Aftermath (17 page)

Conor was the person she really needed to interview but he was nowhere to be found. She had vaguely wondered if he’d seized the opportunity of the tsunami to disappear and start a whole new life somewhere else. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility given his beh
aviour to date.
What if he was dead? There would
be
all sorts of legal and financial issues to be sorted out. She had to investigate every lead and it would be up to the Director of Public Prosecutions to decide whether or not the matter went any further. Her responsibility was to see what harm had been caused and what public interest would be served by prosecuting him when or if he
did eventually reappear. It was her job
to gather the facts and present them to the Director. She had to find out the truth of the matter even if she really didn’t want to get involved and even if it would prove to be painful to Kerry and Hope.

She got up to get a drink of water. Why did people do such crazy things? Wasn’t life complicated enough without creating even more drama?
I’m glad my life is
relatively simple and straight
forward
, she thought wearily as she turned her pillow over to the cool side and finally drifted off to sleep.

Chapt
e
r 11

Isabel got up early and made a valiant effort to tidy up the apartment before going to work. She cou
l
dn’t sleep anyway and she really didn’t think she could stand another evening of coming home to such a tip. “Bad feng shui,” Charles used to joke and Isabel was becoming more and more inclined to agree with him. She gathered up the piles of papers and magazines and flung them in the recycling bin. Then she gathered the multitude of wine bottles and placed them carefully in another box.
Have I really drunk that much wine on my own?
She surveyed the bottles in mild surprise. The empty pizza cartons and takeaway boxes were thrown into another bag and she noted that as well as having drunk way too much wine she’d also been eating far too much junk food.
Isn’t wine supposed to cut through fat?
She asked herself hop
efully, vaguely remembering a
diet ti
p she’d picked up in one of her magazines
.

When she’d finished tidying up she quickly dusted, plumped up the cushions and gave the place a quick vacuum. “Much better,” she congratulated herself, standing back to admire her handiwork.
There was still a huge pile of ironing to be done and a mountain load of laundry to be washed but that could wait until another day. Work was her priority and h
er motto was that
the housework would wait for her but her job wouldn’t. Overall the cottage was much tidier.

Anyway, it’s not my fault I’m not domesticated
, she thought as she slathered on her moisturiser.

She was the youngest in a family of three boys and one girl; she was the only girl. They didn’t exactly set her a good example on the housework front. Her poor mother had fought a losing battle against the constant mess of football kits and muddy boots th
at were strewn everywhere. Isabel had
done her best to be tidy but she’d categorically refused to pick up after her brothers.

She brushed her hair quickly and scraped it back into its usual pony tail, slicked on some lipstick, grabbed her bag and headed out the door.
Late as usual
, she thought ruefully, glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall.

The traffi
c heading into the city centre
was, as always, appalling at that hour of the morning.
If only I’d left ten minutes e
arlier, I could have avoided
this.
Isabel sat in her car and fumed silently, wishing that she could stick her light on the roof and clear a path for herself. But she was driving her own car, and besides, even in a police car she wouldn’t be allowed to use the light to clear a route just so she could be on time for work.
Pity
, she thought.
It’d be a handy perk of the job.

The
shrill
ringing of the telephone rudely awoke Kerry from her sleep. She’d eventually dropped off around dawn and her head ached from tiredness. She squinted to see the time on the alarm clock by her bed. It was half past eight.
Wonderful
, she thought
, barely two hours sleep
.

“Yes?” she croaked down the telephone line.

“Good morning, Mrs. Darcy. I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind popping into the
station this afternoon. I’d
like to ask you some questions about your husband in a more formal environment?”

“Ok, I’ll be there,” Kerry replied curtly and promptly hung up.

She leaned back against the pillows and braced herself for another interminable day.
What drama will unfold today? I really can’t take any more shocking revelations
. She struggled out of bed and turned on the
shower in her en-suite
. The warm water helped to ease the tension and pains in her aching body.

Saoirse
was already sitting at the table by the time she arrived downstairs. “He’s dead, isn’t he? That’s
what your phone call was about.
”

“Who’s dead?” Kerry asked in bewilderment. Her brain was fuzzy from lack of sleep.

“Dad’s dead,” Saoirse
repeated
without any emotion in her voice.

“Of course he’s not dead! The
police woman who was here the other day wants me to go to the station to answer some questions.”

“What about
her
?” Saoirse
asked, contempt dripping fro
m her voice. “The crazy woman, i
s she going to
o
?”

“I’ve no
idea and I don’t care if she’s going
or not,” Kerry said dismissively. She poured herself a large mug of fresh coffee that was brewing in the pot and took a large gulp.

Saoirse’s mobile phone bleeped and Kerry glanced at her enquiringly.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“It’s
Milo
.”

“
Milo
?”

“You met him ages ago, mom. He’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh, I remember.” Kerry smiled when she thought back to the evening that Sa
oirse had introduced her
to Milo
. He was a tall, handsome boy
with blonde wavy hair and dark chocolate brown eyes.
She hadn’t realised th
at he was Saoirse’s boyfriend, assuming
they were just friends.
I’m not taking enough interest in her
, she thought guiltily
. I need to know more about what she gets up to.

She studied
her daughter’s face as she concentrated on texting Milo.

“What are you texting him?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“That my mother’s going to the police station to answer some questions about my dad and his two wives.”

Kerry was quite taken ab
ack by the ferocity of her
answer. Her phone bleeped again and tears welled up in her eyes. She pushed her chair back from the table. “I’m going upstairs,” she announced, leaving Kerry sitting on her own.

Chantale took the telephone call from Isabel while Hope was still sleeping. She asked if Hope could come down to the station that afternoon to discuss some details about her husband.

“What about the other woman?” Chantale asked. She didn’t want another confrontation lik
e last night
. It was too much for Hope in her delicate condition and Chantale was worried for her and the baby. She only had six weeks to go before the baby was born and she really didn’t need any extra stress.

“I hope she’s gone before we arrive,” Chantale said sternly. “Hope is very upset at the moment.”

“I understand,” Isabel agreed. “I’m well aware that it’s a sensitive situation.”

“Good,” Chantale said. “Hope doesn’t feel that you are taking her seriously. She gets the impression that everyone thinks she’s a disgruntled mistress who’s trying to cause trouble.”

“Trust me,” Isabel said at the other end of the line. “We’re taking the entire situation very seriously indeed.”

When Chantale
finally managed to wake Hope, which was a difficult task as the herbal sleeping remedy seemed to have knocked her out completely, her first question was why Kerry was being interviewed first.

“I don’t know,” Chantale shrugged.

“Do the police think she’s more important than me? She isn’t, I’m his wife too,” Hope struggled to sit up in bed.

“Hope, please
,
” Chantale looked at her daughter despairingly. “I suppose someone has to be first.” She didn’t know what else to say to her. Surely it didn’t matter who was being interviewed f
irst in the grand scheme of the
fiasco.

“Why should she go first
? Why no
t me? Well, I’ll tell you why. I
t’s because they think it’s more likely she’s his wife and I’m his mistress.
But i
t’s her word against mine. She can say all she likes about being married to my husband but it’s just not right.”

“She does seem to know him,” Chantale ventured. “The photographs she had framed in the living room were definitely him.”

“Maybe
she
’s the mistress,” Hope ranted. “Has anyone even considered that? Maybe they did have children together, but who’s to say that she’s actually married to him? We only have her word and she could easily be a pathological liar.” Hope looked victorious as she delivered her last words.

“Maybe she thinks the same about you.”

Hope shot her mother a glare that was full of such anger that Chantale felt she’d been sharply slapped across the face. “Thank you very much, mother!
Thanks for the vote of confidence. I really appreciate your solidarity.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Hope, you know I’m on your s
ide. You’re being ridiculous
,” Chantale sighed in exasperation, knowing she was fighting a losing battle.

“I suppose you’re go
ing to call me a drama queen, just like that
brat last night.”

“Hope, please calm down.”

“How can I calm down? You know I’m not lying. You we
re at my wedding
! But you seem to believe that woman.”

“Hope, darling,” Chantale reached for her daughter’s hand. “Of
course I believe you but
Mrs. Darcy doesn’t seem to be lying either.”

Hope snatched her hand away. “Wonderful,” her voice was laden with disgust. “You’re giving her the benefit of the doubt. Why? Is it because she’s older than me and more Niall’s age group? You always said he was too old for me but how could he possibly want to be with her more than he wants to be with me? I’m having his baby
for heaven’s sake
.” Her breath caught in a ragged cry and she grabbed her stomach.

“What is it?”

“It’s only
a dart of pain. I’m fine.” Hope winced as another cramp caught her.

“Come on, let’s get you up. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea
. I think your father’s cooking something tasty for breakfast.”

“Mom, I’m sorry,” Hope turned her tear-filled chocolate brown
eyes to her mother. “I’m just very
scared and lonely. What if Niall never comes back? What if he’s dead?” She swallowed, trying to gulp back her tears. “I don’t want to raise our baby alone. I’m scared t
o death of being a mother and my husband
doesn’t even know I’m pregnant.”

Chantale squeezed her daughter’s shoulders. “Everything will be fine,” she said fiercely. “I know it. He’ll be home to see his baby very soon.”

Kerry and Saoirse pulled up outside the police station and walked in silence to the front desk, each consumed in her own thoughts. Kerry hadn’t wanted Saoirse to come with her to the interview but she’d insisted, saying that she had a right to know what was going on. Kerry didn’t have the energy to argue with her. They remained silent
as they sat in the waiting room. The room made an effort to be cheerful, with brightly coloured upholstered chairs arranged around a small table that was stacked with magazines. There was a hot drinks vending machine in the corner and Kerry selected tea for herself and hot chocolate for Saoirse. They sat a
nd waited for Isabel.

“Mrs. Darcy, how are you?” Isabel asked gently, instantly noting the tense silence between mother and daughter.