The Wife Before Me(29)
‘You’re the first to know, apart from Killian, of course.’ Susie giggles and presses her hands against her flat stomach. ‘He’s over the moon about it. I’m going to need all the advice you can give me.’
Elena’s bottom lip bleeds when she tries to smile. Susie dabs at it gently with a tissue. ‘That looks sore. You must have been terrified when you fell.’
‘It all happened so quickly.’ She stops as the door opens and Nicholas enters. She takes the tissue from Susie and holds it against her mouth, unable to bear the thought of being kissed by him.
‘My love, is your lip bleeding again?’ He ignores Susie and bends towards Elena. ‘I’ll call the nurse―’
‘Don’t do that, Nicholas. It’s okay now.’ She gives her lip a final dab and introduces him to Susie.
‘I’ve heard so much about you and Killian.’ He smiles warmly at her. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.’
His teeth look long and sharp, a wolf’s teeth ready to tear her apart. How come she has only ever noticed their whiteness until now, and not their lupine appearance? The band around Elena’s chest tightens. She has to stop – stop. Otherwise, she will have a heart attack and who will love her children as much as she does? She must find a way to strengthen this relationship and build on the shame she has sensed in Nicholas since the night he confessed to beggaring her.
‘And you too, Nicholas,’ says Susie. ‘Congratulations. I’ve just been looking at photographs of your children. You must be thrilled with them. They’re gorgeous.’
‘They take after their mother.’ He strokes an index finger along Elena’s swollen face. ‘I’m a very lucky man.’
‘Elena has been telling me about her accident. From the sound of it, she’s lucky to be alive.’
The atmosphere in the small ward changes instantly.
‘Wooden stairs. Woolly socks.’ Elena speaks quickly. ‘A dangerous combination, as I told you.’
‘Unfortunately for Elena, that’s true. For one dreadful moment when she fell I thought I’d lost her.’ He looks pointedly at his watch. ‘As you can see, Susie, she’s still in recovery and supposed to be resting.’
Susie, taking the hint, stands. ‘It’s been wonderful seeing you again, Elena. Why don’t you all come and stay with us for the weekend when you’re fully recovered. We’d love to show you what we’re doing on the farm. It’s quite amazing.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ says Nicholas. ‘But with two babies, a visit is out of the question for the foreseeable future.’
‘Of course.’ Susie squeezes Elena’s hand. ‘But don’t leave it too long. Our door is always open.’
‘Why were you so rude to her?’ Elena asks after she leaves.
‘Rude? Since when has caring for the person you love been considered rudeness?’ He kisses the top of her head. ‘How did she know you were in hospital?’
‘I told her when she rang me yesterday.’ She sits perfectly still. That gentle pressure on her cheeks, as if she has been brushed by cobwebs, is becoming familiar now. ‘She drove all the way from Galway and you made her feel so unwelcome.’
‘That’s nonsense, Elena. She left because she could see you were exhausted and overwrought from her visit.’
‘I’m not overwrought―’
‘Calm down, please. I can’t cope with another scene.’
‘Then watch my lips, Nicholas. I’m not overwrought.’
‘If you say so. But you can’t blame me for being worried about you. Remember how you were after Isabelle died? And those months after Joel was born? You were worse than with Grace. All I ever want to do is protect you.’
Protect her from what? From herself, is that what he means? From the fear coiling inside her? The throbbing of her head? The jabbing pain in her chest when his face hardens and she realises she has said the wrong thing again?
Sixteen
Elena treads lightly, like those women in niqabs who wear soft-soled slippers that whisper their approach. She uses words warily, afraid of the ‘triggers’ that will unleash his temper. The mirror reflects her inner turmoil: her thin face and eyes shadowed from sleeplessness, her stiffened shoulders.
She lifts a pair of scissors and brings them towards her. Clumps of chestnut hair fall soundlessly to the floor, where they coil like a nest of mice. She gags at the harsh chemical smell as she mixes dye and applies it to her bobbed hair. When the time is up she rinses it out until the water runs clear.
Sleek wings brush her cheeks when she swings her head, but the matt black colour drains her complexion. In straightening her springy curls, she has achieved a slightly lopsided effect, as if the scissors had been slanted in the wrong direction.
She should look chic, having copied the short, asymmetrical hairstyle she has seen so often in the photographs of Amelia. But she is not, by nature, chic. She was made for the outdoors, for boisterous waves and challenging heights.
* * *
Tara is home to attend her father’s sixtieth birthday, a family celebration to which Elena and Nicholas were invited. Elena had sent their apologies and is surprised, the day after the party, to see her friend standing at the front door. Thankful that she had put on a pair of sunglasses before answering it, she takes Tara into the conservatory.