My Husband's Wives

by Faith Hogan

  Kasia managed to mingle through the disparate threads and link up a faltering conversation. It meandered from the hospital to Grace’s paintings, to car sales and eventually to a rally club that Annalise’s father spoke about enthusiastically. The Connollys were the first to leave and Annalise was quick to join them. ‘A long day for the boys, but thank you for inviting us.’ Madeline was a genuine warm woman. Evie knew that when Madeline enquired about how she was holding up, the words were not just to fill what might be uncomfortable silence between them. There was a substance about her that, as yet, Annalise lacked but perhaps, Evie thought, she might grow into it.

  ‘Well, that’s that,’ Grace Kennedy said as she sank into the soft sofa. ‘I suppose we should think about leaving Evie to it, Delilah.’

  ‘Just a little while more?’ Delilah was looking through an old photo album.

  ‘Thanks for today, Evie,’ Grace said. ‘It meant a lot to Delilah, to all of us. I don’t know why we hadn’t thought of what would happen after.’

  ‘I didn’t do a lot, apart from make the tea.’ Evie waved a hand, but she was glad that they’d come back here, couldn’t think how she’d have faced the house on her own. ‘It’s funny, but having people here, it makes the house feel different; on my own, sometimes it feels…’ She closed her eyes for a moment; she wouldn’t tell them how lonely she was. Not Grace Kennedy, above anyone. She couldn’t tell Grace.

  ‘It is time that you both started thinking of yourselves. I think you have spent far too long thinking about Paul,’ Kasia said.

  ‘Hmm. You make us sound like saints, Kasia. I don’t think I was that good of a wife.’ Grace kept her voice light – a little too light.

  ‘I think you were a very good wife.’ Evie did not meet her eyes; she’d been enough to keep him from her after all.

  ‘She’s right, Mum.’ There was brutality in Delilah’s tone.

  ‘You see? Of course you were; you are talented, beautiful, you gave him a lovely daughter and you are kind. You made yourself – how do you say it here – the other fiddle to him.’ Kasia said.

  ‘Well maybe it seems like that on the outside, but it wasn’t enough, was it?’

  Evie was surprised; she never suspected Grace could feel as she did.

  ‘Enough of this.’ It seemed to Evie they had each berated themselves too much already. ‘What about this Vasile?’

  ‘Vasile is in shock, I would think. Nobody ever speaks to him as Grace did today.’ Kasia smiled, but it was a strain. ‘He will come back for me. As far as he is concerned, I am his – possession. He will never let me go.’

  ‘This is Dublin, Kasia; you speak as if he owns you. You are free here; he has no hold on you anymore, not unless you allow him to.’ Grace’s voice was dry.

  ‘Oh, it is so easy to say that. But maybe, like you and Paul, I feel sometimes that I need him. You have the whole world at your feet, and still you never really managed to live without Paul?’

  ‘I suppose you could say that.’ From the outside it probably looked as if she could survive without him, but then she had never really needed to.

  ‘Do you love him?’ Evie asked Kasia. She did not want to think of Paul and Grace.

  ‘Oh, no. Too much has happened. There has been too much pain. But he will always be there. He will always be waiting for me. Before the baby, maybe I just always felt there was no point in leaving him. There was nowhere to go; there was nowhere he would not find me.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘The baby, it has changed everything. I have something to live for, but…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I’m not sure that I can run away. I have no money, no prospects. Starting again, with a new baby, how would I live?’ She played with the shoe she’d cast aside as soon as they had come back to Carlinville. Her slim foot twisted it about the floor with an absent-minded agility. ‘On the other hand, I think that I don’t have a choice, because I don’t want my child having anything to do with him. You see today, he is a very angry man.’ Kasia shivered, although there was no draught in the drawing room.

  *

  Evie Considine was born on a moonless cold night in March; it was one of those things that stayed with her. Why had the moon disappeared on her night? It was foreboding; even the moon did not stay for her. She pulled back her dishevelled hair. It was styled once a week to take the curl out, put the colour in. She wore it in the same style as she did in her twenties. She was a soft, wavy, whiter version of her younger self. Lines had dug into her skin about her eyes and brow, but her mouth was strong, her lips soft and her irises held their dark navy of her youth. She sighed deeply as she browsed around the room that had been hers for over sixty years. It was at the top of the house. She still climbed the three flights of stairs each night. If for nothing else, the view was worth it. She gazed past her three-mirrored dressing table, out onto Dublin Bay. A schooner bobbed delightfully in the late evening sun, its white sails pristine against the blue water and clear sky. The sight mocked the emptiness in Evie’s heart. She laid her comb down on the table.

  The old house creaked along with her these days. It remained one of the finest in Howth, though it smelled of damp and the gardens needed more work than she could afford. She lived modestly, quietly, alone. Once, of course, things had been different – before her father’s unwise investments, before the crash.

  Five foot eight, Evie had been striking in her day, but of course she’d felt too tall. It’s a shame that you only realize your assets when it’s too late. That was a long time ago. At least she still held herself straight and moved elegantly. She could not go to bed yet; it was far too early. Perhaps some tea, she thought, although she didn’t really feel thirsty, but the cool air in the kitchen might brush away some of her melancholy.

  Back downstairs the kettle rumbled into life. She flipped the switch, giving it a rattle first to make sure she had left some water there. It bellowed and groaned at her. Her tea was hot and sweet. It was too nice an evening to read; anyway, she wasn’t sure she could focus on a word. It dawned on her recently that for too long her life had been one of trying to fill the empty spaces. She pulled a heavy cardigan from the coat rack that hid in the darkest corner of the hallway. It was approaching dusk. Doctors owned the houses to her immediate left, so for three doors down, they’d be coming or going at all hours. A couple of architects had moved into the house on her right a few years earlier. They upset everyone with plans to improve their Edwardian slice of Howth, but thankfully, the recession managed to pull some of the wind from their sails. Like the rest of the country, they didn’t have so much to brag about since the construction boom went belly up. No loud barbecues in the back garden these last few years – every cloud, Evie always thought. She pulled the cardigan closer to her neck. She liked the feel of the thing. It was Paul’s; he wore it every weekend. He bought it from one of the cottages down by the water. The fishermen’s wives had carried on a busy trade in Aran jumpers and hens’ eggs; all gone now.

  Feeling sorry for herself would not make things better. This walk would do her good. It wouldn’t change the fact that Paul was gone, but she didn’t want to sit until the night stole daylight from her, just thinking. Most of the women her age were involved in the active retirement group – not Evie. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t need an endless list of day activities. She was quite happy on her own, wasn’t she? Either way, even if she was a bit lonely sometimes, pitch and put or needlepoint or t’ai chi wasn’t going to help. That was the latest – twenty pensioners down in the local park at sunrise, stretching joints that should be clay-covered, facing the sun – what there was of it. Evie thought it could not end well. Ena Walsh was nearly ninety and the only decent place for her was at home in her bed. Of course, in Evie’s opinion, Ena had always been a bit… loose. That’s what her mother might have called it and Evie couldn’t think of a better word for it. She breathed in the salty air, squinted hard to see if the schooner was still tipping along on the glinting wave
s. Evie felt her step lighten as though, for a moment, she was a child who had managed to escape school for a day. Perhaps she could forget that he was gone, forget what he’d left behind. The Romanian girl; Kasia. Why hadn’t he told her about Kasia? And what of Annalise? Evie knew about the life Paul had shared with both Annalise and Grace. Of course, she’d been upset when he told her about Grace. When she realized that there was to be a child, Evie felt as though she might die of grief. Then Paul had explained. It wasn’t like it was between him and Evie. It was second rate by comparison – admittedly not his words, but she could speculate from how he spoke, from his expression, from the way he held her tight before he left. He did not want to go. She let him go because she knew he’d never really leave her, and of course, he never did. When Annalise became pregnant, God help her, but she almost gloated. So it had happened to Grace Kennedy, too. Perhaps Grace had mattered more than she’d realized. At the hospital, it felt as though she’d missed a step, glimpsed into Annalise Connolly’s pretty eyes, and there was no doubt that the girl had no idea who Evie was. If anything, Evie had a feeling that she might have thought she was Grace’s mother.

  Evie rattled a few forgotten shells in the pocket of the cardigan, picked up on some walk. Yes, Annalise Connolly must have been in shock. She was ragged with sadness, not just for herself anymore, but surprisingly for Annalise and Grace too. They’d all lost Paul.

  Her breath caught in her chest as an image from long ago played out in her memory. It had been love at first sight, across the crowded platform at Belfast Station. That didn’t happen to people anymore. At least, Evie didn’t think so. It had happened to her though. She’d been rushing from her train. Instead of heading home, she’d embarked on the first and it turned out the only true adventure of her life.

  Back at the house Evie pulled her front door key from the chain that hung inside her letterbox. After the fresh breeze of the Irish Sea, the hall threw up a musty air as she took off Paul’s cardigan. She threw the front door open wide, let the fresh air chase away the staleness.

  The red light of the answering machine flashed dimly in the hall: A message from the solicitors. They had a cancellation for the morning. There was a codicil added to the will. She made the call to Grace Kennedy, who said she’d contact Annalise. They’d meet in a smart coffee shop near the offices of White, Blake and Nash. While they spoke, a small bottle caught Evie’s eye. Pills that Paul had given her to help her sleep. She fingered the label carefully, studied it as a silence stretched across the phone line, and everything suddenly became clear to her. Although she’d just made plans with Grace Kennedy, she had no intention of seeing them through.

  When she rang off, she said goodbye. She slid the tablets into her pocket, and poured a large glass of brandy. After turning off the lights in the house, she went upstairs, selected her best nightdress and brushed her hair carefully. In the end, you have to take things into your own hands. Maybe she should have done that years ago instead of dragging herself along through this half-life. She swallowed a handful of tablets and washed them down with the warming sweetness of the brandy. Then she lay back on her pillow. Her mind was unexpectedly calm as she played the years of life with Paul across her memory like a long feature film she’d just settled down to watch. Slowly, she felt sleep encroach upon her thoughts. As she sank deeper into the familiar pillows, she knew it was just a matter of waiting; waiting for Paul’s arms to reach out and welcome her to their forever after.

  11

  Grace Kennedy

  The coffee shop was busy, packed with women who had nothing more to do than sit and catch up all day. Expensive perfume punctured the Michelin-starred aromas. The ambient music was cannibalized by the sound of persistent chatter. It was not Grace’s kind of place and now that she’d met Evie, she knew it wasn’t her kind of place either. It was close to the solicitors, and that was about all it had to recommend it. Annalise Connolly wore the unofficial uniform of the yummy mummy. Statement necklace, white shirt and skinny jeans, an ageless ensemble, but the older you got, the more you had to work at it. Grace thought she was far too bright for it to be real.

  ‘Jesus, I can’t believe it.’ Annalise sipped a tea concoction that smelled of silage. ‘I still can’t take it in. Even this morning, I made breakfast for both of us. I thought, with the funeral, it’d be more real. But I’m obviously still in denial.’

  ‘I know, but this meeting today, getting things sorted; it’ll help.’ Grace checked her watch. Evie Considine was half an hour late. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not going to be easy, with the boys being so young.’

  ‘My mum helps out a lot.’ Annalise’s voice was tight. No one said they had to like each other. ‘To tell you the truth, well, maybe you heard this already, but he moved out a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘For someone else?’ Grace regretted it as soon as the words tumbled out, but if they were honest, they were probably all wondering about Kasia. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘God, no.’ Annalise tossed her mane of golden hair, shorter and finer than in her modelling days. ‘Well, I hadn’t thought so anyway.’ She smiled a half-smile, endearing and heart-breaking all at once. ‘Who’d have thought that he had some young one on the go at the same time?’ There could be bitterness yet, but it was early days.

  ‘We don’t know that the child is his, Annalise.’

  ‘Oh, come on? It’s not as if he doesn’t have form.’ Annalise watched her. Grace supposed she must seem old and past it to this beauty queen.

  ‘I’d have expected Evie to be the first here.’ She changed the subject fast; a little worry crept into her voice. ‘I think I’ll ring her house phone.’

  ‘Hasn’t she got a mobile? Surely she’d be on her way already.’

  ‘It’s the only number I have for her.’ Grace took out her phone and dialled the number. ‘Engaged.’ Either Evie Considine hadn’t hung up properly or she was still at home chatting away merrily on her telephone. ‘She sounded kind of funny when I spoke to her last night.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Annalise scanned the restaurant, a bored expression on her face. Most of the clientele here were her mother’s generation.

  ‘I mean, she just sounded a bit off. She was different, not very together? Last night, well, it was as if she dipped into la-la land.’

  ‘Maybe she’s a bit of a drinker, at that age especially. All on her own in a big house…’

  ‘What age do you think she is?’

  ‘Old. Seventy?’

  Grace scrutinized Annalise Connolly, wondered what she and Paul ever had in common apart from two sets of X and Y-chromosomes that would bind them together forever. ‘I’m going to her house to see if she’s all right.’ Grace took a tenner from her purse, left it on the table. ‘Well, are you coming?’ She didn’t really want to go on her own; something about Evie Considine scared the wits out of her. Maybe Grace still cast herself in the role as the mistress.

  *

  The heavy gate creaked a noisy welcome and the doorbell rang loudly beyond the heavy wood and faded Cardinal red paint. Deep inside, Grace thought she could hear the bell ring out again. They stood for a few minutes in silence; there wasn’t much to say.

  ‘I don’t think she’s here, or if she is, she has no intention of answering her door to us.’ Annalise looked as if she’d rather be having her toes waxed than standing at Evie Considine’s front door.

  ‘Should we take a look around the back?’ The curtains were drawn back, apart from a large angular window that jutted out at the top of the house. Here the blinds shut the world out with an obstinacy that glared at her. She wandered round the back of the house. It interested her, in some macabre way. She’d probably never be here again, and it was almost as if she was getting an altered insight into Paul’s life. After all, this is what he had left for her. A garage stood pigheadedly to the side of the house. Inside, she could see the shape of a small car, covered with grey tarpaulin. Everything about the place seemed set, secure, as though strapped in for the long
haul. The back of the house yielded no more than the front, apart from a view into a sparse kitchen – designed perhaps a hundred years before her own. Small steps led up to a heavy rear door, more suited to a farmhouse than the genteel surroundings of this affluent area. Grace stood for a moment, wondered how often Paul had stood here and looked across the garden. When had he been here last? Then, with as much determination as she could muster, she turned on her heels. She would ring Evie again and if there were no answer, she’d try to get inside.

  ‘No sign of any life round the back.’ Grace dialled Evie’s landline as she walked towards Annalise. She pressed her face close to the mottled glass panel of the door. If only Evie would wander towards her, perfectly put together, pearls in place. In the hall, she could just make out the phone, off the hook. She hung up before she even got the dial tone. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I say we leave her to it. Give the woman a bit of space.’ Annalise examined her watch again. ‘If you’re worried then maybe we leave it for a few hours, try again. Obviously she forgot about our appointment.’ It was long cancelled at this stage and both women, if they didn’t actually say it, shared a sense of relief about that. There was never a good time to read Paul’s will, but today seemed like it was too soon, but even so, her impression of Evie was that she’d show up no matter how uncomfortable if she had agreed she would.

  ‘There’s something not right.’ Something niggled at her. An inner voice, something familiar, as though Paul was at her shoulder, nudging her. She lifted the flap of the letter box to look in to the hall, left towards the heavy oak staircase dog-legging up into the high floors above. Then, something caught her eye. A long dark band of cord. Grace slipped her hand further into the letter box, flicked the cord across. At the end, the faded silver of the front door key dangled forlornly.