My Husband's Wives (10 page)

‘I get it. You've moved on and I'm never going where you want to take us.' He shook his head. It was the end. Really the end. Paul knew it; maybe Annalise knew it too, but only in a superficial way. Her marriage was dying, slowly, here in the safety of her Miele kitchen. They may as well have been talking about war in Syria. Something distant and terrible. Something that was far too tragic for her to grasp in this moment.

She thought about ringing her mum. She was certain Madeline would come round, maybe bring a nice homemade Pavlova, her favourite. Tuck her in bed early and offer to take the kids to nursery the following day. On the other hand, maybe not? Madeline had spotted the thaw in her relationship with Paul. ‘He is your husband, darling; sometimes you have to meet halfway.'

‘But this is important to me.'

‘I know it's not easy, but marriage isn't always easy. He's a good man, Annalise, worth making sacrifices for.' Madeline had never really seen modelling as a career.

When he left, it was so quietly that Annalise wasn't sure he'd gone. He took a bag, just the one, emptied out a handful of essentials and left the rest, as though he'd be back after he sorted out whatever hospital emergency called him away. Except it wasn't work that took him from her. Still, it seemed unreal, had she pushed him away so easily? And for what? For something that hadn't made her happy before? Annalise moved from room to room. The loneliness was overwhelming, but, being a natural optimist, she convinced herself it would all work out. They'd been together almost five years and this was their first real fight. Come on, she thought to herself, every couple had fights, right? Maybe this was a growing up moment. Annalise hoped he might come back and then it would all be a fuss for nothing if she called her mum.

*

Annalise was driving when she heard it. All thoughts of the photo shoot, the magazine spread, the boys, everything left her head for she couldn't say how long. She fiddled with the car sound system she'd never quite got the hang of, tried to catch the same item on another station.

‘News has just come in of a tragic car accident in the city centre. The victims are believed to be Paul Starr and Annalise Connolly. The pair were leaving the Liffey Hospital when the car they were travelling in collided with a lorry. The driver of the second vehicle is not believed to be seriously injured. Mr Starr, who passed away at the scene, was well known as one of Europe's leading surgeons, with patients who include international celebrities and royalty. Ms Connolly is a former model and believed to be in a stable condition.'

Grace Kennedy was not what Evie had imagined. Of course, she'd seen pictures of her in the Sunday papers; she always struck her as a bon vivant, glass in hand, glamourous type. She was smaller, more delicate in the flesh. Evie had imagined her taller, stronger, more garrulous, but this woman was not much over five foot, with long dark hair that gave her the appearance of a student. Her eyes were emerald sensitive orbs that seemed to reflect more than most eyes capture. They sat in dark hollows, the legacy of losing Paul; Evie knew what it was to cry over that. Her voice, low and even, was cool and compassionate at a time when others would be crazy with a mixture of grief and rage. Evie couldn't help taking in the house. The smell of heavy dark coffee, perforated by the sea breeze and fat exotic candles lingered in the air. The hall with warm honey walls was an eclectic mix of old and new, antiques and modern pieces, sitting harmoniously together. She couldn't stop noticing things, like Paul's umbrella still standing to attention in a large ceramic crock in the hall or the picture above the fireplace, the Kennedy–Starrs. They seemed the perfect family, smiling for the camera in what was obviously a posed sitting, taken less than six months earlier. Evie peered up at the portrait, tried to hide her obvious interest. She stifled a pang of something she would not acknowledge as jealousy; Paul was wearing the tie she'd bought him just last Christmas. It was wrong, it was all wrong. Perhaps Grace Kennedy was confused? The way she spoke, she called him her husband, but what about that picture? They all looked so… happy. Evie would be glad to leave the place. She knew that if she had to wait another minute she might lose the tenuous grip she had on her composure. That would be the next worst thing that could happen today. The very worst had already happened.

‘What about Delilah?' she asked Grace. Evie caught her breath when she saw Delilah. She was a striking mix of Paul and her mother; she had his height and his way of bending forward when she spoke and listened, but her hair was dark and her eyes held you far longer than you could account for. She had wanted to meet her for so long, and now today, well… anything but this. ‘You can't just leave her.' Evie dropped her voice, sensing that her familiarity with the child had thrown Grace somewhat. She lowered her eyes. There was no point having a fight. It was too late to make a lot of difference at this stage. ‘It could be on the news. You don't want her to hear it when you're not here.' Evie shook her head. No child should have to lose a father like this, especially not a man like Paul. She was sure he would have been such a good father; if only they'd had that chance.

Grace stared at her as though there was something more to say. Evie had a feeling she wasn't keen on her even referring to the child by name. For a moment, Evie wondered what exactly Grace believed her relationship with Paul to be. She quickly put the thought out of her head. Of course, Paul would have explained to Grace. He would have told her exactly how things were – why not, they were soulmates after all, Paul and Evie. Grace pulled a phone from her oversized soft leather bag. Evie listened as she spoke to a woman she called Una; a neighbour, she presumed. She quickly filled the woman in, nodding thoughtfully over the expressed sympathies as though they were her due and asked the woman to keep an eye on Delilah until she returned.

‘Okay, we may as well get this over with,' Grace said after she left Delilah in the kitchen with Una, a tall blonde woman who had appeared, it seemed to Evie, before she had time to hang up the phone, giving Grace a swift hug, and then nodding silently to her.

Grace marched down the tiled path to the waiting car opposite. The officer who had already broken the news to Evie was charged with bringing them to identify Paul. The car was unmarked, the detective in plain clothes; that at least was something to be thankful for.

The drive from Howth to Dublin seemed to go too fast and, still, it felt to Evie as if this day would never end. The journey was silent. Evie's mind was a muddled warren; she remembered glimpsing great hulking bridges turned to bulky stone dragons, forever crossing black water, never getting to the other side. She couldn't remember if she had breakfast, dinner or tea. She couldn't remember if she heard the radio news, or sat and considered life while the bells rang out above the village from the Church of the Assumption. All she was aware of was the sound of the gulls, jeering her from across the bay. She'd changed into her tweed suit. It was light grey, probably too warm for today. But it deepened the colour of her eyes, straightened her stride and made her feel there was purpose to her movements.

‘Well, we're here,' the officer said with a forced geniality neither of the women could feel. It felt as though they were in the hospital's belly, though they hadn't descended any stairs that Evie could remember. There were no views here, none worth hacking out a window for, it seemed. They made their way to what passed for a chapel of prayer, but Evie suspected that it was a place kept only for the dead. The youngster who showed them through had been respectful. She asked them to wait. They needed someone else, someone more official for this business. In a small room, an antechamber more than a waiting room, Evie sat with Grace while a clock ticked noisily overhead.

‘This is going to be hard,' Grace said needlessly and Evie thought, for just a fleeting moment, that she was glad she was not alone. They walked together, stood composed above the long and narrow form that lay beneath the heavy starched sheet.

‘He looks…' Evie sought the word, but it eluded her.

‘Peaceful?' Grace twirled a strand of her long dark hair between nervous fingers. There were no prayers, no sign of the cross from either woman. Evie did not believe in that mumbo jumbo. ‘Maybe, he's gone to somewhere better?'

‘Maybe.' Evie stopped herself from adding that, in her opinion, it could not have got much better for him than what they had all those years ago, and he knew it too. They stood for a while, taking in his face. He had transformed into a younger version of himself, the lines and cares and stresses waxed away from his brow. Hard to imagine, one sharp blow and it was all over. She almost envied him. The life he chose, the life she pushed him into, had led to this, where at least he seemed to get some peace. She turned on her soft kitten heels, nodded to the official summoned to take her signature. ‘Yes. It's him; it's my husband. Paul Starr.'

*

There was so much to do. Walking away, leaving him there was less terrible when she thought of all that had to be done. To be sure, she would rather stay here, cold and empty as it was, sit and look at him for as long as they would permit. At some point though, she would have to leave. Someone, she wasn't sure who, handed her a large brown envelope. She held it tightly, instinctively aware that it contained the last things Paul touched while he was alive. She would open it later, when she was alone. She held it with a mixture of dread and longing.

‘Will we go and see how Annalise Connolly is?' Grace whispered as they turned from Paul.

‘No. She will have her family at her bedside. I have a funeral to organize. There is too much to do. Please, take me back to Carlinville.' Evie nodded at the detective who stood by the door.

It was as they were making their way through the corridor away from ‘the chapel of peace' that Evie noticed a striking blonde woman stalking towards them with a hint of malice as she carefully picked out each step.

‘Annalise? Annalise Connolly? You're okay?' Grace said in surprise, as the woman approached.

‘Of course I'm okay; why wouldn't I be?' She gawped at the two women with hostility. Evie felt herself take a step back. She knew that the girl was a beauty queen, but she hadn't expected the stunner that stood before them – grief-crazy, dishevelled, but still arresting.

‘They said on the news that your condition was critical?' Grace kept her voice low, maybe out of respect for the dead who remained sealed in the rooms close by.

‘Yes, I heard that. I was on my way into town when I heard the news on the car radio. Can you imagine how that feels, hearing that your husband is dead and you're at death's door? I mean, I haven't even seen him since…' She ran a hand through, gilded shiny hair. ‘Where is he?' She glanced towards the watching guard.

‘He's…' The man, who had spent most of the time thus far silently observing, stepped forward. ‘He's already been identified by…' Words left him.

‘By me.' Evie said the words in a voice stronger than she felt she could muster, but maybe not as strong as it should be. The last thing Evie wanted was a scene. In many ways, even if she didn't admit it, it would have been easier on everyone if this girl was still in hospital while they had the funeral. Annalise Connolly would attract the national press and Paul would not want his death, nor his life, catalogued for the celebrity-crazed culture he so abhorred.

‘And who the hell are you?' Annalise turned on her, her glare taking her in as though she hadn't noticed her before. ‘Well?' Annalise stuck her chin out, but perhaps it was a mechanism to keep the tears at bay. Evie gave her the benefit of the doubt.

‘I'm Evie Considine and I am Paul's wife.'

‘No. There's been a mistake. You can't be married to Paul. You're much too…' She put her hand quickly to her mouth. ‘I'm married to Paul. Legally and, and, and…' Flustered, the words she needed had deserted her. ‘We're still together.' Annalise gasped, emotions about to get the better of her. ‘It doesn't matter what has happened, we are still together.' For a moment, Evie thought she must be right, there must be some mistake. Perhaps they should go back and look at Paul again, make sure they were talking about the same person. ‘I need to see him.' There was panic in Annalise's voice. ‘I need to see him. Now.'

‘It's okay.' Grace moved forward, put a hand on Annalise's arm, steering her back towards the room they'd just left. She glanced at the guard and Evie stood back to let them through. She marvelled at Grace Kennedy's reserve. A small nerve, trembling relentlessly along her mouth, was the only thing to give away the confusion and desolation that engulfed each of them now. ‘She needs to spend time with Paul. Tell them we're going back in, will you? Tell them we want to see Paul again.'

‘I'll come too,' Evie said weakly, trailing behind the two women before her. It was too much to comprehend. How did Annalise Connolly not know who she was? Perhaps she'd forgotten about her with the shock. Evie was sure Paul must have explained how things were. He certainly never married this girl; he promised Evie he would only be married to her; he promised her that Grace and Annalise would never mean enough to him to leave her behind completely. It was just shock. Evie settled herself behind the two women, smoothed out her grey suit, glad of its warmth in the cool foyer.

Evie stood at Paul's feet and Grace moved delicately towards her. This was Annalise's moment to say goodbye. The girl, for that is what she was, stood next to Paul, bent down and kissed him gently; Evie found she had to look away, had to block it out. She'd never really come to terms with the idea of Paul even touching anyone else. She always wondered about Grace and Annalise. That was only natural, she supposed. Paul was very honest, very open. After all, she sent him away; she really had no right to know. She cried when he told her about Grace Kennedy, although she didn't let him see her upset. With Annalise, Evie felt differently, almost as though she'd somehow won some small victory over Grace. Somehow, Paul's union with Annalise made him less of a man to Evie, but she pushed those thoughts aside when they lurked about her mind. He was still her husband. He had been foolish, but she loved him. When he told Evie about the baby, about Delilah, it was her chance to show him how much she loved him. She would be happy for him to be a father; Evie would always be his wife. He was unsure at first, but there was nothing else for it. He'd gotten the woman pregnant; he had to stand by her. It was, Evie remembered, with more than a little regret, upon her urging that he left Carlinville for the couple of nights every week. It was his chance at something normal. They wanted children and Evie knew; she did him out of that. She was twenty years older than him when they married. It turned out to be too late for Evie; no medical reason, simply unlucky. ‘It's not the same,' he said, again and again. Of course it couldn't be. It had not been love at first sight; they weren't soulmates. Not like Paul and Evie.