by Anita Notaro
Like all explosions, it fizzled out at last. Annie sank to the floor and Libby went with her, and she cried it all out of her system and they grew closer than most friends do in a lifetime.
After a while it was gone and she sobbed quietly for all that had been taken away the other night and Libby picked her up and carried her to the bockety old sofa and put her down and covered her with blankets and sat with her until the room became dark and chilly.
‘I’m sorry, I must have dozed off.’ Annie woke abruptly and looked at Libby as if she’d been dreaming and she shushed and reassured her.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘I’d like another brandy like I had last night.’
‘At your service. And then I’m cooking you some real food. I can’t believe the number of tins and jars you’ve got in here.’
‘I told you I can’t cook. I wasn’t lying.’ Libby heard the first touch of lightness in her voice.
‘Well, it’s all fresh food for you from now on, so you might as well give in gracefully. Your diet is a disgrace.’
Annie smiled weakly. ‘I don’t know where that all came from . . . earlier. I . . . I didn’t mean to hurt you, you must be black and blue. I’m not usually so . . .’
Libby shushed her. ‘Sounds like you needed it. I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with so much. It doesn’t seem fair.’ It had been a sharp lesson for Libby too.
‘You’d think I’d be used to it by now. That’s what annoys me most. I guess that when I got the part, I started to believe the hype. I thought the past was all behind me and I fell into thinking that life was going to be good. What an idiot, eh?’
‘Annie, don’t let this ruin your life.’
‘It already has.’
‘No it hasn’t.’
She shook her head. ‘The dream is over.’
‘Why?’
‘ ’Cause I can’t go on with it.’
‘With what?’
‘This part. Bobby. I’m not prepared to be her any more. And if I’m honest, I know giving up now represents the end of the line for me as an actress. It’s time to quit dreaming.’
‘But why on earth would anyone give up on their dreams? Especially as you’ve just started to make the biggest dream of all come true.’
‘He ruined it all.’
‘Annie, he’ll only ruin it if you let him. The police will get him eventually and in the meantime, all you have to do is not take any chances.’
Annie looked at Libby as if she’d dropped out of the sky. ‘Take a chance. What planet are you from? I’ll never go out again on my own, for God’s sake.’
‘You will.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘I can’t. I couldn’t even answer the door in my own house. I’m petrified all of the time.’
‘That’ll pass, I promise.’
‘No it won’t.’ She was angry again. ‘You don’t know what it’s like. I can still see him, still smell him, still feel him all over me. And nothing you say will ever change that.’
Chapter Forty-Four
WHEN LIBBY LEFT the next morning Annie scrubbed herself clean – again. Soap was no good. She still felt dirty. This time she filled a small bowl with washing-up liquid and added a few drops of bleach, then she dipped her sponge into it and scrubbed her body until she smelt like a swimming pool. Her skin was red raw when she finished towelling herself dry and she made cocoa and went back to bed. This time she slept for a full two hours as exhaustion finally took over from fear.
As soon as she opened her eyes the memories came storming back, but she lay there and let them wash over her and slowly admitted that last night had helped and it didn’t feel as bad this morning.
Her skin felt scratchy and rough, as if someone had used sandpaper all over her body and a faint school toilet smell still lingered. She got up and made tea. Around lunchtime, the phone rang.
‘Annie, it’s John Reynolds here. I just wondered how you were feeling.’
‘Better, actually.’ He was so nice, always calling and checking in. ‘Are you on duty still?’ She knew he had been on nights, so was surprised that he’d still be working at this time of day.
‘No, I’m at home.’ He sounded as if he’d been caught out. ‘I . . . eh, just wanted to make sure you were OK before I headed off to bed.’
His kindness touched her more than he realized. Then her doorbell went.
‘Oh, could you hang on, there’s someone at the door . . .’ She opened it without thinking, which pleased her later when she remembered.
‘Delivery for Annie Weller.’ The middle-aged man was hidden behind two enormous bunches of flowers. Annie was astonished.
She read the cards aloud to John Reynolds and he was delighted. ‘There you are, you can’t give up when all those people care about you,’ he said.
They chatted for a while. The kind gestures had helped Annie feel less sorry for herself and she sat on the sofa, surrounded by masses of colour and thought about it all again.
It was three-thirty before she dressed in leggings and an old sweater, brushed her teeth and tied her hair back and splashed her face with cold water. She resumed her position on the couch, which was where Libby found her later.
‘You’re dressed – good girl.’
‘You sound like my mammy.’
‘Well, I feel old enough today.’ She looked around. ‘Where did all these amazing flowers come from?’
‘Friends. I guess I have a few after all.’ She was chuffed to bits as Libby hugged her.
‘And you have me, don’t forget that.’
‘You’re my best friend.’ Annie smiled without a trace of embarrassment.
Hours later, as they tucked into a gorgeous chicken dish that Libby had thrown together, the phone rang and it was her father, wondering why he hadn’t heard from her for a couple of days. Annie made an excuse but was glad that he’d been worried about her.
Ten minutes later it rang again and this time she recognized the accent.
‘I’m getting great service from the Garda Siochána today,’ she teased him. ‘Two phone calls from you and one of your colleagues called in earlier.’
‘So I hear. Well, it’s not every day we have a major celebrity on our hands. Wouldn’t want you complaining to the media about us.’
He was pleased to hear her laugh. ‘I’m just checking in. I’m on my rounds,’ he said. ‘Is there anything you need?’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks. Everyone is being great. I feel well and truly spoilt.’ She smiled at Libby.
‘You deserve it.’
‘Thanks. Anyway, the neighbours will think I’ve finally taken to drugs if any more squad cars are seen outside my door.’
He promised to call the following day and when she hung up Libby was watching her carefully.
‘I don’t want you to give up.’
Annie was about to say that she already had, but what came out was ‘I’ll try.’
‘Good girl. Do it for me.’ She was satisfied for now.
‘But I’m warning you, if life throws one more heap of shit in my direction, don’t you come near me, or this time I’ll really break a few of your ribs.’
‘Why me? What did I do to deserve such venom?’ Libby wasn’t in the least put out.
‘Because I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for you. I have to get you to go home somehow.’ She was smiling, but suddenly she looked scared again. ‘Please God, let them get him soon.’
‘They will. But for now, I want you to ring me if you get scared at any time, OK? Day or night.’
Annie looked thoughtful for ages and Libby was content to sit quietly. ‘I was asked to do The Late Late Show,’ she said at last.
‘Really. When? Why?’
‘Because of the part. And also because I’ve been nominated in the Best Newcomer category in the Drama Awards next month.’
‘What? How come you never said that before now?’
‘I just heard the night of the . . . thing. I’ve onl
y really thought about it now.’
‘That is amazing. And you were going to give up. Well, that settles it, you can’t.’
‘You are so bossy.’
‘Annie, I know very little about drama and acting, but I do know that just being nominated for an award of this stature could change your career. Even the publicity could change things for you. This is huge.’
Annie nodded but said nothing.
‘So get out there and start living again.’
It was the hardest time for her to start again. Getting back on her feet after the cancer had been a piece of piss compared to this. But Libby had convinced her she had to try one more time. She took a deep breath.
‘Maybe I will do the show, after all. But I wouldn’t want to mention this, you know . . .’
‘Then you shouldn’t. But remember, that’s how men like him survive. Because women are afraid.’ She felt she’d pushed her enough. ‘Anyway, you’ll do the right thing, I know you will.’
Chapter Forty-Five
LIBBY HAD EVENTUALLY returned home and Annie had even come to stay for a day or two. Things were slowly returning to normal but Libby was feeling tetchy. There were many reasons why. Andrew Harrington was finishing work tomorrow and it bothered her. They’d taken to having cups of teas and long chats, and he’d been great when Annie was there. They got on like a house on fire and her friend had even told him what had happened, which surprised Libby.
‘I really like him, you know. There’s something about him,’ Annie casually mentioned as she stacked the dishwasher.
‘So do I.’
‘Like like, or just like?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, don’t be afraid if you really like him.’
Libby just nodded and Annie knew when to quit. ‘I’ll say just one more thing.’
‘Have I ever been able to stop you?’
‘If he’s a gardener then I’m Dame Edna Everage.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He’s too . . . everything. Too well spoken, too well dressed. Look at his hands, for instance. They’re not the hands of a manual labourer.’
‘I know exactly what you mean. But why would he pretend? That’s not normal. And he does know a lot about horticulture, he’s always blinding me with Latin names.’
‘I dunno. We all have our secrets. Look at the pair of us. Who the hell are we to comment on normal?’
Libby pushed him to the back of her mind now and sat at her desk, determined at last to finish going through her stuff. She was still getting letters of sympathy and it was draining, having to respond to each one, but in the past few weeks she’d managed to get on top of most things. She also wanted to spend as much time as possible with Annie and she, in turn, was helping her clear the house. It was their own private unspoken pact, to each help the other move on.
A major source of angst was her mother, with David’s father hot on her tail. They were not happy about the house being sold, in varying degrees. Christina Marlowe was furious. Charles English was worried. Libby refused to discuss it with either of them, anxious not to let her secret out. Keeping it to herself was the only way to avoid leaks, although not involving her mother and her father-in-law was proving tiresome. They were not easily put off.
She’d had a huge argument with the estate agents this afternoon as well, and it was all adding to the tension in her neck and shoulders. They wanted to advertise the house and have two viewings a week. John Simpson, who’d been handling it, seemed to agree with them. She was adamant there would be no punters traipsing around her home and told the managing director, who’d been a business associate of David’s for years, in no uncertain terms.
‘I don’t want any open viewings. There’d be journalists, photographers, God knows who else, swarming all over the place.’
‘Libby, I understand your concerns. But we’d get names and addresses and phone numbers of everyone who came through the door.’ Dan Jordan was making every effort to keep her sweet. For her part she marvelled at his naïvety and wondered how these people got to where they did in business. She’d had enough.
‘Dan, are you insane? We’re talking tabloid journalists. They’d eat up your little minions for breakfast. No. No. No. I do not want the house advertised in the papers. I will not have a sign put up. You have enough wealthy clients to get word about discreetly that the house is for sale.’
‘But we’d get a much better price at auction.’
‘Frankly, I don’t care. It’s been valued. You and I both know what it’s worth. Sell it privately, Dan and furthermore I will hold you personally responsible for every single person who walks through this door, even by appointment.’
That was the end of it and she hung up feeling stressed and thankful for all that David had taught her. She knew how to hold her own in these situations.
Even thinking about it now made Libby anxious. She needed a drink but she wasn’t going there. Failing that, she needed to get out for a while. Glancing at the table she saw a copy of her latest book that she’d left out weeks before, to give to that garda who’d helped her on the night of David’s death. For some reason he’d stayed in her mind, so she picked up the telephone to enquire if he was on duty. He was.
She let down the roof of the car and swung out into the traffic, feeling the warmth and the summer wind in her hair. It was not something she normally did, it made her feel exposed and vulnerable, in spite of her dark glasses. All these back to nature conversations with her gardener must be getting to her.
She pulled into the garda station and made her way to the public counter, hesitating as she entered. It was not the sort of place she was used to visiting and she was surprised that it was old and dingy.
‘I’m looking for Garda Reynolds.’ Her voice held an authority that people rarely argued with.
‘Just a moment.’
In a minute he walked into the room and smiled at her. The junior had obviously recognized her.
‘Miss Marlowe, hello. What can I do for you?’
She took off her glasses. ‘I just wanted to thank you for being so kind to me the night of my husband’s death. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call.’
If he was surprised it didn’t show.
‘I was glad to be able to help. I’m very sorry we had to meet under such circumstances.’ At that moment a drunk smashed through the door and lurched at them. Libby recoiled.
‘Where’s the fucking cops when you need them?’ He hiccupped and stared at Libby.
‘Fine-looking woman y’are, missus. Are they givin’ ye grief?’
Libby was taken aback and John Reynolds moved quickly.
‘Miss Marlowe, please come this way.’ He ushered her into a small side room and summoned a colleague to deal with the man, who was still shouting at Libby. ‘Hey, are you dat one off the telly?’ And when he got no response, ‘Fuckin’ stuck-up bitch.’
‘Sorry about that. Can I get you a coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’ She was suddenly awkward, unsure why she hadn’t just posted a note. She thought it was because she wanted to see him again, to remind herself of that night. She was afraid she was forgetting.
She thrust a card into his hands. ‘You were very kind to me at a very difficult time and it helped me a lot.’ She hoped he didn’t think it was money. This was all getting too complicated. ‘I wanted to give you this book – for your mother.’ She was uneasy. ‘You mentioned she was a fan, I think.’
He looked really touched.
‘She is. A huge fan. This will be very important to her.’ He smiled shyly. ‘She still asks me about you. I think she worries.’
‘Well, tell her I have a new series starting in a couple of weeks and I’m fine. Should I sign the book for her?’
‘Yes, please.’ He took out a pen.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Martha.’
Libby wrote a note on the inside page and handed it to him.
‘Thank you. I
appreciate it.’ If he’d been wearing one, she felt sure he’d have tipped his hat. It was that old-world courtesy again that she remembered so well, and it was endearing.
‘Pleasure.’ There was nothing else to say.
‘I’d best be going.’
He saw her to the door. ‘I believe you’re a friend of Annie Weller’s?’
‘You know Annie?’
‘Yes. I only met her recently.’ He didn’t want to give away any confidential information, unsure how much she knew.
‘You know then about what happened to her?’
‘Yes. I was on duty that night.’
‘Are you the person who’s been so kind to her?’
He blushed. ‘One of them, anyway.’
‘Of course, she mentioned Garda Reynolds. I just never made the connection.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Please find him quickly. I couldn’t bear it if anything else bad happened to her.’
‘We’re doing all we can, believe me. And meanwhile, I’m keeping a good eye on her neighbourhood.’
They said goodbye and Libby left a message on her friend’s answering machine. ‘Annie, it’s me. I just met Garda Reynolds. You never told me he fancies you. So don’t you dare lecture me again about my gardener. Hey, on second thoughts, maybe we could double-date.’ Smiling at the thought of a date with Andrew, she hung up.
At home, she felt restless and poured herself a glass of wine. She thought about Andrew once more.
They’d become close since the night of the restaurant, in spite of her half-hearted attempts to keep him at bay. And he hadn’t really pursued it: the string that seemed to bind them together was tugged at by her, mostly. She’d taken to inviting him in for coffee, or going out to eat with him at lunchtime. His calmness and sense of being at ease with life was like a drug she’d become addicted to. He was the most quietly assured man and she’d never met anyone like him. Yet still she knew nothing about him really. In the evenings, she had to stop herself pleading with him to stay and have some food with her and in the last few days she’d made an excuse to be out, so that he wouldn’t think she was desperate. Now that he was leaving she realized how desperate she really was.