Dark Mirrors (14 page)

Once again working herself into an emotional panicked frenzy, she cast the notepad on the table.

“That’s it!” she declared, stomping across the room to pick up her phone.

She dialled the number – not surprised when, like all the other times, it connected direct to his voicemail – only this time she did leave a message.

“Philip,” she stated firmly into the handset, “it’s Esmée here. Can you please call me? Your children would like to see you and I think it’s time that you and I had a talk.” There wasn’t a tremor in her voice. Fixed and steady, she continued, “I suggest you call me on my mobile, as soon as you find time in your obviously busy schedule.” Unable to avoid the sarcasm, she was almost sorry as soon as it was said. Pausing briefly, running out of words, she finished the call. “We can arrange a time then.”

Without saying goodbye she hung up, infuriated by the absence of a face to slap.

“Fucking asshole!” she spat at the phone that sat silently, as if mocking her in its cradle, her voice filled with an intensity that stunned her. He had pushed her to the edge and she was feeling every ounce of nasty hatred ooze from her body, like a weeping septic wound, waiting impatiently to find itself inflicted painfully on her husband. Her emotions were getting the better of her, a constant pressure pulsating in the back of her head, a cumbersome load bearing down unrelentingly on her small shoulders.

The sound of the phone broke through her trance. Jumping from the floor she leapt at it, sure it was Philip finally returning her calls.

“Where are you?” the voice on the other end said.

“What?”

It took a few seconds to register the female voice.

“Es, are you there? It’s me,” came Fin’s slightly startled voice.

Gathering herself, Esmée snapped back to reality. “Shit, Fin, I’m sorry, I must have dozed off,” she lied convincingly.

“Not to worry!” Fin chirped. “I’ll order you a cappuccino. Now wake yourself up and get your ass down here!” Then she was gone.

In spite of herself, Esmée smiled. She was her own worst enemy and Fin as always was there for her, sometimes by design, sometimes by accident, to help.

Taking Fin’s instruction seriously, she washed her face and skimmed a comb through her hair, pulling it back with a grip. Grabbing her coat and bag, she paused at the door as she remembered her list.

After all that, she thought ironically, turning back to snatch it from the table.

* * *

A posh name for an everyday caff, Crème was a small unassuming but cosy coffee shop on the village main street. It took a moment for Esmée’s eyes to adjust to the dim light that swallowed her as she entered, quickly seeking out Fin who, seated by the misted window nursing her frothy cappuccino, waved to her.

“That didn’t take long,” she commented, welcoming her friend with a hug. She handed her the menu. “Brunch is on me!” she announced while poring over the delicious bill of fare.

Esmée listened while her friend called out the tasty culinary possibilities, considering whether or not to tell her of her earlier frustrated ‘moment’ and the peevish message left on Philip’s voicemail, eventually deciding against it, classifying it as a personal clandestine moment to which she was entitled. Enjoy this, she told herself, forcing the angst and frustration out of her mind. “Hmmm . . .” she mused, finally deciding to treat herself to a greasy Full Irish, hash browns and all.

Once they had ordered, Esmée took her well-considered list from her bag.

“Here,” she said, placing it proudly on the tablemat in front of Fin. “Read that.” Crossing her arms she leaned back into her chair to await the verdict. She watched Fin pick it up and smile with curious eyes before reading through the short inventory.

“Who’s been a busy little bee then?” she quipped, rereading it. “I’m impressed and particularly interested in item number five.” She pointed at the word
Solicitor
, throwing a challenging stare across the table.

“I knew you would be,” Esmée stated calmly, folding her masterpiece in halves and then quarters. “I know you all are. That’s why it’s there!” Placing the list back in her bag, she faced Fin’s challenge with a grin, happy that it had achieved its desired effect.

Their meal, filled with caffeine and conversation, passed all too quickly.

“Are you coming round for dinner tonight?” Esmée asked as together they strolled back to her car.

“What’s the occasion?” Fin asked.

“Have you forgotten? Tom is flying in tonight. And I promised the kids we’d order in pizza.”

With no plans, for once, on a Friday evening, Fin happily accepted the invitation, glad that Esmée, despite her circumstances, seemed to be getting on with things. They arranged for her to call round at about eight, and with Lizzie and Penny both having said they would be over to greet their brother it was guaranteed to be a full, if somewhat squashed, house and Esmée was looking forward to it immensely.

That afternoon, after collecting Amy from the schoolyard, politely side-stepping the other eager-to-chat mums, Esmée made her way back into the village. First she stopped at the bank, which she left mere minutes later, armed with a statement showing her balance. Then she and her young daughter returned to the café, this time for ice-cream, where she scanned the statement while waiting the remaining half hour before collecting Matthew. Satisfied not only that there was enough there to survive for some time to come, it was also one item on her list that was proudly in hand.

Heading home with the children she decided to ask Tom to help her with the sums; he was great at that sort of thing. Lizzie was the one to ask about the solicitor, hoping she could recommend one of her colleagues, someone with experience in the area. Someone separate from her family unit. All in all it looked like it might all come together nicely.

* * *

Promptly at seven she turned into the airport car park. Déjà vu. The welling nauseous sensation in the pit of her stomach reminded her, with mortifying discomfort, about the last time she was there. Was it less than a week ago? she asked herself as together her little family made their way into the arrivals hall. It felt so much longer than that.

When his London flight landed and Tom finally emerged through those awful opaque security doors, she didn’t have to point him out – the children recognised him immediately as he walked to the end of the barrier. She, forgetting they weren’t talking, hugged him with every ounce of her body, really glad to see him. Holding her at arm’s length, he scrutinised the fading marks on her face.

“Christ, Esmée!” he exclaimed in disbelief, half under his breath.

Matthew and Amy stood back until, encouraged, they greeted him shyly. They hadn’t spent much time with him, and so for them he was as good as new!

“Come on!” Esmée turned, breaking up the
reunion and, pulling him by the hand towards the exit, avoided the look of pity in his eyes while, mesmerised, the kids walked beside him, looking up in awe at their tall, handsome Uncle Tom.

“How long can you stay?” she asked as they made their way to the car.

“As long as I need to,” he replied, unable to stop looking at her face “That’s the beauty of being a software developer.” Then he sang with a cheesy showman grin: “
Any time, any place, anywhere!
”

There were welcome diversions in the form of hugs and kisses from her awaiting sisters when they got back to the house. She was glad not to be the centre of attention for once and let them chat and play in the lounge while she ordered the pizzas, pottering around the kitchen gathering plates and glasses. The sound of excited and boisterous chitchat made her feel the happiest she had in a long time. They would eat in the lounge by the fire, she decided. It was cosy and informal and this was, after all, supposed to be a treat. She placed a bottle of red wine along with a corkscrew beside Tom, inviting him to do the honours. He caught her eye and smiled up at her from his cross-legged position on the floor where he was showing Matthew how to fix his Lego Stormtrooper carrier.

“There!” he announced, raising the now fully working model up for his nephew to examine.

“Wow!” was all Matthew could say as quickly, seizing the moment, he dashed upstairs to fetch an armful of toys that needed the same attention.

Watching the interaction with interest Esmée noticed that Matthew didn’t know what to say to his smart uncle who had just opened up a whole new world of promise to him. His father had never sat with him like that, to play, exploring the endless possibilities and new beginnings for a multitude of broken Lego models. They hadn’t shared even a moment’s closeness like that, asking simple tasks of each other – should they put it back together or make something new entirely? Rather than fix it and, by the looks of it, it wasn’t that hard, Philip would have just replaced it. Opening the box was about as creative as he ever got and it was heartbreaking to watch Matthew discover this for himself. She wondered if he knew exactly what he was missing out on? Was he even aware of the void that only his father could truly fill? Would he grow up to be as emotionally ignorant, inept and unattached as Philip? Thankfully, at that moment Fin and pizza arrived together so they gathered round the small coffee table to devour the contents of the oil and tomato-stained boxes.

Esmée forgot her poignant thoughts as the cottage filled with laughter in the swaddling golden light and the rest of the evening slowly slipped by. The animosity between Esmée and her brother was forgotten, as the warmth, solidarity and energy of the group lifted her spirits.

It was after eleven before the children gave in to exhaustion and agreed to go to bed.

She was reading them a bedtime story when she heard the doorbell ring.

“I’ll get it,” Lizzie whispered from the bedroom door where she had been standing, listening to the story.

Satisfied that they were both asleep anyway, Esmée crept out of their room and, placing the unfinished book on the shelf by the door, tiptoed nimbly down the stairs after Lizzie while cursing the instigator of the shrill ring. She rounded the corner of the last stair only to come face to face, for the second time that week, with the two familiar figures of the local constabulary, cowboy boots and all.

Chapter 11

He knew he’d see her again, but he hadn’t banked on it being for this reason. If he’d had to guess the next step, it wouldn’t have been this. Something kicked as he saw her face visibly turn when she came down the stairs. Sometimes he really hated his job.

She certainly didn’t conceal her annoyance.

“Detective Sergeant Maloney! It’s a little bit late to be calling, don’t you think?” she said, glaring at him. “And I have guests.”

“Apologies, Mrs Myers, this won’t take long,” he said politely.

Casting her eyes impatiently towards heaven, she nodded and stepped aside to let her unwanted visitors make their way into the living room. They murmured greetings to the others, nodding in recognition to Penny and Lizzie.

Someone turned up the lights in the room, changing the atmosphere instantly; even the flames of the fire seemed subjugated and dull.

“Mrs Myers,” Maloney began formally, his tone different from the way Esmée remembered from earlier, uncomfortable almost.

He seemed unquestionably stiff and inhibited as he shifted his weight from one brown boot to the other whereas his token sidekick, Garda Burke, like before, remained quiet, letting her superior do the talking.

Taking his hands out of his pockets he gestured to the sofas. “Do you mind if we sit down?”

“Actually I do! It’s late!” she needlessly pointed out for a second time, not quite sure why she was being so brusque.

“Esmée,” he continued awkwardly, “this is fairly important and I think you should sit down.”

She didn’t like his tone, it made her uneasy, and she liked even less the familiar use of her name even though she had asked that he use it during his last visit.

“Please, may we have a word in private?” He looked suggestively left and right at her family.

Esmée watched in disgust as Lizzie and Penny bounded out of their seats like their butts were on fire and immediately set about clearing the empty boxes and wineglasses from the floor and table before scuttling off to the kitchen. Traitors!

Fin, shrugging her shoulders, stood up from her cross-legged position on the floor beside the fire and, gathering the remaining debris, she too left the room. Tom, however, stayed put.

Nodding to the police officers to take a seat, Esmée again registered the absence of the cocky attitude Maloney had displayed earlier in the week. They each sat on the edge, literally, of their seats, leaning towards her as Esmée once again sat opposite. Déjà vu.

“Now . . .” she invited impatiently, prompting them to speak.

Maloney eyed Tom with distrust.

“This is my brother, Tom,” she offered, noting his glance. “Whatever this is about you can speak freely in front of him.”

Maloney cleared his throat and, focusing once again on Esmée, hesitated briefly before saying quietly, “Esmée, it’s about Philip.”

“Look,” she interjected impatiently, “I told you on Tuesday I had
nothing to say to you about him – it is a private matter and I –”