The Boatman's Wife(22)

Oh, God. Lily felt a piercing pain in her belly, and her skin felt hot and irritated all down her arms. How could she possibly tell Connor’s grandmother what had happened?

‘I don’t know where she is,’ she said, rubbing her itchy arm, looking at her mom with pleading eyes.

‘Honey, you’ve got to try to find her,’ she said. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’

‘I don’t know where to start,’ Lily said.

‘What about having a look in Connor’s emails?’ her mom suggested. ‘Or there might something in his desk in the office.’

Her mom went back home, but only after making Lily promise she’d come over for her dinner. Neither of them mentioned her father. As if her mother sensed Lily’s anger with him.

Lily dragged herself into Connor’s office, or the nursery, as she had thought of it. Her desire to have a baby felt so vain and stupid now. All she wanted was Connor. There was Connor’s blue sweater, lying on the chair. She picked it up, held it to her face, and breathed in. There it was, faint sandalwood. She put the sweater on over her own. Hugged her sides, before sitting down in the chair at the desk.

Her eyes scanned the neatly shelved graphic novels, the framed picture on the wall of Connor in a wetsuit, surfing on a big wave on Higgins Beach his first year, and the desk with Connor’s laptop. She stared at the photograph, picked it up. How happy he looked, because he’d loved the ocean, just like her. The ocean which had turned on him and taken him away. Lily forced herself to put the photograph back down. She had to stay focused on finding his grandmother’s contact details. Just keep her tasks simple right now. She opened Connor’s laptop up and turned it on, then realised she didn’t know his password. She typed in her name and birthdate, but it didn’t work. She sat thinking for a few minutes. She knew some of the passwords Connor used. One was the name of the place where he’d grown up. She closed her eyes. What was it called again?

The word came to her. He’d talked about the ocean there often enough. Lily typed in ‘Mullaghmore’. Immediately she got onto his desktop screen and clicked onto his emails, which were already logged on. She did a search under ‘wedding’, but all that came up were a few emailed invites to their wedding sent to friends of Connor’s in Boston, who had all attended. Had he even invited his grandmother? Lily chewed her lip. Wasn’t that a bit strange?

Lily sat at Connor’s desk. All around her were small mementos of her husband. An abalone shell they’d got on honeymoon in Hawaii, a dish they’d bought in a store in Rockland on their first wedding anniversary, decorated with pink lobsters and filled with spare change, her notepad with a list Connor had started to write on it:

Butternut squash with caramelised apples, cinnamon, nutmeg, maple pecan muffins, Lily’s birthday?





Her birthday was six weeks away and yet he’d begun listing her favourite foods in preparation. How could she ever enjoy any food again, now he was gone?

Lily took a deep breath and steadied herself as she trailed through Connor’s inbox. Nothing seemed to fit an email to his grandmother. Would she even have email? The way Connor had talked about her, it hadn’t sounded like she was very technical. Lily opened up his spam box just in case. Scrolled down the screen through the sea of rubbish, until an email made her stop. The screen swam before her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. The subject line of the email from [email protected] stood out:

DOES YOUR WIFE KNOW WHO YOU REALLY ARE?





She looked at the date. The message had only been sent a couple of weeks ago.

Lily’s hand trembled as it hovered over the keyboard, her arms incredibly itchy again. She clicked on the email.





Chapter Six





Mullaghmore, 12th July 1992





On Sunday, the rain stopped. All week long, it had been pouring down, but now as the sun came out and warmed the damp air, it felt as if all the undergrowth had exploded. The garden had become a wild green jungle overnight, and all the hedgerows along the lanes were bursting and overflowing.

‘It needs to be cut back,’ Niamh commented to her mam. ‘Must be dangerous, hard for you to see when driving round corners.’

‘Sure, I slow down,’ her mam said back. ‘What about all the little creatures living in the hedges. That’s their home!’

‘Oh, Mam, you know it’ll get cut back any day!’ Niamh said, handing her mam a cup of tea.

Her mother looked at her, eyes widening, clearly noticing for the first time something was up. ‘Are you going out today?’

Niamh was trying not to show her excitement, but it was rare she put on a dress. She’d bought this one on a trip to Galway last summer. It was purple, with little silver stars on it, and shoestring straps. She was wearing it with her black DM boots, and had her leather jacket, of course, in case the weather turned.

‘Yeah, didn’t I tell you?’ Niamh said, knowing full well she hadn’t.

‘Well no, you did not,’ her mam said.

‘It’s no big deal,’ Niamh said, at the same time as they heard the roar of a motorbike engine in the yard outside. Niamh ran to the window. It was Jesse, pulling off his helmet and getting off his motorbike. He was dressed in biking leathers.