She didn’t know what the children were thinking. They’d cried when she’d told them about their father, but she wondered if they were crying because Perry had promised to take them fishing at the rock pool this morning and now that wasn’t happening. She suspected that right now their little minds were as blank and stunned as hers and that the bright flickering colors of the cartoon characters were the only thing that felt real.

“It’s not another journalist, is it?” she said.

“Her name is Bonnie,” said her mother. “She says she’s one of the school mums and she’d just like to talk to you for a few minutes. She says it’s important. She brought this.” Her mother lifted a casserole dish. “She says it’s a vegetarian lasagna.” Her mother lifted an eyebrow to indicate her opinion of a vegetarian lasagna.

Celeste stood, gently lifting the boys and letting them fall on their sides on the couch. They made little murmurs of protest but didn’t move their eyes from the television.

Bonnie was waiting for her in the living room, standing very still, looking out to the ocean with her long blond plait falling down the center of her yoga-straight back. Celeste stood in the doorway and watched her for a moment. This was the woman responsible for her husband’s death.

Bonnie turned slowly and smiled sadly. “Celeste.”

You couldn’t imagine this placid, luminous-skinned woman screaming, “We see! We f**king see!” You couldn’t imagine her swearing.

“Thank you for the lasagna,” said Celeste, meaning it. She knew that soon her house would be filled with Perry’s grieving family members.

“Well, that’s the least . . .” An expression of pure anguish momentarily distorted Bonnie’s tranquil face. “The word ‘sorry’ is hardly adequate for my actions, but I needed to come here to say it.”

“It was an accident,” said Celeste faintly. “You didn’t mean for him to fall.”

“Your little boys,” said Bonnie. “How are they . . . ?”

“I don’t think they really understand anything yet,” said Celeste.

“No,” said Bonnie. “They wouldn’t.” She breathed out a long, slow, deliberate breath through her mouth as if she were demonstrating yogic breathing.

“I’m going to the police now,” said Bonnie. “I’m going to make a statement and tell them exactly how it happened. You don’t need to lie for me.”

“I already told them last night I didn’t see—”

Bonnie held up her hand. “They’ll be back again for a proper witness statement. This time just tell them the truth.” She took another long, slow breath. “I was going to lie. I’ve had a lot of practice, you see. I’m a good liar. When I was growing up I lied all the time. To the police. To social workers. I had to keep big secrets. I even let a journalist interview me this morning, and I was fine, but then, I don’t know. I went to pick up my little girl from my mother’s place, and when I walked in the front door, I remembered the last time I saw my father hit my mother. I was twenty. A grown-up. I’d gone home for a visit, and it started. Mum did something. I don’t remember what. She didn’t put enough tomato sauce on his plate. She laughed the wrong way.” Bonnie looked directly at Celeste. “You know.”

“I know,” said Celeste hoarsely. She put her hand on the couch where Perry had once held her head.

“You know what I did? I ran to my old bedroom and I hid under the bed.” Bonnie gave a little bitter laugh of disbelief. “Because that’s what my sister and I always did. I didn’t even think. I just ran. And I lay there on my stomach, my heart pounding, looking at that old green shag carpet, waiting for it to be over, and then all of a sudden I thought, ‘My God, what am I doing? I’m a grown woman hiding under the bed.’ So I got out, and I called the police.”

Bonnie pulled her plait over her shoulder and readjusted the elastic at the end. “I don’t hide under the bed anymore. I don’t keep secrets, and I don’t want people to keep secrets for me.”

She pushed her plait back over her shoulder. “Anyway, the truth is bound to come out. Madeline and Renata will be able to lie to the police. But definitely not Ed. And not Jane. And probably not even my poor hopeless husband. Nathan will probably be the worst of the lot.”

“I would have lied for you,” said Celeste. “I can lie.”

“I know you can.” Bonnie’s eyes were bright. “I think you’re probably very good at it too.”

She stepped forward and put her hand on Celeste’s arm. “But you can stop now.”

81.

Bonnie is telling the truth.

It was a text message from Celeste.

Madeline fumbled the phone as she dialed Ed’s number. It suddenly seemed as though the future of her marriage depended on her reaching him before he went in for his interview.

The phone rang and rang. It was too late.

“What is it?” His voice was curt.

Relief flooded her. “Where are you?”

“I’ve just parked the car. I’m about to go into the police station.”

“Bonnie is confessing,” said Madeline. “You don’t need to lie for her.”

There was silence.

“Ed?” she said. “Did you hear me? You can tell them exactly what you saw. You can tell them the truth.”