The Actuary's Wife

by K T Bowes

  “You think it’s funny?” Rohan’s brow creased and Emma shook her head.

  “No. I was thinking of something else.”

  “As long as it’s not Dolan!” he spat and Emma snorted.

  “Ooh, touchy, touchy. Of course it’s not him. Stop being an idiot.” Emma slapped his muscular bicep playfully and shrugged herself out of the sheets. The floor boards felt cold underfoot as Emma strode towards the ensuite, feeling Rohan’s desire stretching across the distance between them.

  “Come back to bed, devotchka,” he begged, his voice gruff.

  “No,” she replied with a forced calm. “Make the bed and then see your son.” She closed the door and locked it.

  Emma leaned her forehead against the glass as she showered again, soaping away her husband’s lascivious kisses and banishing the feel of his persuasive fingers on her skin. “I’m so confused,” she whispered to her reflection in the mirror opposite. “I don’t know who to believe anymore.” She heard the bedroom door close as Rohan left and heaved a sigh of relief. She felt trapped between the plausible Christopher Dolan and the convincing words of her husband, not knowing which of the strong men spoke truth and which didn’t. Emma towelled herself dry and dressed in the warm fog of the bathroom, putting off the moment for braving the chilly bedroom. The icy blast was no less unpleasant from having anticipated it, but a small fire burned in the grate, taking the edge off and crackling happily with its feast of kindling and dry logs.

  Downstairs Emma sought her son, holding her breath as she stepped into the sitting room. Farrell gave a doggy yawn from the hearth rug and Nicky sat with his back against the sofa, sucking his thumb as his eyes followed animated figures on the screen. “Did Daddy come and see you?” She glanced around the room in confusion, expecting Rohan to appear from behind a piece of furniture.

  “Yeah,” Nicky replied, his eyes glassy from his involvement with the colourful action in front of them. Emma deliberately put herself between the boy and the TV.

  “What did he say?”

  “Just stuff.” Nicky leaned sideways so he could peer around her legs. When Emma moved again he gazed up at her in annoyance. “Mum!”

  “It’s rude to ignore me, Nicky.”

  “It’s more ruder to stand in front of the telly when someone’s watching it!” he scoffed. He gave an exaggerated sigh and removed his thumb. “I saw Dad. Everyfink’s good. He told me secret man-stuff and it’s fine.”

  “Where’s he gone?” Emma asked, opening her arms wide and looking around the room.

  “He had things to do.”

  “Who put more logs on the fire? Not you?” Emma studied the glowing embers and the fresh wood being licked by the orange flames. “I don’t want you playing with the fires, you could get burned.”

  “Course not.” Nicky moved his whole body to the right to watch a cartoon figure climb a building and do a forward roll onto the roof. “Dad did it. He left something on the mantelpiece for you.”

  Emma stepped over the dog and reached up to the high shelf. Unable to see, she felt around with her fingers until they contacted something small. Drawing it carefully between thumb and finger, Emma pulled it towards her, knowing what it was by touch. The wedding band lay in her palm, vulnerable and stunning as the heat from the fire enveloped her legs. The gold shone and inset diamonds sparkled at intervals along its surface. Tiny wording wrapped itself around the outer edge, skirting the expensive stones and acting as a border along the bottom edge. ‘навеки мой’

  Emma turned to her son, disturbing him again as she asked, “Nicky, what does this mean?” She held the ring towards him and he crawled over, caressing her fingers as he turned the metal in her palm.

  “It’s Russian,” he concluded, seeking approval with his blue eyes.

  “I know that,” Emma replied. “But what does it mean?”

  “How should I know? I can’t read proper Russian; I’m just a little boy.” Indignation spoiled the innocence of his childish face and Emma relented.

  “Fine. But I don’t know what it means.”

  “If it’s from Daddy, it’ll be ‘I love you,’ or something sloppy,” Nicky giggled.

  “I know what that looks like and this isn’t it.” Emma’s shoulders drooped and she looked sad.

  “Look online?” Nicky suggested and Emma shook her head.

  “I think Dad took his laptop, so I can’t.”

  “Oh.” Nicky stroked his mother’s fingers with tenderness, his warm breath on her skin acting as a balm. “Can I put it on you, like a proper wedding ring?”

  Emma shook her head. “Not at the moment.” She reached up and placed it gently back where she found it, glancing down at the devastation on her son’s face.

  “But Mummy, if he’s givin’ you a wedding ring it’s ‘cause he wants to stay married. Don’t give up, Mum. Please give him another chance.”

  “Baby, this is so complicated...” Emma began and Nicky broke contact with her and took a step back.

  “Wear his ring, Mama. Do it for me!”

  Emma opened her mouth to argue, feeling the energy sapping from her body as though quick sand sucked her down. “Ok,” she heard herself say. “But only for now.”

  The ring fit perfectly, the mathematician’s accuracy on target as always. Intricate and beautiful, it caught the light and sparkled against the orange flames. Nicky’s face lost its haunted look and he relaxed.

  “Everyfink’s gonna be ok, Mum,” he said with surety. “It’s all gonna be ok.”

  Chapter 22

  Emma sighed and pulled herself from sleep, feeling the mattress rise and depress near her feet. The heat from the bedroom fire pressure cooked one side of her body and a faux fur blanket felt heavy over her shoulders. “Nicky?” Emma’s voice sounded dull and filled with confusion as she struggled to sit up. “Sorry, baby. I only laid down for a second.”

  “Aye, well that’s how it happens.” Christopher Dolan’s voice sounded wistful and Emma’s consciousness level snapped her fully awake.

  “What’re you doing in here?” she gasped, yanking the blanket around her neck and keeping the fingers of her left hand hidden. “Get out of my bedroom. Where’s Nicky?”

  “He’s fine. He and the wee dog made a sandwich and then fell asleep in the sitting room watching a movie.”

  “What’s the time?” Emma yawned and fought the need to stretch, keeping her wedding band safely out of sight.

  “It’s after three o’clock,” Christopher replied. He eyed the bed with proprietary interest and Emma’s brown eyes flashed.

  “Don’t even think about it, Dolan!”

  He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time, Em.”

  “That’s true. We spent a night on the same dirty mattress, huddled underneath your jacket, as I remember. Nothing happened because we were both waiting to die.”

  “Ach, you know how to spoil a memory,” he replied, his long lashes brushing his cheek as he stared at Emma sideways. “The cops are still outside the front gate.”

  Emma groaned at the memory of the dead Chinaman on the roadway, his battered body now the source of a criminal investigation. “You know who did it, don’t you?” She leaned up on her right elbow and studied the Irishman. “Did you see it happen?”

  Christopher raised his dark eyebrows and then nodded. “Aye. I watched him get out of his car and walk towards the gates. He tried to work out how to get in without buzzing the house and I realised there was another vehicle I hadn’t noticed. Its lights were off and it started moving from about a mile away. The moon was almost full and picked up a flash of metal. I don’t know how long it sat there before it began rolling but it kept coming. The guy went back to his car and reached inside the driver’s door for something and as he stepped back out and closed the door, the other car side swiped him.”

  “So it was on purpose?” Emma asked, her eyes wide. “They meant to do it?”

  Christopher pulled a face, contorting his features in thought. “I
think the cops will go for a hit and run but then why would the other car just sit there watching, before running him down? It was definitely deliberate and really sloppy workmanship.”

  Emma winced at the professional appraisal of a tragedy. “You said he had a car, so where is it now? Did the police take it away?”

  “No. After the impact, the car stopped on the road and the passenger got out. He checked the body and snagged his keys from the dead man’s trouser pocket. Then he got into the car and followed the other one towards Northampton. The Chinese guy slammed into the back of his own vehicle so it would’ve been damaged.”

  “Did he check to see if the man could be saved?” Emma’s naivety made Christopher smirk.

  “Oh, he checked alright!”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “He left him to die?” Bile rose into her chest and the banished morning sickness made a bid for return. “That’s awful.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, waving away Christopher’s concern with the other one.

  “No, Emma. He made sure he died.”

  “I can’t do this!” she panicked. “It’s too hard, I’m pregnant, I’ve got problems at work and now this!”

  Christopher’s brown eyes widened at the sight of the ring on her finger and he wrenched her hand free. “Andreyev’s been here!”

  “He left it with Nicky!” Emma heard her voice go up an octave and grew afraid at the rage in the Irishman’s eyes. “He begged me to wear it.”

  “The Actuary?”

  “No, Nicky! Nicky begged me. This is none of your damn business. Stay out of my marriage. In fact, stay out of my life. Wherever you are, there’s death and destruction. Just go, please? Let me have my life back.”

  Christopher’s gimlet eyes hardened into a penetrating stare and Emma held her breath. Inwardly she punished herself for already disobeying Rohan, who told her to keep Dolan on side. Then his body relaxed and he smiled at Emma, the good-natured expression returning like a slow tide. “Don’t be daft, Em. I promised Anton I’d look out for ya, so I will.”

  “I think that contract’s long since finished,” Emma risked and Christopher smiled.

  “Is it?”

  The smile disappeared from Emma’s face at his reply and with a wink which belied his oversized ego and revealed far more of himself than he intended, Christopher Dolan turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. Emma sat up and hugged her knees, feeling her heart sink with each thud of her pulse. The strange buzzing drew her attention to Rohan’s pillow and she started, expecting a large wasp, sleepy from the wintry weather to crawl out. When nothing moved, Emma stretched out tentative fingers and lifted the pillow, scenting her husband’s musky shampoo ingrained in the clean fabric. The shiny red mobile phone repeated its buzzy dance, jerking itself around the mattress in an excited movement.

  With dread snaking around her breathing muscles, Emma reached out and picked it up, feeling its shiny newness under her fingers. Recognising a superior model to the one she smashed, Emma pressed buttons to isolate the message, finding one unread text in the empty cache.

  ‘Naveki moy,’ it said, the phonetic Russian looking strange on the screen.

  The door handle moved and Nicky’s face peeped through the widening gap, his blonde hair on end and his cheeks flushed. When he saw Emma sitting up, he beamed and pushed his way through the door bearing a tea plate and a battered-looking sandwich. “I maked you this before,” he said, prodding at the dry, crinkled corners of bread. “But you was asleep and then I fell asleep waiting.” He crinkled his nose and looked sheepish. “There were two more, but I tripped in the hallway and Farrell gobbled them up.”

  Emma smiled and reached for the plate, grateful for the thought behind the flimsy feast. “Thanks, baby. Cheese and pickle, my favourite.” She took an obliging bite and despite the hardness of the bread, her stomach growled in anticipation of more. “Nice.”

  “You’re still wearing it.” Nicky pointed to the ring, looking smug and Emma nodded.

  “I think Dad left me a new phone too.” She handed it to her son and pointed to the message. “Can you read what it says?”

  Nicky shook his head. “I told you, I can’t read Russian, only speak it. You read it to me and I might know.”

  With her mouth full, Emma read the words as they appeared, spitting breadcrumbs over the pretty duvet cover. Nicky cocked his head like a bird, smiling as recognition came. “Oh, yeah,” he said, grinning. “I know. It’s ‘forever mine’. Look.” He laid the phone down and seized Emma’s hand, hauling her fingers into his lap. “I bet that’s what these words mean. Dad wanted you to know. It’s Russian for that.” Rohan’s blue eyes smiled out from the face of his son as Nicky turned his vibrant gaze on Emma. “He won’t let you go,” he declared with confidence. “And he means it.”

  “This sandwich is really nice,” Emma said, trying to distract her son. “That’s so thoughtful. Sorry I nodded off.”

  “It’s ok. I love lookin’ after you.” Nicky plopped his bottom on the bed. He pressed buttons on the phone and knitted his brow, engrossed in something on the screen. “Mum,” he said, looking up at Emma. She grimaced and pulled a dog hair out of the corner of her mouth, trying to pretend it wasn’t there.

  “I’m full up now,” she concluded, laying the plate on the bed. “What, baby?”

  “If I tell you something what Daddy told me, can you keep a secret?”

  Emma’s body stiffened and she stroked her son’s hair back from his forehead. “Course.”

  “There’s a bug under your car,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Harley Man put it there. It’s how he wants to keep track of us.”

  Emma swallowed. “I don’t think so, baby. That’s the stuff of spy movies and...”

  “There is!” Nicky protested. “Daddy said. But I’m not to tell Mo or Kaylee.”

  “Or me?” she asked.

  Nicky stuck his chin out. “He didn’t say not you. But I don’t think Daddy likes Harley Man. Is it because he put a bug under your car?”

  “Oh, I think it runs a bit deeper than that,” Emma soothed her son. “And I’m not going to pretend to understand those two.”

  “Ok.” Nicky pressed his head into Emma’s arm, seeking comfort. He held the phone up to her face. “You have to keep this phone with you all the time.”

  Emma winced. “No, I don’t. I’ve lived quite happily without one all these weeks. It’s just something else to worry about.”

  “No! You have to!” Nicky’s blue eyes widened and flashed Rohan’s characteristic expression of annoyance. “Dad said!”

  Emma sighed. “Fine!” She shoved it into the pocket of her sweatpants. “But there’s no numbers in it. Who will I call?”

  “You call Daddy,” Nicky replied. “If another plastic dummy gets lost at the bottom of the driveway, you call my dad.”

  Chapter 23

  The police finished their investigation on Sunday morning and Paul Barker walked up to the house after buzzing the gate. Emma stood up to greet him, her hands covered in dirt from weeding the border at the edge of the huge front lawn. “You need a gardener,” he said, turning her hand over. “And you should wear gloves.”

  Emma shrugged. “I don’t have any.”

  “Mum said I could buzz you in.” Nicky looked proud of himself. “But only when she says.”

  “That’s very sensible,” the policeman answered, smiling at the boy.

  “Can you ride a skateboard?” Nicky asked, clattering his toy onto the driveway.

  The detective looked back towards the road and seeing the last police car move away, nodded and smiled. “Yeah. But not on here. You can’t do it on gravel.”

  The child’s eyes lit up. “I do it in the stables on the concrete or on the stone curb. Wanna try?”

  Emma bit her lip and her brow knitted in an involuntary reflex action. The unassuming policeman might find it easy to get things out of her son if they were left alone. She eyed her little red truck with nervousness, wondering where Dolan p
ut the bug intended to track her movements. “I’ll come with you,” she said, keeping her tone light. She flung the small trowel onto the loose border and followed the excited males around the corner and past the coach house.

  “This is an amazing property,” Barker said, matching his pace to Emma’s and letting Nicky skate off ahead.

  “Yes.” She nodded in reply and turned her face away.

  “You mentioned you were renovating. How far have you got?”

  Emma smiled and slid easily into talking about the enlivening of the old property. “Oh, not very far. My stepbrother did one of the bedrooms so I’ve picked up where he left off. We did the master bedroom and bathroom before we moved in and the downstairs sitting room. The upstairs hallway needed plastering, so we did that next. I urgently need to do something about the kitchen as I’m sure half the appliances aren’t safe.”

  “Isn’t it a listed building?” Barker appraised the back of the coach house and squinted against the watery sunshine.

  “Yes,” Emma replied. “But bizarrely it wasn’t listed until the late 1990s which was possibly what made it harder for the Ayers family to keep. I got in touch with the Heritage Office and have someone I can go to for help. He’s been quite supportive but I have to apply for consent every time I want to hang a picture.”

  “I bet that makes it expensive.” Barker gave a low whistle and rolled his eyes.

  Emma shrugged. “Anton left me the money to do it properly. I suppose the planners are helpful because I approached them before I started renovating. Apparently they’re used to fighting home owners after they’ve already taken out walls and destroyed heritage features.” She smiled. “I don’t have any interest in doing that.”

  “So, is the type of paint different to what you buy from regular shops?” Barker asked.

  Emma nodded. “Yes, it’s got different properties and its application can be complicated. I’ve taken some of the rooms back to the 1950s because a local historian remembers exactly what the house was like then and she’s been very helpful. During that era they used pastel colours with vibrant accents. Obviously prior to that they used lead based paints and I can’t replicate that. In the library downstairs we pulled off the wallpaper and found a complete mural on one of the walls which I’d like to have restored. That dates back to the turn of the century, about 1895.”