The Wife Before Me(52)

Finally, one evening, they were missing when she returned from work. The table had been polished, the rancid water emptied from the vase. A small victory? She felt no elation, no sense of having scored a point. This was a waiting game and she had no idea how the next round would go.



* * *



He lay beside her in bed, his hand on her stomach making a gentle, circular movement that was meant to soothe her. His touch was repugnant to her but she stayed still, afraid to jeopardise the tiny life they had created.

The following day as she was discussing a project with a client, her mobile rang. She was about to cancel the call when she realised it was Billy Tobin. Startled, she apologised to the client and walked out of earshot. Billy would never ring her at work unless it was an emergency.

‘Is something wrong, Billy?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ he replied. ‘I thought I’d better check with you, just in case. There are a couple of boyos here from the council. They’re taking John’s cross down. They say they’ve permission to do so. You didn’t mention anything about it when I was talking to you a few days ago, so I’m just letting you know.’

‘I never gave anyone permission to touch that cross. Where are you now?’

‘I’m standing right beside them.’

‘Let me speak to whoever’s in charge.’

‘Jim Jackson here, Missus.’ The tone was brusque, impatient. ‘What’s your problem?’

‘My problem is that you’ve no right to touch that cross. I had permission from the council to erect it.’

‘There’s been complaints. It’s a traffic hazard.’

‘That’s nonsense. It’s such a small cross. It’s hardly visible from the road.’

‘Orders are orders, Missus. I’m afraid it has to go.’

‘We’ll see about that. Don’t dare touch it until I speak to someone in authority.’

‘That’ll be Maura Gowan.’

‘I want her number.’ Amelia jotted it down, conscious that her client was glancing at his watch.

‘I’m so sorry for that interruption.’ She returned to her drawing board, where she had sketched some preliminary ideas.

‘You look upset,’ he said. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘It’s a mix-up. I’ll sort it out later.’ She tapped a pencil on the sketch. ‘As I was saying, vertical blinds would be the best option on those windows.’ She hurried through the remaining details and rang Maura Gowan as soon as he left. An automated voice asked her to press a number, then another. Finally, she reached the woman’s voicemail. Clipped and authoritative, Maura Gowan ordered her to leave a message.

She rang Billy. ‘What’s the situation?’ she asked.

‘They’re still here but they haven’t removed the cross yet,’ he replied.

‘I’m on my way.’ The waiting game with Nicholas was over.





Twenty-Nine





The traffic had yet to reach its evening peak when she drove onto the N11, heading for Wicklow. The council workers were gone by the time she reached Kilfarran Lane where poppies, crushed by the boots of the workmen, splashed a blood-red stain on the embankment. The last flowers she had left there had also been trampled underfoot and the terracotta vase was broken in half and partially covered by a mound of mud. It marked the spot where the cross used to stand. She knelt down and touched the earth. When she closed her eyes, the same well-known image assaulted her. She gasped aloud, as she did so often in her nightmares. Only now she was awake and conscious of the hard earth under her knees. The chilling east wind rising.

Her mobile rang. ‘Mrs Madison, Maura Gowan here. Regarding your query about the roadside shrine―’

‘Why was my father’s cross removed?’

‘We wrote to you twice outlining the complaints we’d received from motorists. As you ignored our correspondence we had no option but to take action.’

‘I never received any letters.’

‘They were sent from this office. The second one was registered. I have the details of its delivery in front of me. And when your husband spoke to us―’

‘My husband?’

‘We rang your landline, Mrs Madison, and left a message with him. I’m sorry for any distress the removal of the cross has caused you. But we did give you ample opportunity to address this issue with us.’



* * *



No sign of Nicholas downstairs, no cooking smells emanating from the kitchen. A sound from an upstairs room alerted her. She opened the door of the room they had chosen as the nursery. A two-sided, folding ladder stood in the centre of the floor and Nicholas, in paint-splattered dungarees, was painting the ceiling.

‘You’re home early.’ He replaced the roller in the paint tray and climbed down.

‘So are you.’

‘I’d a business meeting in the Shelbourne. It was cancelled when I was on my way there so I decided to call it a day. What’s your excuse?’

‘I came home to prevent my father’s cross being removed. Unfortunately, I was too late.’

‘Ah, yes. I meant to tell you about that. A woman phoned from the council. Seems you ignored their letters. Motorists were complaining―’