She paused and took another sip of wine.
‘Then his condition deteriorated. Not tremendously, but noticeably. Ken said we’d never be able to do the trip, that he’d be in a wheelchair before long. I told him that even if he was, he’d still be well enough to make it, and he didn’t have to worry about a thing because I could do all the driving. I guess that was a mistake. He said that I was enjoying being the one in charge a bit too much, that it was clear I was only putting up with him and that the sooner he was dead, the better.’
‘That must have been awful for both of you.’
‘He was frustrated and I couldn’t blame him. I asked him how far he’d got with the planning, because he’d spent so much time on it. He’d said it was all sorted. Everything was booked. He’d put all the information on his computer. I said I’d been looking forward to it for ages and that there was no way I wasn’t going to go. I thought it would spur him on, make him feel more positive about it himself.’
She drained her glass of Chablis and for a moment Deira thought she was going to order another. But instead she filled her water tumbler from the jug on the table.
‘People who are well spend a lot of time telling people who are ill to be positive. To fight and never give up. It’s arrogant of us really. Anyone living with a long-term condition is entitled to be negative if they want. But they’re bombarded by stories about others who’ve done great things despite living with illness. Their role models are supposed to be anyone who’s trekked the Himalayas or organised massive fund-raisers for research or had a glittering career like Stephen Hawking, and it’s hard to live up to that. It’s like saying you’re not allowed to feel bad because you’re sick. It’s pressure you can do without.’
Deira nodded slowly.
‘All the same, Ken eventually came around to the idea that we could do the trip together,’ continued Grace. ‘He became quite animated about it, spent more time on the computer – he told me he was streamlining everything – and he even said he hoped he’d be able to drive a bit of the way. I said I hoped so too, although to be honest, I wouldn’t have dreamt of allowing him behind the wheel. But I wasn’t going to upset him by saying otherwise. He seemed so gung-ho all of a sudden. I was delighted. And relieved. And then, the following week, when I was out at night for the first time in months, he took our car and drove it off Howth pier.’
Deira looked at her in complete shock. Even though she’d heard what Grace had said, it was taking her time to process the reality of it.
‘He drowned, of course.’ Grace’s voice was calm and steady once again as she continued speaking without waiting for a response from Deira. ‘There wasn’t a chance that he could be saved. If I’d been more alert, I might have guessed what he’d planned. I might have been able to stop him.’
‘Maybe it was an accident,’ said Deira.
‘That’s what everyone wanted to think,’ said Grace. ‘It’s what I want to think too. But Ken wouldn’t have done something like that by accident. I know he wouldn’t. He did it because . . . because he couldn’t live with me any more and he didn’t trust me to . . .’ She broke off. ‘I was his wife and I wasn’t enough to stop him.’
‘You shouldn’t blame yourself,’ said Deira.
Grace couldn’t count the number of times people had said that to her.
‘There are times when I feel he wanted me to blame myself,’ she told Deira.
‘Oh no, Grace, I’m sure he didn’t. He probably wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘Ken prided himself on the clarity of his thinking,’ said Grace. ‘He didn’t have time for people who, as he put it, emoted.’
When Deira spoke again, her words were slow and thoughtful.
‘You said he was an academic, like Professor Hawking. A physicist?’
‘No,’ said Grace. ‘He lectured in English literature.’
‘Your name is Grace Garvey. But was he Professor Garvey?’
Grace shook her head. ‘He was Kenneth Harrington. I didn’t change my name when I got married because it was too much faff at work. And then . . . well, I was always Harrington with the children but Garvey on my own.’
‘Professor Harrington was one of my English lit tutors at college,’ said Deira. ‘I majored in art history, but English was one of my subjects too. Your story sounded familiar because I remember seeing it on the news at the time and being really shocked. I’m so sorry, Grace, I should’ve realised earlier, but . . . well, I thought back then his drowning had been a terrible accident. I didn’t know . . .’
‘They called it misadventure in the end,’ said Grace. ‘He hadn’t been going very fast and it was dark, so they said he could have made an error of judgement. Ken didn’t make errors of judgement.’ She shook her head. ‘I never for a moment expected to meet one of his former students on this trip. And I definitely didn’t expect she’d turn out to be you!’
‘We met once before,’ Deira told her. ‘Only for a few seconds. It was at a college reception. I can’t recall what for. But he introduced you to me.’
‘I don’t remember.’ Grace shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why should you?’ asked Deira. ‘I don’t properly remember you either. I’d had a few drinks by then. Thinking about it, it’s probably a good thing you don’t remember me. I was pretty bolshie as a student, and if I was drunk, I might have been horribly rude to you.’
‘Ken liked bolshie students. And I’m sure I’d remember if you’d been rude.’
‘He talked about you sometimes,’ said Deira. ‘He called you Amazing Grace.’
‘What?’ In speaking just that one word, Grace’s voice was shakier than ever before.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Deira again. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘I’m not upset.’ Grace took another sip of water, then replaced the glass carefully on the table. ‘He never called me Amazing Grace, not to my face anyhow.’
‘He used to say that you were sharp in your assessment of the written word,’ Deira told her. ‘He said that you didn’t like self-indulgent nonsense.’
‘He said that?’ Grace looked at her in disbelief. ‘He used to laugh at me because I liked Maeve Binchy.’
‘He never laughed at you when he mentioned your name to us,’ said Deira. ‘Never.’
Grace shook her head slowly. ‘I wish he’d said that to me.’
‘Maybe people never say what they really think to the person closest to them,’ said Deira. ‘Even when it’s complimentary.’
‘Especially when it’s complimentary, in Ken’s case. He was more likely to . . . Oh, it doesn’t matter now, does it. He’s gone.’
‘Did he . . . did he leave a note?’ asked Deira.
‘Not that sort of note,’ replied Grace. ‘That’s why they were able to call it misadventure. But he’d sent me an email instructing me that if anything should ever happen to him, I was to take the holiday we’d planned, enjoy the treats in store, do what he asked and scatter some of his ashes in the sea and some near the apartment.’
‘So you’re doing this trip to fulfil his last wishes,’ said Deira.
‘To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure why I’m doing it,’ Grace said. ‘I hate the idea of him trying to orchestrate my life from the grave. It was bad enough when he was alive.’ She grimaced. ‘Sorry, that sounds really disrespectful, but he left us. Deliberately. So he should have left us – me – in peace.’
‘And yet you’re here making the trip. Did you scatter his ashes in the sea?’
Grace told her about throwing the tube overboard. ‘I wasn’t going to. I was terrified someone would see me. But I can’t . . . I can’t simply ignore him. As far as the trip goes, he put so much effort into it. He . . . well, he’s given me other things to do. Left clues to puzzles for me to solve. Which is typical bloody Ken when it comes down to it.’
‘I’m sure he didn’t mean to upset you,’ said Deira. ‘He was obviously trying to make it a great trip.’
‘I was
a damn sight more upset when the police called to my house and told me what had happened. They knew it wasn’t an accident, no matter what the coroner said. The garda who broke the news was lovely, but I couldn’t help feeling she was judging me. Thinking that I’d allowed it to happen. But I’d no idea what he was planning. I suppose that’s even worse. I know it would have got harder and harder for him, and I understand how awful it was. But I still thought we had a lot more time together. I felt that I needed it, to get my head around everything. The kids certainly did. Fionn and Regan didn’t come home when he was first diagnosed. He didn’t want them to race back and we agreed that the summer was the best time. So although they FaceTimed and everything, they didn’t see him properly before he died, and that hurt them tremendously. If he’d said something, given me some indication . . . If he’d wanted to end his life, perhaps we could have . . . well, you know. I would have investigated that with him. I would have helped. Not to end his life,’ she added hastily. ‘But . . . I’d have been there for him. The way he did it was awful for all of us.’
‘Like I said, he probably wasn’t thinking straight,’ said Deira. ‘Maybe he thought it was all for the best. I’m not saying he was right to think that way, of course. But under the circumstances . . .’
‘The circumstances caused all sorts of problems,’ said Grace. ‘Practical problems for me. Emotional problems for everyone. I should be mourning him, but the truth is, I’m finding it very hard to forgive him, and I’m finding it hard to forgive myself too.’
‘You’ve nothing to forgive yourself for,’ said Deira. ‘You did everything you could.’
Grace said nothing.
‘If you’re angry about him arranging this trip, will doing it actually help?’
‘I don’t bloody know.’ Grace looked uncertain. ‘Throwing the tube of his ashes overboard was cathartic. But I still have more in the boot, along with my suitcase and the hazard warning sign. Which makes me an unfeeling monster, doesn’t it, leaving my husband in the back of the car.’
‘Of course not,’ said Deira. She leaned across the table and squeezed Grace’s hand. ‘I liked Professor Harrington, you know. He was a very understanding sort of man, at least towards his students. I’m sure he wouldn’t have expected you to carry him around in your handbag.’
The two women’s eyes met and Grace choked back a sudden desire to laugh.
‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw the news about his death,’ continued Deira. ‘And if there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know. We’re old acquaintances, even if neither of us remembers it.’
‘Talking to you today has been a help,’ said Grace. ‘It’s the first time . . . Well, I haven’t really . . . It’s hard, you see. People don’t know what to say to you. Friends don’t know how to behave. They came to the funeral, they said the standard words and then they disappeared. They don’t want to have to think about his illness, but even more they don’t want to think about how his life ended. They don’t know what to say outside of the funeral setting, so they say nothing at all. These last months, I’ve felt cut off from everyone.’
‘How are your children now?’ asked Deira.
‘Fionn and Regan went back to China and Argentina a month after the funeral,’ said Grace. ‘We speak every few days and they seem to be doing OK, but how can I be sure? Aline had called around to see Ken with her little boy Declan the afternoon it happened. Ken loved Declan, and of course a two-year-old wouldn’t know there was anything wrong so he didn’t treat his grandfather any differently. Truth is, we all tried not to treat him any differently, but the fact that we knew was enough as far as he was concerned. Aline tried to shoulder the blame for not realising something was wrong. I told her if she blamed herself she had to blame me even more, because I was living with him. She had a closure ceremony for him after the funeral, but I’m sure she’s still hurting.’
‘It must be very hard.’ Deira understood how people found it difficult to talk to Grace about what had happened. Beyond platitudes, she didn’t know what to say either.
‘It is what it is.’ Grace sat up straighter. ‘Anyhow, I’ve very uncharacteristically dumped all that on you and made our meal a lot less cheerful than it could have been, so I can only apologise.’
‘You were right to tell me, said Deira. ‘And you’re right to talk about it to someone you hardly know. Because sometimes it’s harder to share stuff with people you’re close to than with a complete stranger. And maybe me having been your husband’s student helps a little too. I realise that what happened was really hard on you and your family, but I remember him as a good man. Perhaps he thought he was making it easier on you, even though it wasn’t.’
‘You’re very kind,’ said Grace. ‘Is there anything you’d like to tell me? You know, quid pro quo?’
Deira smiled. There were things she could have told her. But as hers was a far more selfish story than Grace’s, she wasn’t going to say a word.
Chapter 12
Loire-Atlantique, France: 47.1987°N 1.6537°W
After they’d finished their meal, Deira drove them back to the Hotel Atlantique, where she popped another couple of painkillers. She decided to remain in the garden, but Grace went back to her room and sat at the window, shocked that she’d spilled her story to a complete stranger. She’d never been the sort of person to confide in others, preferring to keep her own counsel. She’d never spoken about her life with Ken to anyone; never confessed that he sometimes made her feel inadequate or asked aloud if enduring really was as good as loving. Because in the end, her marriage had worked for her. They’d been a good partnership. People had envied them. And she’d liked that.
Yet she’d blurted out everything to Deira O’Brien and she couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t as though Deira was the type of warm, open person who invited confidences. If anything, she was a little distant. Was that it? Grace wondered. Had she been able to share with Deira precisely because she wasn’t the sort of woman who’d wrap her arms around her and encourage her to have a good cry? Grace was uncomfortable around people who believed you should wear your heart on your sleeve the whole time. She preferred to keep her heart hidden, like it was supposed to be.
It had been a big surprise to learn that Deira had once been her husband’s student, but even more surprising to hear what she’d said about him. And the things he’d said about Grace. Because Ken hadn’t been a heart-on-his-sleeve kind of person either. The phrase ‘Amazing Grace’ repeated over and over in her mind, both soothing and annoying her. If her late husband had really believed she was all that amazing – if he’d believed it enough to actually say it to his students – then surely he could have said it to her face at least once. Had he meant it when he’d told his students that she didn’t like self-indulgent nonsense? And had he really spoken of her in public as warmly as Deira had implied? She would have loved to have heard those words from him. Over the years of their marriage, Grace had convinced herself that Ken put up with her more than loved her, that she was the lesser of the two in the relationship. She had always been intimidated by his intellect, and horribly aware that while he had a string of qualifications, she hadn’t even made it to college. Part of the reason she’d kept her own feelings in check was because she didn’t want to appear foolish in front of him. Now she wondered if it had bothered her more than it had bothered him.
She wished he’d confided in her more. She wished they’d been closer in those last few months. She wished he was here so she could say all this to him now.
She looked at the list of documents on the laptop screen and entered another random selection of letters and numbers.
Password incorrect.
A sudden thought occurred to her, and she tried ‘Amazing Grace’ as a password, but that was incorrect too. Then, more out of hope than any belief, she entered ‘Maeve Binchy’. For one glorious moment she thought she’d cracked it, because the little coloured ball on the screen started to spin, but then the ‘password incorrect
’ message came up again.
She stared at the screen for a moment, then closed the laptop and brought it downstairs with her.
Deira was sitting at the outside table, a glass of soda water in front of her. She looked up in surprise at Grace’s return.
‘You said you’d help me in any way you can,’ Grace said as she sat down beside her. ‘So can you help me now?’
‘Of course. How?’ asked Deira.
‘I mentioned earlier he’d left me some puzzles to solve,’ said Grace, who went on to explain about the locked documents and her unsuccessful attempts to open them, while Deira listened in amazement.
‘You were his student,’ she concluded. ‘Maybe you have some insights I don’t.’
‘He didn’t leave you any hints?’ asked Deira, who couldn’t quite get her head around the fact that the professor had left some kind of macabre treasure trail for his wife to follow after his death. ‘Like that they were numbers or phrases or . . . anything at all?’
‘No.’ Grace detailed her hopeless attempts and told Deira that she’d tried ‘Amazing Grace’ without success too. ‘I wondered if there was anything he’d ever said to you that would make you think of a possible clue?’
‘I left college over fifteen years ago!’ exclaimed Deira. ‘I couldn’t possibly have a sensible idea.’
‘But can you remember anything he said, any particular likes or dislikes . . .’
‘Grace, it’s you he wanted to be able to open the documents,’ Deira pointed out. ‘He’d be thinking of something special to you, not to me.’
‘You’re right, of course.’ Grace sounded defeated. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘Well . . . let’s put our heads together anyhow.’ Deira pushed the glass of soda water to one side and leaned over to look at the laptop’s screen. ‘Do you have any idea how long the password is? Because obviously a four-symbol one would be a lot easier to crack than anything as long as “Amazing Grace”.’
Grace shook her head.
The Women Who Ran Away: Will their secrets follow them? Page 10
