Aftermath

by Joanne Clancy

“No, I wanted to surprise her, catch her off guard. I didn't want to risk her refusing to see me. I need answers, mama, and she's the only person who can give them to me.”

  Chantale's first thought was that Kerry Darcy looked old. She seemed much, much older than Hope, although that might have been because the other woman was unnaturally pale and very thin; she was skin and bones really. Dark smudges lined her eyes and her cheeks were hollow in her face. Her auburn hair was sticking up around her head, possibly as a result of her incessantly running her hands through it; quite obviously a nervous habit. Her entire body seemed to be collapsing in on itself and she walked with the aid of a crutch, leaning heavily on it as she hobbled through to the living room.

  “We meet at last,” Kerry smiled wanly at the two women who stood awkwardly in front of her. “Please, take a seat. I'll make us some tea. I won't be a second.”

  “Don't go to any trouble on our account,” Chantale insisted. She felt a sudden dart of sympathy for the other woman.

  “No, it's no trouble. The kettle's just boiled. I was about to have a cup anyway.”

  She hobbled off to the kitchen, leaving her two unexpected guests alone in the living room. Kerry closed the kitchen door behind her and leaned against the counter for support. She was glad to have a few minutes alone to gather herself together. So this was the woman claiming to be married to her husband. It couldn't be possible, but why would she lie? It was a huge shock to see Hope. Kerry knew the day would eventually come when they would have to meet but she hadn't been expecting to see a heavily pregnant woman at her door. Conor wouldn't do this to me, would he? She couldn't believe it, she wouldn't. He loved her too much to ever betray her so deeply. “This is such a nightmare,” she groaned. “Am I ever going to wake up?”

  Chantale appeared in the kitchen, startling her from the whirlwind of thoughts that were engulfing her addled brain. “Let me help you with that,” she offered, picking up the tray where Kerry had neatly placed the teapot and cups.

  “Thank you,” Kerry smiled stiffly as she hobbled back into the living room. They busied themselves for some minutes stirring sugar and milk into their tea. The silence between them was palpable. “I was wondering when you'd show up.”

  Hope shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn't appreciate the other woman's tone and she could feel her blood beginning to boil. “You're obviously completely out of your mind,” Hope responded in a dead-pan voice, looking Kerry directly in the eyes.

  Kerry seemed taken aback for a moment, as if she'd been slapped sharply across the face. She stared at Hope in bewilderment. “I have no idea who you are or who you think you're married to, but I can tell you right here, right now that Conor Darcy is my husband, not yours,” she retaliated.

  “He’s not your husband!” Hope snapped. “I feel sorry for you, you poor deluded woman. You've got it very wrong; you're talking about my husband and for your information, his name is Niall Gilligan.”

  Kerry shook her head, trying to blink back the tears that welled up in her eyes at the sharpness of the other woman's voice. “I wish I was wrong,” she said quietly. “There's been a terrible mix-up and I'm sorry that you've been caught in the middle of it, but I know my husband,” her voice broke. “He's an honourable, kind, loyal man. He would never cheat on me or our lives together.”

  “You're on the wrong end of the mix-up,” Hope persisted, clenching and unclenching her fists in frustration. “You're wrong; it's as simple as that. I don't understand why you're being so insistent but you're wrong.”

  “My mom knows my dad,” Saoirse entered the room unexpectedly. She'd been in town with her friends and had arrived home early. Kerry hadn't even heard her key in the front door. She didn't know how long she'd been standing there, hovering by the door. How much had she heard? “I know my dad too and I know he'd never cheat on my mom. He loves her too much. I don't understand why you're here talking such nonsense while he could be out there somewhere dead for all we know. You're a very bad, cruel woman to come here like this and you have some nerve being here upsetting us like this.”

  Hope glared at the teenager and took a few deep breaths to steady herself. “Do you honestly think that I want to be here?” she demanded. “I've been waiting for my husband to come home for months. I don't know where he is or what might have happened to him, but I can tell you one thing for sure, I'm going to bloody well find out and I don’t care who I might upset in the process!”

  There was silence as they all stared wordlessly at each other.

  “Getting annoyed with each other isn't going to help the situation,” Chantale said, breaking the mutinous silence that had descended. “You shouldn't be distressing yourself and the baby.” She patted her daughter's arm in reassurance.

  The burning anger suddenly evaporated from Hope's body and she began to shake. “I can't breathe,” she gasped. “I can't...help me...”

  “Quick, Saoirse! Get the bags in the kitchen,” Kerry ordered.

  Saoirse ran out of the room and quickly returned with a small brown paper bag which she handed to Hope.

  “Breathe into this,” Kerry instructed the other woman. “Take your time. You'll be fine.”

  Hope gratefully took the bag and put it over her nose and mouth. Slowly, but surely, her ragged breathing began to return to normal. “Thank you,” she smiled weakly. “How did you know what to do?”

  “You're welcome. I used to have panic attacks for a few months after the tsunami and the doctor told me to breathe into a bag.”

  “Attention-seeker,” Saoirse muttered under her breath.

  Kerry squeezed her daughter's arm.

  “There's no way my Dad would have anything to do with someone like you,” Saoirse snapped. “He hates melodramatics and you seem like a major drama queen to me. I think you're lying.” She glared defiantly at Hope.

  “I wish I was lying,” Hope replied, still holding the paper bag.

  “How can you come to my house, completely unannounced and create such a big fuss? You've upset me and my daughter and we don't even know if we're talking about the same man! The fact is that we both lost our husbands in the tsunami. You've convinced yourself that they're the same man just because they look alike! I know you're suffering, but we're suffering too.”

  Kerry felt very tired. She didn't want the other woman sitting in her house, talking about her husband like he belonged to her. She had no right to be there, intruding on her worry and grief and Saoirse was right; Conor wouldn't be remotely interested in a drama queen like Hope. He liked calm, steady women like her with a bit of excitement in the bedroom, but not this hysterical, over-the-top crying and breathlessness. He wouldn't have entertained her for a minute.

  “Do you have to look at me like that?” Hope asked.

  “Like what exactly?”

  “Like something disgusting you just stepped on,” Hope replied. “You have no right to sit there and look down on me.”

  “I don't want to look at you at all. Remember, you invited yourself here, not me.”

  Kerry leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes for a moment. Despite her certainty that Conor wouldn't be interested in someone like Hope, the fact was that the woman was here, in her home. She wasn't an unattractive woman either, Kerry admitted reluctantly. She wasn't stunningly beautiful or anything, but she could see why some men might be into her. What she couldn't see was the possibility of any relationship between Hope and Conor, let alone a marriage! Where would Conor get the time? He scarcely had enough time for her and his daughters. What if they had been romantically involved? There was no way that Hope could be telling the truth about being married to him, but maybe, just maybe they had had a liaison. No, Conor wouldn't that to me, she told herself. He was always faithful to me. I know it!

  “I realise this situation is very upsetting for everyone.”

  Kerry jumped at the sound of Chantale's voice. She'd hardly said two sentences so far.

  “We do understand how you feel, Mrs. Darcy.�
�

  “Do we?” Hope turned on her mother. “Are you taking her side now?”

  “I'm not taking anyone's side, darling,” Chantale tried to explain. “There are no sides in this whole sorry mess.” She reached over and opened her daughter's handbag, rummaging about in it before she unearthed her wallet. “Look at him,” she passed the wallet to Kerry, which contained a photograph of Niall smiling happily.

  Kerry and Saoirse stared at the photo, studying it intently.

  “He is the spitting image of Dad,” Saoirse said reluctantly.

  “I've never seen two people who were so alike,” Kerry whispered, not quite believing the photo in front of her. If someone had told her that it was a picture of Conor, she wouldn't have argued otherwise. They had the same smile, the same shock of black hair and the same unmistakable twinkling blue eyes. The likeness was uncanny.

  “I know you think we're wrong, but Conor and Niall are the same man,” Hope insisted. She sounded almost triumphant at the fact that Kerry and Saoirse accepted the two men were identical.

  “Are you his...mistress?” Kerry felt sick at having to speak the abhorrent word aloud. “Are you having an affair with him? Is that it?”

  “Don't be ridiculous!” Hope cried. “Do you honestly think I'd be here if I was having an affair with him? I swear to you on the life of my unborn child that I'm not. I'm married to him. I married him last year in west Cork and it was the happiest day of our lives. Actually, we were going to be celebrating our first wedding anniversary when he returned from Japan.” Her voice cracked and she couldn't continue. It was too much.

  “This isn't getting us anywhere,” Chantale interjected. “Why don't we try to work together to find Niall or Conor rather than getting more and more upset about the situation?”

  “There is no situation. The only situation is in your daughter's head!” Kerry said firmly. “She clearly has problems, not me.”

  “No I bloody well don't!” Hope shouted. She was absolutely furious. Who the hell did she think she was talking to her in that condescending, patronising tone of voice?

  “Please,” Chantale pleaded. “Can't we try to be calm? Believe me, Mrs. Darcy; we want clarification just as much as you.

  “Why don't I make some tea?” Saoirse interrupted.

  “Great idea,” Chantale agreed. “I'd love a cup of tea. Let me help you.”

  When the tea arrived, laced with sugar, Hope wrapped her hands around her cup and sipped the scalding hot, too-sweet liquid. It burned the roof of her mouth and the tip of her tongue, but she didn't care. She stared unseeingly in front of her, trying desperately to understand what was going on. How was it that that only a few short months ago her biggest worry was telling Niall that she was pregnant? Now, her whole life was turned upside down. Not only did she have to cope with her husband being missing but there was another woman who firmly believed that she was married to him too! If it was a film she would have dismissed it as being completely ludicrous.

  Hope took another sip of her tea and glanced around the room. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts and nobody seemed to want to make an effort to talk. Everyone had finally run out of steam. She peered over her cup at Kerry and Saoirse. Not only was there another woman claiming to be her husband's wife, but there was also a scowling teenager who believed she was his daughter! Hope simply couldn't comprehend that Niall might have a daughter. He'd talked so movingly and lovingly about wanting a child of his own with her one day, that it was impossible to accept that he was a father already. How could he have kept that from her?

  Niall had been the one who talked about children, who wanted to have children more than her. He'd been gently trying to persuade her to have a baby for a while, saying that the time was never really one hundred per cent perfect to have a baby, but that they could cope together. He'd talked about his need to have a family of his own one day, after the years of his childhood when he'd felt he never really belonged anywhere. Why did he need a family with her if he already had one? Why had he made her think that what happened between them was unique and wonderful when quite clearly it wasn't? Hope couldn't decide if she was more upset about the daughter than the wife.

  Her gaze alighted on the framed photographs which were dotted around the room. There was a large framed family portrait in pride of place over the fire. Hope guessed that Saoirse must have been around seven or eight when the photo was taken as her wide, beaming smile was rather gap-toothed. Beside her was a very pretty girl. She looked a few years older, maybe about eleven or twelve. Their parents stood smiling proudly behind them. They seemed so happy it made Hope feel physically sick. There were two silver-framed photos on the mantelpiece. One was of a smiling fair-haired baby with round, chubby cheeks and the other was of the Darcys on their wedding day. It was an outdoor photo taken in a cliff-top setting, with spectacular views out over Cork harbour.

  Hope glanced around the large, oval shaped room with its beautiful bay window overlooking Kinsale Bay. She and her mother were sitting on the large dark brown sofa and there were comfortable armchairs at either side of the fire where Saoirse and Kerry were sitting. There was an oak dining table at the far end of the room with oak chairs to match. The furniture was old-fashioned and a little too dark for the room in her opinion, but the furniture itself was of good quality. Hope was more a fan of modern interior design but she could appreciate the old-world quality of Ballycotton House. How the hell did Niall have enough money to keep both houses running? She wondered. This place must cost a fortune to heat in the winter.

  She had never even remotely suspected that there might be another woman in Niall's wife. How could there be when he was so busy and when their own lives had been full of happiness and closeness? What was it about Kerry and Saoirse and the other daughter that would have made him want to stay with them anyway? There was nothing particularly special about Kerry with her limp hair and exhausted eyes.

  Saoirse unnerved Hope. She studied the girl more intensely and as much as she tried to deny it, there was a definite resemblance between Saoirse and Niall. She tried to dismiss her doubts from her mind, but there really was no denying it. The girl's hair was blonde while Niall's was black but her bright blue eyes were definitely Niall's, not only in their striking colour but in their expression. You could almost see the light of her soul in her blue eyes dancing out at the world, just like Niall's, full of intelligence and curiosity. Hope had doubted she would ever see eyes like Niall's again, until she met Saoirse. She had her mother's colouring and her father's striking attractiveness.

  How could it be possible? Why would Niall have married me when he had a family already? Was he unhappily married to Kerry? If so, why hadn't he simply divorced her? Worse than that, why had he been so keen to start a family with me when Saoirse is living proof that he's been down that road before? Her head was starting to whirl. She couldn't get a firm grasp of the questions and conflicting emotions that were flying through her mind. I must be going crazy, she thought.

  Chantale put a protective arm around her daughter's shoulder. “I think we should be going.”

  “I think that's probably a good idea,” Kerry said quietly, the fight seemed to have left her.

  “We can't leave it like this,” Hope said, rubbing her tired eyes.

  “You need some rest, darling,” her mother insisted, “if not for yourself then for your baby.” Kerry winced at the word “baby.”

  “Good riddance, stupid fat cow,” Saoirse hissed under her breath.

  “Saoirse, that's enough. Get upstairs to your room!” Kerry suddenly snapped. She'd had about enough conflict for one day.

  “I hate you! I wish my dad was here!” Saoirse yelled as she stomped upstairs.

  “You can see yourselves out,” Kerry said curtly to Chantale and Hope.

  Chantale nodded and ushered her daughter out of the living room to the front door. It was dark, but there was a full moon casting an eerie glow across the grounds of Ballycotton House.

  “It's a
ll a horrible mistake,” Hope said as she struggled into the passenger seat of her car. “That woman doesn't know what she's talking about.”

  “I know, love, I know,” Chantale soothed. “Everything will be fine in the end. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation. I promise you we'll work it out.”

  Chapter 9

  Kerry couldn't get Hope's words out of her mind. Hope had said they would have celebrated their first wedding anniversary at the end of March and Kerry was on a mission to find out if her husband had left any trail behind. Maybe there was a note in his diary referencing Hope. She waited until Saoirse went to bed and then she made her way to Conor's home office. It was still practically untouched since before they'd left for Japan. A large oak desk was the main item of furniture and it took up most of the space in the room. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf lined the back wall and his favourite leather chair was stacked with paperwork. She didn't have the heart to change anything and somehow she got great comfort from seeing the familiar untidy mess of his documents that were strewn across his huge oak desk. “Organised chaos,” he'd laugh when she'd nag him to tidy up.

  When she was feeling particularly depressed or really missing him, she'd sit for hours in his battered leather office chair and close her eyes, just thinking about him, but not tonight. Tonight she was on a mission. She was searching for answers and she got the feeling that she was about to start uncovering some truths right here amongst the rubble of her husband's paperwork. She knew what she was searching for; his diary. Conor had a memory like a sieve and couldn't remember anything unless it was written down. He kept his appointments in an old-fashioned Filofax, preferring to write everything down than trust his schedule to modern technology. She'd bought him various technical gadgets over the years but he had resolutely refused to change his ways. He kept the diaries for years, as he hated throwing anything out, afraid that one day they would be important.

  “How will it ever be important for you to know what you were doing ten years ago?” Kerry remembered waving a diary from 1990 in his face one afternoon. “Have you ever actually needed them?”