Chapter 5

Five

I should have sweet-talked the bus driver into taking us all the way to the front door. Not only was the driveway ridiculously long, but it was also on a hill, and my legs were burning by the time we reached the house. House. That made it sound so ordinary. Twilight's End was an enormous grey mansion with arched windows and intricate stonework, heavy on the gargoyles. The door was set back in a porch, and I could see why Chip was upset. Harry had done a thorough job with the paint. The door was splattered, as were the door frame, the doormat, the stone floor, and a small wooden bench that sat to one side. Looked as if we wouldn't be going on any fun trips out for the foreseeable future.

A few bits and pieces sat on the bench—a packet of sandpaper, a tin of black paint, two unused brushes, and a drop cloth. Which was good, because I'd completely forgotten we'd need a drop cloth.

I rang the bell and smiled for the camera.

Okay, maybe it was more of a grimace.

"We're here."

Chip must have been waiting because he answered a second later. "I found some leftover paint in the garage. Best of luck."

"Harry wants to apologise for his error in judgment."

"Wants" was perhaps too strong a word. I'd promised to withhold TV privileges if he didn't say he was sorry, and do it with grace.

"I'm listening."

Chip wasn't going to open the door? That was…weird, but I heard a dog bark somewhere in the house, so possibly he was worried about it escaping? I nudged Harry forward.

"Sorry I threw the paint," he said.

"Make it right, and we'll forget about it. Where's your partner in crime?"

"I dunno."

"Then you need to find better friends, buddy. You might not think it's cool to do what your mum says, but it's even worse having to follow a judge's orders. Got it?"

Harry nodded, and Chip was clearly watching us through the camera.

"Good. If you need water or a bathroom, follow the path on the left to the stable yard."

That was it. Chip just left us there to get on with it, although I swore I could feel him spying on us at times. At least if he turned out to be a serial killer, Marissa knew where we were. And truth be told, there were worse ways to spend a Saturday. Harry was busy sanding, Alfie was lying on the front lawn with a magnifying glass, hunting for bugs, and I'd brought a book.

Unlike the boys, I wasn't heartbroken about missing a trip to the cinema. Bankrupting myself to buy a tub of popcorn while playing referee for the inevitable argument about what to watch was something I could live without. As for swimming, stretch marks and a two-baby pooch had left me feeling self-conscious in a swimsuit, but since seven-year-olds weren't allowed in the water unsupervised, I had to suck it up and squeeze into a one-piece whenever we went to the pool. Plus there was the fact that Alfie swam about as well as I drove, so on an ordinary weekend, I needed to watch him like a hawk in case he tried to sneak onto the diving board.

But this was no ordinary weekend. All in all, sitting on the front steps getting lost in the latest Electi adventure made for a reasonably relaxing morning, even if vacuuming was never far from my mind. And Chip had been remarkably fair when it came to the vandalism. He'd even left Harry's phone under the drop cloth, although I'd pocketed the device before Harry got the chance to grab it. If he wanted it back, he'd have to earn it.

Boy, would he have to earn it.

The weather was forecast to chill off next week, but this afternoon, we had sunshine and a light breeze, and if I blocked out Harry's background muttering and the black clouds scudding across the horizon, I could almost imagine I was on holiday. And that I didn't have two loads of laundry and a leaking roof waiting for me when I got home.

"This is so boring," Harry grumbled.

"It's good practice for when you have to paint your bedroom."

"What?"

"When the roof's fixed and you move into your own room. Fixing up Marigold Lodge is a team effort."

"Dad doesn't make me paint stuff. He pays a guy to do that."

On credit, no doubt. Steven had handled our finances, and until we split up, I hadn't realised that we'd been living beyond our means for years. Nor had I been aware of the two credit cards he'd maxed out in my name. Marissa had come to my rescue and paid off the balances, and now I owed my sister more money than I'd ever be able to afford. She told me not to worry about it, but the guilt kept me awake at night. Should I try to keep my constant anxiety hidden from the boys? Or should I be more open with them about our precarious financial situation?

"Well, we're going to do everything ourselves. It'll be fun. What colour do you want your room to be?"

"Black."

"Black? That's very dark."

"So?"

Did it really matter what colour Harry chose? If living in a cave would make him happy, I could go along with that.

"Okay, black it is."

By the time it began to get dark, Harry had sanded away all the gloss, and I'd given in and helped to pick red spots off the stone floor of the porch. Chip didn't grace us with his presence, so quality control was down to me, and I helped out with the top part of the door that Harry was too short to reach.

I sent Chip a message.

Me

Everything is sanded, and we're going to varnish the bench and undercoat the door tomorrow. But I think we'll have to come back for the gloss.

He replied almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting. Watching. That strange current of energy that had been running through me all day ratcheted up a notch.

Chip

Next weekend is fine.

Me

The boys are with their dad next weekend, so it'll have to be the weekend after or an evening.

A long pause.

Chip

Does that mean you're not with their dad?

Why would he ask that? Was he planning to murder us all and checking whether we'd be missed? Or was he just silently judging like so many others? Last week, one of the mums at school had told me boys needed a man in their life to stop them from going off the rails.

Me

We're talking about the door.

Chip

The weekend after or an evening is fine. Just let me know what you decide and I'll leave the stuff out.

Me

The weekend after. The boys have school during the week, plus my sister is coming over.

There. Now he knew someone would look for our bodies. My life might be officially in the crapper, but I still had my family.

His next message didn't arrive until late in the evening, after I'd fed the boys, after I'd hung up the laundry, after I'd checked the weather forecast and made sure the buckets were in place.

Chip

Sleep well, Janie.

Sleep well? What was that supposed to mean? Was it merely a friendly text from a man who wasn't a friend? Or was it a veiled threat? Honestly, both options creeped me out. It was definitely inappropriate.

Sleep well?

I barely slept at all that night.