Today's Reading
And a scratch. But her ears are below the water and the sound is muffled.
Another creak. One she hears in her mind retrospectively, when the attic hatch begins to move.
The attic hatch is opening. Swinging loose now, like a slow pendulum. Opening all by itself.
'Not all by itself.'
There is someone in the attic. Chris is thousands of miles away in LA and there is nobody else in the house.
Except there is.
There's someone in the attic.
Her breath is stuck inside her throat and her body is immobile underwater as a dark shape emerges through the opening and drops to the landing floor. A figure all in black. A face behind a mask. There is someone in the attic. And they're—
Thirty seconds later, it's over. Anya is dead.
* * *
2
The video is short and noisy and easy to ignore, because really, it's just another video—like all the other short and noisy videos on her daughter's phone. Which is why, at first, Julia pays no attention at all. Julia is busy. Julia, if she's honest, is also quite stressed.
And while she's used to admitting the former, she never admits the latter. Firms don't hire people like Julia to do the job she does if she's likely to get stressed over something as ordinary as ordering pizza and moving continent. But right now, she's at home with her kids, where no one can see her, and she lets out a tiny sigh as Isla asks her once again to look at the video. This Friday night, the video is the least of her worries.
Her worries, in order of priority, are as follows:
Settle the kids in their new schools.
Settle the kids in their new home.
Encourage the kids to accept the new babysitter.
Figure out why the garbage disposal isn't working.
Let the pizza guy in through the outer gate.
Find cash to tip the pizza guy.
Make the incessant buzzing stop (see 5 and 6 above).
Stay calm when Isla shouts and Luca cries, and hope the eggshells she's treading on eventually become more solid.
"Isla, have you seen my purse?"
"No, but, Mom, you seriously need to look at this video." Isla is sitting at the island, holding up her phone.
"What I 'need' is to let the pizza guy in, but first I have to find cash for a tip."
"How will you tip him?" Luca asks, without lifting his eyes from his Nintendo Switch. "They don't even have dollar bills here." Contempt drips from every word. 'What kind of dumbass country doesn't have dollar bills?'
He has a point, though. Do people tip with coins? It's twenty years since Julia last ordered takeout in Ireland. Does she 'have' any coins? In the four weeks since they moved here, she's been paying by tapping with her phone in what feels like an almost cashless society. A long way from her days fumbling for change to take the 46A to college.
"Can't you use the money you left for the babysitter?" Luca nods toward a drawer in the island.
"That's for Pauline, in case she needs cash when I'm at work. And she's not a babysitter, she's a housekeeper." This is for Isla's benefit; Isla, who, at thirteen, is disgusted that Julia would hire someone to keep an eye on them while she's at work. Isla is, of course, disgusted at everything right now—the move from San Diego, the new house, her new life here, the life she left behind, life in general, her dad, and, mostly, Julia. Evil witch Julia who ruined everything. 'If only she knew the truth'.
"Isn't she babysitting tonight when you meet your friend?" Luca asks.
'Touché.'
...
