The Housewife(51)

I stroll around to the side of his desk, my fingers trailing.

“What do you need, Jodie?”

“You,” I say. “I need you.”

He smiles—no, he beams. I haven’t seen Roy this happy for weeks.

“Good news?” I say.

“What?”

“That phone call earlier. You look pleased with yourself.”

“Yes, yes.” He nods, grinning, then catches himself. He frowns. “One of my patients. She’s making excellent progress.”

“That’s nice.”

“What did you want?”

“Marie had to go out. I gave her the night off. I don’t have much time to make dinner, but there’ll be something in the freezer. And I’ll make a nice salad. You hungry?”

He sits back. “Marie took the night off? She knows she has to give me at least twenty-four hours’ notice.”

Ah. So that’s why Marie asked me, and not Roy.

I shrug. “Does it matter?” I stroll closer. I want to see what he’s doing on his laptop. “That means it’s just you and me in the house, all night.”

“Yes, I guess so. Give me a minute. I want to finish this email.”

I glance at the screen. Just a boring email to his broker.

I turn on my heels. “I’ll see what I can rustle up for dinner.”

I rush upstairs and rummage through our bathroom cabinet for some Ambien. I will crush a few pills in his wine this evening, and then, when he’s sound asleep, I will get Veronica’s address. All very straightforward .

What I do once I’m there is another story, but one thing at a time.

Except I can’t find any Ambien. I’ve pretty much taken everything out of the bathroom cabinet—which is quite large, for a bathroom cabinet—and there are no Ambien, no sleeping pills of any kind. I was certain we had some, but I haven’t taken any for ages, so maybe Roy took them. I look through his toiletries bag, but I don’t find any there either.

I sit on the edge of the bathtub and drum my fingers on my knee. How could I get my hands on some sleeping pills in the next hour?

Marie. I bet Marie has some Ambien.





I’ve only ventured into Marie’s rooms once in the weeks I’ve lived here, back when Roy showed me the house. I never went back. I have no interest in seeing her living quarters. In fact, I would have happily walled off that little section of the house. With her in it, preferably.

Marie has two connecting rooms: a living room and a bedroom, and a bathroom down the hall that is hers only. I decide to start there. It doesn’t take long, and unfortunately I don’t find anything remotely useful in her sad little cabinet. Just a few aspirins and an expired bottle of bicarbonate of soda.

Next, I try the door that leads to her living room. It’s locked. Uselessly, as it turns out, since Roy and I both have keys. It does make me wonder: Why would she lock her door? Does she think we might get burgled? Does she worry that robbers would plunder her sad little underwear drawer while skipping over Roy’s collection of luxury watches ?

I unlock the door and walk in. The first thing that strikes me is the smell. It’s sweet and light, like linen mixed with honeysuckle.

I turn on the light and survey the room. There’s an armchair covered in sheepskin that looks extremely inviting. Unless you’re a sheep, I suppose. There’s a large, green potted plant in the corner, a coffee table, a TV on the wall, a square table, and two chairs. On the mantel are a small bouquet of daisies that turn out to be fake and a handful of photographs.

But I don’t let my curiosity distract me. I don’t have much time. I open the connecting door that leads to the bedroom. It’s fresher and much nicer than I remembered. The bedspread is a soft, pale blue blanket; her pillows are big and fluffy, and the bed is covered with smaller cushions.

I rummage through her little bedside table. There’s a romance novel by an author I’ve never heard of, a small packet of tissues, more aspirin, a handful of hair clips… And then, bingo. In the drawer beneath, a whole bottle of sleeping pills. Different brand, but who cares as long as they do the job? The only problem is that the bottle is unopened, but then I always forget how many pills I’ve taken, so why wouldn’t Marie?

“Jodie? Where are you?”

My heart skips a beat as Roy’s voice floats up the stairs. I quickly unscrew the bottle and shove a handful of pills in my pocket.

I’m about to lock the door when I notice a photograph among others on the mantel. I step back into the room, my heart racing. I pick it up.

It’s a photograph of Marie with Roy and Deborah in front of a massive Christmas tree in the hall at the bottom of the stairs. The three of them are beaming. Marie and Deborah are standing close together, their heads slightly tilted toward each other, while Roy is standing a little apart, his hands in his pockets, the way he often stands.

I peer closer at the photograph. Marie looks younger, happier. She’s still wearing her uniform, but it looks more like cosplay than her actual vocation. Her hair is loose and her eyes are shiny. Deborah looks like she looks in every other photograph around the house. Beautiful, happy to be alive.

Then there’s another photograph of Marie standing next to a man in a wheelchair. He looks like her, and I wonder if they’re related.

But the photo that really jumps out is the one of Marie and Deborah alone, also taken in front of the Christmas tree. They have their arms around each other’s shoulders, and they are laughing like friends, rather than employer and employee. They genuinely look close, and for the first time, it occurs to me that Marie must have been genuinely upset when Deb died. I mean, she said so, of course, but then, she would. She’s the hired help; she’s hardly going to say, Good riddance, I never liked her.