who always seemed to catch me on my way out of the flat. Of Maggie, the seventy-year-old who begged on the street for money to help towards her electric bill. I missed our chats in the morning as I handed her a euro or two. Then there were the cleaning ladies at work. Half of them spoke a language I did not understand, but we still managed to have a laugh. I missed Dympna’s wild stories, and the voicemails my mother used to leave. So much human connection, all before twelve o’clock in the day. I had taken it for granted and now I was totally alone.
Now my life was a network of sounds. The pipes woke me up each morning as the apartment heating kicked in. Then there were Anna’s heavy footsteps as she drew the mop and hoover across the floors above. Next came Leo’s high-pitched squeak as the nanny picked him up for school. Then came the voices of Sheridan, Daniel and George. But there was no joy up there. No music, no dancing, no parties and no TV. Monica had not returned since she’d seen me in the hall, and Juanita had not been down since George told Sheridan about the note. I spent hours trying to work out if her absence was linked to the knife I’d nestled beneath my pillow. Had she got cold feet and confessed to