Holding

by Graham Norton

  A message. She had been given a message from Tommy. He did have feelings for her. She wondered where he was at that very moment. Was he sitting on a bed thinking about her? The discovery of the body had stopped her pointless games, but now she found her mind was playing them again. He was driving a taxi in New York. Maybe he was working on an oil rig in the North Sea. On a horse doing something on a sheep ranch in Australia. Sometimes when she was feeling very low she would populate his life with a wife and children. The marriages were never very happy but he was a wonderful father. One of her favourite scenarios was where he was a widower raising three small children by himself.

  These fantasies had begun about a year after he had disappeared. With her hopes of his return fading, she had created places where she could find him but somehow had never managed to go and look. There had been times when she had seriously considered it, but in the end she knew it was pointless. Like a person lost in the woods, she had decided to stay where she was so he wouldn’t miss her when he came back to find her. If he could, he would, of that Evelyn was certain.

  Now here was his love token on the bed. He had sent it to her and finally she had received it. She knew she was being ridiculous. She felt like the princess in the stories her mother had read to her as a little girl. The prince was battling through swamps and walls of thorns to find her. She touched the silky material again and wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of her happy ending.

  Alone now that the children had gone upstairs to do their homework, Brid moved swiftly. She took a can of Coke from the fridge, opened it and poured its contents into the sink. Returning to the fridge, she removed a bottle of white wine, twisting the lid open with a satisfying crack before carefully pouring the pale yellow liquid into the can. Her hand was shaking slightly and wine slopped on to the counter top. Once the can was full, she put the bottle down. She stared at the wet can in her hand and hesitated before taking a couple of deep breaths and putting it down beside the wine bottle. With a few sheets of kitchen roll she wiped up the wine that had spilled. Paper in the bin, she returned to the kitchen counter and wrapped her hand around the cold can. She held it to her nose and took a long sniff of the sweet aroma. What did it matter? Nobody could deny she deserved this drink. It didn’t mean she was back to her old ways. This was a special … not a special occasion … special circumstances.

  She held the opening of the can to her lips. The brief gap between before and after, and then she shut her eyes and drank. It was cold, and it tasted so very familiar. It was like putting on her favourite blouse. The navy one with the white collar. God, it was good. She took another long slurp. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. This was the right thing to do. She was going to cope with all of this. She was going to get through it.

  Back to the fridge, where she returned the bottle to the door shelf and took out a ham in its thick plastic bag. It was the easiest thing to cook for dinner. She could have made this in her sleep. A pan of water was on the stove. The ham was in. That’s that, she thought, and sat heavily on one of the kitchen chairs. She pressed the Coke can to her lips. The clock said six. One hour. In sixty minutes he would walk through that door.

  Looking around the kitchen, she took in every detail. These were her final moments in her old life. She had no idea what might come next, but Anthony had given her a gift. He had handed her the key to a future without him. She took a couple of small sips from her can. Spuds. She got up, went over to the vegetable rack and filled a colander with a couple of handfuls of potatoes, enjoying the slight fog of the wine swirling around her brain after so long with no drink. Peeled and chopped, the potatoes went in the pan of boiling water. Two more sips of wine. Christ, she had missed it.

  Like a domestic robot she went through the motions of peeling and slicing carrots, and then making a thick white parsley sauce. The potatoes were done, so she mashed them in the saucepan, the steam billowing up into her face. She breathed in all the smells. This was her favourite dinner. She smiled. The last supper.

  The table was laid and the plates were in the warming drawer when the lights from Anthony’s car made the steamed-up kitchen window glow bright white. A slightly bigger gulp of her wine.

  The back door opened and Anthony came in wearing his dirty overalls; she assumed the other outfit was now neatly folded in the boot of the car. His sparse hair was no longer slicked back but looked almost deliberately ruffled.

  ‘That smells great!’

  ‘I’m doing a ham.’

  ‘Lovely. I’ll just go wash up.’

  She watched him walk across the kitchen in his stockinged feet and go out the door into the hall. She heard him turn the light on in the downstairs toilet. The sound of the running tap. What was he washing away? Where had he been for the last few hours? What exactly had he been doing? Images of pink flesh being scooped out of the crisp white uniform flashed into her head. She hurried over to the fridge and topped up the Coke can.

  The dinner was like any other. Carmel and Cathal told their parents about their day at school, the really funny thing their friend had said, the rumours about the school trip, the window no one would admit to breaking. Anthony spoke about what he had to do the next day. Apparently the top dressing wasn’t finished. It was a longer job than he’d thought. Brid smiled and nodded. She sliced ham and handed around parsley sauce. She cleared the plates and stacked them in the dishwasher. Carmel and Cathal were offered a scoop of ice cream each. The minute it was finished, they both scraped back their chairs to return upstairs to their rooms. They shut the kitchen door behind them and a stillness descended on Brid and Anthony.

  Her finger was resting on the top of the Coke can, and she looked at Anthony, who was once more busy scrolling the screen on his iPad. She wondered how long she would let the silence continue. After a few minutes, he glanced up and caught her gaze. He raised his eyebrows in a silent ‘What?’

  Brid blinked slowly and then said, ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Me? Yes. I’m fine. Why?’

  ‘Well, with you visiting the hospital, I just wondered how you were.’

  Anthony put the iPad down on the table.

  ‘The hospital?’

  ‘Yes. Where you were today.’

  ‘Who saw me at the hospital?’

  ‘I don’t think it really matters who saw you there, does it? You and little nursey so caught up in your own lovely world.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Brid?’

  ‘Seriously? You’re going to try and deny it? Don’t waste any more of my time, Anthony. You’re having an affair with some little nurse.’

  Anthony stared at her.

  ‘Well? That’s true, isn’t it? Isn’t it?’

  ‘She’s … a friend. That’s all.’

  ‘Christ. I wish I had friends like that. Fierce friendly, isn’t she?’ Brid spat the words out.

  ‘Look, I don’t know what people have been telling you …’

  ‘Nobody has been telling me a fucking thing,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘I saw you. I saw you with that bitch of a nurse. And don’t you dare try to tell me that little whore is your friend.’

  Anthony got to his feet and reached out towards his wife. ‘Shush, will you. The kids can hear you.’ He continued in a hoarse whisper. ‘Look. Nothing has happened. I’m sorry. It was stupid. I’ll stop it.’

  Brid spoke in a low growl. ‘Oh it was stupid all right, just not as stupid as me. I’ve been such a fucking fool. Trying to please you. Trying to be the wife you wanted. You never wanted me. You never loved me.’

  ‘Brid, that’s not true.’ His right arm was stretched out, his hand patting the air, trying to calm the beast that had come between them. ‘I’m so very fond of you.’

  ‘Fond? Fond? You giant fuck! The only thing you ever loved was my farm. Well it is my farm. Mine! And you can fuck off.’

  ‘Brid. You’re overreacting. We can work this out.’

  ‘Oh I’ve worked it out. You’re leavin
g here. Thank you. Thanks for opening my eyes to what a moron I’ve been. I felt guilty that I wasn’t a better wife when all the time you were off fucking someone else. Just get out!’

  She gestured towards the door with her hand and knocked over the Coca-Cola can. A thin puddle of pale liquid spread across the table. They both looked at it. Anthony dipped a finger in the wet pool and tasted it.

  ‘Of course you are. Of course you’re drinking! You really are pathetic.’

  ‘No. No, no, no. You don’t get to judge me. You left the moral high ground when you decided to stick your cock in that nurse. Yes, I’m drinking. I’m drinking because of you, and you will not make me feel bad about it. Now get out.’

  ‘No, Brid. I won’t leave you in this state with the children.’

  ‘Then I’m leaving.’ She lunged for her coat that was hung by the door. ‘I’m going, but when I come back, I want you out of here. This is my family home. My farm. You don’t want me, then you don’t get to have this land. This land. This fucking land!’ She buried her head in the other coats and began to cry. ‘Why could nobody love me? Me? Just me?’ She looked over at Anthony. ‘Am I really that hideous?’

  ‘You’re drunk, Brid, and every single thing about you disgusts me.’

  Brid felt as if he’d punched her. She opened her mouth, but no words came. Her hand flailed at the handle of the door and then she was outside, running towards her car.

  The headlights lit up the back of the house and she could see the dark silhouette of Anthony standing in the kitchen window. Soon he would be gone. She would rip that dark stain from the house and it would be hers once more. The car took off with a shudder and then she was hurtling down the hill.

  Duneen was deserted. The lights were out in O’Driscoll’s and both the pubs only had a couple of cars outside. She drove down to the bridge and parked. Standing leaning against the rough stone of the wall, she could hear the water rushing by in the darkness below. She stared into the blackness and shakily breathed in. The sour, earthy smell of the hogweed reminded her of being a little girl. She would pick the broad, flat white flowers and squeeze them together to form a makeshift bouquet. Sometimes she draped the grey cardigan from her school uniform over her head and pretended she was walking down the aisle. A car drove by. The wine had made her restless. She didn’t want to stand.

  Back in her car, she didn’t know where she was going. Stupid notions struck her. Ard Carraig. The Burke farm. The cliffs beyond Ballytorne. But no, she’d had enough drama for one night. Without ever deciding that it was her final destination, she found her car sliding to a halt outside the Garda barracks. A light glowed through the dimpled glass of the front door. With the slow, steady pace of a sleepwalker, she approached the porch. Before she had even reached it, PJ was standing by the open door. Brid stood before him. Neither one of them felt the need to speak. He stepped back and she squeezed past him into the hall.

  11

  A missed call and a voicemail. PJ groaned. It was Linus. He picked up the phone and listened to the message.

  ‘Dunne here. Just wanted to let you know, we have a victim. The DNA was a match. Tommy Burke is our man. I’ll be down before lunchtime. I want to interview the other Ross sisters and anyone else you think is worth another stab at.’

  PJ rolled on to his back and stared up at the ceiling. For a moment he felt as if the case was solved, then he remembered that this was just the beginning. The blow to the skull. Someone had killed Tommy Burke.

  He turned his head to the right and looked at Tommy’s former fiancée sleeping peacefully. Her lips were slightly apart and in the half-light he studied her face. The delicate eyelashes, the broken veins, the single hair on her chin. He leaned over and kissed her softly. Brid opened her eyes and gave a half-smile.

  They had not made love the night before. When she came into the house, they sat and had a glass of whiskey each while Brid told him about Anthony and what had happened up at the farm. PJ debated telling her that he already knew about the nurse but decided it was simpler not to. There was no point upsetting her further. He had held her in his arms as she had stretched out on the little sofa and rested her head on his belly. He’d stroked her hair and Brid had wondered aloud about what the future would hold. He reassured her that everything would be all right, but he was worried for her. A divorce and a custody battle could leave her with nothing.

  He’d led her to his bedroom and undressed her, but not in a sexual way. As she sat on the edge of the bed, it was more like caring for a sick child. He lifted back the covers and she lay down. Once he had stripped down to his T-shirt and underpants he got in beside her and let her fall asleep in his arms. He took deep breaths, drinking in the smell and heat of another human being in his bed.

  Brid asked him what time it was. It was nearly a quarter to eight.

  ‘I must go. I want to make sure the kids get off to school.’

  PJ didn’t envy her going back to that house. Who knew what Anthony had told the children.

  ‘Promise me you’ll see a solicitor.’

  ‘I will.’ She reached across and pinched his ear lobe.

  ‘You have to be sensible. You have a lot at stake.’

  Brid was out of bed now and putting on her clothes.

  ‘I know.’ She smiled.

  ‘It turns out it was Tommy Burke’s body up above.’

  ‘What?’ Brid’s head sprung around, her eyes wide.

  PJ silently cursed himself. Why had he told her that? She was bound to be upset, and besides, he was sure that he shouldn’t be giving details of the case to a woman who was still on a list of suspects. He decided not to be so forthcoming with the rest of the facts.

  ‘We’ve identified the body and it turns out it was Tommy Burke after all.’

  ‘How can that be? I thought …’

  ‘It’s a long story. Look, the prick from Cork’s coming down and … well, he may want to come out to the farm and ask some more questions.’

  ‘Right.’ She sounded hesitant. She suspected that she mightn’t like this long story that the prick from Cork was going to tell her.

  PJ propped himself up on his elbows. ‘It’s just that I think we should … you know?’

  Brid smiled. ‘Don’t worry. This is our secret.’

  There was a noise in the hall and the sound of a door closing. ‘Good morning, Sergeant!’ It was the voice of Mrs Meany.

  Brid sniggered and PJ let out a long, low groan. This was all too much for this hour of the morning. He pushed himself off the bed.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Meany!’ he called through the closed door. Christ, he thought, in a moment I’m going to have to break it to her that her son is dead. He raised his index finger to his mouth and made a shushing sound towards Brid. He could hear Mrs Meany going into the kitchen.

  ‘Who owns that car outside?’

  The car! They might as well have hung up a sign by the roadside.

  He hastily pulled on his trousers and went to the door. Opening it a fraction, he peered outside to check if Mrs Meany was still in the kitchen. She was. He opened the door fully and encouraged Brid towards the hall. Once there, he suddenly spoke in a loud, clear voice.

  ‘Well thank you very much, Mrs Riordan. That was very useful. Thanks for popping in.’

  Brid’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh. ‘You’re very welcome, Sergeant. Goodbye now.’

  She went out the front door and PJ closed it behind her. Going back down the hall towards his bedroom, he called out to Mrs Meany, ‘Early visitor there. Mrs Riordan had remembered a few more facts’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Mrs Meany appeared at the kitchen door holding the two used whiskey glasses. As PJ stared at them and then at her, unsure how to react, the doorbell rang, breaking the tension. That couldn’t be Dunne already. He hadn’t even cleaned his teeth!

  There were two figures waiting. PJ could hardly mask his look of dismay when he opened the door and discovered them to be Susan Hickey and her sister. What was her n
ame? God, his memory.

  ‘You remember my sister Vera.’

  ‘Of course, of course. Are you enjoying your stay?’

  Before Vera could speak, her sister interjected. ‘She’s leaving today. I’m just driving her up to Cork airport, but we were talking last night and she told me something you should know.’

  ‘Oh, right. Will you come in?’

  Vera looked at Susan, who made the decision for them.

  ‘No, we really ought to be on the road already, but I remembered that you had been asking around about the people who had seen Tommy Burke. Well, Vera has something to tell you.’

  PJ’s mind began to whir. If this woman had seen Burke in London, then that meant he must have left and come back.

  ‘When was this?’ he asked Vera.

  ‘When was what?’

  ‘How many years ago did you see Tommy Burke in London?’

  ‘Oh no!’ Susan practically shrieked. ‘She didn’t see him in London. Tell the sergeant what you told me.’

  Vera looked at her sister to check if she was really giving her permission to speak.

  ‘Susan mentioned you’d been asking who had seen him leave, and I remembered who it was told me that they had seen him getting on the bus.’

  ‘It was Abigail Ross!’ Susan couldn’t hide her excitement.

  ‘Abigail Ross? You’re sure? It was a long time ago.’

  ‘It was definitely her,’ Vera said. ‘I remember because it was so strange that she chose to speak to me. She’s older than me and we were never friends, but she made a point of crossing the road just to talk to me.’

  ‘I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me!’ Susan obviously felt the slight keenly even all these years later.

  ‘She made it sound like a secret, so I didn’t tell anyone.’ Vera was clearly trying to justify herself; not for the first time, PJ was guessing.

  ‘Well thank you very much,’ he said. ‘I appreciate you coming to tell me.’