said when I told her I was leaving to get married having known Conor for only four months. Of course I thought she was jealous to say such a negative thing. But now I wonder if she was right. How much do I really know about this guy?
He had proposed as soon as I told him I was pregnant, which some people would admire in a man. I was so nervous at the time. I’d convinced myself he was going to dump me when he found out, but his face had filled with joy. Conor had been over the moon with happiness. He had treated me like some sort of a princess, making sure I had everything I needed, anything I wanted. He had already renovated his mansion the previous year so it was ready and waiting for our life to begin. Why wait? We were so in love. Are so in love.
And yet, here I am, pushing the truth away. But I can’t ignore it any longer. Not now, not when I know for sure he’s hiding something. Conor could have left the house that night while I was sleeping.
* * *
The stew smells nicer than it tastes but Conor is shovelling it into his mouth like he’s just come back from the war.
‘Did you have any lunch?’
‘No, I had to go somewhere, running and racing all day. This is delicious,’ he says, scooping up more.
Cooking was the one thing I was proud of when we first met. It’s not that I’m particularly great but apparently Olive never had much of a flair in the kitchen so she was an easy act to follow.
The first time I had asked Conor to come to my apartment for dinner, I had been nervous. I knew I could make a mean spaghetti bolognaise but that wouldn’t impress anyone, so I had dug deep and managed to perfect a beef wellington with potato gratin and some steamed veg. It was all the rage at the time.
Amanda and her then partner, whose name I can’t remember – there were so many of them – had joined us. Everything went to plan. Conor had thought I should be a contestant on Masterchef, and ever since it’s been my thing. I’m the expert when it comes to cooking. Anytime Conor mentions my culinary prowess in other people’s company, my ego is freshly watered. I almost feel like I deserve to be with him.
‘What are we going to do now?’ Conor says, leading me to think he’s about to reveal what he and Detective Fintan Ryan were discussing.
‘About what?’ I push my plate to the side, lean forward and wait eagerly.
‘Well, now that Shay is here, I’m back to work. This is the new normal, Laura.’
‘Oh.’ Lowering my head, I rest my back into the chair.
‘Why? What did you think I was talking about?’
Now is my chance. I have his undivided attention, I’ll ask him. ‘Is everything okay, Conor?’
Conor stops eating and looks up at me. ‘Yes… why?’
‘I thought you were a bit off after speaking to Fintan this morning… did he bring bad news or something?’
Conor will be disappointed in his acting skills but I have to pretend I noticed something odd about him. I can’t tell him the truth.
‘No, everything is fine.’ He drops the spoon, full at last. ‘Will I check if there are any good movies on?’ he says, changing the subject and heading over to the sofa. He lifts the remote control and switches on the TV. So that’s that then. He’s not going to share.
* * *
The night drags on: three episodes of some Harlan Coban series, Conor checking his phone every ten minutes and two harrowing screaming sessions from Shay. When I asked Conor why he kept looking at his phone he said he was waiting to hear from some guy whose beer order had gone wrong. I didn’t believe him. He looks far too worried for that to be the problem.
At twelve o’clock, I give Shay his last feed and take him up to the bedroom. The sky is pitch black. Lying there, waiting for Conor to come up to bed, night terrors begin to creep into my thoughts. It’s like a switch going on, telling me it’s time to exaggerate all my fears now. So I do. Conor killed Vicky. Is it possible? Did he leave in the middle of the night while I was sleeping? Fintan is definitely covering up something for him. But murder? And why?