by Jackie Walsh
My hands shake as I rip through every envelope until each card is opened. Thankfully, there are no more accusations, only congratulations. I feel my heartbeat return to normal and place the cards standing up on the table.
A wave of tiredness washes over me. It’s hard work being a nervous wreck, so I lie down on the sofa and close my eyes. The sound of the birds’ song travels in through the open window. It’s a beautiful sound, a peaceful sound. There are a lot of birds’ nests in the forest at the end of the garden, so we’re never without this treat.
In the city, the only time I heard a bird sing was early in the morning, very early before any buses or cars or commuters showed up to provide the soundtrack to the day. Now, I can hear them all day long and it relaxes me.
After about twenty minutes, Shay decides I’ve rested for long enough. His soft cry breaks through the calm. Dragging my head off the cushion, I go to him and pick him up. Shay wants food. I put the bottle in the heater and switch it on.
Outside, I notice the sun has retreated behind the clouds. I also notice smoke drifting above the forest trees. Pat is back.
Chapter Fifty-One
Maggie arrives at the house with an enthusiasm that I’ve often wished for. She walks past me with her head held high. Even with all the spraying and mopping that went on earlier, I can still get a faint smell of stale beer in the air.
‘Well, I’m glad that’s over,’ she sighs, dropping her handbag on the counter.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Maggie. I’d never have been able to do it at such short notice.’ With the kettle in my hand, I walk to the tap.
‘The cleaners did a good job,’ she says, glancing around the room while taking her place on a stool at the counter.
‘Coffee or tea?’ I say.
‘Tea would be lovely and if you have any of the cake left…’
The white box sits open on the countertop. The remains of the christening cake, which looks like it was cut with bare hands, are inside.
‘I do.’ I cut Maggie a slice of cake and think to myself that the cake would be a great excuse to go and see Pat. I need to talk to that man.
‘I’ll drop a piece down to Pat while you’re here,’ I say.
‘Oh, where was Pat yesterday? I’m only noticing his absence now,’ Maggie says.
‘He was away for a few days.’
‘Away? Pat? Where would he have to go?’
Resting the plate on the counter beside the teacup I leave the question hanging in the air.
‘I thought he only left that cottage to go to the pub,’ Maggie says, before putting a piece of cake in her mouth.
‘Does he never go away for a break?’ I say.
Maggie hurries to swallow the cake so she can elaborate. ‘No, it’s Mass on a Sunday and the pub every day of the week.’ She breaks another piece off the slice and lifts it, but before she puts it in her mouth, I ask: ‘Did Vicky ever mention Pat to you?’
‘Me?’ Maggie straightens her head and looks at me. ‘Why would she say anything to me?’
‘Oh I just thought she might have mentioned him when you met her in the graveyard that day.’ With my back to Maggie, I clench my teeth. She’s not going to like me mentioning that again, but I need to shake every tree if I’m to find out what’s going on. Maggie doesn’t take the bait. Silence.
Wrapping a slice of cake in tinfoil, I place it on the counter, letting the silence linger. After a few minutes Maggie coughs, then immediately begins to talk about the party again like I’d never mentioned Vicky Murphy. She moves over to look at the presents, continuing to talk non-stop so I don’t get the opportunity to return the conversation to where I left off.
Eventually she asks me some questions, wanting to know who gave what gifts. Especially which ones were from her closest friends. Thankfully I have it all written down and ready for her. Maggie is impressed. She nods her approval, taking the list from my hands. This is my opportunity to go down to Pat.
I wasn’t sure if I was going to see Pat again. Which worried me because I want to tell him he made a mistake. Conor left the house to switch the alarm off in the brewery. Conor will be so happy with me for clearing it up with Pat.
‘Do you mind hanging on here while I drop this down to Pat?’ I say, lifting the foil-wrapped piece of cake in my hand.
‘No, not at all, you fire away. I’ll keep my eye on Shay.’
Maggie walks over to the crib and looks in at her grandson.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind? I’ll only be a minute.’
‘I’m not in any hurry, Laura, I could stand and watch this little man all day.’
* * *
The silence is creepy when I get to the forest, the only sounds are the birds and the crunch of leaves below my feet. I imagine Shay having a lot of fun here when he’s older. Hiding from his mammy. Making a treehouse with his daddy. Playing hide and seek with his pals who will always want to come and play with him because he’ll have all the best toys and will know how to share them. I’ll make sure of that. Just because his daddy owns the brewery does not mean he will be treated any differently from other kids.
The forest smells thick and damp. I make my way to the little cottage, where a dim light flickers from one of the windows. Smoke is coming from the chimney. Stepping into the clearing is like stepping back in time. Or onto a movie set where someone from the eighteenth century is baking bread and shooting at visitors.
There’s no bell or door knocker so I wrap my knuckle against the ageing wood and wait. Pat has never had any visitors that I’ve seen, apart from the detectives. It’s probably how he wants it. Otherwise, why would he live here? He had the option of moving into the town when Conor rebuilt the old house.
The sound of footsteps slowly approaches from behind the door, followed by a creak as the door pulls open. My heart is beating faster because I don’t know how Pat will welcome me. Lifting his hand to his cap he pulls on it gently and nods. The smell of burning logs wafts out from the open doorway. Pat says nothing, waiting for me to talk.
‘I brought you some cake,’ I say, holding out the parcel.
Pat looks at it.
‘It’s from the christening party yesterday. Little Shay was christened. I thought you might have called in but you didn’t, so here.’
I push the cake closer to him. Pat leans back, before slowly raising his hand to take it. He looks at the parcel like it is a bomb in his hand. Has no one ever given him anything before?
‘It’s just some cake,’ I say.
Pat nods, then moves to go back inside. If he closes the door, I won’t get a chance to say what I came here to say.
‘Pat.’
He turns his attention back to me.
‘I was wondering if we could have a chat. I think you might have made a mistake.’
Baggy skin droops over his piercing eyes, which are now fixed on me. I can feel my heart racing. Why am I nervous? He’s just an old man. What harm can he do? Pat remains silent, waiting for me to elaborate.
‘With Conor… you told the detective he left the house the night Vicky Murphy was killed.’
Pat keeps his stare on me.
‘Conor did leave the house that night. The alarm in the brewery went off and he had to go to switch it off. It’s faulty, it has happened a few times.’
I jerk backwards when Pat lifts his hand suddenly to scratch his forehead. He smiles. It’s not a ‘happy to see you’ smile. It’s more a sarcastic ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’ grin. Why won’t he say anything?
Wrapping my arms across my chest, I shuffle from one foot to the other. Is he never going to speak?
I’ve almost given up hope when I hear Pat clear his throat with a raspy cough. His head bends forward but he remains standing in the same position.
‘Thanks for the cake,’ he says before turning to go back into the house.
What do I do? I can’t give up that easily.
‘Pat, please. You misread the situation. Conor had nothing to do wi
th Vicky’s death, he’s not capable of that.’
He turns to me, his eyes a little less intense. Pat thinks I don’t know about the accident in the brewery. How he thought it wasn’t an accident.
‘If it’s because of the accident, Conor didn’t do it on purpose, Pat.’
He shrugs, disdain evident in his expression.
‘That was just an accident.’
I’m pleading with Pat when he says, ‘Is that what they told you?’
‘Yes. That’s what everyone says, including the coroner.’
‘Did they tell you about the argument?’
‘No… what argument?’
‘The day of the so-called “accident”. Conor and Seamus?’
I feel like I’m shrinking in front of him. ‘There was an argument? The day of the accident? But…’
Deirdre never mentioned this to me. I’m shocked to hear it but what has it to do with the night Vicky Murphy died? Pat clearly believes that Seamus’s accident was something to do with the argument. Is that why he told the detectives about Conor leaving the house? Has he been waiting in the woods for his revenge? Does he not know the coroner reported Seamus’s death to be an accident? That no one else ever thought it was anything but an accident? Maggie told me.
‘Pat. Seamus’s death was an accident. A horrible accident.’ He’s about to close the door. ‘Conor barely even knew Vicky, he had no reason to kill her Pat.’ I can hear the desperation in my voice. I need Pat to believe me.
‘Conor had a very big motive for killing Vicky Murphy,’ he says. Then he closes the door.
Chapter Fifty-Two
I stand for a minute, trying to keep my balance. I feel like the ground has been torn from underneath me. What did he mean? Conor had a motive. What motive? I’m barely able to catch my breath. I contemplate whether to knock again but decide against it. Slowly I move away from the door.
Walking back to the house, I see Maggie looking out the window. I have to act cool, like nothing happened. I wave and she waves back. When I get inside, she asks how Pat is and where he has been. I tell her we didn’t get into that; we just talked about the weather and he took the cake.
‘Oh well, I’ll leave you to it,’ she says, putting her coat on. ‘I’ve to meet Helen in the coffee shop at three.’
Maggie looks at her watch. Always in a hurry. I want to tell her to take it easy, not to always be running and racing. But I don’t. Instead I thank her again for the great party and tell her I’ll see her soon.
I collapse onto the sofa. My head drooped in my hands. What the hell is going on? Does Pat really think Conor had a motive or is he just exacting his revenge? I never noticed how much he hated Conor before. But then I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t know about Seamus’s accident. Conor killed Pat’s best friend. But Vicky Murphy? Does he really think Conor killed her or is he just putting two and two together? He saw Conor leaving the house. He thinks Conor killed his dad which makes him capable of murder. It’s quite a stretch. But Pat has no life, sitting on his own in that dull, dark cottage, day in day out. Nothing to do but dream up my nightmare.
A dull dead pain throbs in my head. I’m massaging my temples when suddenly I realise that Pat must have sent the card. Pat must really believe Conor killed Vicky. I have to get to Conor. I need to warn him before Pat does any more damage.
Grabbing a little grey jumpsuit from the pile of clothes on the countertop, I walk over to where Shay is stirring in his crib. His beautiful blue eyes are open wide. Excited to see me, he kicks his legs in anticipation.
‘Okay Shay, we’re going to visit Daddy at work.’
* * *
The car rumbles through the stone yard and out the gate. The sun is low and strong. Pulling the visor down, I attempt to block the rays from shining in Shay’s eyes. My hand grips the wheel as I make my way through the village and down the back road to the Caldwell Brewery.
I should have said no to Conor when he asked if I was okay with Pat living on the land at the back of the house. But I was so thrilled to be moving into that house I would have allowed Fossett’s Circus to set up out back.
Conor told me Pat had lived there all his life and had never been a bother. So who was I to come along and evict him? Of course, Conor didn’t tell me his mother hated Pat living there. Did he even know? Maybe Maggie was once like me, tight-lipped with her opinions. Maybe she felt privileged to be part of the Caldwell empire. After all, Maggie herself was shoved up the class ladder when she married Seamus. Taking control of her own reins may only have happened when Seamus died.
I swerve down the bockety road and arrive at the entrance of the brewery. Arthur, the security man, comes out to greet me.
I roll down the window to talk to him. The smell of stale beer oozes from his breath.
‘How are you, Laura? I heard you had a right old shindig yesterday.’
His face is red, sweat gathered below his security cap. Arthur looks like he might have enjoyed his own shindig yesterday.
‘Yes, it was a great day.’
Arthur looks over at Shay.
‘So you’re one of us now, little man,’ he says.
‘Indeed he is.’
‘You’ll be wanting me to lift the barrier.’
‘Thanks Arthur.’
Inside the door, the sweet sickening smell of cooking beer hits me in the face. My stomach lurches. This is not the place to come after a night of too much drink.
I take a deep breath and proceed down the corridor to Conor’s office, knocking before opening the door. It’s empty. Conor is not here. When I knock on Olive’s door, I hear a voice invite me in. It’s Deirdre.
‘Well hello, what a lovely surprise.’
‘Sorry for interrupting, Deirdre, I was looking for Conor.’
Deirdre’s eyes are red. She smiles through a mask of makeup and perseverance. She stands up and walks over to take the car seat from me.
‘Hello, little man,’ she says, putting the car seat onto the desk. ‘Did you enjoy your party? You do know it’s your fault we’re all just hanging in here today.’ Deirdre’s head turns from Shay to me.
‘Actually Olive didn’t make it in at all,’ she says.
‘Oh.’
‘Yes. She was getting sick half the night. No stamina, that one.’
‘I didn’t think she had that much to drink.’
‘You didn’t see her leaving.’ Deirdre laughed.
‘But didn’t she drive home?’
‘Don’t go there.’ Deirdre sighs, then says, ‘Well, what can I do for you?’
‘Nothing really, I just came in to see Conor but his office is empty. Is he down on the factory floor?’
‘Conor was called out. Do you want me to give him a buzz, let him know you’re here?’ Deirdre sits back down at her desk and lifts the phone.
‘No, I was just passing by.’ I don’t want Deirdre to sense the urgency.
There’s an empty Lucozade bottle beside a large bottle of water sitting on the desk. I smile to myself when I see it. Memories.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Deirdre asks, but I can tell she’s just being polite. The last thing she needs now is to entertain me.
‘No Deirdre, thanks, I’ll head on.’ I can see the relief on her face. I wonder if she remembers telling me about the accident in the brewery yesterday. I’m about to open the door when I feel opportunity tapping me on the shoulder.
Turning back around, I say, ‘Deirdre, can I ask you something?’
‘Yes,’ she says, looking a little dubious.
‘Yesterday you were telling me about the day of the accident.’
Deirdre nods. Keeping her eyes on me, she takes an obvious breath. ‘I can barely remember… but go ahead.’
‘Was there an argument between Conor and Seamus that day?’
She huffs a laugh. ‘Was there what? There was an argument between those two at least once a week, nothing different that day.’
‘Oh, I was under the impression they
got on well.’
‘They did, they got on very well but they were always arguing. Always the same thing too. Seamus wanted Conor to take over the business. Conor wanted to leave to study something to do with the stars or the sky, I don’t know.’
‘So that day was…’
‘That day was no different, Laura. No different at all, other than Seamus had a fatal accident.’
I nod and pull on the handle of the door.
‘Do you mind not mentioning that I asked you about it?’
‘About what?’ she says, smiling at me before pulling her keyboard closer.
Chapter Fifty-Three
With Shay safely strapped into the car, I turn the key in the ignition and head for home. Knowing Conor and his dad often argued weakens Pat’s case. The man sure does entertain his imagination.
Seeing Deirdre struggle through the day with a hangover reminded me of Mondays at Imanage. The Lucozade. The bacon sandwiches. The clock moving at a slower pace than any other day of the week. I struggled to get through every Monday after putting in a mad weekend of partying and drinking until the early hours.
A surge of melancholy washes over me. Do I miss it? I’d certainly love to go back for one more weekend. The freedom was wonderful. Doing what I wanted, when I wanted, with whom I wanted. No one to answer to. Until it all went wrong.
As if reading my mind, Shay lets out a little whimper, reminding me how happy I should be.
‘I wouldn’t switch you for the world, little man.’ I turn to look at him and feel a surge of warmth rush through my body.
Arthur is at the gate when I pull up. He waves at me like we’re best friends now. That’s one thing I like about this place. Once you meet someone, they never forget you. There’s always a hello or a wave the next time you see them.