Page 66

Sally pulled an exasperated face. ‘Why? So you can criticize him?’

‘No. I need to share something with you.’

Sally laughed. ‘I know what it is. Dylan told me.’

Mary was momentarily blindsided; if Dylan had come clean, why was Sally protecting him?

‘She’s just a friend. He was helping her with her groceries. That’s all.’ She folded her arms and looked at Mary triumphantly. ‘That’s the kind of guy he is.’

‘Is that what he told you?’

‘It’s the truth.’

Mary understood where her daughter was coming from. She remembered falling for people herself. It was part of growing up, of feeling independent and free. That was what it was to grow up: you made more and more choices for yourself, some of them good and some of them bad.

And some very bad.

That, though, wasn’t going to assuage Sally’s disappointment. Her heartbreak.

‘Can I show you something?’ Mary said.

‘A photo? He told me you were stalking him. That’s illegal, by the way.’

Mary wasn’t sure Dylan and Sally’s understanding of the law was terribly sound, but this wasn’t the time to point that out.

‘I’m going to be honest with you, Sally, OK? This isn’t about Dylan – it’s about you. He’s older, he’s a bad influence, but he’s also a liar. You said he loves you, but if he did he wouldn’t be doing what he did to another woman in the grocery store.’

‘Doing what? Helping her get her shopping?’

‘He was – he was behaving intimately.’

‘He said you’d say that.’

Mary selected the photo on her phone and handed it to Sally. Her daughter studied it, her face expressionless.

‘So?’ she said, after a long pause, her tone softer and less certain. ‘So what?’

‘He has his hand on the back of her thigh,’ Mary said. ‘And – just before – he had it higher. I saw them. I don’t think she was just a friend.’

‘No,’ Sally said. ‘He told me you’re out to get him. To get us. You could have doctored this.’

‘You know me, Sally,’ Mary said, gently. ‘I can hardly switch the thing on. I couldn’t doctor a photo if my life depended on it.’

Sally shook her head, but Mary could see in the hollow disbelief in her eyes that she knew it was true.

She reached for her to give her a hug, but Sally pushed her away.

‘I hate you,’ she said, her voice on the edge of tears. ‘I hate you.’

Shoot the Messenger

Ryan was making lasagne. As usual, he had the ability to make the same thing as she did, but make it taste a lot better. Mary had asked him once how he made lasagne and he had described the exact same process she used, but for some reason his was just better, and not only in the flavour: the texture was better, the cheese on top was crispier. It even looked more appealing.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Is Sally eating with us?’

‘Not sure. She’s feeling a little delicate.’

‘How did it go? Did you show her the photo?’