The Wife Before Me(67)

Later, as she is about to fall asleep, she remembers where she has seen the handwriting. A scrawl on the back of a photograph, that was it. The woman with the shaggy white-blonde hair and the cool, appraising, green stare. Her life in New York chronicled. Somehow those flourishes suit her.





Thirty-Seven





Four days later, Billy is out of bed and sitting in an armchair when Elena visits him in hospital.

‘Two new stents,’ he says. ‘That makes four altogether. Piece of cake.’ He sounds proud enough to brandish a ‘heart recovery’ trophy at her. ‘I’m to be discharged tomorrow.’

‘I was very worried about you.’ Elena perches on the edge of his bed. ‘You look a lot better than the last time I saw you.’

‘You saved my life.’

‘I doubt it. Like you said, you’re a tough nut to crack.’

‘Enough about me. How are you?’ He lowers his voice, as if asking such a question might upset her.

‘I’ve been better, as you can imagine.’

He nods, his expression grim. ‘I don’t know you well, Elena. But this much I do know. There was a reason for whatever happened in that ice house. You’re a kind young woman and Nicholas is a hard man. I never liked him, and that’s a fact.’

‘You must be the exception to the rule, Billy. Most people find him utterly charming, including the police.’

‘John didn’t.’

‘John?’

‘Amelia’s father.’

‘Ah… the flowers.’

He nods. ‘Amelia used to leave them there all the time. After she died, it seemed right to carry on the custom.’

‘Why did Nicholas always remove them?’

‘He could never forgive John for trying to break up his relationship with Amelia.’ Billy scratches the nape of his neck. ‘Nicholas doesn’t forgive easily, even if the person who crossed him is dead. I always hoped you’d drop in for tea with the young ones.’

‘I’m sorry, Billy.’

‘No need to apologise. It wasn’t difficult to see that he was changing you.’

‘How could you tell?’

‘You reminded me of Amelia before she died. Your demeanour, the way you dressed. And the way you walked, like there was lead in your shoes, yet I’ll hazard a guess you were a vibrant lassie before you met him.’

‘Was Amelia?’

‘She was a terrified little girl after the accident that took her poor mother. Wouldn’t go near water for love nor money. Jodie, my wife, used to look after her. For months afterwards, she’d just sponge Amelia down and the poor child would be trembling like a leaf. Terrible it was, for a while, but between the two of us we brought her through it – and John too.’

Elena imagines Amelia as a child. A skinny little girl, trembling at the sound of running water. She blinks, her eyes glistening, but tears are only a distraction.

‘She grew out of it, eventually,’ says Billy. ‘She was a lively kid growing up. Me and Jodie never had children so we used to call her our “almost daughter”.’

‘You must have known her friends.’

‘She used to hang out with Jayden and Mark. Can’t remember their surnames now. The old memory, you know. Then, of course, there was Leanne. A right pair, they were, always up to some devilment. They used to put on concerts. They were great dancers but not so good at the singing. Not that that stopped them. I remember they loved the spicy girls.’

‘You mean the Spice Girls?’

‘Whatever.’ Billy shrugs. ‘Then there was that time when, I swear to God, the pair of them looked like Dracula’s brides. White faces and net stockings, that kind of thing. Then Leanne dropped out of art college and left for New York.’

‘Is that where she still lives?’ Elena’s spirits sink, but Billy is shaking his head.

‘Last I heard she’d come back and was living somewhere out West Kerry way.’

‘Rannavale?’

‘Could be, though that name doesn’t ring a bell. It was some headland or other. Named after a horse, far as I remember. Amelia was married to that weasel by then and I don’t think they were much in touch with each other. Nicholas made sure of that. How Amelia stood for it, I’ll never know.’

‘But she didn’t, Billy.’

‘True enough.’ His brow furrows. ‘Strange to think that mother and daughter went the same way, God rest their souls.’

‘Would you recognise this handwriting?’ Elena shows him the envelope. ‘Could it belong to Leanne?’

‘Could be,’ he says after studying the writing. ‘But I wouldn’t swear an oath on it.’

‘Do you have a surname for her?’

‘What is it now?’ He taps his forehead. ‘Like I said, my memory’s shot to hell these days. As soon as I try to remember names, they run away from me… ah, yeah, Ross – Rossiter, that’s it. Leanne Rossiter. Her father was a martyr to the drink. Took him in the end, it did.’ He pauses, wary of intruding. ‘Any word on when your case will go to trial?’

‘The arraignment will take place in three months.’

‘How are you pleading?’