The Wife Before Me(84)

When he releases her hair, she gathers it around her like a cloak.

‘Goodbye big, beautiful, grown-up Kayla,’ he shouts from the car. ‘Goodbye Annie.’



* * *



She stands with her daughter at the gate and waves until he is lost from sight.





Forty-Seven





Mark Patterson is waiting for Elena in Neary’s Bar. He has found a quiet corner where they won’t be overheard but she remains uneasy. Nicholas could be nearby, watching, waiting for her to drop her guard. The pub is busy, noisy, people milling around the bar and spilling outside onto the pavement. She is unable to pinpoint anything to confirm her suspicions and, gradually, she relaxes. She liked Mark from the moment he spoke to her in the cemetery and felt his light, reassuring grip.

He talks about Woodbine. How the door was always open to Amelia’s friends. John Pierce was like a second father to him. To the four of us, he adds. He remembers the horror of his death, Amelia supported from the church by Nicholas, who formed such a protective barrier around her that her friends were excluded from her grief. That was the beginning of the change but they, like Amelia, were hardly aware of it until it was too late.

He remembers her checking her watch constantly when he met her for a drink or a meal, evasive when he questioned her about Nicholas, interrupting conversations to read texts from him, always the first to leave because he was outside in his car, waiting to drive her home. Elena could be listening to her own story. She thinks of her friends, how she allowed them to slide from her life and how invaluable their support is now, when she needs them. He tells her why Leanne changed her name by deed poll to Annie Ross as soon as she moved to New York. An act of defiance against her father. And Jay – Elena remembers him from the photographs, striking dark eyes and skin, dreadlocks, a rangy teenager who fell in love with Amelia.

Dropping his voice ever lower, as if the walls can eavesdrop on them, Mark outlines what he has been doing. As he reveals the information he has uncovered about Nicholas’s financial transactions, Elena begins to fidget.

‘Mark, I need some air.’ She finds it impossible to sit still and listen to how she has been defrauded. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

He nods, appreciating her distress. The glasses wobble when she stands up and her knees knock against the table.

Outside the pub, she leans against the wall and breathes deeply. Couples stroll arm in arm along Chatham Street. Flower sellers entice passers-by to purchase tiger lilies and brown-eyed sunflowers from their stalls. Elena is unaware of all this sound and movement. Nicholas ruined her. Coldly, calculatingly, he destroyed her only means of independence. Financial control led to mind and body control; and she allowed it to happen. She isn’t interested in hindsight or excuses. She remained silent when she should have spoken out. Named it for what it was and named him for being the perpetrator of that violence.

She pleaded guilty at her court arraignment. In two months her trial will begin. Post-partum depression. But she is not depressed. Instead, she is possessed by a raw, red fury that causes her body to tremble uncontrollably.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ An older woman, her expression concerned, taps her arm.

Unable to reply, Elena gazes blankly at her.

‘Are you feeling all right? the woman repeats. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’

I’m beyond help, she wants to shout but the woman gestures towards an empty seat outside the pub. Elena slumps down on the chair. The woman removes an unopened bottle of water from a small backpack and twists off the cap. The cold water revives Elena. She attempts to hand the bottle back but the woman declines it with a shake of her head.

‘You keep it, dear. The colour is coming back to your cheeks again. This humid weather, it’s affecting us all and Neary’s is always so crowded.’

‘You’re very kind.’

‘Not at all. Happy to help.’ She is a wiry woman with tightly permed hair and an inoffensive expression. ‘You remind me of my daughter.’

‘How so?’ Elena asks.

‘You’re both very pretty and, like Danielle, I suspect you’re finding life difficult at the moment.’

Elena looks away, uneasy under the woman’s scrutiny. The strains of a guitar being played by a street busker reach her. The woman is waiting for a reply but she feels no inclination to answer her.

‘Thank you.’ She stands, her legs steady again. ‘I’d better go back and join my friend. He’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.’





Forty-Eight





Standing outside Clearwater, the woman looks undecided as to whether or not she should open the gate. Having made up her mind to enter, she stops for a moment to admire the garden. Her knock on the door is gentle, as if she is reluctant to disturb the owner. Kayla runs around from the side of the cottage to see who is calling. She is dressed in a bikini and droplets of water drip from her hair, shimmer on her arms.

‘Can I speak to your mother or father?’ The woman smiles apologetically. ‘I’ve lost my way and need directions.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To the summit. I’ve been told the view from there is magnificent.’

‘It’s okay.’ Kayla doesn’t share her enthusiasm. ‘Sometimes, there’s mist.’