Five Little Words

by Jackie Walsh

  ‘Why did you say that, Amanda? Nothing is going to happen to Shay.’ My panicked voice shouts down the line.

  ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, Laura. I didn’t mean to upset you, I wasn’t thinking.’

  Holding my hand over my thumping heart, I try to slow down the fear that has erupted inside me. My mouth dries up. I listen to her asking me to forgive her. When I finally find the ability to speak, I tell her I have to go, I’ll ring her tomorrow.

  * * *

  There are no stars in the sky tonight. A big window of darkness hangs above my head just like my soul. The fright I got when Amanda mentioned something happening to Shay suctioned all the excitement and energy out of me. She knows she should never have said that. Not to me, not after what happened.

  Turning away from the vastness, I watch the crib. Little Shay is dreaming sweet dreams. I will do everything to protect you, Shay. Mammy will always be here for you. I toss and turn a little more before allowing Amanda’s words to take hold. What if someone does have it in for me? What if someone has found out what I did? Switching on the bedside light, I grab the notebook and pen from the drawer and flick through the pages until I find a blank one. My hand trembles. I begin my list.

  Chapter Twelve

  Olive is top of my list. The disgruntled ex. Revenge for taking her man. She also could have taken the card back when she called that morning before anyone got to see the evidence. But then, why is she being so nice to me? Abbie is also on my list. She wasn’t at all happy I’d broken up the happy foursome who did everything together. Apparently Conor and Olive, and Noel and Abbie, were the best of friends until I came along and gatecrashed their party. Abbie was also in the house the morning the card disappeared. Maggie was there too but there’s no way she did it. Not his mother.

  The only other possibility on my list is a disgruntled employee: given the number of people working at the brewery, it’s possible Conor may have pissed off one of them. And Pat? I can’t really see Pat sending the card, but he wouldn’t come into the house the other day when he saw Conor inside. For some unknown reason Pat didn’t want to meet him, which was odd. I’ve also written someone from my past on the list. I hope Amanda doesn’t give out to me when she sees it there because I’m supposed to be letting go of my past. But it’s not letting go of me.

  * * *

  The village is quieter than usual. I get a parking spot right outside Georgina’s hair salon. Shay was on his best behaviour this morning, making it easier for me to leave him. I’d feel bad leaving if he was crying. Conor had looked comfortable holding the little bundle as he waved me off.

  ‘Take your time,’ he had said. ‘We’re fine here.’

  I had smiled at them both, blowing kisses before driving away, Amanda’s words still hovering on the perimeter of my nerves. What if something happened to Shay?

  Georgina is behind the reception desk when I step inside. Her attitude a little less sarcastic than yesterday. Maybe she was just joking.

  ‘Good morning Laura. How’s the baby?’

  ‘He’s doing just fine. Conor is with him.’

  An older woman is sitting at the first station. A young girl – who I now know is fully qualified – is putting rollers in her hair. Beside her, a middle-aged lady is trimming the end of a long black veil of dark wet hair.

  ‘Can I take your coat?’ Georgina says, leading me to the washbasin at the back of the salon.

  ‘This is a lovely place you have,’ I say, trying my best to come over as an absolute darling. Hairdressers have a lot of clout with their clients. Especially in a place like this. Whatever she says about me when I’m gone is liable to stick.

  ‘Thank you, we like it.’ She babbles on about how she remodelled it the previous year and some other stuff. I nod, appearing interested until my attention is dragged to the young woman with the long black hair at the second station. She’s staring at me in the mirror and it’s freaking me out a bit.

  ‘Chloe.’ Georgina calls through a door beside the washbasins and out walks Chloe, a girl about sixteen years of age with a shy demeanour. She stands behind the basin with a towel in her hand. I take that as my cue to sit down. Closing my eyes, I let the hot water caress my head. I haven’t been pampered in a long time, I’m going to enjoy this.

  My head is wrapped in a towel. In front of me, in the mirror, I see the face of a woman who looks tired: black shadows below my eyes, dry skin, signs of ageing presenting as fine lines on my forehead. I remind myself I’ve just had a baby. I’m bound to look tired. But I’m also aware of the worry lodged in my mind. Stress and skin are not friends.

  ‘Hi, my name is Rachel.’ The young stylist has finished with the girl who found me very interesting, and is now standing over me. She asks me how I like my hair blow-dried and plugs in a hairdryer. The older woman to my left is reading a magazine. How am I going to get talking to anyone?

  Ten minutes later, Georgina walks over to Rachel, telling her there’s a call for her. Georgina immediately explains she would not have interrupted Rachel’s work only her mother is very sick in hospital. I tell her it’s not a problem, that I’m enjoying my time here, and I smile. The lady on my left turns her head from the magazine she’s reading.

  ‘You’re Conor’s wife, pleased to meet you. I’m Iris.’ She holds out her hand and I take it. ‘My husband works with Conor, worked with his father too.’

  ‘Oh.’ I say, not quite knowing what to say next.

  ‘Yes,’ she continues, ‘forty-eight years, he’ll be retiring soon.’

  ‘That will be nice for you.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ She giggles.

  Now is my chance to bring up the subject. ‘Did you know Vicky?’

  Iris swings her seat to face me, her expression turned to one of both sadness and interest.

  ‘I don’t know who could do a thing like that, a young harmless woman, doing her best in life. Everyone loved Vicky, you know. Did you ever meet her?’

  ‘I did, just a few times.’

  Behind me, Georgina arrives to apologise that Rachel hasn’t returned yet and I comment on how I’m in no rush, happy to be getting a break from the house. Iris looks up to direct her next question at Georgina.

  ‘We were just talking about Vicky’s murder. Do they have anyone for it yet?’

  Resting her hand on the back of my seat, Georgina says, ‘Not that I’ve heard.’

  ‘It must have been an outsider passing through,’ I say.

  Georgina huffs before saying. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’

  In the mirror I see Georgina’s face, excited at the chance to gossip. I will not disappoint her.

  ‘You don’t believe that, then?’

  ‘Not for one minute.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She was in here only days before it happened, getting her highlights done. Vicky liked to get her highlights done every other month.’

  Iris has her mouth open, her eyes glued to Georgina’s lips. ‘Did she say something?’ she says to Georgina.

  ‘She didn’t have to. I knew something was up; there was something edgy about her, something different. I asked her was she okay and she just nodded a yes.’

  ‘Sure that could have been anything,’ Iris says.

  ‘Of course it could,’ Georgina says. ‘But now she’s dead.’

  Listening intently, I decide to join in. ‘So you think she might have been in trouble?’

  ‘Don’t think it, I know it: something was going on.’

  In the mirror I notice Rachel walking back to us. Apologising, she lifts the dryer in her hand and switches it on just as Georgina says, ‘I’d be willing to bet it was no outsider. Whoever killed Vicky knew her.’ Walking away, Georgina raises her voice so I can hear over the noise. ‘Probably some big shot who thinks he can get away with murder.’

  My heart stops. Was she directing that comment at me?

  * * *

  Outside the door, I get into my car. With my new shiny hair and racing heart
I take my phone from my pocket.

  Amanda answers after one ring. Immediately she starts apologising for saying what she said the previous night about something happening to Shay. I tell her not to worry about it and fill her in on what Georgina said, and how I felt she was directing the big shot comment at me.

  Amanda doesn’t say anything at first, which makes me nervous. What is she thinking? Is she thinking that Conor is definitely a local? And a big shot? Am I thinking that?

  ‘Did you make the list?’ Her voice interrupts the silence.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, ring me tonight and we’ll go through it.’

  ‘Amanda,’ I don’t want her to go. To leave me here on my own with these thoughts building up in my head. These crazy thoughts.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you think…?’

  ‘Do I think what, Laura? Come on, I’m in a hurry here.’

  ‘Ah it doesn’t matter, we’ll talk later.’

  I hang up the phone and stare at the drops of rain landing on the windscreen in front of me. Taking breath after breath, I urge myself to relax, willing the darkness in my mind away. Conor didn’t kill Vicky. Conor didn’t kill Vicky. He was with me. He couldn’t have got up in the middle of the night without me noticing. He isn’t capable of murder. Georgina did not direct her comment at me. I have to stop ruining things for myself. I need to allow myself to be happy. I’m going to be happy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Back at home, Conor stands up from his cozy corner on the sofa when I walk into the room.

  ‘Well look at you, beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, puffing my hair with my hand. ‘Is it alright?’

  He’s beside me now, looking down into my eyes. I like that Conor is taller than me, it makes me feel protected for some reason. Safe. Well it used to. Now, I’m not so sure.

  ‘Yes Laura, it’s lovely. But sure, you’re always beautiful to me.’

  I let his comment soothe me then wonder does he really mean it. Olive is so much prettier than me and Abbie, she could pass for a model. When I look in the mirror all I see is plain old Laura. Nothing special about my green eyes or brown hair. I’ll never win awards for my bone structure, and the freckles dotted across my nose have always annoyed me. Conor loves them. Says they’re shaped like a constellation. Little Dipper. Well at least he didn’t say, Big Dipper.

  ‘How was Shay?’ The TV mumbles in the background.

  ‘Not a bother.’

  After removing my coat, I walk over to the crib to check on my world. Shay’s head is tilted sideways, his little arms stretched up either side of his head. Already I think I see differences in him, he’s bigger for one, his nose not so pointy. Or maybe I’m just getting used to it. The tuft of dark hair on top of his head sticks up. I place the palm of my hand on top to flatten it, then kiss him gently, careful not to wake him up. Conor updates me on what, when and how he took his bottle, changed his nappy, got him to sleep, then offers to make me a coffee.

  ‘What time are you heading out to the match?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know if I should go or not.’

  Conor is standing still with the kettle in his hand, a look of anticipation crossing his face. Is she really going to let me go?

  ‘Why wouldn’t you go? I’ll be fine here,’ I say, turning my attention back to the baby. ‘Myself and Shay will have a grand afternoon together, won’t we?’

  ‘Well, if you don’t mind?’

  I don’t mind; I want him to go. I want to have another look around the house. It’s possible I put the card someplace else, especially with how tired I was feeling and the painkillers. I might have even put it in the bookshelf where I hid Conor’s birthday card last month. I don’t think so. I’m certain I put it under the magazine but it’s worth a try.

  Conor looks at his watch, his big expensive birthday present from his dad. I want to say for his twenty-first, but apparently he was given a new car for that achievement. He points his two fingers at me like shotguns.

  ‘You’re sure about this? Because I don’t mind missing it, it’s only a friendly game.’

  ‘Go out and have some fun, Conor.’

  ‘Okay.’ He leaves the kitchen, takes the stairs two at a time and whistles his way to the bedroom. That doesn’t sound like a man who’s just killed someone. And anyway, he’d have to have a motive. Which, given that I never heard him mention Vicky Murphy’s name once before her death, is highly unlikely.

  A short time later he’s back down, showered, shaved and dressed like a handsome devil.

  ‘Are you going for a pint after the game?’ I say, feeling guilty for having harboured some doubts about him earlier.

  ‘Is that not pushing my luck?’ Conor raises his eyebrows and smiles at me.

  ‘No Conor, go, I can ring you if I need you. I’m going to relax on the sofa and get lost in Netflix.’

  ‘Well, if it’s okay with you, I’ll go in for the one, catch up with the lads.’ He pulls his jacket on and checks there’s money in his wallet. As if.

  ‘Just one favour,’ I say.

  Conor lifts his head, eyes fixed, like I’m about to make him pay.

  ‘Make sure your mother doesn’t know you’ve gone out or she’ll call here to check up on me.’

  He laughs, holding his finger over his closed lips as he mumbles, ‘Not a word.’

  * * *

  Conor’s only been gone ten minutes when Shay decides to exercise his lungs again. I’m rocking him from side to side, holding him up, holding him down, into the sunlight, out of the sunlight. When is he going to stop? I check his nappy, nothing. Try him with a bottle, he just spits it out. God, what does he want? Is he missing his daddy?

  Not one of the four million soft toys he was given are of any interest to him. He just wants to scream. I’ll never get to search for the card at this rate.

  I put Shay back in the crib, where he continues to cry. Patting his head, I tell him I’ll be back in a minute, we’re going for a walk.

  It takes a bit of pulling and tugging but eventually I get the buggy open. The doors are so wide in this house I could get a bus through them. The kitchen itself is huge; the actual cooking area only takes up a quarter of the room. There’s also a dining area, two sofas, two armchairs, a TV and now a baby area. The utility room is off to the left with its own toilet and shower. If there was a bed in here there’d be no need to leave.

  ‘Mammy’s coming, and look what she has for you! Woooo,’ I swerve the buggy over to the crib and put it into a lying down position.

  Putting two blankets into it, I lift Shay out of the crib and gently place him on top of the blankets. He quietens immediately. The silence is bliss.

  Without a word, I slowly begin to move the buggy around the room. Still nothing. I look up at the ceiling and mouth, ‘Thank you.’ Then, after pushing the buggy twice around the expansive kitchen, I drive it out to the hallway, lean over the handle and whisper to my little boy. ‘Mammy’s going to bring Shay on an adventure. We’re going to find some treasure.’ He’s still awake but I can see his eyes are flickering closed.

  The front room is colder than the rest of the house. A mesh of greys, purples and greens. Expensive furniture sitting on classic rugs. If I’d been living here when all the decorating was going on, I might have done things differently. But I’m not complaining. Not at all. It’s a castle. I’m like a princess who has met her prince and will now live happily ever after in the back-ass of nowhere.

  The bookshelves are straight in front of me. All the classics in alphabetical order. I doubt Conor ever read any of these books. The only book I’ve seen in his hand is a cheque book. Maybe I’ll read them. Lie on the sofa amongst the greys and purples and greens, Shay resting in my arms, as I turn the pages of someone else’s life.

  Shay appears to be asleep now. Slowly, I move my hands from the handlebar and step backwards, holding my breath. After about thirty seconds, I believe my luck and walk over to the bookshelf. I need t
o find that card. The thought of someone having taken it scares me. Makes me feel even more vulnerable.

  * * *

  Well, there is definitely nothing obvious to see. No pink envelope sticking out from anywhere. Could I have stuck it inside one of the books?

  One, two, three, I flick and flick and flick, remembering to replace every book where I found it. Not that Conor would notice but someone else might. His mother, for instance. She seems to have a photographic memory of where everything was before I came into the house. When I rearranged the kitchen presses she noticed straight away.

  I’m on the second row and feeling like this is a waste of time when Shay starts crying again. He’s probably hungry now. Placing the book that I’m holding on to the floor, I rush over to my little boy, brush my fingers over his face to let him know I’m here, then grab the buggy and push.

  I’m about to push him out the door when I glance back and notice I left the book on the floor.

  ‘One minute, baby.’

  Over I go, lift the book. Wuthering Heights. I’m about to place it back on the shelf when something falls to the ground. A photograph. Slowly, I bend down – I still get the odd jab of pain so I have to be careful. There’s a face looking back at me. A girl. My heart thumps in my chest. Lifting the photo, I hold it closer to my face. The cries from the buggy fade into the background. The room darkens. Why is there a photo of Vicky Murphy hidden in that book?

  Chapter Fourteen

  My hand shakes. I turn the photograph over and see her details printed on the back. Vicky Murphy, D.O.B 30/04/1991. Address, Apt.1 Hedigan’s Pub, Ballycall. Her phone number is on it too. It looks like a headshot taken by a professional photographer. Vicky is posing with a serious look on her face. Her blue eyes stare from a narrow pale face. Lips tightly shut above a pointy chin. Her red hair is cut into a bob. It’s shorter than in the photograph doing the rounds now. Vicky looks so innocent. So unlikely to have come to such an end.