of the picture. I wonder what they’re called? Conor probably knows. He knows a lot about astronomy. He’s forever talking about it. One of our first dates was spent in the company of Brian Cox, a physicist guy I pretended I’d heard of, when Conor suggested we go to the gig in the 3Arena. It was almost a year ago. A raging storm the previous day had threatened to cancel the event. Fallen trees and floods had extended Conor’s journey to Dublin by almost an hour. Both of us had had to run across the cobblestone pathway of the Arena to get in before the show started. I had struggled in the high heeled shoes that Amanda, my sister, had loaned me for the night, but luckily we had got there just as the door was about to close.
Three hours looking at particles and stars and moons and black holes would have been torture if I hadn’t been so amused by Conor’s enthusiasm. I don’t think he blinked once. The look on his face resembled that of a child entering the gates of Disneyworld. His attention was glued to the giant screen as Brian Cox filled his mind with possibility. Conor often mentioned how he would have loved to study astronomy if he hadn’t inherited the family business when his father died.
I stretch my hand to feel his warmth beside me. He’s not here. Lifting my head, I scan the room and see him sitting on the armchair by the window. Shay is in his arms sucking on a bottle. Gosh, I almost forgot, I have a baby now.
‘Was he crying?’ I say.
‘Like a pack of hyenas. You were out cold.’
‘I didn’t hear a thing.’
Suddenly I feel vulnerable. Incapable. ‘Gosh Conor, what if I never hear him crying in the night?’
‘Don’t worry, Laura. You will. Your body is just overtired at the moment.’ That and the overdose of painkillers which I’m not going to mention.
Conor is staring into Shay’s eyes, rocking him gently. He looks as happy as it’s possible to look, sitting there with his son in his arms. Watching my husband and baby in the dim light makes my heart swell. I must be the luckiest… An image of the card crashes into my mind with heart-stopping clarity!
It’s like I’m seeing it for the first time. Your husband is a murderer. My heart quickens. I look across the room at Conor. His tossed hair, his gentle smile, his strong arms cradling his dream. Could he be a murderer? I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Why am I allowing myself to be scared by a frigging card? Conor was with me the night Vicky was killed. The night before Shay was born. He couldn’t possibly be the killer. And he’s too kind. Conor wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’ve never even heard him speak badly of anyone. Or anyone speak badly of him. Mind you, he does employ half the village so they’d have to be pretty brave to criticise the local saint.
The only time I’ve ever seen Conor lose his cool was on a football pitch. It was a cold day. The frost was nibbling at us all. I was standing on the sideline wrapped in a jacket thick enough to visit the North Pole in, but it did nothing for my tortured toes. Hopping from foot to foot, I was praying for the ref to blow the whistle, when Conor went to ground. Seeing him jump to his feet and swing his hurl at the guy who landed him there surprised me and, apparently, the team manager, who took him off before he did any real damage. I was a bit taken aback. But that was the only occasion I saw him lose it – unlike his best friend Noel, whose temper seems to always be on patrol. I’ve only been at three of their matches and Noel was red-carded in all three of them.
‘Go back to sleep, Laura, we’re fine here.’ Conor’s whisper crosses the dark room. His voice is calming but still my mind struggles to relax. I have to stop. This is ridiculous. Someone is clearly trying to upset me for some reason and I can’t let them. I’m going to be the perfect mother to Shay, the perfect wife to Conor, and no one is going to stop me. I’m going to rip that card up and get on with my life. Closing my eyes, I try to remove the card