My Husband's Wives (20 page)

‘Maybe,' Kasia was still shaking. ‘Thank you.' She tried to work her mouth into a smile, ‘I feel as if Paul is still looking after me.'

‘He's looking after all of us,' Evie said and she wiped a tear from her eye.

*

Dylan and Jerome were being so naughty. Annalise never remembered them being anywhere near the handful they were before she even got breakfast into them. It started with them having a water fight in the kitchen. Within four minutes, the whole place looked as if the Liffey had burst its banks and all pooled onto her lovely marble tiles. Annalise had to dry it all up; to leave it was only inviting disaster, this much she knew for sure. Then Jerome decided he didn't want to wear the suit Madeline had picked out for him. He stood stubbornly with his fists balled, his tongue lodged truculently in his cheek; Annalise couldn't bear it, he was so much like Paul. ‘Not
warwing
it,' he said over and over until Annalise thought he was beginning to sound a little hoarse. No fear of Dylan getting hoarse, he roared as loud as a lion the whole way to the church because they forgot to bring his Buzz Lightyear, whose controls somehow jammed on, ‘To infinity and beyond.' There was no way; even Annalise was not that soft.

‘It was as though they knew,' she whispered to Madeline when they met at the church. ‘I swear, never again.' And then Annalise thought she might sob her heart out, because of course, with all of the rush, she never had time to think about all of this and what they were actually doing today.

‘You need to process it all darling; it's only natural.' Madeline soothed and grabbed Jerome's hand as they walked towards the front of the church. Annalise could hear her own heels echo around the walls while music played softly in the background, but all she could think of was that they sounded like nails in Paul's coffin. Several times during the ceremony, she caught Evie's eyes. God, she was stone cold. There wasn't a hint of emotion; not a tear or a frown, except when Dylan scarpered across the pew and grabbed her hat while they stood for a hymn. To be fair, he'd been so quiet, even Annalise didn't notice until she heard Madeline gasp behind her.

She tried to be dignified, she really did. She worked hard to be composed as they left the church, but this was Paul – this was her husband, and even if no one else wanted to face it, they were saying goodbye to him today. Forever. Annalise had never been to the funeral of anyone close to her before and suddenly it hit her – she didn't want to bury him here. She didn't want to bury him anywhere. The thought of her lovely Paul in a box in the ground, well, it wasn't right. It just wasn't right. And then, as though she had time travelled through the whole ceremony, they were emerging from the church, sunlight in her eyes and the children already feeling warm and sticky and squirming out of her reach. In the distance, she saw one of the photographers who used to work in fashion before half the Dublin scene was made redundant. He was obviously freelancing now, hoping to pick up whatever he could. She imagined the whirr of the lens in the distance and suddenly she felt her poise gather about her like a protective cloak. She held on to Dylan and Jerome just a little tighter, and miraculously it seemed as if they knew; it was time to be serious. They stood over the open grave and Annalise noticed, as though it was somehow unconnected with her, the smell of dry soil, the occasional jutting stones on the brown walls and the grey headstone beside her. She didn't read the names on it, knew that soon enough Paul's name would be added to it. She thought of Jackie Kennedy and somehow she managed to stay self-possessed, and she wondered if perhaps she should have worn a hat for this one occasion. But of course, it was too late to think about that now, too late to think about a lot of things now.

‘Let's go back to Carlinville,' Evie said more brightly than she felt, more for Kasia's benefit than her own. The men who had come to fill in Paul's grave were ready to begin. They could come back when it was all done. ‘I haven't organized anything, didn't get anything in; I never thought…'

‘It says enough that you've asked,' Grace said at her side, ‘and anyway, we can order in something to eat, maybe have a cup of tea. I think it would be a good thing to do.' They were unlikely allies in a time of mutual distress, but they both put Paul first – in life and in death. They'd organized his funeral with no thought to what might happen once the damp clay had coldly covered his coffin. Truthfully, Evie couldn't imagine what they would do, but somehow Vasile had forced them to stand together in a kind of brief solidarity that she'd never have believed possible before.

Carlinville sat in the afternoon sun, a handsome, if shabby sanctuary, welcoming them warmly after the long day. Even Annalise arrived with her parents and the boys, although Evie suspected that was down to her mother more than any desire of Annalise's to spend more time with them. Grace, true to her word, organized sandwiches to arrive almost before the kettle had boiled for tea. They were an improbable group, their only common ground a minefield of loss and sadness. In time, maybe, if things were different, they might look forward to sharing happy memories of the one person who linked them together.

Kasia managed to mingle through the disparate threads and link up a faltering conversation. It meandered from the hospital to Grace's paintings, to car sales and eventually to a rally club that Annalise's father spoke about enthusiastically. The Connollys were the first to leave and Annalise was quick to join them. ‘A long day for the boys, but thank you for inviting us.' Madeline was a genuine warm woman. Evie knew that when Madeline enquired about how she was holding up, the words were not just to fill what might be uncomfortable silence between them. There was a substance about her that, as yet, Annalise lacked but perhaps, Evie thought, she might grow into it.

‘Well, that's that,' Grace Kennedy said as she sank into the soft sofa. ‘I suppose we should think about leaving Evie to it, Delilah.'

‘Just a little while more?' Delilah was looking through an old photo album.

‘Thanks for today, Evie,' Grace said. ‘It meant a lot to Delilah, to all of us. I don't know why we hadn't thought of what would happen after.'

‘I didn't do a lot, apart from make the tea.' Evie waved a hand, but she was glad that they'd come back here, couldn't think how she'd have faced the house on her own. ‘It's funny, but having people here, it makes the house feel different; on my own, sometimes it feels…' She closed her eyes for a moment; she wouldn't tell them how lonely she was. Not Grace Kennedy, above anyone. She couldn't tell Grace.

‘It is time that you both started thinking of yourselves. I think you have spent far too long thinking about Paul,' Kasia said.

‘Hmm. You make us sound like saints, Kasia. I don't think I was that good of a wife.' Grace kept her voice light – a little too light.

‘I think you were a very good wife.' Evie did not meet her eyes; she'd been enough to keep him from her after all.

‘She's right, Mum.' There was brutality in Delilah's tone.

‘You see? Of course you were; you are talented, beautiful, you gave him a lovely daughter and you are kind. You made yourself – how do you say it here – the other fiddle to him.' Kasia said.

‘Well maybe it seems like that on the outside, but it wasn't enough, was it?'

Evie was surprised; she never suspected Grace could feel as she did.

‘Enough of this.' It seemed to Evie they had each berated themselves too much already. ‘What about this Vasile?'

‘Vasile is in shock, I would think. Nobody ever speaks to him as Grace did today.' Kasia smiled, but it was a strain. ‘He will come back for me. As far as he is concerned, I am his – possession. He will never let me go.'

‘This is Dublin, Kasia; you speak as if he owns you. You are free here; he has no hold on you anymore, not unless you allow him to.' Grace's voice was dry.

‘Oh, it is so easy to say that. But maybe, like you and Paul, I feel sometimes that I need him. You have the whole world at your feet, and still you never really managed to live without Paul?'

‘I suppose you could say that.' From the outside it probably looked as if she could survive without him, but then she had never really needed to.

‘Do you love him?' Evie asked Kasia. She did not want to think of Paul and Grace.

‘Oh, no. Too much has happened. There has been too much pain. But he will always be there. He will always be waiting for me. Before the baby, maybe I just always felt there was no point in leaving him. There was nowhere to go; there was nowhere he would not find me.'

‘And now?'

‘The baby, it has changed everything. I have something to live for, but…'

‘But?'

‘I'm not sure that I can run away. I have no money, no prospects. Starting again, with a new baby, how would I live?' She played with the shoe she'd cast aside as soon as they had come back to Carlinville. Her slim foot twisted it about the floor with an absent-minded agility. ‘On the other hand, I think that I don't have a choice, because I don't want my child having anything to do with him. You see today, he is a very angry man.' Kasia shivered, although there was no draught in the drawing room.

*

Evie Considine was born on a moonless cold night in March; it was one of those things that stayed with her. Why had the moon disappeared on her night? It was foreboding; even the moon did not stay for her. She pulled back her dishevelled hair. It was styled once a week to take the curl out, put the colour in. She wore it in the same style as she did in her twenties. She was a soft, wavy, whiter version of her younger self. Lines had dug into her skin about her eyes and brow, but her mouth was strong, her lips soft and her irises held their dark navy of her youth. She sighed deeply as she browsed around the room that had been hers for over sixty years. It was at the top of the house. She still climbed the three flights of stairs each night. If for nothing else, the view was worth it. She gazed past her three-mirrored dressing table, out onto Dublin Bay. A schooner bobbed delightfully in the late evening sun, its white sails pristine against the blue water and clear sky. The sight mocked the emptiness in Evie's heart. She laid her comb down on the table.

The old house creaked along with her these days. It remained one of the finest in Howth, though it smelled of damp and the gardens needed more work than she could afford. She lived modestly, quietly, alone. Once, of course, things had been different – before her father's unwise investments, before the crash.

Five foot eight, Evie had been striking in her day, but of course she'd felt too tall. It's a shame that you only realize your assets when it's too late. That was a long time ago. At least she still held herself straight and moved elegantly. She could not go to bed yet; it was far too early. Perhaps some tea, she thought, although she didn't really feel thirsty, but the cool air in the kitchen might brush away some of her melancholy.

Back downstairs the kettle rumbled into life. She flipped the switch, giving it a rattle first to make sure she had left some water there. It bellowed and groaned at her. Her tea was hot and sweet. It was too nice an evening to read; anyway, she wasn't sure she could focus on a word. It dawned on her recently that for too long her life had been one of trying to fill the empty spaces. She pulled a heavy cardigan from the coat rack that hid in the darkest corner of the hallway. It was approaching dusk. Doctors owned the houses to her immediate left, so for three doors down, they'd be coming or going at all hours. A couple of architects had moved into the house on her right a few years earlier. They upset everyone with plans to improve their Edwardian slice of Howth, but thankfully, the recession managed to pull some of the wind from their sails. Like the rest of the country, they didn't have so much to brag about since the construction boom went belly up. No loud barbecues in the back garden these last few years – every cloud, Evie always thought. She pulled the cardigan closer to her neck. She liked the feel of the thing. It was Paul's; he wore it every weekend. He bought it from one of the cottages down by the water. The fishermen's wives had carried on a busy trade in Aran jumpers and hens' eggs; all gone now.

Feeling sorry for herself would not make things better. This walk would do her good. It wouldn't change the fact that Paul was gone, but she didn't want to sit until the night stole daylight from her, just thinking. Most of the women her age were involved in the active retirement group – not Evie. As far as she was concerned, she didn't need an endless list of day activities. She was quite happy on her own, wasn't she? Either way, even if she was a bit lonely sometimes, pitch and put or needlepoint or t'ai chi wasn't going to help. That was the latest – twenty pensioners down in the local park at sunrise, stretching joints that should be clay-covered, facing the sun – what there was of it. Evie thought it could not end well. Ena Walsh was nearly ninety and the only decent place for her was at home in her bed. Of course, in Evie's opinion, Ena had always been a bit… loose. That's what her mother might have called it and Evie couldn't think of a better word for it. She breathed in the salty air, squinted hard to see if the schooner was still tipping along on the glinting waves. Evie felt her step lighten as though, for a moment, she was a child who had managed to escape school for a day. Perhaps she could forget that he was gone, forget what he'd left behind. The Romanian girl; Kasia. Why hadn't he told her about Kasia? And what of Annalise? Evie knew about the life Paul had shared with both Annalise and Grace. Of course, she'd been upset when he told her about Grace. When she realized that there was to be a child, Evie felt as though she might die of grief. Then Paul had explained. It wasn't like it was between him and Evie. It was second rate by comparison – admittedly not his words, but she could speculate from how he spoke, from his expression, from the way he held her tight before he left. He did not want to go. She let him go because she knew he'd never really leave her, and of course, he never did. When Annalise became pregnant, God help her, but she almost gloated. So it had happened to Grace Kennedy, too. Perhaps Grace had mattered more than she'd realized. At the hospital, it felt as though she'd missed a step, glimpsed into Annalise Connolly's pretty eyes, and there was no doubt that the girl had no idea who Evie was. If anything, Evie had a feeling that she might have thought she was Grace's mother.