by Jackie Walsh
I remember the day we packed up my belongings for the big escape to the country. I cried the whole time, fearful that Amanda would be lonely without me. Knowing I was going to miss her company. Her laughing. The nights we’d sit up talking until there was literally nothing left to say.
She sat beside me in court. The second worst day of my life. I remember how Amanda hugged me when the judge spoke. The relief, evident on her face and in the tears we shed.
Leaving Amanda was hard but her happiness for my new situation eased the burden. And anyway, I’m used to hard.
I drop the curtain and get back into bed. The heat from Conor’s body is so comforting, cloaking me with safety and—that’s it. I remember now. Maggie. That’s what’s been bothering me. She said she never spoke to Vicky except for the few times she was in the pub. I remember her exaggerating the word ‘few.’ But I had seen her with Vicky, the day I braved the terrible weather and walked to the village.
* * *
Three weeks had passed since I’d set up home here and I was still waiting for the delivery of the new car Conor bought me as a present on my wedding day. I had bought him a pair of cufflinks!
The rain had eased off by the time I reached the village. With very few people to be seen, I remember thinking, God, how am I going to survive here? What will I do all day?
Conor encouraged me to leave work as soon as I moved here, and I hadn’t put up a fight. The thought of commuting to Dublin every day hadn’t appeal to me. I had been planning to leave as soon as the baby arrived anyway, so a few months earlier wouldn’t make a difference. It would give me a chance to settle in. To get to know everyone.
It had taken no more than five minutes to walk the length of the village, by which time I’d arrived at the church. Praying wasn’t something I’d ever subscribed to but I soon realised if I was going to survive here, I’d have to get myself some new hobbies.
The church grounds had been empty, eerie, not a sound to be heard but the splashing of my feet in a rather large puddle that had gathered by the entrance gate. Having braved the moat, I had continued towards the church door and had been about to enter when I saw two people huddled by a marble Virgin Mary in the graveyard to my left. Maggie was one of them. What was she doing in the graveyard in this brutal weather talking to Vicky, the barmaid from Hedigan’s? I had recognized Vicky from being in the bar with Conor a few days earlier. She’d gone out of her way to introduce herself to me. But why had Maggie handed her something which Vicky had quickly shoved in her pocket? It had all looked pretty suspicious to me, cloak and dagger stuff. Why the graveyard? Surely they both could have met somewhere more convenient in this weather. It wasn’t like Maggie visited Seamus’s grave every day.
Conor had told me all about her routine. Every Sunday straight after Mass, she and Conor would go to the grave and Maggie would change the flowers. ‘Do you have to go?’ I remember asking him once, hoping to go up to Dublin for the day. But Conor had explained that Maggie hated going to the graveyard on her own.
Well, not that day, because Vicky had left and Maggie had been standing in the graveyard by herself.
I had thought about going over to her but realised she might not have wanted me to see what just happened, so I had continued into the church expecting her to arrive in behind me any minute. She hadn’t. Apparently Maggie had everything under control. She didn’t need God’s help.
Then I had forgotten about it. With all that had happened since, the clandestine meeting had never come back into my thoughts – until now. Until I heard Maggie say she didn’t really know Vicky. She only met her the few times she was in the pub. Maggie is lying. But why?
Chapter Twenty-Three
I didn’t sleep much last night. I’m regretting not showing Conor the card and now I don’t have it. I have questioned whether I could have put it somewhere else. I was in such shock. But I know I didn’t. I can still see myself covering it up with the magazine. Someone else took it.
The longer I drag this out, the worse it will be. Conor will kill me when he finds out I’ve been keeping this secret. But I still don’t have any idea why I received the card at all – whether someone actually thinks Conor did kill Vicky, or whether someone just wanted to piss me off, burst my dream. I wanted to have a clearer idea of what I was dealing with before I told him about it. But here I am, days later, and still with no clue as to who sent it.
Conor has taken Shay downstairs. I’m dragging myself out of bed and into the shower when a thought suddenly bursts into my head. What if Conor found the card himself and disposed of it? Would he not ask me about it? Unless he thought I hadn’t seen it. I closed the envelope. He would never have known I had read it. But surely he’d say something if he found it. Unless he didn’t want me to read it. In case I believed it. In case it’s true. I shouldn’t have listened to Amanda. I should have said something to him straight away. Now I’m totally confused and I don’t know what to do. With the hot water running down my body, I decide the best thing to do is to try and forget about it once and for all. It’s ruining everything.
I dress myself and put on some makeup. I am Mrs Laura Caldwell and I should look like Mrs Laura Caldwell.
The smell of toast leads me to the kitchen where Conor is standing by the island with a glass of orange juice in his hand.
‘Are you going into work today?’ I say, noticing he’s wearing a suit. I thought he had a few more days off.
‘Just for a meeting, I’ll be back after it.’ But I know he won’t. Once he passes through the doors of the Caldwell Brewery he becomes a slave to himself. I’ll be lucky if he’s home for dinner tonight.
The briefcase is open on the countertop. Conor is checking the contents when the doorbell rings.
‘Who could that be?’ I say, walking to the hallway. I’m hoping it’s not Conor’s mother coming to help the poor daughter-in-law survive her first day without the hubby. When I get closer to the door, I see a large dark shape. It’s definitely not Maggie. The glass distorts the image but I can see it’s a man, a big man in a dark suit. I’m nervous turning the latch.
‘Hello, Laura,’ he says. ‘Is Conor here?’
‘Yes, come in.’ I stand back to let him enter. Detective Fintan Ryan has been here a couple of times before but not usually this early in the morning.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask, leading him into the kitchen. But I don’t know if he hears me; he doesn’t answer.
‘Fintan,’ Conor says in a loud cheery voice when we enter the kitchen. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’
He steps out from behind the island and walks towards Fintan with his hand out. The men all seem to do that here, shake each other’s hands every time they meet like they haven’t seen one another in years. Fintan ignores Conor’s hand.
‘Can I have a word, Conor?’ he says, looking over to where I’m standing. ‘In private.’
‘Sure, sure. Laura, will you take Shay upstairs with you?’
There’s a lot of silence between the words. Something is up. Conor and Fintan are good friends and would usually have plenty to say to one another. I wonder what is so important that I can’t hear it. If something was up with Maggie, I’m sure Fintan would just blurt it out in front of me. It must have something to do with Vicky Murphy.
My hands shake when I lift Shay out of the crib. What is going on? I’m about to walk away when I notice the baby monitor flashing on the shelf beside the crib. With one swoop of my finger I reverse the setting and leave the room. Closing the door behind me, I leave the two men behind and rush to the bedroom with Shay in my arms.
Chapter Twenty-Four
There’s a tiny dark birthmark below Shay’s ear. Conor thinks it’s shaped like a star but it looks more like a blob to me. I brush my finger across it watching his eyes sparkle, looking up at me.
‘Hello baby,’ I say, sitting down on the bedroom chair holding Shay close to me. The monitor is right beside me.
‘Mammy is being bold,’ I whisper, incre
asing the volume button on the monitor. Conor’s is the first voice I hear.
‘Jesus, Fintan, what are you saying?’
‘Someone has said something to alert them; they asked me if I knew anything about it. I said I didn’t, but Conor, this is my job; I’m supposed to be retiring next year.’
Silence.
‘Who told them? For Christ’s sake, who knows?’
‘I don’t know. They didn’t tell me… I just thought I’d come here as soon as I heard.’
More silence.
‘So, you told them nothing?’
‘Of course not, I acted dumb. I said I didn’t believe it was true, that you wouldn’t do something like that but—’
‘Okay, okay.’ Conor’s voice is going up and down, like he’s pacing the room.
My heart is beating so hard Shay must think I’m patting him. What are they talking about? What the fuck did Conor do and why is Fintan covering for him?
The words shout at me from inside my head. ‘Conor is a murderer.’ My head is tilted so close to the monitor that I almost slip off the chair. Pulling myself back into a safe position, I hold Shay across my chest, rocking him from side to side. The light on the monitor flashes into the red.
‘Fuck!’ Conor shouts, banging something while he does it. I jerk in the chair, clinging with fear to my little baby boy. I have never heard Conor express his anger before.
A tear lands on Shay’s nose. I dab it with my finger.
‘Mammy is sorry, little baby.’ I cry more, rubbing Shay’s warm soft skin with my hand. ‘Mammy is very sorry.’
* * *
They’ve obviously left the kitchen now because I can only hear fading murmurs. They must be in the hallway. I hear the bang of the front door.
I put Shay onto the bed and look in the mirror. Grabbing a face wipe, I attempt to disguise the fact that I’ve been crying. The monitor is still on. Conor is coming up the stairs. Glancing over to make sure Shay is safe, I rush to switch it off. If Conor found out I was listening in, I don’t know what would happen next. Am I afraid of him now? Back at the mirror I’m dabbing cream on my face when he walks into the room.
‘Is he alright like that?’ Conor says, noticing Shay lying on our bed.
‘Yes, he can’t roll yet.’ I check on my little baby, then look back in the mirror where I can see Conor’s face. It’s a lot redder than it was earlier but his voice is giving nothing away. Conor sits on the bed and rests his hand on Shay’s belly.
‘See ya later, kid.’ Conor kisses his son on the head before walking to my side, taking my face in his hands.
‘Were you crying?’
‘No, I rubbed cream in my eyes by mistake. What did Fintan want?’
‘Nothing much, just a question he had, that’s all. Will you be okay on your own today?’
I nod, thinking how the ‘one meeting and I’ll be straight home’ has suddenly expanded into a day.
‘Well, ring if you need anything.’ Kissing me on the lips, Conor walks to the door. He turns back for one last glimpse at his precious baby.
‘I’ll keep in touch… Bye, Shay.’
I press my shaking hands down on the top of the dressing table and take deep breaths. In the mirror I can see Shay moving his legs, in out, in out. His lips are pouting, fingers moving. I should be swooning over him, playing with him, encouraging his every movement, but my body is frozen to the spot.
Conor was able to walk in here and act like nothing happened, like Fintan had never been here, had never given him the bad news that made him shout in anger. My body feels empty inside, the life vacuumed out of it. I should have known this was all too good to be true.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The day has been endless. Instead of enjoying every minute I had on my own with Shay, I worried. I thought I’d be excited about welcoming my husband home from his first day back in work. But I have spent most of the day crying, coming up with some outlandish scenarios as to what is going on.
Changing Shay’s nappy was a chore, feeding him an even bigger one. I have to get it together. Conor will be home soon and I don’t want him to realise I suspect something.
I asked him what Fintan wanted and he lied. Maybe he’s trying to protect me. He knows I’ve been up and down since having the baby. It’s possible he’ll tell me all in his own time when he sorts things out.
I thought about ringing Amanda and telling her what happened but I changed my mind. Amanda would probably tell me to take Shay and run. She wouldn’t understand: I love Conor. I know he didn’t kill Vicky because he was with me the whole night. And more importantly, I know he didn’t do it because he doesn’t seem to have a bad bone in his body. I’d have noticed if he was a bit of a psycho. Wouldn’t I? I hope I haven’t made a big mistake… again.
The key turning in the door makes me jump with fear instead of happiness, reminding me that I know nothing. I fake a smile and wait for my husband to walk through the door. Shay is bouncing on my knee, fed and changed. He looks as happy as every baby should, his little pink cheeks glowing below his inquisitive eyes as he stares into the space in front of him. I wonder what he sees, what he thinks. He hasn’t noticed his daddy enter the room, but I have.
The jacket of Conor’s suit sways open, his tie is loosened. Dropping his briefcase onto the countertop, he says, ‘Well, how was Shay?’
‘Great,’ I say, keeping my eyes on the baby.
‘And you?’ he says, walking over and kissing me on the head before going to the fridge.
‘Grand, no one called, quiet day… I made dinner.’
‘Lovely, I’m starving. Is it ready? Or have I time for a shower?’ Conor walks back over to me and takes Shay in his arms. ‘God, I wish I could stay here with you all day,’ he says.
‘How did it go?’
‘Work? Same as usual.’
‘So the place didn’t collapse in your absence.’ I smile, trying my best to act normal while moving past him on my way to the pot on the stove. The only thing I could bring myself to cook was a stew, just throwing it all in the pot and letting it be.
‘No, it didn’t,’ he says, his eyes fixed on his son. ‘Maybe I will be able to spend more time with you, little man.’
If you’re not in jail, I’m thinking. ‘Go have a shower, I’ll heat the stew.’
‘Stew, great.’
Conor puts Shay down and leaves the room. How can he be so cool after what happened this morning? Maybe I read it all wrong. Maybe it’s not as bad as it sounded – after all, I did miss the beginning of the conversation.
There’s no point kidding myself. I know what I heard. Conor is putting up a front. Something has happened, but how do I find out without admitting to him that I was listening in? And why is he so good at pretending? Has he done a lot of it?
‘Maybe you should just live with him for a while first,’ my colleague, Rose, had said when I told her I was leaving to get married having known Conor for only four months. Of course I thought she was jealous to say such a negative thing. But now I wonder if she was right. How much do I really know about this guy?
He had proposed as soon as I told him I was pregnant, which some people would admire in a man. I was so nervous at the time. I’d convinced myself he was going to dump me when he found out, but his face had filled with joy. Conor had been over the moon with happiness. He had treated me like some sort of a princess, making sure I had everything I needed, anything I wanted. He had already renovated his mansion the previous year so it was ready and waiting for our life to begin. Why wait? We were so in love. Are so in love.
And yet, here I am, pushing the truth away. But I can’t ignore it any longer. Not now, not when I know for sure he’s hiding something. Conor could have left the house that night while I was sleeping.
* * *
The stew smells nicer than it tastes but Conor is shovelling it into his mouth like he’s just come back from the war.
‘Did you have any lunch?’
‘No, I had to go s
omewhere, running and racing all day. This is delicious,’ he says, scooping up more.
Cooking was the one thing I was proud of when we first met. It’s not that I’m particularly great but apparently Olive never had much of a flair in the kitchen so she was an easy act to follow.
The first time I had asked Conor to come to my apartment for dinner, I had been nervous. I knew I could make a mean spaghetti bolognaise but that wouldn’t impress anyone, so I had dug deep and managed to perfect a beef wellington with potato gratin and some steamed veg. It was all the rage at the time.
Amanda and her then partner, whose name I can’t remember – there were so many of them – had joined us. Everything went to plan. Conor had thought I should be a contestant on Masterchef, and ever since it’s been my thing. I’m the expert when it comes to cooking. Anytime Conor mentions my culinary prowess in other people’s company, my ego is freshly watered. I almost feel like I deserve to be with him.
‘What are we going to do now?’ Conor says, leading me to think he’s about to reveal what he and Detective Fintan Ryan were discussing.
‘About what?’ I push my plate to the side, lean forward and wait eagerly.
‘Well, now that Shay is here, I’m back to work. This is the new normal, Laura.’
‘Oh.’ Lowering my head, I rest my back into the chair.
‘Why? What did you think I was talking about?’
Now is my chance. I have his undivided attention, I’ll ask him. ‘Is everything okay, Conor?’
Conor stops eating and looks up at me. ‘Yes… why?’
‘I thought you were a bit off after speaking to Fintan this morning… did he bring bad news or something?’
Conor will be disappointed in his acting skills but I have to pretend I noticed something odd about him. I can’t tell him the truth.
