It turns out that it's Veronika, who does want to write a book about the Munro Baby Mystery, but that's hardly the same thing as a journalist, because it's just Veronika; and also she's far too intent on actually solving the mystery, which is, of course, problematic.
'I was just on my way out, pet,' says Enigma impatiently.
'OK, Grandma, but can you just tell me when you're free so I can come over and hypnotise you?' asks Veronika.
'I beg your pardon?'
'Well, I realised the other day that it's very likely you have repressed traumatic memories which could be brought to the surface under hypnosis. I could probably solve the Munro Mystery just like that.'
There is a clicking sound as if she has snapped her fingers.
Well, for heaven's sake!
'I'm not going under hypnosis, thank you very much. I don't want to go under anything. I have high blood-pressure! It could be extremely dangerous for my health. Anyway, what makes you think you can hypnotise me? What do you know about it?'
'I've read up on it. It seems like a piece of cake to me. It's perfectly safe, Grandma, and who knows what could come out.'
'No, thank you very much indeed. I don't like the sound of that at all. And don't you secretly try to hypnotise me when I'm not looking, or I'll be very cross with you! I have to go now, Veronika. You can come and interview me with your tape recorder, but that's it!'
There is silence and Enigma immediately gets suspicious. 'You're not hypnotising me now, are you?'
'No, Grandma, I was just thinking. OK, don't worry, it doesn't matter. I've got another idea.'
Sophie has Grace, Callum and the baby over to her new house for lunch on her balcony. She spent hours agonising over what food to serve, looking through Connie's old recipe books, and finally just played it safe and bought some mushroom soup and crusty bread from the takeaway section of Connie's Cafe.
It's a beautiful day and her guests seemed happy enough with their soup. Now she is serving them Belgian chocolate and Grand Marnier, her own area of expertise.
'Do you believe in public or private education, Sophie?' asks Grace.
Sophie has noticed Grace has the oddest habit of suddenly focusing her attention on Sophie and asking her opinion about a subject seemingly unrelated to anything they've been talking about. She listens carefully to Sophie's answer but then doesn't seem to want to proffer her own opinion on the matter, changing the subject or immediately moving on to something new. It makes Sophie feel like she's attending an ongoing job interview.
'Why is that on your mind? Are you thinking about enrolling Jake in school?' Sophie tries to make it more like a normal conversation.
'Oh, I'm just interested in whether you have any philosophical views on the subject,' says Grace, and Sophie notices Callum, who is holding Jake, giving his wife a gentle puzzled look.
'Well, I guess it depends on the child,' says Sophie. 'I think you should find the right school for your child's personality and ability, the one which will be the right environment for them. I think too many parents pick schools as if they're ordering a certain brand of child.'
'Exactly!' says Callum. 'That's exactly what I think. Some kids thrive in big, competitive schools with lots of activities, and others need a smaller, friendlier school with more one-on-one attention.'
They both look at Grace expectantly but she doesn't say anything, just nods her head in a satisfied way and looks back out at the water.
Sophie stands up to go and put the coffee on and Callum's mobile phone begins to ring. 'Hello? Oh, right, yeah, hi, just a sec.' He hands the baby over to Sophie without asking and walks off to the other end of the veranda to take the call.
'It looks like a stressful phone call.' Sophie watches Callum gesticulating.
'It's the builder,' says Grace. 'I could tell by the way his voice dropped an octave when he took the call. The house is taking much longer than they promised.'
'I hear they always do.'
'Hmmm.' Grace's thoughts appear to drift off. She is very difficult to talk to at times.
'Oh, look, Jake,' says Sophie to the baby. 'Here's our kookaburra arrived for a visit.'
'He's got a friend with him,' comments Grace.
They watch the two kookaburras in silence for a few seconds.
'Umm, what are they doing?' Sophie turns her head on one side.
'Are they fighting?' Grace also turns her head on one side.
'Oh!' says Sophie suddenly.
'Aha,' says Grace.
The kookaburras are having furious, pornographic sex on the balcony railing. Sophie puts a hand over Jake's eyes and Grace starts to giggle helplessly in a way Sophie has never heard before. It's contagious and soon they are both laughing that silly, adolescent, stomach-hurting laughter you can only share with another girl. Sophie has always thought that the first time you get the hysterical giggles with a new female friend is like the first time you sleep with a boyfriend; it takes your relationship to a new, more intimate level.
The two kookaburras are certainly taking their relationship to a new, more intimate level.
Callum comes back from his phone call, just as the male kookaburra finishes off with a violent thrust and flies off, leaving the female kookaburra looking ruffled and dazed.
'Talk about wham bam, thank you, ma'am,' says Sophie, which isn't funny at all really, but is enough to set them off on a new wave of laughter. Grace puts her hands on her hips and bends forward to catch her breath as if she's been running a race. Sophie's eyes stream as she hugs Jake to her.
'What?' Callum raps his knuckles against the table with a sensible-man expression. 'What's so funny?'
But that just makes them laugh even more.
It's later that night. Callum is marking assignments and Grace is trying to settle the baby, but he is in a tetchy mood, and nothing she does pleases him. He keeps behaving like he's absolutely starved, sucking feverishly at the air, but then as soon as she gets him on her breast he gives up after a few seconds, turning his head disgustedly as if he hates her. He does hate her, she knows it. She's tried rocking him in a dozen different positions, bathing him, putting him in the stroller and pushing it up and down the hallway, giving him the dummy, taking the dummy away, closing the door and leaving him in his cot, but he just cries and cries.
It's a pity, because on her way from Sophie's place this afternoon Grace had felt almost normal for a few minutes. That silly hysterical laugh over the kookaburras had somehow cleansed out her head, and when Callum put his hand on her shoulder it felt comforting, not like a heavy weight. On the way home she had decided to make salmon pasta for dinner, because she knew Callum would be starved after only having soup for lunch, and that felt like a good, definite, controllable decision. She knew exactly how she would make it and she had all the ingredients, and maybe she'd have a glass of wine while she cooked.
And maybe she didn't need to go ahead with the Plan after all. Maybe it was going to be OK. Maybe that clamping sensation around her head was gone.
But then, as they opened the front door, the baby started crying, and hasn't let her be since. Callum said he didn't really feel like dinner anyway-he'd had enough to eat at Sophie's. (Soup, with a couple of bread rolls!) He was in a bad mood because the builder had called with more problems, something to do with the bathroom tiles, and the budget isn't looking good, and he sat for ages reading the building contracts at the coffee table with his back hunched, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, while the baby cried and cried.
Now Grace's thoughts are a tangled black mess again, and the clamping feeling is worse, more painful, because of the promise of relief earlier in the day.
'Well, what do you want then?' she hisses at the baby.
'What? I'll do it!'
Friends have told her that sometimes babies simply refuse to settle, and you just need to be calm and wait it out, but she didn't realise it would feel like he was doing it deliberately. She knows she is imagining that malicious satisfaction in his c
ry. She knows he is a baby, not a person-he is not making a conscious decision to do this-but it doesn't matter what she knows because she believes in her heart that he is mocking her efforts. He doesn't like her, and she doesn't like him, and if he doesn't shut up soon she might throw him against a wall. Hard.
'Callum!'
He comes out of the study immediately, looking startled.
'What is it?'
'I know you're working but I just have to go for a walk. I'm really sorry, but I have to go for a walk right now.'
Your son is not safe with me.
'That's OK,' he says soothingly. 'Get some fresh air.'
He is a much better husband than she is a mother. She dumps the baby in his arms and virtually runs for the door.
'You'd better put something warmer on,' calls out Callum, but she pretends not to hear and it takes a super-human effort to close the door, not slam it.
The cold air makes her eyes sting as she half-walks, half-runs down the steps and out onto the paved footpath that circles the island. It's like the yellow-brick road, Rose always says, but didn't the yellow-brick road go somewhere, not just round and round in an endless suffocating circle?
I nearly did it.
Grace trips and clumsily rights herself and keeps on walking, her arms swinging heavily, her legs stodgy. Grace? Grace? What sort of name is that for someone like her? She thinks of the way Callum automatically handed Jake over to Sophie when his phone rang today. They already looked like a family.
I nearly threw him.
37
Sophie must occupy the house.
Sophie must repaint the house to suit her own tastes.
Sophie must have Veronika over for dinner within a few weeks of moving in. Cook my Honey Sage Chicken for her, Sophie, page 46 of the Blue Book. She'll soon stop her sulking. Tell her she never liked my house much in the first place.
Sophie must take her turn at the Alice and Jack tours. (Grace must be responsible for Sophie's training.)
'I thought I was a control freak,' Ian, the Sweet Solicitor, had commented, when he was explaining the terms of Aunt Connie's will to Sophie (before he'd asked her out and turned into a potential boyfriend).
'I don't mind any of the conditions,' Sophie had said. 'Although I don't know if Veronika will come to dinner. You know she wanted to contest the will? It's amazing that Connie could tell that was going to happen. Although, not so amazing, I guess.'
'I think I've convinced her to drop that idea. There are no possible grounds. Anyway, Veronika, Thomas and Grace all received substantial bequests from Connie. She was a very wealthy woman. I don't think you'll have any more problems with Veronika.'
He's right. When Sophie feels resilient enough to make the call, Veronika says yes, she will come to dinner, in a tone of voice that suggests it's about time she was asked.
'You know what I read on my desk calendar yesterday?' she asks Sophie.
'What?' Sophie is cautious. Veronika sounds quite genial, almost whimsical, which is frankly terrifying.
'"If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance,"' quotes Veronika. 'George Bernard Shaw. I've decided it's time to make our family skeleton dance. And you're going to help me.'
Sophie speaks in a careful, neutral voice, as if she's negotiating the release of a hostage from a mad terrorist. 'Gosh, Veronika, that sounds intriguing.'
'Yup,' says Veronika. 'I don't suppose you need me to bring anything, do you? And obviously I don't need your new address. I'll stay the night, shall I?'
Sophie recoils as if she's been shot in the stomach. She silently bangs her fist against her forehead and says, 'Of course. We can have breakfast together.'
'Maybe,' says Veronika in an if-you're-lucky tone. 'But I should see Mum and Enigma and Aunt Rose while I'm there on the island. And Grace and the baby of course. Anyway, if I can fit in breakfast with you I will.'
'That's all I can ask,' says Sophie faintly.
'Gotta run! See you next week!' shouts Veronika, as if she's run off somewhere and is calling back over her shoulder. She slams down the phone.
Making the family skeleton dance, thinks Sophie. Oh dear, Veronika. Something tells me it's not meant to dance for you until your fortieth birthday.
Veronika brings a housewarming present when she comes to visit. It is a sculptured abstract figure of a woman raising her hands in consternation as if at some new puzzle of life. It's both beautiful and funny.
'Oh Veronika, I just absolutely love it,' says Sophie truthfully, feeling quite overwhelmed with gratitude in the circumstances.
'Of course you do!' Veronika has a very bad cold. She sucks ferociously on a cough lolly. 'I knew you would. I bought it for you the same day I was really angry with you. Very expensive too. That's the thing about you. You make people want to please you. It's not a compliment, by the way. No need to blush.'
'I'm not blushing,' says Sophie. Veronika is the only person Sophie knows who not only doesn't look away when Sophie blushes but actually provides a running commentary on progress. 'Oh, look, it's reached your forehead. I wonder if your scalp blushes?!'
'So, you haven't changed the place much, I see.' Veronika marches through the house like a nosy landlord, opening cupboards and drawers, even ripping back the shower curtain in the bathroom. Sophie trots behind her, full of pride and pleasure as they enter each room.
'Are there any of Aunt Connie's old papers or anything still here?' asks Veronika suspiciously when they get to what used to be Connie's office.
'No, your mum cleaned out the whole place before I moved in. The house was sparkling. She's so lovely, Margie. And she works like a Trojan, doesn't she?'
'Well, she obviously finds time to eat.'
'She's lost ten kilos so far at Weight Watchers! She's doing very well.'
'I know she's going to Weight Watchers! You don't need to tell me about my own mother. It was my present to her for Christmas. I'm sick of hearing Dad tease her about her weight. He treats her like a dirty doormat and she acts like one. It makes me sick watching them. I don't know what I'm going to do about that.'
'Maybe losing weight will give her new confidence to stand up to your dad?'
'I hope it gives her enough confidence to leave him.'
'Really?'
'Yes, really.' Veronika puts on a prissy voice to mimic Sophie. 'We don't all have a fairytale mummy and daddy like you.'
Oh this was going to be such a fun night.
'My parents send their love, by the way.'
'Are they proud of the way you got your hands on this house?'
Sophie breathes deeply. She is Audrey Hepburn in The Nun's Story.
'I hope you're hungry. I've cooked your Aunt Connie's recipe for Honey Sage Chicken.'
'I'm not actually that hungry.' Veronika marches into the kitchen. She opens the oven door and peers inside. 'It looks ready to me. Don't overcook it.'
'Her instructions were very firm about cooking for exactly fifty minutes,' says Sophie. She had felt Aunt Connie's presence peering over her shoulder the whole time she was cooking.
'You've got to follow your own instincts when it comes to cooking, you know, Sophie.' Veronika slams the oven door shut and sits down at the kitchen table. She taps her fingers rapidly. 'Did the recipe call for a spoonful of arsenic?'
'Not that I noticed.' Sophie rather desperately opens the fridge to look for the white wine she'd bought to go with the chicken.
'I wonder what poison she used to murder my great-grandparents.'
Sophie gapes at Veronika over the fridge door. 'You don't seriously think your Aunt Connie killed Alice and Jack. She was only nineteen!'
'Oh and nineteen-year-olds aren't capable of murder. Ha, ha!' Veronika gives Sophie the tired look of a hardened crime investigator who has seen many a brutal sight you couldn't even imagine, young lady.
Sophie finds two wine glasses and pours their wine. 'All right then, well, what was her motive?' It's rather enjoyable using words l
ike 'motive' in casual conversation. It makes her feel like one of those tough, resourceful forensic experts on TV shows like CSI. Sophie flicks her hair back, squares her shoulders and sticks her breasts out. Those women always have very confident breasts.
Veronika takes a gulp of her wine while still chewing on her cough lolly. Sophie winces. It is doubtful that the cough lolly is contributing much to the chardonnay's buttery undertones.
'Well, obviously Connie was having an affair with Jack Munro,' says Veronika. 'His wife had probably lost interest in sex, you see, after Enigma was born. Men always feel neglected after their wives have babies.'
'Oh I see,' says Sophie. She wonders if Callum feels neglected. Just a little bit? She hopes so. Oh, stop it, you foolish, idiotic girl. You don't even mean it. Some crime-scene investigator you are.
Veronika continues with her explanation. 'So Jack keeps promising Connie that he'll leave Alice and he never does. You know, the way they always promise they'll leave their wives and they never do.'
'So I've heard.' Sophie feels suitably chastised.
'Connie finally realises this. She goes mad with jealous rage, poisons them both and helps herself to the baby.'
'Why not just poison the baby too?'
'She wasn't a complete monster.'
'And what happened to their bodies?'
'Chopped up, I expect.' Veronika smacks her lips. 'Did you know that Connie and Rose's father was a butcher? Very handy for body removal. I don't know for sure, of course, but I wouldn't be surprised if the bones are buried in those big flowerpots with the busy lizzies all along Scribbly Street.'
'And what about Rose?' asks Sophie. 'Was she in on it too?'
'Accessory after the fact,' pronounces Veronika. 'Helped with the cover-up.'
Sophie thinks about that day at Grace's house when Rose said, 'We'll tell you the truth about what happened to Alice and Jack.' It is extremely tempting to reveal this information to Veronika, just for the satisfaction of telling her something she doesn't know, but Sophie has never broken a promise, especially not one made to an old lady with fervently pleading eyes.
'It seems a bit odd to make a tourist attraction of the crime scene.' Sophie raises a wry, detective-like eyebrow at Veronika.