Dark Mirrors

by Siobhain Bunni

  “It might not be him, you know,” Tom said. “Maybe it’s Brady? Maybe it’s a trap of some kind? But . . . I have to say I think you’re right.”

  “Christ, Tom, this is such a mess!”

  “And assuming it is Philip, what then?”

  “Feck sake, Tom! Don’t ask me questions like that! I don’t know!”

  “Well, you’d better start thinking about it!”

  “I know, I know,” she replied, exasperated, running her hands through her hair for the millionth time. “You’re supposed to be helping me out here, not complicating things even more!”

  “I am helping, just not in the way you imagined.”

  She cast a sceptical sideways glance at her brother and laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “How exactly do you figure that?” she asked sarcastically.

  “All right then.” He leaned forward in his chair. “What are you going to do when you get there?”

  It was a reasonable question, he thought, intended to provoke further consideration, to make her think the whole thing through and, hopefully, change her mind or at least make her see how ludicrous her approach was.

  “I’ll just have to see when I get there, won’t I?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” he shot at her.

  “Tom, it’s Málaga, not outer Mongolia! I’ll book myself into a hotel and see what happens.”

  “Do you not think you’re being just a little irresponsible?”

  He sounded just like their mother – he even looked like her as he folded his arms and furrowed his brow.

  “So!” she threw back. “What do you think I should do? Hand it over to Maloney and his cronies, let them bring him home? Sit back and do nothing? And what about yer man Brady? What if he gets him first?” She stopped as if waiting for him to reply but knew he wouldn’t. “And yes, you’re right,” she conceded. “I probably am being a little reckless, and it could be something engineered by Brady, but I can’t ignore it. I’m taking that flight and I’m going to see who booked me on it and why. I have to see if it is him, Tom,” she implored, begging him to understand, “and if it is, then I need to see him by myself. I need to ask him why. There must be, has to be, an explanation for all this crap. But I’m not doing that in that horrible interview room because that’s where we’d end up and you know it.”

  “Well, let me come with you!”

  “No way! Absolutely not! And land you in the middle of this mess? No way! Besides,” she continued with a smile, “someone will need to look after the kids for me.” Her eyes were suppliant, pleading with him not to object further.

  And he didn’t. Shaking his head in silence, his face spoke volumes about his trepidation but inwardly acknowledged, knowing her as he did, that to protest would be a fruitless exercise.

  “And please don’t tell anyone. Promise?” she pleaded.

  “Promise,” he lied.

  “Tell anyone what? What did I miss?” a dishevelled Fin asked, lolloping into the kitchen wearing Esmée’s dressing-gown.

  Chapter 19

  The cottage had become stifling. Feeling increasingly claustrophobic, with too much time to think, she needed to get out, get some air and expunge her head of the tumultuous thoughts of Philip.

  The sunny Sunday morning called for a trip to the park, a jaunt on the merry-go-round and ice cream served with fresh air and sprinkles. Gathering her little family together, she walked while the kids cycled the short distance, totally oblivious to the mélange of thoughts that were running amuck inside their mother’s head.

  Not an hour went by without his mental invasion. A passing Honda Prelude reminded her of when they first met. He was so grown-up. She remembered their first kiss in the hallway at Joan Hunter’s twenty-first birthday party. Why he was there she never got to find out but he spent most of the night in the kitchen with Joan’s older brother, mocking the hormonal college-going revellers. She remembered how he had picked her out of the crowd and offered to take her home in his beautiful white car. He was so much older than she, so sophisticated with his own apartment to boot, how could she resist?

  “A big ride!” Joan had proclaimed the next day during the obligatory after-party post mortem.

  And he swept her off her feet, wooed her with wine and whispers that touched her heart and when they made love for the first time he was gentle and giving. So different to her previous inept fumblings on the floor of a grotty student bed-sit. So grown up. She remembered the impetuous delight at his glance, the ecstatic ardour of his lips, the chaotic flutter at his touch and the overwhelming rapture of him, just him, that ultimately carried her on the heady wave to marriage. He made it that way, made it so easy for her to fall in love with him. He captured her with his smile, his kiss and his words. And that’s all it was, until he said it to her: Love. She couldn’t believe it was happening. It was too good to be true.

  A hard day to bear the fact, walking the path to the park, that she was right all along. It was too good to be true.

  Their habitual entry through the park gates without fail heralded the unleashing of the imaginary reins that kept her children close by and as she called pointlessly after them to “go easy” they escaped off into the distance in the general direction of the playground, leaving her to follow comfortably on their trail. They were doing all right, she acknowledged tenderly as she watched them go. Knowing that she would never fill the void left by their father she wished that she could, at the very least, make it less noticeable for them, less painful. She found it difficult to entertain the idea that they were part of a lie. She loved them to the moon and back and had always thought of them as the consequence of a tremendous love affair, but knowing it now not to be true she wondered how this would affect them. What would she say when they were older? Would they find out the truth? Did they even need to know? Would they resent her for being so gullible? Would they pity her or love her regardless?

  Feeling maudlin and lonely and full of self-pity, she sat on the park bench and watched them play. Ordinarily she would join in, take them through the climbing frames and encourage them as they slid down the slide frontways, sideways, backwards, anyways, but not today. Today she needed time to think. Over and over she pondered the text on her phone and its implications. She had tried replying to it, had switched on the message-delivery notification, but it had yet to send her the customary ‘delivered’ message. It was an Irish number, probably one of those Pay As You Go networks. He must have bought it and taken it with him, she deduced.

  The sun was hot on her face as she followed the frolics around the play area, thinking as they went of all the questions she had to ask him: all the hows and the whys . . .

  “Mind if I sit down, Es?”

  His voice dragged her from the mental purgatory. That voice! Her eyes fixed dead ahead and every muscle in her body went rigid. This couldn’t be happening. Slowly she crooked her head around to look first at the familiar and unwelcome face of her uninvited companion and then automatically at the play area where frantically she sought out the familiar shapes of her two children. There they were with the man Brady had weeks before called Tommo. They were smiling innocently, captivated as he bent down to chat, handing them what looked like lollipops and then pointing, steering their line of sight, towards her. All three waved before strolling off comfortably together.

  “Wave, Mummy!” Brady instructed lightly, giving her a nudge on the arm.

  A massive surge of adrenaline spurred her into standing, her mouth opening to call to them, only to be grabbed roughly by the arm.

  “Don’t cause a scene,” he said, smiling through gritted teeth, acknowledging the other mums who had turned to stare. “You don’t want to scare them, do you?” His fingers tightened their grip on her arm as a means of belligerent encouragement. “Now!” he instructed firmly. “Smile and wave.”

  Her fear for her children was greater than for herself as she turned and spat at him. “You harm a hair on their heads and I swear . . .”

 
“Them’s fightin’ words. Ohhhh, I love a woman with a bit a spirit!”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know you do, Es, darlin’, I know you do!” He shook his head. “Relax!” His words were delivered pleasantly enough but with an undeniable threatening undertone. “Let’s chat!”

  This couldn’t be a coincidence, she told herself in unqualified horror as reluctantly she sat back down beside him and watched her children walk over to the climbing frame with their new friend. They were in so much trouble. She had told them never to talk to strangers, Matthew should know better! Her head raced. First the text message and now this. Surely it couldn’t be a coincidence? But how could Brady know Philip had, albeit abstractly and not conclusively, contacted her? Or was it Brady himself who had arranged the airline ticket?

  “How’s that hubby of yours?” he asked, smiling sweetly at her.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well now, that’s a surprise!” he mocked. “It’s been, what? A couple of months now and he hasn’t come back for a bit o’ you!” His eyebrows rose in disbelief as he trailed a slow leering look over her, and even though wisely enough he chose not to touch her, in her head she could feel his hands all over her.

  “Jaysus!” he finished. “You must be gagging for it! Saw you out and about last week though . . .”

  His loud throaty nicotine laugh penetrated the air around them, causing numerous unappreciative stares to fall upon its instigator, and instinctively Esmée wrapped her arms around herself.

  “So,” wiping the spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand, “no sign then?”

  “I’ve already told you no!”

  He studied her a while, his smile disappearing. She could almost hear the tiny cogs of his mind spinning as he considered his next move.

  “Somethin’ tells me you’re not being honest with me.”

  “Why would I lie to you?” she asked, pointing to the climbing frame as she spoke. “Would I put those kids in danger for a man who has left me to fend for myself? I’ve got no money, no dignity and no father for my children.” Brave and protective, she took a breath without pausing for more than a second and persisted in her pretence. “Do you not think I want to punish him as much as you do?” She didn’t have to try too hard to sound passionate and credible in her defence because for a split second, for those exact same reasons, she actually considered turning him in to the bully who sat dangerously close beside her.

  “You’re a smart bird all right,” Jim Brady finally replied, apparently satisfied and convinced by her performance. “Well,” he said, pulling up the waistband of his trousers as he stood, “it’s been nice chatting to ya.” He turned and whistled in the direction of his human pet, flicking his head at the same time to indicate a swift return to his side, which Tommo did without question, leaving the two children safe and alone in the playground.

  “I’ll drop by again soon,” he threatened while patting his overweight belly and scanning the area, and headed off in the general direction of the exit.

  Her eyes stuck to the two men, watching them leave, and did not alter their focus until they were long out of sight. She thought she was going to be sick and leaned over herself to rest her elbows on her knees and her head in her shaking hands.

  “Mum?” Matthew called as he ran to her from the other side of the playground, Amy in his wake.

  “What did that man mean when he said he’d sort out Daddy for us?”

  “Is he going to bring Daddy back soon?” Amy asked.

  “Don’t mind him,” Esmée replied softly, trying her best to jest, as if she understood the joke and it was only they who didn’t. “What he means is that he’ll look out for Daddy and if he sees him he’ll help him to make his way home.” She hoped it sounded convincing.

  “I miss Daddy!” Amy whined, climbing onto Esmée’s knee and placing her thumb in her mouth as she snuggled into her chest.

  “Don’t be such a cry-baby!” Matthew protested, miffed by his little sister’s almost acceptable display of emotion.

  “Hey! Hey!” Esmée remonstrated, pulling her son to her. “It’s okay to miss him, you know!”

  “Do you miss him?” he asked, looking up to her, his eyes ardently searching her face for assurance.

  “Of course I do.” It was neither a lie nor a truth but a neutral statement where any other answer wouldn’t have been acceptable or fair.

  Kissing each of them affectionately on the head, she held them tight, taking strength from their innocence and unconditional love for her. As she looked out over the playground she was afraid, repeating the paranoid questions. Did Brady know about her planned excursion? Was it him? Did he arrange it to test her? To see if she would own up to a possible communication from her dearly, desperately, departed husband? Maybe. Well, it was too late now and she felt decidedly exposed to harm. Tom was right! She was being reckless and irresponsible. How could she put herself at risk like this with these two mites relying on her, who only had her? It wasn’t too late to change her mind. She didn’t have to take the flight, if she didn’t want to.

  Chapter 20

  Like a junkie in Amsterdam, for Esmée airports were a real hit: an exotic cocktail of fear and excitement blended into one intoxicating rush. Yes, she loved airports – under normal circumstances, that is: like during the annual pilgrimage to the Canaries, usually Lanzarote or sometimes Fuertaventura, depending on how adventurous they felt. And at this point in her usual journey, corralled in the departure lounge along with her eager companions, she, would usually be just about able to contain her smouldering anticipation. But this time she was alone and was feeling about as adventurous as a minnow navigating shark-infested waters. This time there was no predictably fabulous package holiday somewhere predictably hot, predictably family-orientated and predictably well-organised to look forward to. For the first time in her life Esmée would be flying alone, and for the first time in her life she was dreading the flight.

  Shifting on her feet, she looked again at her watch. With departure time fast approaching she was beginning to worry. Her only instruction from the text was to take flight EI605 on June 27th – today’s date. That was it. After that she was walking blind. She had assumed there would be further direction once she checked in but all she managed to glean was where she was going: Southern Spain’s Málaga airport . . . and after that? Who knew? For Esmée, a marginal control freak, the ignorance was persecution.

  From the shadows at the back of the departure lounge she studied the groups, which minded their belongings with protective caution, taking special interest in those who, like her, appeared to be traveling solo. Feeling conspicuous, sure she stood out from the multi-hued camouflage of fellow passengers, she extracted her book from the paper bag the shop assistant had placed it in only moments before and gave a poor impression of someone engrossed. Unused to paying this much attention to anyone else other than her children, she, like a sleuth on her virgin case, cast out furtive glances from behind the novel’s pages. But the only thing her inexperienced eyes registered was a sea of dark glasses perched seasonally on the heads and on the odd pretentious nose. What should she be looking for? Trench coats and trilbies in this day and age, especially in this heat, were unlikely, never mind farfetched. How would she know if someone was looking for her? They, her fellow passengers, all looked harmless enough, with none standing out as a potential antagonist. Even the guy in the green bomber jacket and jeans ripped at the knees, carrying no hand luggage, seemed innocent enough. Clean-shaven and utterly absorbed in some fashionably acceptable male magazine, with no obvious scars or weapons, he didn’t appear to qualify as the stereotypical criminal. Momentarily appeased, she forced her galloping breath to regain its natural rhythm. Ridiculous as it seemed to even wonder it, she was not, as far as she could tell, being followed.

  It felt peculiar sitting unaccompanied amongst the families and couples with collectively more books, bags and buckets than your average pound shop. She could almost taste
the cheap tanning lotion and she didn’t know whether to be jealous or sympathetic to their cause. It was this irony along with the sudden surge towards the gate that put a rigid smile on her face. Seats around her emptied quicker than they had first been occupied as the sole and slightly dishevelled flight attendant took up position behind the desk. With her mismatched ensemble of fluorescent yellow jacket over snug blazer and fitted short skirt over pert buttocks she, in the absence of even a word, brought with her a blanket of anticipation provoking the flock to migrate mindlessly towards the desk.

  Well, Esmée inhaled, silently priming for whatever was about to happen, here we go . . . won’t be too much longer now. Sensing the underarm moisture begin to gather and further aggravate her discomfort, she reluctantly joined the congregating herd, feeling safer within their humming swell than exposed on the peripheries.

  She hoped Tom would be all right with the kids. The mere thought of them brought tears to her eyes.

  “Irresponsible” – that’s what Tom had called her. And he was right. She was irresponsible, ridiculously so. What the hell was she doing? It was impossible to ignore the lurking sense of danger amplified by her lack of knowledge. Would she ever see the children again? With no idea of what she was heading for, she had no answer. “I’m going as much for them as for me,” she had told Tom, silently convincing herself. “I have to go.”

  She knew instinctively that the sender of the text was him, and it had to end, this perpetual fear. Discreetly she wiped the tears from her eyes, throwing out a sideways glance, hoping no one had seen her stealthy move. The last thing she needed now was sympathy or attention. She had to be as inconspicuous as possible. Taking a deep breath, she fused tighter into the crowd.

  When eventually they boarded Esmée did so from the rear and took her seat quickly, keeping her head low as she slid into the hard-won window seat. Examining faces as they filed past she feared possible familiarity. What if she recognised someone? What would she do? She was well and truly trapped in this soon-to-be-apparently-weightless metal canister, so worrying about it now was pointless. In a perverse way she was kind of glad that the tedious wait was over, and acknowledged philosophically that she was about to embark on a new journey, literally.