Page 14

14

Marina

“What is that?” Lilah squeaked.

Marina, who was crouching down to check that Xavier was still unconscious (he was, but he was beginning to stir), stood up and went over to Opal.

“A secret passageway.” She couldn’t help a little skip of delight. “This is exactly like something Nana Sylvia would have.”

“Who’s Nana Sylvia?” asked Lilah, joining them.

“My grandmother. She left me this house.” Marina examined the newly exposed door. It was made of thick oak, with brass hinges and a bolt on the outside. There was a square hatch at about head height. It had a little latch on it. “How did you find it?”

“I took out this wine bottle,” said Opal, holding up the wine bottle. Marina felt around the empty, cobwebby space and found a small lever. She pressed it, and the shelf slid over to cover the door again.

“I love secret passageways,” said Lilah. “I’ve never seen one in real life.”

“When I was a little girl, I searched all over this house for a secret passageway. I was convinced there was one, and Nana Sylvia never denied it. It just seemed like that kind of house, you know?”

“I assume you never checked down here,” said Opal.

“I didn’t like spiders. I still don’t.” Marina pressed the lever again to expose the door and tried the bolt—it was oiled and slid open easily.

Inside, it was dark, and the air was stale. Lilah fetched the flashlight. Marina didn’t know what she’d expected, but not this: a small, windowless, but perfectly comfortable parlor.

There was a leather armchair, a mahogany side table, a made-up single bed with a burgundy velvet bedspread pulled over it, densely patterned wallpaper on the walls. A fringed lampshade hung from the ceiling. Lilah trained the flashlight toward a shelf, where there were rows of tinned food, some glass bottles that may once have contained water, and a few hardback books. There was also a fully stocked bar cart, complete with dusty glasses.

“Narnia,” breathed Lilah.

“It’s a bomb shelter,” said Opal. She walked in and turned on the light, which illuminated the space dimly. “All this furniture is from the 1940s.” She picked up a book and blew dust off the jacket. “Raymond Chandler. A first edition. This is wild.”

Marina checked the expiration date on a can of oil-packed tuna. “August 2020. I guess Nana Sylvia stocked up fairly recently in case of another war. She’d be keeping safe in style, which is typical.” She crouched to look at a box under the shelf. “SqueakyClean Portable Composting Toilet, Eliminates All Odors.”

“Your aunt sounds like a regular Girl Scout.”

“Except there’s also the makings for a perfect gin martini, if you don’t mind the lack of ice.”

Behind them, Xavier moaned again. It was muffled, through the duct tape gag.

“He’s waking up,” said Marina. “Oh God. What do we do now?”

Opal met her gaze. The two of them looked at each other for a brief but significant moment.

“I’ll need to give it a quick clean,” Marina said. “Who knows how long since it’s been dusted.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Lilah. “Wait. You’re not thinking about putting Zachary in here ? This locked room without any windows?”

“Just until we can work out what to do next,” said Marina. “It’s definitely better than keeping him tied up and gagged.”

“It’s perfectly comfortable,” said Opal. “I’ve seen less well-equipped hotel rooms.”

“I’ll go get the Dustbuster and some fresh bed sheets.”

She hurried out. Behind her, she could hear Opal and Lilah arguing about the ethics of locking their communal husband/fiancé/lover in a luxury bomb shelter.

Back upstairs in the kitchen, it was as if nothing strange whatsoever was happening. She couldn’t even really hear the other women talking, except for a low murmur. The bomb shelter might be soundproofed, too—presumably so that you wouldn’t be distracted from your reading and your perfect martini by bombs falling outside.

But the lock was on the outside of the door, she’d noticed. Inside, there was only a simple latch.

First things first. She checked on the children, who were all sleeping soundly, thank God. Archie was sucking his thumb (another failure of her mothering, but boy it was cute) and Lucy Rose was clutching her plastic ice cream tub with her snail in it. That child was desperate for a pet.

Then she grabbed bed linens, the portable vacuum cleaner, and a couple of rags from the airing cupboard, and a mostly empty bottle of ibuprofen from the bathroom. On second thought, she also took the box with her spare baby monitor, the one she’d used for Lucy Rose. On her way back through the kitchen she picked up the three juice boxes that were left in the pack and shoved them under her arm. She took the cellar stairs carefully but quickly.

Opal and Lilah were still arguing.

“No. We’re not calling the police. We are not sending a single mom of three to jail.”

“But according to you, Zachary is a thief. He’s a con man. He was planning to be a bigamist. He’s broken all sorts of laws. So Marina was actually catching him, so he can go to jail. If all of what you say is true, this was self-defense.”

“No. I’m many things, but I am not a snitch.”

“I’m not a snitch either! But we will get in less trouble if we tell them now. They have to see our point of view.”

“Here is a life lesson for you, Lilah. All these things that this man, whatever we call him, has done. The lying, the cheating, the con artistry, the theft, the manipulation. The police do not care. Believe me. They do not give a single shit about the women who this man has used up and thrown aside. And odds are, there are a lot more than three women he’s cheated. Some of them have probably been to the police already. The police will say that we gave him the money out of our own free will. That we cared about him, that we loved him, that we married him, and so we consented to everything he did to us. The money he stole is long gone, and he could tell any amount of lies and the police will believe him instead of us, for the simple reason that he is a man and that we loved him enough to be fools.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been there. When it comes to men being shitty to women, the odds are stacked against us. Heard of Wayne Couzens? Heard about the Metropolitan Police arresting innocent women protesting the murder of a woman by a cop? Heard of the dire prosecution statistics for rape and sexual assault? If you go to the police saying your car was stolen, they’ll take you seriously. If you say your husband lied and cheated and stole, they’ll say...well, boys will be boys and you should have chosen better. On the other hand: if a woman fights back? They will take that seriously.”

Lilah looked as if she were going to protest further, but Marina gave her the sheets instead. “Here, you make up the bed. Opal and I will dust.”

“I don’t dust for any ma—”

It was then that Lilah started screaming.

She had the burgundy bedspread in her hand. She’d pulled it back to expose a human skeleton.