The Wife Before Me(85)

‘Not today.’

Kayla nods. ‘I’m playing in my paddling pool.’

‘You’re a lucky girl to have your own swimming pool.’

‘It’s not a real swimming―’

‘Is your mother at home, dear? Or your father.’

‘Mammy’s working.’

‘Are you all alone then?’

‘No, she’s inside. I’ll get her.’

‘Mammy… Mammy!’ she shrieks. ‘A woman at the door wants you.’

‘I’m in here, Kayla.’ Another lost tourist. Reluctantly, holding tightly to her daughter’s hand, she walks to the front door.

‘I’m sorry to take you away from your work but the road seems to be impassable from here on.’ The woman, who had bent to admire a cluster of purple heather, straightens. Her face is flushed and beads of perspiration have gathered above her upper lip. She dabs at her mouth with a tissue, then smiles apologetically. ‘The journey up Mag’s Head is more arduous than I thought. Can you tell me where I went wrong?’

‘About a half a mile back you’ll find a fork on the road. That leads directly to the summit, where there’s a viewing platform.’

‘I saw that fork.’ She smacks the side of her head. ‘As usual, I made the wrong decision. Story of my life.’ Her walking boots have a lived-in shape and her trekking poles suggest she is a seasoned hillwalker.

‘It’s an easy mistake to make.’

‘You have a beautiful garden,’ she says. ‘I love how you’ve cultivated those wildflowers yet allowed them to flourish in their natural surroundings.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I’m sorry to intrude further on your time but could I ask you for a drink of water?’ This time, she mops her forehead with the tissue and sways forward. Her grey roots are growing out and her curly hair is limp from the heat.

Work has been difficult this morning, a constant flow of emails demanding attention. She hesitates, reluctant to waste any more time, but this woman with her faded blue eyes looks as if she’s about to collapse on the doorstep.

‘You’d better come in and sit down for a few minutes.’ She opens the door wider. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

In the kitchen, the woman introduces herself as Moira Ward and offers a moist handshake.

‘Annie Ross.’ She extricates her hand and resists the urge to wipe it on her dress.

‘Annie? What a sweet name. Have you always lived here?’

‘Not always.’ Already, she is regretting the decision to invite Moira Ward into her home. She switches on the kettle and wonders what they will talk about as she waits for it to boil.

‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom, Annie?’ Moira’s flushed features have faded to a pallid grey that is probably her natural complexion.

‘It’s the last door at the end of the hall.’

‘Thank you.’ Taking her handbag with her, she leaves the kitchen.

Outside, Kayla, back in the paddling pool, is trying to persuade Bluey to join her. The lamb ignores her pleas and nibbles contentedly at the bark of a fallen branch. The cottage feels contaminated by the stranger’s presence. She knows this is an overreaction, yet she is unable to dispel it. Moira is taking too long to return to the kitchen. Could she have fainted, or is she doubled over with cramps, unable to continue her journey? Alarmed by this possibility, she checks the hall. Moira is standing opposite a table of photographs. She turns quickly, her phone in her hand.

‘I was just admiring your photographs.’ She points to a framed selfie, taken on Mark’s recent visit. ‘Is this gorgeous man your husband?’

‘No,’ she replies shortly. ‘He’s a close friend. Your tea is ready.’

‘You’re so kind. Thank you.’

Back in the kitchen, she slowly sips the tea, her bird-like eyes darting around the room and then to the window. Outside Kayla is teaching her doll to swim.

‘What a charming child,’ she says. ‘What age is she? Five? Six?’

‘She’s almost turned five.’

‘She has amazing eyes. Just like yours. Does she go to school locally?’

‘Yes.’

‘You wouldn’t imagine there’d be enough children living around here to keep a school open.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

‘I spoke to a man in the grocery store. He said you work with stained glass.’

‘I’m sure he told you I’ve closed down my studio.’

‘No, he didn’t mention that. How very disappointing. I collect stained-glass pieces from everywhere I go.’ She butters a scone, smears it with jam. ‘Is this home-baked?’

‘Yes. By Lily, the woman who owns the grocery store.’

‘Delicious. I’d like to buy one of your designs.’

‘As I said, I no longer work with stained glass.’ Kayla’s shoulders are reddening. Another layer of sunscreen is needed. ‘I’m sorry. I have to attend to my daughter. She burns easily.’

‘Of course, I’m delaying you. You’ve been so kind. I’ll say goodbye to Kayla and be on my way.’ She opens the back door and steps down into the garden. ‘I’m off, Kayla. It was a pleasure to meet you.’