And as she thought this, as she thought that very thing, she saw Daniel emerge from beneath the arch of the bridge, his head directly beneath her. She watched him stroll, cigarette held delicately between third and fourth fingers—in movement he was so much like his mother—she watched him climb back onto the back deck of the boat, and as he did she felt so sure that he would raise his eyes to hers, that he would see her. Instead, he ducked into the cabin and was gone.
In either direction, Carla could see no one else on the path. She walked quickly back to the steps, took them two at a time, ran to the boat, stepped up onto the deck, and ducked down into the cabin—it must have taken her less than half a minute, and now she was alone with him. His back to her, he was in the process of taking off his sweatshirt as she arrived and he turned, alarmed by the noise or the movement of the boat. He dropped the sweatshirt at his feet. For a moment his expression was blank, and then he smiled.
“Hello,” he said. “This is a surprise.”
He spread his arms out wide, stepping toward her, reaching for an embrace. Carla’s hand, which at that moment was thrust deep into her bag, closed around the knife handle. With one movement she pulled it out and thrust it toward him, putting all of her strength, all of her weight behind it. She watched his smile falter. There was music on the radio, not very loud, but loud enough to cover the sound he made, not a scream or a shout but a muted cry. She withdrew the knife and stabbed him again, and then again, in the neck this time. She drew the blade across his throat to quiet him.
She asked him, over and over, if he knew why she was doing this, but he was not able to answer her. She never got to hear him deny it.
* * *
? ? ?
Afterward, she closed and locked the cabin doors, undressed, showered, washed her hair, and changed into the clothes that were in her overnight bag. The bloodied ones she put into a plastic bag she found on the sink. She placed that and the knife, which she wrapped in Theo’s scarf, into her overnight bag, and then she unlocked the doors and left, leaving the cabin door open, walking at a brisk pace along the path, back toward Theo’s house, a middle-aged white woman out for an early morning walk, attracting no attention whatsoever. She let herself back in through the back gate, into Theo’s garden, into the kitchen, where she left her overnight bag. She padded softly up the stairs, slipped through the bedroom, where Theo lay sleeping, and back into the bathroom. She took off her clean clothes and showered again, standing beneath the hot jet of water for a long time, exhausted, her hands aching, her jaw clenched tight, the muscles in her legs deadened, as though she’d run a marathon.
* * *
If she’d only wanted to hear him deny it, why didn’t she give him the chance to do so? Why take the knife? Why go back to Theo’s, instead of home, if not to give herself at least the chance of an alibi? She could lie to herself all she liked, but when she lay awake, as she did now, night after night, thinking about what she had done, she saw the truth. She’d known from the first moment she saw that drawing, of Daniel on the balcony, smiling down at her child, exactly what she was going to do to him. Everything else, all the rest, was a lie.
THIRTY-SIX
When the guard told her there was good news, the first thing Laura thought was that her mother had come to visit, and the second thing she thought was that she wished that her mother was not still the first person she thought of. Of course, it wasn’t that. Her mother had not come to visit, nor had she requested a visit. Her father had; he was due the next day, and that was nice, but she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t, she wanted her mum. Somehow, despite everything, in her darkest moments Laura still wanted her mum.
The guard, who was probably about her mum’s age and, if she thought about it, actually had a mumsier demeanor than her own mum, smiled kindly and said, “It’s not a visitor, darling. Better than that.”
“What?” Laura asked. “What is it?”
The guard wasn’t at liberty to say, but she led Laura out of her room and down one corridor, through the doors, and then down another and another, and all the time Laura was asking, What, what is it, oh, come on. Tell me.
Turned out it was Nervous Guy. “Him?” Laura couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Him?” The guard just laughed, indicated Laura should take a seat, and winked at her as she closed the door.
“Fuck’s sake,” Laura muttered, sitting down at the table.
Nervous Guy said a chirpy good morning. “Good news, Laura!” he announced, taking the seat opposite her.