wave. Tears are gathering in my eyes, so I take a tissue and dab the corners, careful not to smudge my mascara.
I had to go through the whole ordeal this morning; prepping, putting on my best exterior. The whole town will be here and I’m the new wife of their hero. All eyes will be on me. I know it. All eyes, including those of the person who sent that card through my letterbox.
When we arrive at the village, the traffic is at a standstill. People have come from everywhere. Vicky Murphy has served a lot of pints and it looks like all the recipients have come to say goodbye.
‘I haven’t seen the village this busy since the senior footballers were in a play-off for the championship final. I think we’re just going to have to ditch the car here and walk.’ Conor pulls over to the right and stops the car.
‘Are you leaving it here?’
‘No choice.’
Looking down at my shiny Louboutins, one of the many surprises Conor showered me with during my pregnancy, I realise I did not come prepared for this. The church aisle was the only exercise I thought I’d be getting today. Now I have to take these heels down the broken paths and cobblestone steps of Ballycall village. I hope I’m not too overdressed. Flashing my expensive clothes may not be the best way to start friendships. But I am the wife of the town hero. It’s expected of me. Even though I feel like a fake.
Opening the car door, I step out, pleading with God to hold out on any punishment he thinks I deserve.
The street is full of dark suits matching the grey October day. I walk with as much confidence as I can feign amongst the crowd of mourners quietly chatting as they head up the steep incline of the church grounds. In front of me, an old man links arms with a younger man. Conor is like the mayor, nodding and shaking hands. There are embraces, handshakes, kisses being dished out all over the place.
On the far side of the church grounds, Olive stands. A few dark jackets to her left, Georgina is holding court in a bright yellow coat.
Olive has caught my eye but before I have a chance to wave, she quickly looks away without acknowledging me. Another time that might ring alarm bells, but Olive was a friend of Vicky’s. She must be heartbroken to be standing here in the cold air, waiting on Vicky’s coffin to arrive.
Noel and Abbie arrive behind us, Abbie in a long blue pleated skirt and a light grey coat which looks a million dollars on her. It probably was a million dollars. Apparently, Abbie is loaded, heiress to a small fortune. Noel was lucky to get her to move down to this small village when she was used to living amongst the rich and famous in the wealthiest and most respected part of Dublin. She must really love him.
‘So sad,’ Abbie says, pushing herself closer to me. I nod. I feel sad but I only met the girl once or twice, so I’m not filled with the same grief that most people here are struggling with. I’m a bit nervous, though. Nervous at the thought that someone watching me, someone who will talk in a friendly voice to me during the next couple of hours, is the same person who put that card through my letterbox.
Chapter Seventeen
When the hearse arrives carrying the coffin, a dark silence sweeps over the churchyard. This is no ordinary funeral. This woman was killed.
Heads are lowered. The car pulls to a halt outside the big wooden doors of this tiny church. There’s a second car, one with the family. I hadn’t really thought to ask much about Vicky’s family. For some reason I thought she was on her own here.
A tall lady steps out of the second car; that must be her mam. Her coat collar is pulled up around her neck, hiding her from the gawking crowd. Dark glasses and a black beret-style hat complete her camouflage.
An older man is holding her arm. The woman walks, head bent, towards the coffin which is being lifted out of the first car. This is when I break down, seeing the sadness in real life. The broken souls, lying bare for everyone to see. The older man looks like he could be the woman’s father, Vicky’s granddad. I don’t want to think about the grief they must be going