The house is quiet now, just the three of us. Conor and I stare into the crib. I feel like my heart is never going to slow down, like it’s beating to a rhythm it was always meant to. I cannot look away from him; his silky streaks of dark hair, his…
‘Is that what I think it is?’ Conor says, holding his nose.
‘Time to try out the new changing unit.’
Both of us bend down to lift Shay, bumping our heads in the process.
‘Time for you to rest, Laura, let Daddy do something.’
Lifting Shay like he might explode if he makes a wrong move, Conor holds him against his chest. I want to stay with him, share the moment, check Conor is doing it right.
Shay is about two years younger than Conor had hoped for, judging by the disposable nappies he bought during the week.
‘For God’s sake, Conor, we can’t put these things on him. They’re not for newborns, look!’ I hold the nappy up. It could double as a sleeping bag for my little boy.
‘I don’t know, I just grabbed a packet. I’ll go down to Spar and get… what have I to get?’
‘Nappies for newborns. It will say it on the packet.’
Conor’s eyes dart from the counter to the sofa to the coffee table. He can’t find his keys. The poor guy is already struggling and it’s only day one. Walking over, I put my hands on his face and make him look at me. His eyes are wide with fear.
‘It’s okay Conor. Relax. We have this.’ Slowly I bring my lips to his, close my eyes and remind myself why I’m here. After a brief moment Conor pulls away, takes a deep breath and stares back at me.
‘I’m sorry Laura. I… I—’
‘Shuuush.’ I kiss him again. This time he engages, sweeping his tongue around my mouth with vigour. He squeezes my body close to him. I want to scream with the pain but I don’t. I bear it, letting him relax with me until eventually I have no choice but to pull away.
‘I hope these stitches dissolve soon,’ I say.
‘Are you okay, Laura?’
‘Yes, I just need to sit down. No – I just need to stand up. Actually, I think I’ll take one of those salt baths the nurse recommended when you get back.’ We both turn our attention to the crib, staring at our little miracle sleeping like… well, a baby. Conor puts his arm around me.
‘Thank you Laura,’ he says, looking at his watch. ‘I’ll run down and get the nappies now.’
* * *
Shay is awake, staring at me, kicking his bare legs while his tongue explores how far it can travel outside his mouth.
‘Daddy won’t be long,’ I say, pulling the blanket up over his body. I turn around and notice the cards that were dropped in through the letterbox sitting on the shelf. Picking them up, I carefully settle myself on the nearby sofa.
I open the first one. There’s a picture of a baby dangling in a towel from a stork’s mouth. I open the card. To Laura and Conor, Congratulations on the birth of your new baby! Ollie and Ciara. Ah, the couple from the petrol station. Nice of them.
Then I open the second card. A blue teddy bear sits on the cover, his hands clapping, ‘Congrats!’ written in gold above his head. I open the card. To Conor and Laura, Congrats, Margaret Cash. That’s the older lady who lives on her own in the next house about fifty metres down the road. ‘Thanks Margaret,’ I say out loud while opening the third one.
The pink envelope is addressed to me alone. Laura. The card inside has a picture of a tower of toy bricks with ‘Congratulations on the birth of your new baby girl!’ written above it. Ha. I open the card and read the words scripted in black letters.
Your husband is a murderer. Where was he the night Vicky was killed?
Chapter Three
Your husband is a murderer. Where was he the night Vicky was killed? I read the words again, pulling myself off the sofa. A jab of pain lets me know this is real. This is not a dream; this card is in my hand and it’s saying that Conor is a murderer. But who sent this? And why?
Maybe someone hates me. Someone jealous that this outsider, this city girl managed to nab their most eligible bachelor. There are a few candidates, especially Olive. But she wouldn’t