by Jackie Walsh
Chapter Seventeen
When the hearse arrives carrying the coffin, a dark silence sweeps over the churchyard. This is no ordinary funeral. This woman was killed.
Heads are lowered. The car pulls to a halt outside the big wooden doors of this tiny church. There’s a second car, one with the family. I hadn’t really thought to ask much about Vicky’s family. For some reason I thought she was on her own here.
A tall lady steps out of the second car; that must be her mam. Her coat collar is pulled up around her neck, hiding her from the gawking crowd. Dark glasses and a black beret-style hat complete her camouflage.
An older man is holding her arm. The woman walks, head bent, towards the coffin which is being lifted out of the first car. This is when I break down, seeing the sadness in real life. The broken souls, lying bare for everyone to see. The older man looks like he could be the woman’s father, Vicky’s granddad. I don’t want to think about the grief they must be going through, burying their baby, sending her on ahead to wait for them. And not because of an accident, or an illness. Because of someone else, someone who quite possibly could put their hand on their shoulder today, comment on how wonderful their baby was and say how sorry they are for their loss.
A few younger people get out from the back of the car, brothers, cousins maybe. I’m sure I’ll find out once the service starts. I was so caught up with having my own baby I didn’t pay much attention to the details been spoken around Vicky’s murder and the family left behind.
The cortège slowly enters the church. A lone piper plays Vicky up the aisle. Her mother’s step buckles once or twice. My heart is aching for her. What she is going through, burying a child, should never happen. Is she thinking this was not the way she imagined Vicky making this journey? She should be in a white dress, her gallant hero glancing back in his bow tie at the top of the altar. Not this. Not a wooden coffin.
Noel and Abbie manage to shuffle into the pew beside Conor and me. People stand in every space they can find. The churchyard must be full with the overflow. Olive is in the row in front of me, head bent, a tissue dabbing her eyes. I’ve never had a best friend die. It must be really sad for her.
When the service gets underway, I think of little Shay and what he’s doing now. Is he asleep? Drinking his bottle? I hope to God Amanda isn’t swinging him again. What if he fell? What if he hit his head on that low beam over the island? Panic is rising inside me, but I must control it. Taking Conor’s hand, I close my eyes and attempt to pull myself together.
The service is long, just like I expected it to be. The priest talks about the tragedy but also about the wonderful person Vicky Murphy was to so many people. He talks about her intelligence, her beauty, her kindness, everything that no one probably mentioned when she was alive.
To my right, I can just about make out Georgina sniffling into a tissue. She doesn’t believe the killer was an outsider, she believes it was a local. In the seat behind her Maggie sits tall, head in the air, eyes concentrating below the peak of a navy hat. Maggie has outfits for everything – a glamourous woman, with expensive tastes. She catches me looking at her before turning her stare back to the altar.
The priest asks everyone to take a moment’s silence and the church sounds like it has emptied out; not a thing can be heard, not even a cough. Then there is a ringing sound, a mobile… someone’s mobile phone is ringing, it’s close by. Whose could it be? No one dares check. The silence is broken for a second time by the priest asking everyone to be seated.
‘Switch off your bloody phone,’ Conor whispers.
‘What? That wasn’t me, was it?’
It was. Shit, the ringing came from my bag. Discreetly, I slip my hand in and silence it. I hope no one saw me. Maggie is glancing with a disapproving frown, but she couldn’t possibly know for certain it was mine; it could have been Conor’s, or anyone’s sitting nearby. I don’t have a personalised ring tone. If she asks, I’m going to tell her it was Conor’s.
Then I feel a bolt of fear. Who had called? It had to have been Amanda; something dreadful has happened or she wouldn’t have rung me. My heart almost stops. I reach into the bag and take out the phone. I stifle a sigh and take a deep breath. The number is unknown to me, not Amanda’s.
‘Put that away.’ Conor’s whisper has an edge of anger to it. I shove the phone into my pocket and whisper back that I thought something might be up with Shay.
‘Switch it off.’
He turns his head towards the altar, and I’m left sitting here feeling like a twat. Does he not understand? I thought it was about Shay, his son. Would he rather I didn’t care? That I ignored the call, rather than embarrass him in front of his army of worshippers? Maybe Conor should be on the altar.
Turning away from him, I glance at Abbie who’s sitting beside me. There’s a smile hiding below her expression and she winks at me. Thankfully someone supports me.
We’re reaching the end of the service. Thank God. I realise I shouldn’t be here. The church is not the place to come when leaving a baby with a sitter for the first time. Distraction is what’s needed. Not a place where all you can do is think.
The priest invites everyone to shake hands, make peace, and we do, Conor and I. He squeezes my hand, a soft smile brightening his worried face. I’m forgiven.
Then he shakes Abbie’s hand and I shake Noel’s hand and those of the woman in front and the man behind.
I’ve just about shaken as many hands as possible, when Olive turns around. Holding out her hand to Conor she shakes it, then mine, then Abbie’s but when Noel stretches his hand out, she blanks him, purposely. Olive turns back around. Noel pulls his hand back quickly but not before Abbie and I stare at the empty response. I think my display of reckless indifference with my phone will take second place to Olive’s blatant refusal to shake Noel’s hand. What was that about? Am I the only one who saw that? Why would Olive not shake Noel’s hand?
My mind goes into overdrive. What does Olive know? Has something happened? How will I find out? I could ask Abbie if there’s any bad history between them, and why she thinks Olive would blank Noel. It was pretty clear Noel was willing to let bygones be bygones; if there is animosity between them it seems to be one-sided. But what if this gesture does not belong to the past? What if it has something to do with Vicky?
Not wanting to make another holy show of myself, for Conor’s sake as well as my own, I get in the queue and accept the communion. Passing by the bereaved family, my heart sinks, seeing their red eyes, sunken faces and heads leaning on one another. The priest mentioned Vicky’s mother, her grandfather and two cousins. There was no mention of a father or siblings so she may have been an only child. Her mother is a single mam who, according to the priest, never worked, spending all her days caring for Vicky until the girl went out into the big world only for this unbelievable crime to befall her.
So where had Vicky got the money to stay in Dublin during the week? A few nights as a bartender wouldn’t have even covered the college fees.
In the distance, I see Pat dressed in his Sunday best. He’s leaning against the wall halfway down the church. He holds his cap with both hands in front of his chest. His eyes are cast to the floor.
I walk back to my seat where I kneel down and pray that Shay isn’t missing me.
Chapter Eighteen
It has taken forever to get out into the fresh air. The crowd crawled along to the tune of ‘Nearer, My God, to Thee’. I thought I’d never get to ring Amanda.
‘He’s fine, asleep, drank all his bottle, happy,’ she says.
My body relaxes and I tell Amanda I’ll be home soon.
‘Did you find anything out?’
‘No, nothing much, though there was one weird moment when Olive refused to shake hands with Conor’s friend Noel.’
‘Really? I wonder what’s going on there. See what you can find out. It could be important.’
* * *
The graveyard is attached to the church grounds and even though Vi
cky was born in the next village, where her mother and grandfather still live, her mother decided to bury her here in Ballycall Cemetery. I wonder why that is?
The grave is dug. The coffin sits on planks of wood ready to be lowered into the earth. Vicky Murphy is going home. Tears are welling up and I have to look away. This is so wrong. She had her whole life ahead of her.
Slipping towards the back of the crowd, I leave Conor’s side. I cannot watch this. Abbie is also standing at the back of the crowd, so I move over to her.
‘I hate this bit,’ I whisper.
‘Me too. It’s so sad, such a waste of life.’
A lone piper plays some tune I don’t recognise and the coffin is lowered. I can’t see it, but I can hear the volume of sorrow rising. Abbie holds my arm as we both lower our heads.
* * *
The sky is darkened by threatening clouds. The first drop of rain lands on my cheek. The service is over. Everyone is making their way to Hedigan’s Pub, to drink and chat and – as the priest put it – to celebrate Vicky’s life. Conor is standing a few yards away from me, deep in conversation with a few other people. His hands are in his pockets, his head lowered. He’s kicking the stones below his feet. When he feels the raindrops, he grabs the arms of the two men by his side and says his goodbyes.
‘Are you coming?’ he says, approaching me. ‘It’s going to lash.’
‘Coming where? Are we not going home?’
‘There he is. I’ll see you down there,’ Abbie says, walking off to where Noel is standing talking to someone. Conor takes my hand and we both follow the crowd out of the graveyard.
‘We have to go in for a few minutes, Laura. Show our respects.’
‘I don’t. You go. I want to get back to Shay.’
‘Ten minutes, a quick cuppa and then we’ll head home. Amanda said he’s grand, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, but…’
Before I know it, I’m standing in Hedigan’s, squashed between a pillar and an old man sitting on a stool, drinking whiskey. Conor is in a queue for tea. I’m not drinking alcohol at this hour of the day, not with Shay to care for.
‘Your coat is lovely.’ The old man looks up at me, raising his glass. I guess he wants me to reply.
‘Thank you.’
‘Did you know Vicky?’
‘Not well. I’m Conor’s wife, he knew her well.’
‘Conor…?’
‘Conor Caldwell.’
‘Oh, that fella.’ He tuts before turning his back to me.
And there was I thinking I’d married God. Turns out, not everyone thinks so.
Conor arrives back balancing a cup of tea on a saucer in one hand and a pint of Guinness in the other. I’m not going to question his choice of beverage; if he wants to stay here all day he can. I’m going home after I drink my tea.
‘There’s sandwiches up there but I couldn’t get near them.’
‘I’m fine, I’ll have something when I get home.’
I want to ask him who the old man on the stool is but Olive has arrived beside us and is talking shop, which makes me feel like the outsider that I am, standing here, looking pretty in my posh coat and high heels. I imagine some of these people think of me as a trophy wife. The girl from the big city. But I’m just trying to fit in a bit more.
I listen as Conor and Olive discuss some important issue about the brewery that just can’t wait. I wish I understand what they are saying so I can join in, even nod in agreement, but I can’t. I haven’t a clue about the business except that it exists. From now on, I’m going to ask Conor more about what goes on there.
Abbie and Noel are walking over. What will Olive do now? Noel is carrying a pint; Abbie has what looks like a gin and tonic. A part of me would love to get stuck into a session. It’s been so long since I actually sat and laughed with a group of people. Today would have been the ideal situation to get to know more of the locals, let them get to know me. Leaving so soon is going to make me look like I don’t want to be here. I know what they’ll say, headed by Georgina no doubt, ‘That city girl, thinks she’s too good for our company.’ How wrong can people be? The truth is, I crave their company. I want to belong here. To make a life here with Conor and Shay. I want people to like me, to talk to me. Not to judge me. I want the opposite to what I left behind.
‘What a crowd,’ Abbie says, shoving her small body in between two tall men who are standing beside us. On hearing her voice, Olive’s head jerks to the side. Conor is still talking but Olive isn’t listening. Abbie pushes in beside her.
‘How are you, Olive? I’m so sorry, I know she was a good friend of yours.’ If Abbie noticed what I noticed in the church she’s choosing to ignore it. Olive nods her head, but her eyes are peeled to what’s going on behind Abbie. She must be looking to see if Noel is coming up behind her. Conor starts to chat again, this time about Vicky, but Olive looks nervous all of a sudden. Noel has come into view.
‘I’ll see you later,’ she says to Conor, stepping closer to me before saying, ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being rude but I want to catch Vicky’s mum before she leaves. Seemingly she’s not staying long.’
‘Not at all, go, we can catch up again,’ I say, delighted she thought I deserved an apology. I’m only seeing snippets of this girl but the more I see, the less I think she could have sent that card. I’m not sure if that’s a bad thing or a good thing because if she didn’t send it, who did?
Chapter Nineteen
An hour later, I eventually turn the key in the door. I would have loved to stay in the pub with Conor but Shay comes first, and I only left one bottle prepared for Amanda to give him. I suppose I could have told her what to do but I didn’t suggest that to Conor.
‘Well?’ Amanda says, opening the kitchen door when I step into the house. ‘How did you get on?’
Yanking the shoes from my feet before unbuttoning my coat, I head straight for Shay. His little pink face looks so peaceful as he sleeps in his crib.
‘Fine.’
‘And how were the villagers? Did they come for you with torches of fire?’
Amanda is sipping coffee at the island, eager to know what went on.
‘Lovely. Everyone was really nice to me. I would have liked to stay.’
‘Go back then, I’m in no rush home.’
‘Thanks, Amanda but I’m glad to be home with Shay.’
‘Well he’s as good as gold, that little fella. I’ll babysit anytime, especially with that big TV, it’s like a cinema in here.’ Amanda steps forward to have a look at the television. ‘You really landed on your feet here.’
‘I know I did Amanda, but it doesn’t always feel that way.’
‘What do you mean?’
I don’t want to tell Amanda that I’m worried Olive is not the person who sent the card. I was hoping it was some sort of revenge act for me having stolen her man, but I’ve changed my mind. If I do tell Amanda how I feel, if I say it out loud, I’ll have to admit that something worse is going on.
‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Is it the card, Laura?’
‘Yes, I can’t stop worrying about it.’
Amanda puts her cup down and walks over to where I’m sitting on the sofa.
‘Don’t let it bother you, you know it’s not the truth: Conor was with you the night Vicky was killed. It’s someone being bad, Laura. It’s someone trying to upset you.’
Her hand on my shoulder makes me feel vulnerable. Tears fill my eyes.
‘But why? What did I do?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What if they all hate me?’
‘They don’t all hate you, don’t be so dramatic, Laura. It was one card.’
Eventually, I wipe my eyes, pull myself together and watch Shay sleeping in the crib. The mere sight of him relaxes me. Amanda makes herself a sandwich, offering to make me one too but I tell her I ate in the pub. I don’t like lying to her but I’m not in the humour for a lecture on how I need to eat to keep my strength up. So
I make tea and we chat some more. Between the eulogy and the talk in the pub, I’ve learned a lot about Vicky, and Amanda is eager for me to tell her.
* * *
The pub was just a part-time job for Vicky Murphy, who had grown up in the next village. The only child of Erin, she had been quite the tomboy in her day. Stories of her getting into fights on behalf of her male cousins were legendary in the town. When she finished school she wanted to leave her village but her mother didn’t want her going to Dublin so young. They agreed she could move to the next town for a year or two before moving on.
Ten years later and Vicky was still here. She had discovered a love for journalism, inspired by a young man she had been dating for a few years. He had moved to London, leaving Vicky with the bug. Eager to get into the business, Vicky regularly submitted pieces to papers and magazines and had had a few pieces accepted by the Journal. Inspired by her success, she had decided to go to college in Dublin. That’s where Vicky’s life was at when the plug was pulled.
‘Investigative journalism?’ Amanda says, after washing her sandwiches down with a mug of tea.
‘So they say.’
‘Hmm, interesting.’
‘So she lived in Dublin during the week?’
‘Yes, three or four nights apparently.’
‘That would cost a bit… I wonder where the money came from?’
A little whimper escapes from the crib. Shay is wakening.
‘Shit, I have to make a bottle.’
‘Done.’ Amanda walks to the fridge and takes out two bottles which she had made while I was at the funeral.
‘Oh, how did you know what to do?’ I say, eager to find out if she did it right.
‘You have it all down here.’ She holds up the instructions I’d written down for Conor.
‘Did you use the right scoop?’
‘There was only one in the tin. For God’s sake, Laura, it’s not brain surgery.’
