My Husband's Wives (18 page)

In his expression, her whole world seemed to topple over. She knew that he was trapped. Trapped by his love for her, perhaps by guilt – and in that moment, she knew she had to let him go. It was only weeks later that he told her about the baby – Delilah. Evie Considine gave Paul Starr the most precious gift she could… freedom. Was it her fault if he never really wanted to take it?

The morning breeze carried off Kasia's howl. She'd been so stupid. In her home country, she'd never have opened her bag and taken out money in front of a tramp. Of course, in her home country she wouldn't have money to take out. The kid appeared harmless, pitiful, hungry and dirty; couldn't be any more than twelve, she guessed. ‘Here,' she said, her voice struggling above the wind that roared down the narrow side street. ‘Take it to McDonalds and buy yourself breakfast.' He took the money, and then as she walked away, she heard, more than felt, the snap of her bag. When she turned round he was gone, racing towards O'Connell Street. His ragged tracksuit trailed the ground noisily as he hared into the early commuters travelling mindlessly to work on another cold Dublin morning. ‘Stop. Thief.' She made a half attempt at catching up with him. Surely, it was the last she would see of her bag or her money.

‘Hey, you!' A tall guy, could be a bodybuilder, was running towards her. For a moment, Kasia feared he was one of Vasile's friends. ‘You okay?' he shouted at her, before taking off at speed behind the youngster. Kasia stood open-mouthed as he made short work of catching the kid up. She began to move towards them. She wanted to tell the man that it wasn't worth the trouble. There was hardly enough left in her bag for a bus fare home. She watched as he yanked the bag from the boy, grabbing him by the jacket, and marching him back towards Kasia.

‘Have you got a name or do we just call you stupid?' he yelled at the kid.

‘You don't know who you're dealing with.' Heavy snot trickled from the boy's nose, his face was red and flushed, but he was ice-cold and too young to be stealing purses. He should have been home troubling a bowl of cornflakes before taking a bus to school. ‘They call me Shark.' His expression was serious.

‘Right. I bet you're really mean. It takes real guts to steal from people who are kind enough to give you a couple of euros.'

‘Feck off, mister. I'll get you for this, me and me mates, we'll be lookin' out for you.' Shark was no more than twelve. Kasia thought he was twelve going on forty. His face was a pinched portrait of want and neglect.

‘Hand the lady back her purse and after you say sorry, you can be on your way.' He gave the kid a rough shake. ‘This minute, or you'll be dealing with more than me before the day's out.' The man took out his mobile, waved it tantalizingly before the youth. On a good day, perhaps the boy would have valued it at around a hundred euros. Today it was the difference between a day in juvenile court and the chance to walk away.

‘All right, all right.' Shark handed over the purse.

‘Want to say anything, before I use this?' The man waved his mobile high above the youngsters' head.

‘I'm sorry. Sorry, with feckin' cheese on top.'

‘Give her back the money she gave you as well.' The man's voice was low. Kasia had a feeling he wasn't used to acting the tough guy, but he had the boy where he wanted him.

‘It's fine,' she said, ‘you can let him go. Thank you for getting my purse, but I think he needs to go and have a breakfast.' She smiled at Shark, relief beginning to flow through her and in a flicker of something unfamiliar to his face, she thought he registered her kindness, but he didn't know how to respond. ‘I had nothing much in my bag anyway.'

‘Are you all right?' the man said when he'd released the kid. His voice was deep and low and it made her calm despite what had just passed. ‘Someone should put up signs around here; the same thing happened to another woman a few weeks ago.'

‘I…' Kasia had noticed the man approaching her as she was turning from the kid. Had he been warning her? Had he been trying to get her attention? ‘You tried to warn me?'

‘I had a feeling you were going to be robbed. They're an awful bunch of gurriers around here.'

‘I…' Suddenly Kasia began to feel the pavement rise up towards her.

‘It's a bit of a shock. Come with me.' He led her across the road, into a small steam-filled greasy café. ‘Two teas, Mary,' he called to the woman behind the counter. ‘Plenty of sugar on the table.' He guided her gently towards an empty seat.

‘You were running towards me; I thought you were someone else. Oh God, I have been very scared.' Kasia felt hot tears slip down her cheeks. This man was nothing like Vasile. He was at least ten years older to start, and his dark hair trailed untidily about his face, and his eyes – cornflower sleepy eyes slanted when he smiled. No, he was a good man; he was nothing like Vasile. She awaited Vasile at every turn. She expected him to be lurking in the darkness, keeping her in his sights. If he knew she was pregnant… she wasn't sure if it would be better that he thought the baby was his or Paul's.

‘Hey, it's okay. You're safe now. I'm Jake, by the way. Jake Marshall.' He offered to pay her bus fare, or give her a lift, call someone. Grace was the only person she could think of to ring. He was a nice man. They spoke for almost an hour and when Grace arrived to pick her up, she joined them.

‘Have we met before?' he said after he called for a coffee for her.

‘I don't think so. I've a feeling I'd remember you,' Grace said and Kasia noticed her blush. Jake was quite good-looking when he wasn't running after wayward street kids.

‘You're Grace Kennedy; I should recognize you a mile off. I was at one of your exhibitions. Tried to buy a painting actually, but they're a bit out of my price range.'

‘Honestly, Jake, they're probably a bit out of my price range too,' Grace said and she surveyed the street. ‘You live around here?'

‘No, I'm doing a bit of work just up the road. We're on the hottest electoral seat in the country here, so I'm spending a bit of time dropping in and out.'

‘You're a politician?' Kasia asked. He was nothing like the drab suited men who talked dully for hours on end on Oireachtas Report. He was much too nice for that.

‘No, I'm a cameraman, freelance. At the minute, I'm working with a colleague. We're putting together a documentary on the running of a constituency, hoping to sell it to one of the channels.'

It seemed to Kasia that lightbulbs might be exploding all over Dublin, such was the chemistry between Grace and Jake. They stood awkwardly outside the café before parting; maybe he'd heard that Paul Starr had just passed away, maybe not.

‘I owe you a drink, Jake,' Kasia said, clearing her throat. He would be perfect for Grace, even if Grace could not see it for herelf. ‘Perhaps, when things are a little quieter for us, you would come for a drink with us?'

‘I really don't think that I…' Grace began to back away from them.

‘Come on, it's only a drink. We can make it coffee if you rather. We know you like coffee…' Jake cajoled.

‘No. I don't think so. It wouldn't be right.' Grace got into her car while Kasia took Jake's number.

‘I'll work on her,' Kasia whispered conspiratorially and she keyed the number into her phone.

‘Thanks,' he said, looking into the car. ‘See you around, Grace.' Kasia had a feeling the words sounded a lot more nonchalant than he felt.

*

Kasia's father disappeared on a Wednesday. She couldn't say she remembered him. It was just the two of them then – Kasia and her mother. Maybe that was why they were so close. Her mother loved her more than anything in the world and Kasia knew that with every fibre of her being.

‘Dumitrascu, my wish for you is that one day, you will know the joy of motherhood. You will have a little girl who will bring you as much joy as you have brought me.'

‘Perhaps I will be a nurse too?' Kasia had said, looking into those deep blue eyes.

‘No draga, I want more for you than this life.' It was true, their lives were hard. They lived a grey existence with hardly enough money to last the week. They had each other though. Even then, Kasia knew, compared to the children in the orphanage, she was lucky. The cancer, when it took her in the end, was swift and ruthless. They spent her final days lying together, singing songs and Kasia read her poetry from the book she kept by her bed. She died too soon, much too soon. Kasia felt her mother guided her towards Paul Starr and he had done far more for her than her own father ever did.

‘Your mother was a fine nurse, a good woman.' Paul remembered her well. Most people who met Maria Petrescu did. ‘I worked with her on many operations; she was a kind and lovely woman.' She was also striking, loving and strong. Vasile tried once to take her good character away with a comment about her faithfulness; he never knew her, but that didn't stop his vile words. Kasia surprised herself by lashing out at him. Of course, he'd slapped her hard in return, but he'd never said another word against Maria.

When she died there was nowhere for Kasia to go; she was too young to stay in their little flat and too old for the agencies that sent children for adoption. There were no relations – or, none that wanted her. The orphanage made room for her and her life fell into a routine of getting through the time. She took care of the smaller children, learned what she could at school and hoped that someday life would get better. It was while she was living in the orphanage that she met Paul Starr. It felt as if they had an instant connection. The nurses told her not to be silly; he was kind to everyone. Still, when he came to work at the hospital for two weeks that year, he made time for her. He made her realize there was life beyond that place. It seemed as if he wanted more for her and she thanked her mother for sending him to keep an eye on her.

She thought the same of Vasile once.

It had not taken long to learn the difference between love and ownership. Even here, in Ireland, where he met many glamorous women every other night of the week, Vasile had wanted to control her. She shivered each time she thought of it. She had to keep safe, more now than ever before. Suddenly, this baby meant she had someone to keep safe for.

‘Wakey, wakey.' Grace was at her elbow. She'd brought round a small bag of clothes. She wrinkled her nose as she pulled black trousers and tops from the bag. ‘Delilah went through an unfortunate alternative phase. Thank god it only lasted five minutes.'

‘She's tall?' Kasia beamed at Grace, who was hardly over five foot. Paul had been strikingly tall.

‘Yes, for her age, she is. It annoys the hell out of her, but you can't tell her. She won't listen to me when I say how much I'd have given for those extra inches when I was her age.' Grace shook her head. ‘Anyway, they're not much, but they might do for the funeral.'

‘They are great,' Kasia said. ‘They are too much though, I can't just take them.'

‘Delilah has forgotten she has them, to be honest. She'd put them out for recycling a few weeks ago and I just never got around to doing anything with them.' She bent down closer to them, sniffed softly, ‘Actually, they could probably do with a bit of freshening up.'

‘I will take care of them, I promise,' Kasia said. She did take care of her things. She still wore clothes that she picked up in the market in Bucharest years ago. The harsh fabrics and colours were out of date now, but that didn't bother Kasia. The last thing she wanted was to catch anyone's eye. She hung the trousers on a wire hanger, the neat chiffon blouse on top, covered over by the small woollen cardigan. She was, thanks to Grace and Delilah, going to be dressed for Paul's funeral. She didn't even need to try them on, they were just perfect.

Preparing the church had taken hours. Grace and Delilah gathered all they needed the day before the funeral. Delilah settled on white roses, huge summer daisies and enough white alysium to cover a cathedral three times over. They started work just after lunch, agreed that they could get a takeaway when they were finished as a treat. Grace would have done anything just to see Delilah eat; she'd settle for anything, so long as it wasn't more tea and biscuits. Doing the flowers was Grace's idea. Evie and Annalise had stared at her blankly as if they hadn't thought of flowers. Grace thought it might be good for them. For Delilah – it might be good for Delilah. That was really what she thought. If Delilah could be part of the whole ceremony, well, it's what children did now when they lost a parent, wasn't it? They picked the flowers, perhaps did a reading or a prayer if they were up to it. Except it seemed that wasn't what Paul wanted.

How did Evie know so much? Grace tried to put it to the back of her mind. There was no choice really; if she thought about it she knew she could go completely mad. They were divorced; he said that, she remembered it quite clearly. He told her the marriage may not even have been legal, but still he'd kept in touch. More than in touch, Grace feared, from the way Evie spoke.

He never told Evie they were married, Grace knew that for sure. Evie believed she was still his wife. Even with Delilah and Paul's two sons with Annalise, somehow Evie still believed she had a kind of higher claim on him. How could that be?

The truth was, Grace wanted to scream. She didn't want to be handing stemmed roses to Delilah, making this shabby little church fit for a funeral she didn't want to attend. She couldn't think about that either. She'd have to just get on with it. She'd have to put on a decent frock, turn up and shake hands, keep a stiff upper lip and she'd have to let him go. That was the bit she wasn't sure she could do.

‘Well, what do you think?' Delilah stood back from the large arrangment she'd created to stand at the top of the church. Grace hoped it would draw their eyes away from Paul's coffin. God, even thinking those words… It wasn't right. None of this was right.