‘Sure.’ He tried to sound bright.
He pulled a fresh T-shirt on and tried to smooth out the duvet. He was just putting the bottles on the floor by the garbage can when there was a soft knock at the door. Connor felt nervous, as if he had been caught out. But that was ridiculous. This wasn’t his boyfriend waiting to come in, this was a man who had removed him from his life. Why was he here? In the moment it took Connor to cross the room and open the door, a thousand scenarios flickered through his mind, from Tim sobbing on bended knee and begging him to come back, to him serving him an eviction notice so that Carl could move in.
‘Hello.’
‘Hi.’ Tim looked serious. It seemed unlikely that he would be asking Connor to run away with him.
‘Come in.’ Tim took a step forward and then they were both in the apartment. Connor closed the door.
‘Sit down.’ Tim moved to the couch and sat. ‘Coffee? It’s just Folgers, nothing fancy …’
‘I’m fine. Don’t bother.’
Connor rested against the kitchen counter.
‘It’s been a while. Good to see you.’
‘And you.’
The atmosphere in the apartment was strained, both men clearly uneasy. Connor wondered how, after all the time they had spent together, this was now how they were in each other’s company. He recognised the shirt Tim was wearing. He couldn’t help taking this as a personal affront. Clothing had outlasted him. Tim loved this short-sleeved button-down with its pattern of feathery fishing hooks more than he loved him.
‘I was going to call,’ Tim’s hands were clasped between his knees and he wasn’t looking at Connor, ‘but I felt it was better to do this face to face.’
‘Right.’ Connor’s heart was racing. Was Tim dying? Had he gone bankrupt?
‘I had a call from your nephew.’
Connor was completely wrong-footed. This was not one of the scenarios he had considered.
‘My nephew?’ was the best he could do.
‘Yes. Finbarr. You know who I’m talking about?’
‘I do, yes.’
‘He called me—’
‘Wait. Sorry. Why did my nephew call you?’ This made no sense.
‘He called the office. He was looking for your number. I guess I know his boss.’
Connor nodded. This made more sense. Judson must have provided the names.
‘I didn’t give it to him; I didn’t think that was appropriate. I’ve got his – he wants you to call him.’
Connor nodded again. ‘OK.’
Tim looked up, into Connor’s face. ‘I think you should.’
A pause. ‘Do you?’ He wanted to shut this conversation down.
Tim looked at the floor again and speaking quietly said, ‘I met with him.’
Connor said nothing. He didn’t know what to say next. Tim raised his head, trying to read Connor’s expression.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
Connor turned away. This was the conversation he had wanted to have so many times when they were together but never dared. How could someone continue to love a man after they discovered how stupid and cowardly they had been?
‘I didn’t know how. There was never the right time. I don’t know. I was afraid it would change how you felt about me.’
‘It was an accident, Connor. You were a kid.’
The two men turned to look at each other. Connor smiled. He had forgotten that Tim only knew Finbarr’s version of the story. He didn’t have the truth.
‘That – that’s not what happened.’
VII.
She could hear the carer, Annie Lynch moving around the kitchen, probably making something for Martin’s mother to eat. Ellen wanted to tell her to go but she couldn’t face her in this state. Quickly, she crossed the living room and slipped into the former dining room where her mother-in-law lay glassy-eyed. She would splash some cold water on her face in the en suite. The old woman watched her come and go across the room as if she was observing a car with a stranger drive by. Ellen wondered who she imagined she was. A nurse perhaps? Whoever it was, she seemed unperturbed by her presence.
Ellen checked herself in the mirror. Her eyes were still red but that could have been from a cold wind out walking, or tiredness. What did it matter? She just wanted Annie out of the house before Martin came home.
‘Mrs Coulter,’ Annie greeted her as she made her way into the kitchen. A small portion of scrambled egg was being scraped onto a slice of toast.
‘You go, Annie. I can take that in to her.’
‘Are you sure?’ Her expression suggested that she wouldn’t need to be asked twice.
‘It’s no bother. We’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Coulter.’ And with that she was gone. Her footsteps paused in the hall as she took her coat and then there was the sound of the front door slamming. Ellen sighed.
Walking back from the O’Connells’ she had seriously considered the possibility that she was losing her mind. The axis of her life had shifted so catastrophically that it altered every shred of what she had considered reality. Her marriage had been arranged but without anyone telling her. Was that the price her brother Connor had demanded for taking the blame? Why? She found it hard to believe that her future had been a concern or even a thought, in Connor’s mind. She listed all the little things about Martin which now seemed so much worse: the way he slept, those small sighs of contentment that escaped his lips during the night, the smirk of superiority when he spoke to her, and all the time he had the deaths of three people on his conscience. It hardly seemed credible. Her mind went full circle and she considered once more the possibility of Linda O’Connell just making the whole thing up. It was insane but then why did she find herself so ready to believe it?
She carried the small plate into Martin’s mother’s room and sat by her bed. The old woman opened her mouth to accommodate each approaching forkful. There wasn’t a flicker of hunger or enjoyment. Her little mouth just did what it always had. Chew, swallow, pause. She reminded Ellen of a tortoise steadily consuming a lettuce leaf. The egg finished, the old woman lay back on her pillows. Ellen stood.
‘Tea?’
The filmy grey eyes swivelled towards her, but nothing was said.
‘Would you have a cup of tea?’
The soft eyelids opened and closed a couple of times but that was the full extent of her response. Ellen stared at her. What was the point? Why did this heart keep on beating? What did it know that nobody else could see? Surely this body should just pack up and release the woman it held captive.
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ Her voice sounded loud and harsh in the hush of the bedroom.
On her way back to the kitchen she glanced down the hall. She was almost certain that Martin was due back this evening. After she had made the tea, she would check the appointments for tomorrow to make sure she was correct about the date of his return. As she stood waiting for the kettle to boil, she wondered what she would say. How did one begin a conversation like that? She didn’t want it to escalate into a screaming match, but what would she do if he just denied everything? All she really hoped was that she didn’t lose her nerve and allow the two of them to drift on in this lie. The easy option. The one she had taken over and over again, and this is where it had led her. This needed to stop, and she had to be the one to do it.
Ellen allowed the tea to cool before holding the cup up to the wrinkled lips that seemed to slurp of their own accord. She carefully patted the mouth and chin dry in between sips. The tea finished, Ellen made her way down the corridor into the surgery. It felt strange to be padding along the carpet tiles in the half-dark like this. Ellen reminded herself that she had every right to be there and made a point of turning on the glare of the overhead lights in the small waiting room. She had nothing to hide. The computer sat on the reception desk, but she was fairly certain Martin still kept an old-fashioned appointment book on his desk as a backup. She opened the door to his surgery. This did seem
clandestine. As far as she could recall she had never been in this room all alone before. Ellen walked over to the desk. It was so tidy and perfectly ordered that one might have thought Martin was expecting someone to come in and inspect it in his absence. The large desk diary was sitting out, so Ellen leafed through the pages to that day’s date. It was scored out but on the page for Tuesday there was a list of names with various medical notes. So he would be home tonight.
Ellen took a deep breath and wondered where she should wait for him. She closed the diary and replaced it exactly where she had found it. A sudden burst of curiosity swept over her. She had never snooped or pried into Martin’s life. Her philosophy had always been that if it didn’t affect her then she didn’t care, but now, she found herself wondering what might be in the drawers of the desk. Her hand took hold of the wooden knob on the top right drawer and it opened easily. The contents were disappointing. Pens, an old chequebook, an assortment of paper clips. The next drawer down promised more. It was a series of white envelopes with dates on them. Ellen quickly figured out that these must be receipts from his various weekends away. She hesitated before opening one. Perhaps she would find evidence of his affairs. In fact, it was all quite dull. Petrol receipts, one from a pharmacy and then a large one from a hotel. She was about to put them back when she noticed the name of the hotel, Hilton Dublin. Odd. Ellen didn’t remember Martin having business in Dublin. She checked and saw that he had spent three nights there, last month. Hadn’t that been when he said he was in Edinburgh? She opened another envelope and there was another bill from Hilton Dublin. Ellen felt a flutter of excitement tinged with anger. A third envelope, Hilton Dublin, three nights. She gathered up all the envelopes. This was evidence of something, and he couldn’t deny it. She carried them back into the house and then piled them on the kitchen table. Ellen stared at them for a moment and then strode to the fridge. This called for a glass of Martin’s Pouilly-Fuissé.
She was halfway through the bottle when she heard the key in the door. She stood. She sat back down. Her eyes darted around the room. Was there somewhere else she should be? By the counter? Standing in the door to the back kitchen? Too late. The door swung open and Martin entered and crossed to the sink. He didn’t look at her.
‘Still up?’
‘Yes.’ Ellen wondered if the wine had been a good idea after all.
Martin was washing his hands. The elaborate method he used had always annoyed Ellen but now she wanted to lunge at his wrists with a bread knife. She held on to the edge of the table.
‘Mammy all right?’
‘Yes.’
Martin turned as he dried his hands and for the first time looked at Ellen. She saw him register the bottle of wine and the envelopes. His hands dropped to his side. She enjoyed the flicker of uncertainty that played across his face.
‘Did you have a nice time in Birmingham?’ Her tone was archer than she had intended.
He held her gaze for a moment and then replied, ‘Yes, thank you. I did.’
A pause and she asked again, ‘Birmingham?’
Martin leaned back and peered at her. ‘Why are you saying the word Birmingham repeatedly?’
Ellen licked her lips and swallowed. It was happening. It would begin now, and she had no idea where it might end.
‘You’re sure you weren’t in Dublin?’
He pushed a hand through what was left of his hair. It reminded Ellen of when he had been a young man.
‘What are you talking about?’ His voice was low but deliberate.
Ellen poked the pile of envelopes with her finger.
‘Edinburgh, London, Zurich. Dublin, Dublin, Dublin.’
Martin’s expression hardened; his brows lowered.
‘Why have you been going through my desk?’
‘Why shouldn’t I? Have you got something to hide?’
Martin lunged across the room. Ellen flinched but he just seized the envelopes of receipts.
‘Where I go is no business of yours!’ he snapped.
Ellen felt much calmer than she’d thought she might. Perhaps the wine had been a good idea after all.
‘I’m sure you’re right.’
Martin eyed her suspiciously.
‘It’s just that lying about it does make it seem like you’ve got something to hide, don’t you agree?’
Martin raised his chin. ‘I have nothing to hide. Now, I’m going to see my mother.’ He turned to leave but Ellen stopped him by calling out, ‘Why did you marry me?’
Martin didn’t turn at once. He slowly rotated his body until he was facing Ellen. She had seen this face before, a mixture of pity and disgust.
‘What?’
‘You heard me. What was your reason for asking me to marry you?’
‘How much of my wine have you had?’
‘Not enough.’ She picked up her glass and took a large gulp. She was goading him now. ‘Well?’
‘You really want to do this now?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do. You can’t have loved me. You can’t have wanted this.’ She swung her arm between them to indicate the emotional wasteland of their relationship.
Martin looked at the ceiling and then back to her. He was going to answer. Ellen held her breath.
‘I thought …’ He took a deep breath and when he spoke again his voice had changed. It was tired, almost defeated. ‘Of course I didn’t want this. I thought …’ His eyes scanned the room. ‘I hoped … no, sorry, I believed – yes, that’s it, I believed we could make something better. A kind of happiness. I really did.’ He crushed the envelopes into his face. Ellen wasn’t certain but she thought he might be crying. Despite herself she was moved; she had the urge to comfort him. She stood.
‘So, it wasn’t a deal?’
He lowered the crumpled pieces of paper.
‘A deal?’
Ellen suddenly didn’t feel so confident.
‘Yes, with Connor.’
‘Connor?’
‘Because you were the one that was driving the car when it crashed.’
It was only the tiniest of reactions, but in that fraction of a second Ellen saw that Linda had been telling the truth. She lowered herself back into her chair.
Martin was rubbing at his damp eyes and shaking his head now. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Finbarr found Connor in New York.’ She felt calm once more, certain that she knew the truth.
‘Connor. Connor told him that I was driving the car?’ He snorted to indicate just how ridiculous an idea this was.
‘No. No, it was Linda O’Connell who told me.’
Another beat, another flash of fear on Martin’s face.
‘Linda? She doesn’t remember anything about the crash. She was in a coma.’
Ellen paused. There was a sheen of sweat on Martin’s forehead.
‘Well, her memory seemed pretty good this afternoon.’
‘This is rubbish, just rubbish. You can’t believe any of this, can you?’ He was speaking loudly now, trying to affect his practised tone of intellectual superiority, but it sounded more like bluster.
‘How could you?’ Ellen asked quietly. ‘You saw what it did to my family. You were there. You could have stopped it all.’
Martin took a step back and threw his arms out wide. ‘Ellen, this is nonsense. You are talking utter and complete rubbish. You can’t believe this. You can’t.’
Ellen just shook her head slowly and said his name. ‘Martin.’
He turned and touched the kitchen counter before looking back at her. ‘Well if that is who you think I am then I’m leaving. I can’t stay here with you.’ He stood up straight as if the conversation was over. He had spoken.
Ellen took a step forward. ‘Excuse me. You aren’t leaving. I am.’ She hadn’t thought this far ahead but now a plan was forming in her head. ‘You’re not leaving me here with your mother.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Your parents’ bungalow. I’ll throw some things in a bag.’
Martin opened and closed his mouth. Things had moved out of his control and he wasn’t enjoying it. Ellen left the room and went upstairs. She moved swiftly between the bedroom and the bathroom gathering a few toiletries and clean clothes for the next day. She kept thinking that Martin would appear at the top of the stairs and demand she stopped what she was doing, but no. She heard him moving around downstairs. The familiar click as he closed the door to his mother’s room.
Back in the hallway, she opened the heavy drawer of the sideboard and took out the keys to Martin’s parents’ bungalow. It had been for sale ever since old Dr Coulter had died, but was still just sitting there fully furnished. Ellen suspected that Martin didn’t really want to part with it. Another piece of his precious father he couldn’t let go. Her car keys were in her anorak pocket. She paused at the front door. Should she call ‘Goodbye!’ or at least indicate that she was leaving? Deciding that silence was the best option she opened the door and stepped out into the chill of the night.
She knew she was probably over the limit, but it wasn’t far. Once behind the wheel of the car, the enormity of what she was doing suddenly hit her. She was leaving. Walking out on her marriage. She gripped the steering wheel tightly to stop herself shaking. The thought of doing this had always made her think of failure. She had imagined that everyone would think of her as weak or ungrateful, certainly lacking in some way to be abandoning the man who had rescued her, the doctor who had saved her whole family. Tonight, however, felt very different. Just the idea of slipping alone into cold damp sheets out on the coast road made her feel like a winner. This was winning.
VIII.
It was extraordinary to Ellen that something as unremarkable as a window with a different view could make the whole world seem so changed, but it was true. Just lying with every blanket she could find piled on top of her, contemplating the rust and orange leaves of autumn, rather than the bare sky and clouds that normally greeted her, gave her such hope. Things didn’t have to stay the same, they could even improve. Through the leaves she could glimpse a blue sky and the trees were bathed in morning sun. She felt hopeful but also, she had to admit, very cold. She wondered if it was warmer outside.
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