“Not to mention the danger to your unborn child,” said Madeline.
Now the two of them were nodding in complete agreement, both with serious, responsible expressions on their faces.
“I know,” said Ellen. “I didn’t even think.”
And they’d smelled so good. It was ironic, but she’d been upset and disconcerted by the sight of the biscuits, and then, when she pulled one out and held it by her fingertips, it felt like exactly the thing she needed to make herself feel better. And then it was so good, she ate another one. So eating the biscuits made her feel better for the shock of receiving them. It wasn’t until after she’d eaten three in a row that it even occurred to her that they could have been poisoned, and then she’d spent the rest of the evening secretly hyperventilating and Googling things like “How long till poison takes effect?”
“You’ve been so weirdly flippant about this whole thing from the beginning.” Julia spoke at the same time as she tried to catch a waiter’s attention on the other side of the room. “This woman came into your home. She violated your privacy. Why aren’t you terrified? And why is this waiter pretending he can’t see me? You can see me, oh, yes, you can!”
“I don’t know,” said Ellen. “I am a little bit terrified.”
Ever since the incident with the biscuits, she’d felt a sense of slight breathlessness, as though she was running late for something important. The previous night she’d woken up just before dawn with the thought clear in her head: Something bad is going to happen. Saskia wasn’t going to stop until something happened. But what? What needed to happen?
It seemed to her that it wasn’t about Saskia and Patrick anymore. It was about Saskia and Ellen. It was between the two women. And if she could just work out the right thing to do, or the right words to say, maybe she could end it. But what to say? What to do? What? It felt like that endless moment just after you’ve knocked something breakable off a table, and instead of grabbing it in midair, you freeze with one arm outstretched, and after it smashes you think, “I could have stopped that from happening.”
“You should be completely terrified,” said Madeline sternly. “All the time.”
“Thank you so much,” said Ellen. “That’s extremely comforting.”
“What I don’t understand is why you haven’t got the police involved,” said Julia. “There should be a restraining order out against her, and then each time she breaks it, you call the cops, wham, she’s in handcuffs. Problem solved.”
“Patrick did go to the police once,” said Ellen. “And he keeps talking about going again, but then he doesn’t ever seem to get around to it. Also, I don’t think it’s quite as easy as you describe.”
“I’ve heard those restraining orders are pretty useless,” agreed Madeline.
“You go to the police then,” ordered Julia, pointing at Ellen, and ignoring Madeline.
There had been a moment, when she was holding her oven mitt, her grandmother’s oven mitt, thinking about the fact that Saskia had probably used it, slid her hands inside its soft cloth to protect her hands, when Ellen had been filled with outrage at the sheer audacity of this woman. She’d marched toward the phone to call the police, but then she’d stopped before she even picked up the receiver. How could she prove it? Sniff the air, Officer, can’t you smell the scent of baking? And just look how clean my oven is! I never left it that clean! She would have looked like a fool.
And besides, it was up to Patrick, and for whatever the reason, he still wasn’t ready to get the police involved.
“She’s never showed any signs of being violent,” she said feebly.
“Not yet,” said Madeline.
“You do realize she’s going to turn up at your wedding,” said Julia. “When the priest says, ‘If anyone here present knows of any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony,’ she’ll pipe up, ‘Oh, me, me!’”
“I don’t think they actually say that anymore,” said Ellen.
Julia talked over the top of her. “She’ll come charging down the aisle saying, ‘I’m the reason!’”
“She might bring a gun,” said Madeline enthusiastically.
“You’ll have to wear a bullet-proof vest under your gown,” said Julia.
“I don’t think I’ll bring my children,” mused Madeline.
“Mmmm,” said Ellen. This was why she and Patrick hadn’t got very far with their wedding plans. Every time they started talking about it, the conversation came back to Saskia. “Even if we go overseas she’ll probably track us down,” Patrick had said.
He’d seemed relieved when Ellen suggested perhaps they should just wait until after the baby was born, even though his mother would probably “have kittens” about the child being “born out of wedlock.”
Ellen’s nausea wasn’t making her feel very bridal anyway.
“You must hate her,” said Madeline. “I hate her on your behalf. You can’t even plan your own wedding!”
“I don’t hate her,” said Ellen. “Not really. I’d actually quite like to talk to her.”
“Yes, good idea, ask your stalker out for coffee,” guffawed Julia.
“Ring her up now and ask her to join us at the movies,” said Madeline, with a quick, shy grin at Julia.
Julia laughed harder than was necessary. They were bonding over Ellen’s foolishness.
“I might ring her one day,” said Ellen thoughtfully. She stirred her glass of mineral water with her straw and watched the bubbles. “I just might.”
Ever since Sunday I’ve been thinking about the man who came to Ellen’s house.
“Ellen O’Farrell?” he said, and sort of lunged at me when I opened the door. I stepped back and kept the screen door shut.
“No,” I said. “She’s not here.”
“OK, who are you?” He had the tone of someone who demands and receives the very best service. He reminded me of the developers I deal with at work. Men who are so very, very sure of their place in the world.
“Well, who are you?” I said quite snootily, which is funny seeing as I was actually the intruder.
“I’m someone who needs to talk to her,” he said. His nostrils flared. “Urgently.”