by Jackie Walsh
‘It was so horrific. And then having to wait for the inquest.’ She walks back over to the island, a slight hint of anger in her voice.
‘Did it take long… the inquest?’
‘The best part of a year… thankfully it reported accidental death. A worry buried.’
The stool scrapes the floor when Maggie pulls on it, forcing both of us to clench our teeth.
‘You’ll have to do something about that, Laura, get Conor to put grips on the legs. I think I have some at home.’
She pulls the notebook on the counter closer to her, pushing on her glasses before glancing through the list.
‘Now all we’ve left to do is invite people,’ she says.
Not wanting to question her any more on the details of her husband’s death, I listen to her list all the people ‘we’ have to invite. The fact that I don’t know most of them doesn’t seem to faze her and there is no objection on my part.
Suddenly, I shiver. The person who sent the card is probably on that list. They will come to my party, eat my food, drink my drink. They will laugh with all the other guests. I won’t be able to tell who it is. I’ll have to smile and be polite and all the time they’ll be sniggering in the pit of their belly because they’ll know.
* * *
Maggie eventually leaves, but not before mentioning that I probably want to get started on Conor’s dinner. I know that’s how she sees me: the wife, the one who must obey, ‘til death do us part and all that. It’s probably how it was for her, a servant to her man, until death did part them. I hope she doesn’t cause me any problems when I tell her I’m planning to go back to work part-time. I never thought I’d want to but it’s becoming clear I’ll need some sort of stimulation if I’m to survive here.
When the door is closed, I rest my back against the solid wood and take a breath. Trying to appear nonchalant and not ask a hundred questions was hard.
I think of Conor, how he lives with the reality of his father’s death and never mentions it to me. Not even a slip of the tongue when he was drunk. Conor must have it locked up somewhere safe in his mind. And if he can do that, what else is locked in that safe?
Chapter Thirty-Four
There’s a robin walking along the ledge outside the window, his red breast illuminated by the ray of sunshine catching his feathers. Stirring the pepper sauce in the pot, I smile. That never happened when I lived in the city. No feathered friend ever visited me there. The only sign of birds near my window on the third floor of Royal Ashton Apartments was the constant blobs of bird shit that were cleaned off by the maintenance crew on a not too regular basis.
Licking the spoon before placing it down beside the pot, I wipe my hands on a sheet of kitchen roll and walk over to Shay.
‘Hi baby, wait ’til you see who came to visit you.’ His body feels stronger when I lift him, his flopping arms and legs replaced now with eager movements. Nurse Elaine would be so happy with me.
‘Do you want to see the birdy?’ I say. Shay knows something exciting is going to happen. His eyes are wide, eager; his tongue jots in and out through his blood-red lips. Poor kid is probably expecting a bottle but it’s too early.
‘Not yet Shay, first we’re going to meet a robin.’
Huddling him close to my chest, I take Shay over to the kitchen window. The robin is still picking at something on the ledge.
‘Look, Shay, that’s a robin.’ His eyes won’t move their focus from me, so I tilt him slightly, but he doesn’t look at the robin; he shifts his eyes sideways, continuing to search me out.
‘Not to worry baby, there’ll be loads of robins for you to see.’
I’m about to move away from the window when I notice Conor at the end of the garden. He’s talking to Pat. That’s strange; Conor’s home early today. Why didn’t he come directly into the house first?
Both men are standing at the edge of the forest, Pat, hands in pockets, kicking the ground below his feet. His head is bent, looking at his shoes instead of Conor. Conor seems slightly agitated, his hand extended, pointing. He’s quite a distance from me but I can still tell he’s not happy. Conor is arguing with Pat. I don’t like this.
A part of me wants to go down and find out what’s going on, but Shay is lolling off to sleep in my arms. Gently I rock him from side to side, one eye on his dozing face the other on the two men at the back of the garden.
Beep beep. Shit, the sauce is spilling out over the edge of the pot activating the hob alarm. Rushing to stop it, I pull the handle to the side and switch the ring off.
The smallest job is taking all my efforts and I’m failing, my strength divided between the reality of what I see and what I fear. How long can I go on pushing my worries to the back of my mind? Hoping they will just go away, facing up to nothing. My biggest fear is that I’ll fail Shay. He’ll be boiling over someday in need of my attention and I won’t be there to pull the handle.
After placing Shay in the crib, I tuck the blanket around his warm body. ‘Don’t worry little boy, Mammy is not going to let you down.’
In the background, I hear Conor walking into the room. He drops his briefcase in the usual spot and walks over to me. The anger etched on his face reduces immediately when he looks into the crib.
‘How’s my little boy?’ he says, bending over to kiss his cheek.
‘Great.’
‘And you?’ Conor kisses me on the forehead.
‘I’m fine. What happened with Pat?’
‘What do you mean?’ he says, stepping away and removing his jacket.
‘Why were you arguing with him?’
‘I wasn’t arguing. We were just talking.’
What will I do? Conor thinks he can just fob me off. Tell me nothing. Until now, I thought he was trying to protect me by not sharing what was going on with Detective Fintan Ryan or the details of his father’s death and today, the argument with Pat. Now, I’m not so sure.
‘I saw you through the window, Conor. That wasn’t just talking, your face is still red, I want to know what’s going on.’
Conor needs to know he can tell me anything, that I’m not going to judge him, I just want to know what’s going on. If Pat did something, I need to know. He lives in my back garden. He lives in Shay’s back garden.
Throwing his jacket on the back of the high stool before grabbing a bottle of water, Conor moves to the island counter that stands between us. The bottle cap rolls to the floor when he puts it on the counter. Conor pours water down his throat. I’m watching him, waiting for him to speak.
‘He’s a fucking idiot, that man.’
Wow, that’s new, Conor cursing! What has Pat done? Whatever it is, he’s clearly upset Conor. I’ve never heard him give out about Pat before, ever. In fact he had a notebook of nice things to say about him when he broke the news to me that Pat lived out the back.
‘Why, what happened?’ Taming the excitement exploding inside me, I casually walk to the cooker to continue destroying the dinner.
Conor picks up the three letters on the counter that arrived earlier. Bills mostly – no more threatening cards, I hope. He drops them back down without opening them. Resting both hands on the counter he leans forward, anger shaping his face.
‘You’re not going to believe what that fool told the detective from Dublin.’
‘What?’ My heart leaps when I hear the word detective.
‘He told them he saw me leaving the house in the middle of the night, the night Vicky Murphy was killed.’
Rendered silent, I drop the scourer that I was using to remove the burnt sauce from the hob and slowly turn around.
‘Why would he say that, Conor?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And did you leave the house?’ Searching my thoughts for an explanation, I feel my breathing picking up speed. ‘Did the brewery alarm go off that night?’
Conor is rubbing his hand through his hair, staring at the countertop before looking up at me.
‘Yes… but he shouldn’t have said anything to th
at detective. Now they’re going to drag me into this shit.’
‘But you didn’t do anything, Conor, don’t worry…’ but my words dissolve in my mouth. Conor left the house the night Vicky Murphy was killed. I never heard him. My heart is thumping like a bass drum at a New Orleans funeral but I must appear calm on the outside. With my hand across the back of his neck, I lean against his body, closer to his face.
‘It will be alright, Conor. What did they say?’
Conor shrugs from under my embrace and straightens himself. He looks bothered, lifting the letters in his hand before throwing them back down on the counter.
‘What did who say?’
‘The investigators, when they spoke to you.’
‘They didn’t speak to me yet.’
‘Well, how do you know that Pat told them then?’
He looks at me, mouth closed, eyes fixed on mine. He’s deciding whether to tell me or not.
‘Who told you, Conor?’
‘I got a call, someone giving me the heads-up.’
‘Who?’ I can guess who, but I want him to tell me.
‘Ah look, it doesn’t matter, it’ll probably come to nothing.’
‘Who was it, Conor?’
Shoulders slumped, he takes his jacket from the back of the chair and walks towards the door.
‘Fintan called me.’
‘Fintan?’
‘Ye, he just wanted to warn me. He’s a good man, Fintan.’
‘Can he do that?’
‘Probably not supposed to… but we go back a long way and I’m glad he did. At least now I’m prepared.’
* * *
When Conor leaves the room, I lift two cuts of steak from the plate by the hob and slap them on the hot griddle. Their sizzle is now the only sound in the room. My hands are shaking. Conor left the house to fix the alarm that night. The night before Shay was born. Why didn’t I hear the phone beep? And Pat, if he told the cops he saw Conor leave during the night, does he believe Conor had something to do with Vicky’s death? Could Pat have sent the card? My mind is scrambled. My stomach sick. My husband has no alibi.
Chapter Thirty-Five
With my hand firmly gripping the wheel, I cross the Call bridge and watch the clear blue sky lead the way to the city. Nothing much was said last night. Conor admitted he left the house to fix the alarm, but with all the excitement around Shay’s early entrance into the world, he hadn’t even thought about it until Fintan rang to tell him what Pat said. I spent the whole night with my heart hovering close to my mouth. What does this mean? Surely the cops will believe him, the alarm going off is probably traceable. So why is he so worried?
I wanted to tell Conor I knew the circumstances around his father’s death, but it wasn’t the right time, not with what had happened with Pat. He did ask how I’d got on with his mother, and if everything was in place for Sunday, but I could see a lot of the spark had gone out of him. I told him she was doing a great job and seemed to have everything in hand. I was hoping he’d suggest we cancel it, but no, the show must go on, and with Maggie directing it, I’m sure it will.
Which is why I’m going to Dublin. Having handed over all control of the party, I’m claiming the christening gown. Maggie doesn’t know yet. She’ll probably arrive with some yellow dress, bragging about the intricate lace-work, handmade by virgins at sunrise a thousand years ago on the side of a mountain, and worn by generations of the Caldwell family. Well, she can keep it. I’m putting Shay in something I want.
The traffic builds the closer I get to Dublin. Shay sleeps in his car seat by my side, the hood on his blue jumpsuit cloaking his tiny face. I picked it specially to complement his eyes. It’s his first time meeting my old work colleagues and I want him to impress.
In the distance, the familiarity of a world that used to be mine slowly appears. I see the Ha’penny Bridge, its timber gangway a monument to the rare old times, and the Millennium Bridge, a more modern affair, reflective of the progress we’ve made. Or have we? People still seem eager to get to the other side.
Nostalgia loosens my smile the closer I get. I miss this place: the buildings, the crowds, the choices. Ballycall is too low-rise; the church is the tallest building. The forest surrounding the village means you can’t see the place until you’re actually in it. Like it was built to be hidden from the rest of the world. I wonder, was that planned? Did some old farmer decide hundreds of years ago that he didn’t want his neighbour looking in at him? Don’t let your right hand know what your left hand is doing. It wouldn’t surprise me. Even now there’s a sense of secrecy about the place.
The car park isn’t too jammed so I find a space where I can comfortably take Shay out of the car and put him in his buggy without breaking my neck.
Out on the street, my steps are slow. I want to enjoy this walk to my old office, take note of everything I pass. There’s a new doughnut shop open on the corner, rows of colourful, tempting treats arranged in the window.
Beyond that, an array of cafes and restaurants that I regularly passed on my way to work, my eyes glued to the footpath or the phone in my hand. I should have visited more of them, instead of always going to the same place – Luigiani’s – ordering the same food and expecting the same result. It’s too easy to appreciate what you had, after the fact.
The smell of spicy food wafting out from one of the restaurants makes me want to go inside and eat straight away. Maybe Amanda and I could go there for lunch?
With more pace in my rhythm, I arrive outside Imanage a little bit earlier than I expected. Pushing my backside into the door, I open it, dragging the buggy in with me.
The foyer is empty except for a young girl sitting behind a large multicoloured reception area to my left. I don’t recognise her – she must be new. I’m disappointed there’s no one here to greet me and my baby. I wasn’t expecting a band to be playing but a familiar face would have been nice.
‘Hi,’ I say, watching the young girl lift her head from whatever she’s doing.
‘Hello, welcome to Imanage. How can I help you?’
‘Er yes, I’m Laura, I used to work here. Where you’re sitting actually.’ I pause for her to comment but she forces a smile and nods.
‘Can you buzz Amanda Wright for me please?’ I say.
The girl lifts the phone and waits… No answer.
‘Oh, well, can I just pop through? They’re expecting me.’
I’m pretty sure she’s just about to tell me I can’t, when I hear the heavy voice of Pete Gunner.
‘Laura,’ he says, walking straight over. ‘How are you? Great to see you again.’
Pete congratulates me on the birth of Shay. He tells me how well I’m looking and invites me to accompany him into the main office area. Unlocking the safety clip on the buggy, I push it through the door that Pete is holding open.
‘How are things, Laura? Are you happy with the move? Amanda tells me you’re loving it.’
‘Yes, it’s great, takes a bit of getting used to, but so far so good.’
The diamond on my finger reflects in the large glass-mirrored wall. I see expensive clothes, a Gucci bag hanging from a state-of-the-art buggy, the fairytale ending they all must see. I manage to hold my smile in place while the show goes on. These people are expecting my happy-ever-after to have gone to plan. But there’s a cloud, a big dark cloud hanging over my happy world that only I can see. I push the buggy further down the corridor and admit to myself what I’ve known for a while now. There’s rain on the way.
* * *
Inside the main office, everyone is excited to see us. The space feels familiar. A hug from the past. Same faces, same desks, same pictures on the wall. I hardly noticed the pictures when I worked here.
A small posse has gathered around the buggy, smiling at Shay and telling me how great I look. I thank them for their compliments. Beaming with pride, I show off my little boy. It feels strange to be the centre of attention. That never happened when I worked here. In fact I felt different from
everyone else, a fake. I was someone who got the job because her sister was good friends with the boss. At first, I kept myself well hidden, scurrying like a mouse hoping to become invisible. If it wasn’t for Amanda taking me to lunch with her or to the after-work drinking sessions on a Friday, I’m not sure anyone would have noticed me.
But that was then and this is now. And now I feel proud of myself. It surges through me, fuelled by every query and compliment coming my way. Everyone wants to know about my life, what it’s like to be a mother, to be married to someone so handsome and rich. I try to act humble, telling them I miss their comradeship, the gossip, going to lunch, the nights out. But they laugh, offering to swap places if I miss them that much.
After a while, having satisfied everyone’s addiction to smelling a new baby, I ask where Amanda is. Rose informs me she’s holding a course in the blue room which is due to finish in about twenty minutes. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I tell Rose I’ll wait out in the foyer and she walks out with me. Rose is the oldest member of the staff here and one of the nicest. When I first started at Imanage, Rose kept her eye on me. Amanda was great at including me in the fun stuff but Rose was the one I turned to when I needed help with the work. The first day I arrived here, she told me my shyness was a welcome trait around the place, that everyone else was too full of confidence.
‘So, you’re enjoying it all so far,’ Rose says.
‘Yes, it takes a bit of getting used to, but so far so good.’
‘Good… good.’ Rose nods but I can hear a hint of hesitation in her voice.
‘What?’ I say, turning to look at her.
Rose lifts her head to look at me. ‘Nothing. It’s probably nothing,’ she says.
‘What’s probably nothing?’
‘I wasn’t planning on saying anything, but now that you’re here…’
The joy I have just filled my cup with slowly seeps out. I know this is not going to be good news; Rose wouldn’t sound so guarded if it was. She’s almost whispering and there’s no one else here except the young girl behind the desk twenty feet away, deafened with headphones.
