by Jackie Walsh
The road is narrow, lined with ditches and bramble. How the big trucks come in and out of the factory, I’ll never know. I’m finding it hard enough in my car, and it’s a big car.
Safer for the baby, Conor had said when I told him I’d rather have a small one. I was picturing myself parking in the busy city, nipping up and down to Dublin whenever I got the chance. But I had settled for what Conor wanted, because at the time, I thought he was nervous of cars because of his father.
The entrance to the brewery is closed and I don’t know the code, so I’m forced to press a big intercom button on a pillar. A voice crackles from the speaker and says something I don’t understand before a man appears, wearing a high-vis vest. I open the window, checking behind to see that Shay is still asleep.
‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ A middle-aged man with an evident love of calories, lowers his head to look in the window at me. A chin, darkened with stubble, ageing skin and green eyes full of life. He glances into the back of the vehicle before settling his stare on me. I imagine he was quite handsome in his day.
‘I’m Laura, Conor’s wife.’
‘Laura,’ he says, looking into the back seat again. ‘So this must be little Shay.’ His northern accent sounds as strong as the day he left school. No sign of the country lilt slipping into it. I wonder how long he’s been working here.
‘Isn’t he a grand wee thing,’ he says, ‘much like his grandfather.’ That answers my question. He knew Seamus.
‘And how are you getting on here in the wilds?’ He turns his attention back to me. ‘I hope Conor is looking after you well.’
‘He is.’ I smile, eager to move on. ‘Is he here… Arthur?’ His name is stitched onto his jacket.
‘He is indeed… hold on now.’
Arthur moves towards the hut and presses a button, releasing the barrier for me to drive through. I find a spot to park the car and prepare to unload.
Shay observes from the car seat that’s hanging on my left arm. I walk towards the entrance door. The building is old, with grey dash, weather-worn walls and lots of small steel-framed windows. Conor says he’d love to knock it down and start again. He has a habit of doing that. I hope he doesn’t apply the same principle to our marriage.
My right shoulder is strained from the weight of Shay’s bag. Nappies, wipes, bottles, a change of clothes, creams, tissues. A lot of ‘just in case’ stuff. My own necessities have been reduced to a purse and one lipstick. But it doesn’t bother me. I’m happy to be the perfect mother.
Unable to push the heavy door open, I drop the bag onto the ground and heave it, holding it open with my foot while I reach down to pick the bag up. I must look as graceful as an Olympic discus thrower attempting ballet.
Eventually my persistence pays off and I’m inside. The sweet grainy smell that permeates the air outside is a lot stronger in here. There are days the smell reaches right across to the village. Smell pollution. But no one complains, all happy to pocket the money this place brings to them through one channel or another.
Despite the building having a run-down look to the exterior, the inside is quite modern: a row of offices with heavy wooden doors; glass windows, coloured walls. There are signs too. Slogans. Callbrew: the best beer for the best cheer. And a display of awards, little stone plaques announcing how good the beer is year after year.
I’m dragging the heir to the throne down the corridor towards Conor’s office, when I hear a female voice call me. It’s Olive. She’s sticking her head out from one of the office doors. She must have seen me pass by.
‘Olive. Hi.’
Olive is wearing a tight leather skirt to the knee with a silver-grey silky shirt tucked inside. Her hair is tied back and her face is brightened with a big smile and very little make-up. I’m sorry now I didn’t put more effort into what I was wearing.
‘How lovely to see you,’ she says, leaving the room and walking towards me. ‘And Shay, how is the little lad?’
‘He’s great, eager to see his daddy at work.’
Olive bends down and brushes Shay’s face with her finger.
‘Hello, Shay.’
A gentle waft of unfamiliar perfume hits my nose. A pleasant, though brief reprieve from the smell of industry.
‘Are you going to see your daddy?’ she says.
‘Yes, we were passing by, so just decided to pop in.’
‘Well I’m sure he’ll be delighted, won’t he, Shay?’
Olive takes a step backwards and turns her attention from Shay to me.
‘Will you drop into my office when you’re finished with Conor? Deirdre would love to see the baby.’
‘Of course I will,’ I say, delighted with the opportunity to talk to women my own age.
Deirdre is Olive’s assistant. Between them, they do almost everything in admin according to Conor, even the accounts. Apparently the guy who’s supposed to do the accounts is away with the fairies and spends most of his time doing crosswords or Googling other possibilities for his life. Conor says he can’t replace him because he’s the son of one of Seamus’s best friends. A man who helped him set up the business all those years ago. Just like Pat did. Conor seems to owe a lot of people on his dad’s behalf.
* * *
Conor is on the phone when I open the door. I can see a smile warming his face. He is happy to see us. He ends his call, stands up from his desk and walks around to where I’m relieved to be unloading Shay onto a nearby chair.
The sun beams in from a nearby window catching Shay’s eyes, so I turn the chair around. The comfort of Conor’s kiss landing on my head relaxes me.
‘Well, this is a nice surprise,’ he says.
‘I was bored, had to get out of the house.’
‘You must be feeling back to normal so.’
‘Almost.’
Conor removes his jacket before lifting his son out of the seat.
‘Hey little man. How are you?’
His whole body oozes with happiness when he sits at his desk. Shay is wiggling in his arms. There are no signs of stress on Conor’s face. No frown on his forehead. No pale skin or jittery moves. In fact Conor looks happier than I’ve ever seen him. Certainly not folding under the weight of whatever news Detective Fintan Ryan gave him. But he could be acting for my benefit. Again.
Olive knocks on the door before sticking her head in.
‘Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?’
She’s so nice to me. Maybe she’s the one I should be trying to get information from.
‘I don’t have time,’ Conor says. ‘I’ve got that meeting in ten minutes… but Laura might.’
Conor stands, cooing at his son as he walks over to put Shay back in the car seat. Feeling slightly awkward, like a fish out of water amongst these two former lovers, I look to Conor for guidance. Should I have coffee with his ex?
‘Go on,’ he says, winking at me. ‘You’re in no rush, are you?’
Nodding my head, I accept Olive’s offer. ‘Tea would be lovely.’
Olive leaves the room. Conor is putting on his jacket to follow.
He kisses me on the forehead. ‘I’m glad you called in today.’
I wonder if he would say that if he knew I was here searching for information. Hoping to find some clue as to what is going on with him. What was the detective afraid of? Why was that card sent to me?
With Shay’s car seat on my arm, I walk towards the door.
It must feel strange for Conor, having to walk day after day through the building where his father died in such a horrible accident. Maybe he’ll open up to me if I walk beside him.
‘I’d love you to take me around the brewery someday to see the giant vats and all the beer flowing through the pipes,’ I say.
Conor rushes in front of me to open the door.
‘Sure, we’ll do that someday,’ he says.
Walking out the door I feel my nerves growing. I didn’t expect to be having tea with my husband’s ex today. But I’m prepared to go wherever the s
earch takes me. I might get some useful information about Vicky Murphy, or, if I can pluck up the courage, drop Noel’s name into the conversation. Maybe she’ll allude to why she wouldn’t shake his hand at Vicky’s funeral.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘Ah, you get used to it, don’t even notice it after a while,’ Deirdre says, in a much gruffer voice and certainly with a heartier attitude than Olive’s. I didn’t know how to break the ice when they’d stopped swooning over the baby, so I asked how they lived with the constant smell.
‘When I started here it was worse,’ she continues.
Olive is pouring hot water into three mugs.
‘There was no dividing wall between the offices and the factory… the noise was pretty bad too… biscuit?’ She takes a packet from a drawer and places it on the table.
Shay is nodding off in the car seat on the floor beside me. His little eyes begging him to close them. I’ve already had apple pie that I didn’t want today and now I find myself lifting a chocolate digestive from the plate in front of me. My plan to get back into a size ten for the christening is not going well. This had better be worth it.
Olive is mainly quiet, contributing just a word here and there or a laugh. She’s allowing Deirdre to conduct the conversation. When I get the chance, I bring up the subject of all the presents Shay received, and the cards. Deirdre nods like a car toy, Olive listens and smiles. ‘But there was one card…’ I say, my gaze focused on Olive. ‘Whoever sent it forgot to put their name on it… I’m afraid I won’t be able to thank them.’ I say this hoping it might stir a telltale sign in Olive. A red face, a freeze, something that might signal she knows what I’m talking about. But there’s nothing, just a shrug of the shoulders as she lifts her cup to her lips.
‘Don’t worry about that, Laura,’ Deirdre says. ‘We’ll tell you as soon as they start complaining that you never thanked them. That sort of talk travels quick around here.’ She laughs, stands up and walks over towards the kettle. Olive grins. ‘You can bet on that,’ she says. I thought about mentioning what was written in the card. And I might have if I was alone with Olive, but I fear Deirdre may be lead singer in the local gossip choir so I say nothing. After all, Olive might just be a good actress.
‘As I said, Laura, I think you’re going to have to wait until someone gives out about you,’ Deirdre says as she walks back to her chair. I take this as my signal to leave.
‘Thanks for the tea and biscuits,’ I say, standing and noticing the photographs on the wall behind me. ‘Oh, who are all these?’ I say moving closer to the wall.
‘Oh, that’s the Caldwell brewery family album,’ Deirdre says.
And that’s exactly what it looks like. There are snaps from the Caldwell brewery family fair, the Caldwell brewery Christmas party, the Caldwell brewery summer fair. It looks like everyone in the village gets invited. Pride of place at the centre of the shot is Conor, holding a trophy in the air with one arm. My stomach turns when I see his other arm wrapped around Olive. Brewery of the year 2015 engraved on a gold tag at the bottom. Behind the happy couple, hundreds of workers all with their hands in the air cheering. My eyes concentrate on Conor’s. He’s glancing down at Olive, smiling. The same smile he gives to me now. I feel myself deflating on the spot. I knew they were a couple but seeing them in action has upset me. I swallow hard, knowing I should say something. But what? This is so awkward.
‘Caldwell brewery must do great work for the community,’ I say, turning away from the photo and stepping towards Shay. I realize now how much of an outsider I am. Shay is my only link in this heavy chain.
‘Yes, they certainly keep the village alive,’ Deirdre says. I’m tucking the blanket tightly around my baby boy. ‘There’s over three hundred employed here,’ Deirdre continues. ‘All happy.’
‘That’s great to hear. Was it always that way? Has no one ever had a problem working here?’ Olive turns. ‘What do you mean?’ I’m after backing myself into a corner. Olive doesn’t like my question. ‘Oh, I was just wondering if there’s ever any trouble with all those people employed. There must be some issues now and then.’
‘Not really,’ Deirdre says. ‘We’re fairly lucky that way. Of course, there was that incident last month when…’
‘No,’ Olive interrupts her. ‘No trouble. As Deirdre says, we’re very lucky.’ Olive stands and lifts Shay’s bag. ‘Here, I’ll help you with that,’ she says, making sure I leave. Deirdre is wide-eyed behind her desk, looking at Olive.
With Shay on my arm, I hurry out of the building. I can’t believe Olive interrupted Deirdre like that. It was so obvious she wanted to shut her up. But why? What was Olive trying to keep from me? Maybe she just wanted me to feel that it was none of my business. I might have taken the man, but the brewery was hers. I’ll have to ask Conor about it. Is there a disgruntled employee on the loose? I need to know. They could have sent the card.
Chapter Thirty
Noel walks into the kitchen, a grey suit clinging to his muscled body. He has a lot going for him in the looks department. Brown hair with a reddish glow, always gelled back off his face, showing off his sculpted cheekbones and flawless skin to perfection. His smile displays a set of perfect teeth. His brown eyes are always alert, nervous, like he’s waiting for something to happen.
Conor was only in the door twenty minutes before Noel arrived. Thankfully, I had already confronted him about the disgruntled employee. I didn’t want that sitting in my box of worries for the night. It turns out, it wasn’t so much an incident as a disagreement, something to do with the accounts.
Mark Dunne, a nephew of one of Caldwell’s employees, had been put on placement at the brewery. He had been studying accountancy and needed a few month’s work. Conor didn’t go into much detail except to say it didn’t work out, and after two weeks he had had to let him go. The uncle hadn’t been happy about it. I wonder what Amanda will think of this. Conor brushed it off as no big deal but Conor doesn’t know about the card. If Noel hadn’t walked into the house, I might have told him.
‘I need a word,’ Noel says, leaning over the crib to where Shay sleeps peacefully. If that’s my cue to leave, I don’t register it.
‘What’s up, bro?’ Conor says, taking a large file out of his briefcase and placing it on the table. He comes home with paperwork every night and drops it on the table. Then places it back in the briefcase the next morning not having looked at it. Whatever his plan is when he leaves the office, it disappears when he arrives home to his family. Unless of course, it’s something he doesn’t want to leave on the premises when he’s not there.
‘It’s about the christening. The godfather thing.’ Noel lifts his face from the crib as he speaks. ‘It turns out I’ve to go away for a while, three months, maybe more.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Oman, of all places. The company are setting up a new system and I’ve to supervise the installation.’
Emptying the dishwasher, I listen intently but say nothing. If Noel can’t be Shay’s godfather, I won’t lose any sleep over it.
‘When are you off?’
‘The end of next week sometime.’
‘Jesus, Noel, they didn’t give you much notice, did they?’
‘They did mention it a while back. Abbie wanted me to go but I said no at the time but now I’m thinking it’s a nice bonus. A great opportunity. We might like to get one of these for ourselves.’ He rests his hand gently on Shay’s head. ‘And when that happens the idea of working away from home will probably be less attractive.’
Abbie must be thrilled about getting Noel to move to Oman. She’s been at him for a long time to make the move. It’s her father’s business and she wants Noel to rise to the top of it. Going to Oman will help.
Wanting a child has been top of Abbie’s list since she and Noel married three years ago. She told me about it when we disclosed our wonderful news to them. Apparently Noel wasn’t ready. I’m surprised Abbie didn’t put up a fight sooner to get her wa
y. She was brought up getting whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. Noel is always dropping her wealthy upbringing into the conversation, commenting on how spoilt she is. Well now he’s going to Oman, just like Abbie wants. I wonder what changed his mind all of a sudden?
The dishwasher is empty now. Taking my time, I allocate the cutlery to its designated slots, considering how convenient this all is – if Noel is the married man Vicky was having the affair with, this sudden exit is perfectly timed.
‘And you’ll be back when?’ Conor says.
‘That’s the thing, I don’t know. These things have a habit of dragging out and I don’t want to mess with your plans for the christening. Abbie said I should tell you straight away.’
I knew it was unlikely that Noel had remembered the christening.
Conor is rubbing his hands in his hair, trying to activate his thought process. With no knives left to sort, I move out from behind the island.
‘Well thanks for letting us know, Noel, and don’t worry about it,’ I say. ‘Hopefully Shay will have a little brother or sister sometime in the future. You can be godfather then.’
Noel looks at me like he’s only just noticed I’m in the room. ‘Laura, I’m sorry about this. I really was looking forward to becoming Shay’s godfather.’
‘And you still can be.’ Conor says.
What? No, he can’t. ‘How? He won’t be here, Conor.’ My voice sounds harsher than I intended but Conor needs to know I’m not having a proxy godfather at my son’s christening. Conor continues the conversation like I’m not in the room.
‘When did you say you had to leave?’
‘Next week sometime – the end of the week, I think. The flights are not confirmed yet.’
‘So you’re here this Sunday?’
‘Yes but—’
‘Look, leave it with me. All is not lost.’
I’m speechless. Is Conor really suggesting what I think he’s suggesting? With his hand now resting on Noel’s shoulder, he says, ‘I really do want you to be godfather to Shay, Noel.’
