The Wife Before Me(72)

‘Do you believe in coincidence?’ she asks.

‘That depends.’ Annie sounds cautious.

‘Ghosts?’

‘No.’ An emphatic shake of her head.

‘Neither did I until recently,’ says Elena.

‘What changed your mind?’

‘Amelia Madison is haunting me. I saw her in the mist earlier.’ The words coming from her mouth defy logic. She unable to meet the surprised stare of the woman sitting opposite her.

‘You were lost on the headland. Anything seems possible when the mist falls so suddenly. You could have died. People have, you know. Walkers who didn’t pay attention to the weather forecast. Some locals, too.’ The tea Annie had poured for herself is cooling on the table. ‘You were in shock when I found you. I’m not surprised your imagination was playing tricks on you.’

Elena winces. The ice is burning her ankle. ‘I know it sounds crazy but I’ve had this feeling for so long. As if she’s trying to reach me. It’s muddled… so confusing. You’re right to think I’m crazy.’

‘Troubled, not crazy.’ For the first time since they came face to face, she notices Annie’s expression softening.

‘Do you know who I am?’ Elena asks.

‘Should I?’

‘If you read the tabloids, you must.’

‘I don’t.’

‘The tabloids call me the Ice Pick Stabber but my name is Elena Langdon. I stabbed my partner with an ice pick.’ It shouldn’t sound like a boast but that’s how it comes out. In the room next door, Kayla laughs and shouts, ‘Mammy, Lola is so funny today.’

Annie’s eyelids flicker but, otherwise, she remains composed. What an effort that must take. She walks towards the counter of an upright, old-fashioned kitchen dresser where a set of knives jut from a wooden block.

‘Was it an accident?’ She removes one knife and lays it on the table.

‘No.’

‘Did you have a reason?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Elena replies. ‘I certainly did. I thought you could help me to bring him down. I was wrong. But don’t worry. I’m not going to harm you or your daughter.’

‘Whatever reason led you here, it was a wrong call.’ Annie speaks slowly, each word emphasised. ‘I’m not the person you’re looking for.’

The mist is beginning to lift. Elena stands and tentatively puts her weight on her damaged ankle. The pain is sharp, intense. ‘I have to get back to Dublin tonight.’ She forces her boot on and hobbles across the kitchen. ‘I’ve to attend a group therapy session tomorrow or I’ll be in serious trouble. If you can just give me a lift back to the grocery shop, I’ll catch the bus from there.’

‘There’s no bus at this time of the evening. This isn’t Dublin―’

‘I know that. But I’m causing you trouble and it’s obvious you don’t want me here. I can hitch a lift ―’

‘Mag’s Head is the end of the road. There won’t be many cars passing. I’ll drive you to the medical centre in Rannavale. They have X-ray facilities there and you’ll be able to catch the last bus back to Dublin.’

She returns to the next room to persuade Kayla away from the television. The little girl can be heard protesting loudly as the animated characters are silenced, then she emerges from the cottage with a rag doll in her arms. Elena limps beside her and climbs into the Land Rover. Kayla, strapped into the back seat, starts to sing to the doll, her annoyance forgotten as soon as her mother starts the jeep.

Elena tries to think of something to say but polite conversation seems like an impossible ask after the confession she has just made.

‘Do you get lonely here?’ She is curious about this woman who lives this hermitic existence with only her daughter for company.

Annie shakes her head. ‘I don’t have time for loneliness.’ She offers no further information. They reach the foot of the headland and drive past Lily Howe’s Grocery Provisions. The shop is closed, the light off.

‘Lily has the coffee you ordered,’ Elena says.

‘Thanks. I’ll call tomorrow and pick it up.’

‘Does anyone else shop there except you?’

‘Enough to keep her open. Appearances can be deceptive.’

‘You’re the second person to say that to me today.’

‘Then it must be true.’ Annie smiles and drives onwards.

When they reach Rannavale, Annie supports her into the clinic’s waiting room. Kayla tags behind, the doll in her arms. Elena will be seen shortly by the triage nurse.

‘Goodbye.’ Annie shakes her hand, then bends to scoop Kayla into her arms. ‘They’re very efficient here. You’ll be discharged in time to catch the bus back to Dublin.’

‘Bye bye, Elena.’ Kayla holds on to her doll as she reaches out to kiss Elena. In doing so, she pulls the top of her mother’s jumper out of alignment. A medallion at Annie’s neck is briefly visible before she pulls her jumper back into position. A stained-glass butterfly, wings raised in flight. Then she’s gone, her child in her arms, leaving unanswered questions trailing in her wake.

Her demeanour had given nothing away when Elena blurted out her confession. No curiosity, no flicker of sympathy or understanding, no fear, even when she laid a knife on the table as a warning. Annie Ross. Leanne Rossiter. On the bus travelling back to Dublin, Elena visualises the medallion. Branded on her retinas, it has the glistening vibrancy of an oil painting that has yet to dry.