‘Not at all, go, we can catch up again,’ I say, delighted she thought I deserved an apology. I’m only seeing snippets of this girl but the more I see, the less I think she could have sent that card. I’m not sure if that’s a bad thing or a good thing because if she didn’t send it, who did?
Chapter Nineteen
An hour later, I eventually turn the key in the door. I would have loved to stay in the pub with Conor but Shay comes first, and I only left one bottle prepared for Amanda to give him. I suppose I could have told her what to do but I didn’t suggest that to Conor.
‘Well?’ Amanda says, opening the kitchen door when I step into the house. ‘How did you get on?’
Yanking the shoes from my feet before unbuttoning my coat, I head straight for Shay. His little pink face looks so peaceful as he sleeps in his crib.
‘Fine.’
‘And how were the villagers? Did they come for you with torches of fire?’
Amanda is sipping coffee at the island, eager to know what went on.
‘Lovely. Everyone was really nice to me. I would have liked to stay.’
‘Go back then, I’m in no rush home.’
‘Thanks, Amanda but I’m glad to be home with Shay.’
‘Well he’s as good as gold, that little fella. I’ll babysit anytime, especially with that big TV, it’s like a cinema in here.’ Amanda steps forward to have a look at the television. ‘You really landed on your feet here.’
‘I know I did Amanda, but it doesn’t always feel that way.’
‘What do you mean?’
I don’t want to tell Amanda that I’m worried Olive is not the person who sent the card. I was hoping it was some sort of revenge act for me having stolen her man, but I’ve changed my mind. If I do tell Amanda how I feel, if I say it out loud, I’ll have to admit that something worse is going on.
‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Is it the card, Laura?’
‘Yes, I can’t stop worrying about it.’
Amanda puts her cup down and walks over to where I’m sitting on the sofa.
‘Don’t let it bother you, you know it’s not the truth: Conor was with you the night Vicky was killed. It’s someone being bad, Laura. It’s someone trying to upset you.’
Her hand on my shoulder makes me feel vulnerable. Tears fill my eyes.
‘But why? What did I do?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What if they all hate me?’
‘They don’t all hate you, don’t be so dramatic, Laura. It was one card.’
Eventually, I wipe my eyes, pull myself together and watch Shay sleeping in the crib. The mere sight of him relaxes me. Amanda makes herself a sandwich, offering to make me one too but I tell her I ate in the pub. I don’t like lying to her but I’m not in the humour for a lecture on how I need to eat to keep my strength up. So I make tea and we chat some more. Between the eulogy and the talk in the pub, I’ve learned a lot about Vicky, and Amanda is eager for me to tell her.
* * *
The pub was just a part-time job for Vicky Murphy, who had grown up in the next village. The only child of Erin, she had been quite the tomboy in her day. Stories of her getting into fights on behalf of her male cousins were legendary in the town. When she finished school she wanted to leave her village but her mother didn’t want her going to Dublin so young. They agreed she could move to the next town for a year or two before moving on.
Ten years later and Vicky was still here. She had discovered a love for journalism, inspired by a young man she had been dating for a few years. He had moved to London, leaving Vicky with the bug. Eager to get into the business, Vicky regularly submitted pieces to papers and magazines and had had a few pieces accepted by the Journal. Inspired by her success, she had decided to go to college in Dublin. That’s where Vicky’s life was at when the plug was pulled.
‘Investigative journalism?’ Amanda says, after washing her sandwiches down with a mug of tea.
‘So they say.’
‘Hmm, interesting.’
‘So she lived in Dublin during the week?’
‘Yes, three or four nights apparently.’
‘That would cost a bit… I wonder where the money came from?’
A little whimper escapes from the crib. Shay is wakening.