by Laura Elliot
She is sprawled on the floor, blows raining on her shoulders, her legs. He is being careful, she notes in the midst of her terror, to avoid her face. When he lifts his foot, she cradles her stomach and finds the strength to breathe a warning.
‘I’m pregnant.’ The words are almost inaudible but they penetrate his fury. His foot freezes. His stillness suggests he is trying to decide whether or not she is lying. Then he bends and helps her to stand.
‘How long have you known?’ he asks.
‘Not long.’ She has no idea if she is telling the truth but the possibility that she is carrying his child has stayed his fists, his feet. She sobs and pushes him away. Denial is no longer possible. She has fallen in love with a man racked by memories, whose violence stems from the fact that Elena will never replace his lost love.
Thirteen
The pressure on Nicholas to work late increases as Elena enters the final months of her pregnancy. Is there another woman in his life, besides the one who haunts him? Is that the reason he is avoiding her? Does he find her repulsive, her wan face and bulging stomach, the constant retching that leaves her without the energy or desire for anything except sleep? The only consolation she has is that his rages have ended. When they are together he is solicitous, soothing Grace and feeding her when she awakens at night, apologetic when he rings Elena to tell her not to wait up for him. His concern, though, only feeds her suspicions.
She phones Rosemary one night when the solitude has become intolerable and asks why it is necessary for Nicholas to work so much overtime.
Rosemary pauses, as if considering her words carefully, and when she does speak, her surprise is palpable. ‘I don’t work with KHM anymore. It’s three weeks since I left. Didn’t Nicholas tell you?’
Elena, unable to believe she hasn’t heard this news, is shocked. ‘No! But why? What on earth happened?’
Rosemary is vague on the detail yet there is an edginess in her tone that alerts Elena’s suspicions.
‘You should ask Nicholas those questions,’ she says when Elena probes her for more details. ‘He’s in a better position than I am to explain the reasons.’
Nicholas, when he arrives home, is dismissive of her concerns. Rosemary’s attitude had become problematic, he says. Clients had complained about her work and an amicable agreement was reached to allow her to take early retirement. His eyebrows rise when Elena continues to question him and, recognising the danger signals, she changes the subject.
She plans to visit Rosemary to find out exactly what happened but Grace is cutting a tooth and has developed a rash on her face. The thought of leaving Woodbine and driving to Rathgar, where Rosemary lives, is too much of a chore at the moment. She will do it next week… or the week after… and Rosemary remains a guilty intention at the back of her mind as the months pass and the date for her delivery draws nearer.
Christopher Keogh organises his annual KHM charity auction for cancer research. At the end of the night, he thanks Elena for being so understanding about the overtime Nicholas does. The market is volatile at the moment and this has increased Nicholas’s already demanding work schedule. She knows Christopher would not lie to her. When she was younger he used to invite her and Isabelle to staff barbecues in his long back garden. Elena had never tasted anything as delicious as the home-made lemonade and ice cream that Rita, his wife, gave the children. Was it her imagination or did the sun always shine on those summer afternoons? Christopher smiles and agrees that that is also his recollection. He is considering retirement. His voice flattens. The thought of retirement holds no pleasure for him since Rita died, but – he leans towards Elena and whispers in her ear – it will advance Nicholas’s career.
‘I’m delighted he’s getting a second chance at happiness,’ he says. ‘He tells me that being with you is the best thing that’s happened to him since Amelia. You’ve been good for him, Elena. Soon, he’ll be able to add another photograph to the ones he has of you and Grace on his desk.’
* * *
Joel slides into the world as easily as his sister did. Elena folds her love effortlessly around him and Nicholas is equally enchanted with his son.
‘You’re not to worry about anything except getting your strength back,’ says Yvonne when she visits. She has moved into Woodbine to take care of Grace while Elena is in hospital. ‘I can stay for as long as it takes to get back on your feet again.’
‘It’s not necessary,’ Elena argues weakly. ‘I’ll be discharged tomorrow.’
Yvonne, her expression rapt as she gazes on her grandson, doesn’t appear to have heard her. ‘Isn’t he absolutely adorable?’
‘He’s also hungry.’ Elena stretches out her arms. ‘I need to feed him.’
‘Goodness me, have you decided on breastfeeding again? Are you sure you’re able―’
‘We’re not repeating this conversation, Yvonne. I won’t stand for it this time.’
Elena’s response is sharper than she intended and Yvonne tosses her head back, arches a shoulder.
‘I’m sorry if you think I’m interfering, my dear. I’m only thinking of your welfare. The sooner you put him on the bottle, the sooner you’ll get your life back again.’
I don’t want my life back again. Elena longs to scream the words aloud. The need to end this polite charade and tell Yvonne what she has endured comes and goes. All that is in the past, Nicholas insists. ‘A second chance at happiness,’ Christopher Keogh had said and Elena wonders if this is really possible. That awful first year, when Nicholas was unhinged by grief, is over. He has repeated this so many times to Elena, as if the force of repetition will fade the nightmare. She has to believe that change is possible.
When she is alone, she takes her son in her arms and stands at the window. Post-partum depression: the term terrifies her. Joel whimpers, then changes his mind and continues sleeping. The city winks back at her as she wills the black dog snapping at her heels again to slink away.
Fourteen
Nicholas arrives home from work late one night when Joel is two months old. Grave-faced and solicitous, he comes into the bedroom and sits on the side of the bed.
‘Hard day?’ she asks quietly.
He nods. ‘One of the toughest. How are you?’
‘Tired. Otherwise I’m fine. Have you checked Grace?’
‘I peeked. Her cheeks are flushed. Is she teething again?’
‘Looks like it. She’s been fretful all day but Joel has been an angel. What was so tough about your day?’
‘That’s what I need to talk to you about. I don’t want you to be upset but I’m―’
‘What is it?’ Her alarm is instant. She knows that he is about to reveal something that will shatter the uneasy truce they have shared. He has met someone else? Her suspicions were right all along. Stolen hours in hotel rooms. She imagines them together, the woman faceless but dishevelled on a bed, and he, leaning over her, uncaring that Elena is trapped with two babies in a house she hates, her days blurred with meaningless chores. Seeing her agitation, Nicholas smiles reassuringly and takes her hands in his.
‘Nothing that won’t be rectified in time. There’s been a glitch on the market. Chinese-related. It affects our plans for the immediate future. It’s only temporary though and you must trust me to sort it out.’ Quietly, he explains how her stocks and shares in KHM have collapsed. The investment he was positive would wield such profits has been affected by the collapse of a Chinese bank. Ripple effects throughout the global market has made the stocks worthless.
He holds her hands more firmly when she struggles against him. He has been trying for months to recoup her losses, and those of the other investors, who have also been affected. It seemed, for a while, as if the company would go under but Nicholas has managed to avoid this catastrophe. His partnership is still intact and Elena’s investment will return in time to its full value, when the market settles. He makes it sound like a wild beast that has escaped its leash, temporarily. She hurls furious questions at him but is una
ble to listen to his answers. How could she have been so trusting? Isabelle had often spoken about the reliability of KHM and had always received a healthy return on her investments. But that was when it was called Keogh & Harris Investments, before Nicholas became a junior partner. Her stomach cramps with panic. She pulls free from him and pushes him aside. Sobbing, she stands, her legs shaking so much she is afraid they will not hold her upright. She leaves the bedroom and crosses the landing, unsure where she is going, what she will do, how she will cope with this revelation. The only certainty she has is that her future has turned to dust.
‘Come back to bed.’ He is close behind her. ‘Everything will be back to normal, eventually. You have to trust me, Elena. It’s just a blip. It happens all the time but the market always recovers.’
Unsure and uncaring whether he is anxious or contrite, she turns at the top of the stairs and flails back at him.
‘Listen to me.’ He fends off her blows and reaches towards her. Unable to keep her balance, she claws the air for support and, for an instant, it seems as if she is suspended, motionless in mid-air. Then she falls. As her face smacks off the wooden staircase, she thinks of Amelia falling from a ladder with the same graceless abandon.
When she recovers consciousness, Nicholas is bending over her. Pale and gaunt from shock, he presses tissues to her forehead. Her head hums and the red mist before her eyes breaks into jagged stars. He helps her to her feet and talks about calling an ambulance.
‘No… no, I don’t need an ambulance.’ She is insistent at first, fighting back panic as she imagines Yvonne moving in and looking after the children, but the blood seeping from her head tells her that an ambulance is vital. Has she fractured her skull? Her body will be one dark bruise tomorrow. How ironic that this one will have been self-inflicted.
The paramedics are attending to Elena when Yvonne arrives to look after the children. Her face floats into view and away again, yet not before her shocked expression is replaced by a wary glance from her son to Elena, who is being lifted onto the stretcher. She suspects, Elena thinks, but her thoughts are dulled, her mind unresponsive.
Nicholas holds her hand as the ambulance driver hurtles towards the hospital. The siren is a screech inside her head but even louder is an insidious, taunting question. Did she fall or was she pushed?
Fifteen
Susie is unable to hide her shock when she enters the small, private ward where Elena is recovering. ‘I fell down the stairs.’ She sounds, she thinks, more defensive each time she repeats this information. ‘I was wearing socks at the time. Not a good idea on a wooden staircase. Thankfully, awful as I look, I’m going to be okay.’
‘Your poor face. Oh, my God, Elena.’
‘I thought I’d fractured my skull but it’s okay. I’m just badly bruised, that’s all. I’ll be fine in a week or so.’ She is familiar with the palette to recovery; the mottled purple turning to a murky brown before fading to amber, then a sickly yellow. She is briefly tempted to confide in Susie before Nicholas arrives, but shame holds her back. Her inheritance is worthless, frittered away by a man who claims to love her but has brought her to the depths of despair with his recklessness and violence. His chastened expression has done nothing to relieve her fury. It doesn’t matter how often he apologises for the vagaries of the market and reassures her he will recoup his losses; he has taken her means of independence from her. Now, with their children binding them ever closer, she is unable to see a way forward without him.
‘I’ll be discharged tomorrow. I can’t wait to see the children again. The nurses have been wonderful. They’ve helped me to pump milk so that I can continue to feed Joel when I go home.’
‘They’re so sweet.’ Susie is enchanted by the photographs on Elena’s phone. ‘Guess what? They’ll have a new little friend in six months.’
‘Oh, Susie! That’s wonderful news.’
‘You’re the first to know, apart from Killian, of course.’ Susie giggles and presses her hands against her flat stomach. ‘He’s over the moon about it. I’m going to need all the advice you can give me.’
Elena’s bottom lip bleeds when she tries to smile. Susie dabs at it gently with a tissue. ‘That looks sore. You must have been terrified when you fell.’
‘It all happened so quickly.’ She stops as the door opens and Nicholas enters. She takes the tissue from Susie and holds it against her mouth, unable to bear the thought of being kissed by him.
‘My love, is your lip bleeding again?’ He ignores Susie and bends towards Elena. ‘I’ll call the nurse―’
‘Don’t do that, Nicholas. It’s okay now.’ She gives her lip a final dab and introduces him to Susie.
‘I’ve heard so much about you and Killian.’ He smiles warmly at her. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.’
His teeth look long and sharp, a wolf’s teeth ready to tear her apart. How come she has only ever noticed their whiteness until now, and not their lupine appearance? The band around Elena’s chest tightens. She has to stop – stop. Otherwise, she will have a heart attack and who will love her children as much as she does? She must find a way to strengthen this relationship and build on the shame she has sensed in Nicholas since the night he confessed to beggaring her.
‘And you too, Nicholas,’ says Susie. ‘Congratulations. I’ve just been looking at photographs of your children. You must be thrilled with them. They’re gorgeous.’
‘They take after their mother.’ He strokes an index finger along Elena’s swollen face. ‘I’m a very lucky man.’
‘Elena has been telling me about her accident. From the sound of it, she’s lucky to be alive.’
The atmosphere in the small ward changes instantly.
‘Wooden stairs. Woolly socks.’ Elena speaks quickly. ‘A dangerous combination, as I told you.’
‘Unfortunately for Elena, that’s true. For one dreadful moment when she fell I thought I’d lost her.’ He looks pointedly at his watch. ‘As you can see, Susie, she’s still in recovery and supposed to be resting.’
Susie, taking the hint, stands. ‘It’s been wonderful seeing you again, Elena. Why don’t you all come and stay with us for the weekend when you’re fully recovered. We’d love to show you what we’re doing on the farm. It’s quite amazing.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ says Nicholas. ‘But with two babies, a visit is out of the question for the foreseeable future.’
‘Of course.’ Susie squeezes Elena’s hand. ‘But don’t leave it too long. Our door is always open.’
‘Why were you so rude to her?’ Elena asks after she leaves.
‘Rude? Since when has caring for the person you love been considered rudeness?’ He kisses the top of her head. ‘How did she know you were in hospital?’
‘I told her when she rang me yesterday.’ She sits perfectly still. That gentle pressure on her cheeks, as if she has been brushed by cobwebs, is becoming familiar now. ‘She drove all the way from Galway and you made her feel so unwelcome.’
‘That’s nonsense, Elena. She left because she could see you were exhausted and overwrought from her visit.’
‘I’m not overwrought―’
‘Calm down, please. I can’t cope with another scene.’
‘Then watch my lips, Nicholas. I’m not overwrought.’
‘If you say so. But you can’t blame me for being worried about you. Remember how you were after Isabelle died? And those months after Joel was born? You were worse than with Grace. All I ever want to do is protect you.’
Protect her from what? From herself, is that what he means? From the fear coiling inside her? The throbbing of her head? The jabbing pain in her chest when his face hardens and she realises she has said the wrong thing again?
Sixteen
Elena treads lightly, like those women in niqabs who wear soft-soled slippers that whisper their approach. She uses words warily, afraid of the ‘triggers’ that will unleash his temper. The mirror reflects her inner turmoil: her thin face and eyes shadowed fro
m sleeplessness, her stiffened shoulders.
She lifts a pair of scissors and brings them towards her. Clumps of chestnut hair fall soundlessly to the floor, where they coil like a nest of mice. She gags at the harsh chemical smell as she mixes dye and applies it to her bobbed hair. When the time is up she rinses it out until the water runs clear.
Sleek wings brush her cheeks when she swings her head, but the matt black colour drains her complexion. In straightening her springy curls, she has achieved a slightly lopsided effect, as if the scissors had been slanted in the wrong direction.
She should look chic, having copied the short, asymmetrical hairstyle she has seen so often in the photographs of Amelia. But she is not, by nature, chic. She was made for the outdoors, for boisterous waves and challenging heights.
* * *
Tara is home to attend her father’s sixtieth birthday, a family celebration to which Elena and Nicholas were invited. Elena had sent their apologies and is surprised, the day after the party, to see her friend standing at the front door. Thankful that she had put on a pair of sunglasses before answering it, she takes Tara into the conservatory.
‘I took the train to Wicklow, then a taxi out here,’ Tara says. ‘I didn’t realise Woodbine was so far out in the sticks.’ She stands back to survey Elena. ‘I like the shades. Classy. Not sure about the hairstyle. Bit Joan of Arc, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘It’s easier to manage this way.’ Elena flicks it self-consciously with her fingers. ‘Joel was pulling it out by the roots. Excuse the shambles.’ She clears toys from the floor and dumps them into a toybox. ‘Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?’
