Aftermath Read online

  “No, not yet, but you never know when the day will come,” he’d smiled at her.

  That day had finally arrived. She grimaced when she saw the mountain of paperwork she had to trudge through to find his diary. Maybe he took it with him to Japan, she thought in a panic. No he would never have taken his work diary with him on holiday. It has to be here somewhere.

  She sat down heavily on his leather chair, a sudden dart of pain shooting through her left leg. She was exhausted; physically and emotionally drained after Hope's visit, but she was determined to find what she was looking for. She needed some answers and hopefully her husband's diary would reveal something to her.

  She rummaged through the drawers in his desk. The top drawer was crammed with pens and notebooks and other miscellaneous stationery. The second drawer contained folders and his diary and the third drawer housed his iPad. Kerry took out the contents of the drawers and spread them on the table in front of her. She hoped there would be a clue, an explanation for what had happened. She wasn’t sure what sort of an explanation she was looking for, but she wanted to find one nonetheless; anything to put her out of the misery of not knowing. There was nothing of much interest in the folders.

  She’d saved the diary until last. Nervously she flicked through the pages until she got to the month of March. There was nothing suspicious on any of the pages; just page after page of boring work meetings and appointments, scribbled in Conor’s indecipherable handwriting.

  Tentatively, she opened the iPad and tried to log in. It was password protected. Kerry stared at the screen in front of her. She had no idea what his password might be, so she tried his name, which was rejected, then her own, then their daughters and various combinations of birthdays and anniversaries. Each time the machine beeped at her and asked her to try again.

  Reluctantly, she typed Hope’s name. Thankfully, it didn’t work either. A wave of relief washed over her. She wasn’t sure how she would have reacted if Hope’s name had actually worked.

  Where the hell is he? She was overcome with anger and hurt. He had a lot of answering to do when she finally found him. She was filled with a deep sense of dread and foreboding that Hope wasn't the total liar that Kerry wanted her to be.

  Kerry was worried about Saoirse. When Hope and Chantale had left she'd gone upstairs to her bedroom to try to talk to her, but Saoirse wasn't interested. She'd brought her some tea and chocolate as a peace offering and sat with her for a long while, but Saoirse had hardly spoken two words since they'd left. Kerry couldn't think of a single comforting thing to say to her daughter. What was the point in the usual assurances and platitudes that everything was going to be alright when it was blatantly obvious that everything was very wrong? What could she possibly say to Saoirse that could help in any way? So she sat at the edge of her daughter's bed, sipping her tea and worried about what was going to happen next. Would more women come crawling out of the woodwork? What else would she discover about her husband? It seemed he had woven an intricate web of secrets and lies around himself and they were all caught in the middle of his deception.

  Saoirse was finding it very difficult to get her head around the reality of the situation. She couldn’t stop focusing on the fact that Conor was her father and she loved him and she knew he loved her, no matter what he’d done. He’d always been the one on her side in an argument. She thought she knew him but she was beginning to think that she never really knew him at all. It was unacceptable that the pregnant woman who’d descended on them that evening and her beloved father were connected in any way. Hope was the polar opposite to her mother, anyone could see that and years younger than her too. What could her dad ever have seen in Hope?

  She knew her mother could be a nagging pain sometimes but she’d thought they were happy together. She was always catching them hugging and kissing in the kitchen when they thought nobody was around. It grossed her out but the fact that her dad was married to another woman made her feel very ill indeed. They’re supposed to be married, she thought to herself, which means he lives with her too and sleeps with her. Now she really did feel like throwing up. She willed herself not to be sick as she didn’t want to worry her mother.

  “She has to be lying, mom, doesn’t she?” Saoirse asked in a small voice.

  Kerry jumped. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that she’d forgotten she was still sitting in her daughter’s bedroom.

  “I don’t know darling. I really don’t know,” Kerry sighed. “I certainly hope so.”

  “Why is she doing this to us Mom? She has nothing to prove that she knows Dad.” Saoirse’s voice was rising in panic. “I don’t believe she’s really married to him. She can’t be! Why would she do this when Dad isn’t even here to defend himself? She’s just some stupid attention-seeking bimbo!” Saoirse punched her pillow in anger and frustration before dissolving into heart-wrenching sobs.

  Kerry gathered her into her arms and held her close. “Ssshh, darling, everything’s going to be ok. We’ll sort it out, don’t you worry.”

  “How can we sort it out, Mom?” Saoirse wiped her hand across her tear-stained face. “It’s her word against ours until we can find Dad and what happens if we never find him? We’ll be left wondering about the real truth. She’ll ruin his memory for us.”

  “Hush now, darling. Hush.” Kerry felt a fraud trying to comfort Saoirse when she felt so afraid herself. “She’s made a mistake, a very big mistake. It’s as simple as that. We’ll fix it. Wherever your dad is, we’ll find him and he’ll give us the answers we need.”

  “What if he’s dead Mom?” Saoirse whispered the words that nobody else had dared to say aloud.

  “He’s not dead!” Kerry snapped. “He can’t be dead. I’d know it if he was gone. I’d feel it in my soul. Your father is a very strong man. Wherever he is, I know he’s fighting to get back to us.”

  Saoirse sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

  “You should try to get some sleep, sweetheart. It’s been a very long day.” Her face softened as she took in the exhaustion and strain on her daughter’s face.

  Saoirse nodded wearily and Kerry stayed with her until her rhythmic breathing signalled she was sound asleep. She wished she could sleep. It had been months since she’d slept properly. Insomnia had plagued her since the tsunami; at first she’d had nightmares about the waves and now her nights were tormented with fitful dreams about Conor.

  Eventually, she wandered into her own bedroom and sank onto the bed, feeling as if she was in some bizarre parallel universe. Surely she had somehow accidentally stepped from her own happy, peaceful, predictable life into someone else’s crazy nightmarish world. The birds were singing in the sycamore trees that lined the drive when she finally dozed off.

  “She’s asleep,” Chantale whispered as she tip-toed from her spare bedroom, where her daughter was sleeping. Hope couldn’t face returning to the flat so her mother had insisted that she stay with her. Chantale had slipped a herbal remedy into her daughter’s tea as soon as they’d returned home from the Darcys. Hope had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head had hit the pillow. She was worn out from the events of the evening. Chantale had stayed with her, perched on the edge of the bed, until she was sure that her daughter was sound asleep.

  Darren turned to her as she slipped into bed beside him. “Poor love,” he whispered, pulling his ex-wife near to him. They’d gotten much closer over the past few months, reunited in their caring of their daughter and somehow the spark of their past feelings for each other had been rekindled.

  Chantale related the night’s events to Darren, knowingly that it sounded ridiculously far-fetched. Saying it out loud made it seem even more bizarre.

  “I never trusted that guy, you know,” Darren muttered when she’d finished. “I always had a bad feeling about him. He was too over-the-top, always smiling and happy; nobody is ever that happy. It made me wonder what he was hiding. He was forever going on about how much he loved Hope and how amazing she was. It was too much,
almost like he was trying to convince himself how much he loved her. Asshole!”

  “Well, it’s easy to see different things with the benefit of hindsight and we don’t know the full story yet,” Chantale yawned widely. It had been a long day. “Who knows, maybe there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything.”

  “I doubt it,” Darren said shortly.

  “I feel so sorry for her,” Chantale whispered, a sudden catch in her voice. “It’s bad enough that her husband is missing but then she discovers that he’s married to someone else and has children with her. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, my poor girl. She’s pregnant and alone. It’s so unfair.”

  “She’s not alone, love,” Darren tried to comfort her. “She’s got us. We’re here for her.”

  “I know, but it’s not the same as having her husband, her partner with her.”

  Darren nodded into the darkness, not knowing quite what to say.

  Chapter 10

  It was very late by the time Isabel Murray finally arrived home from another exhausting day at the police station. She jiggled her key in the front door and let herself inside her cosy little cottage. Peace at last, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was at times like this she was glad she lived alone. Charles, her last boyfriend, had been a light sleeper and woke at the slightest sound. He resented her arriving home at all hours of the night and it was one of the reasons that they’d broken up.

  It didn’t take her long to shrug off her tight, uncomfortable uniform jacket, slip off her shoes and walk barefoot into the kitchen. She went straight to the refrigerator, where there was a bottle of crisp white wine chilling, and poured a large glass into the Waterford Crystal goblet that Charles had given her the previous Christmas. “Ah, bliss,” she murmured as the refreshing liquid hit the back of her throat. She closed her eyes and savoured the peace and quiet in her little house, home sweet home. Isabel enjoyed her own company. Her job was very demanding and hectic and she got very little time alone during the day, so she savoured the peaceful solitude of living alone.

  She hadn’t noticed until that moment, but in the weeks since Charles had moved out, the place had become a mess. It’s not a filthy mess, more a slightly untidy tip, she consoled herself, taking in the piles of magazines and newspapers that were scattered around the kitchen counters. She surveyed the collection of glass bottles that were building up in the corner and promised to take a trip to the recycling bank as soon as possible.

  Charles would have freaked out at the state of the place. He was a bit of an obsessive neat freak and she’d known that her untidy ways really got on his nerves. She could see his blood beginning to boil when she’d fling her work uniform on the bed, not bothering to hang it up immediately. Charles always hung up his suits and folded his shirts meticulously. Although, she was quite certain she’d be more careful too if she spent as much money on designer clothes as he splurged. Sometimes, she’d make a mess just to annoy him, especially towards the end of their relationship, when they’d both known it was over but neither of them was actually brave enough to finally end it. She’d see him clenching and unclenching his fists, itching to hang up her clothes neatly in the wardrobe next to his.

  She poured herself another glass of Pinot Grigio and made her way into the living room where she lit one of the burnt-down candles that were dotted around the room. Candles helped her relax after a stressful day and she liked nothing better than to revel in their soothing ambience. She sank into her soft, cream leather couch and made a silent promise to herself to clear away the empty wine glasses that were beginning to gather dust on her coffee table. No wonder Charles left, she thought wryly. He’s probably found himself a domestic goddess by now. So much for opposites attracting, she thought as she took another sip of her wine.

  All the same, she had to admit the place needed a good tidy-up; boyfriend or no boyfriend. I’ll do it at the weekend. I just don’t have the energy to face it any sooner. She finished her wine and yawned loudly. It was after midnight and way past her bed time.

  She slid between the satin sheets and closed her eyes, making a mental note to change the sheets for her favourite Egyptian cotton as soon as possible. Charles liked satin sheets, claiming it gave the bedroom a sexy atmosphere but they made her skin itch and scratch. She’d choose comfort any day over sexiness. Maybe that was the problem with her and her disastrous relationship history. When the honeymoon stage was over she usually resorted to wearing comfortable clothes like tracksuits and worn jeans with loose, baggy tops. The effort of making a sexy impression quickly wore off but she knew that wasn’t a good thing. It was just that she spent so much time buttoned up in her tight, uncomfortable uniform every day at work that the thought of coming home and wearing something sexy and restricting was just too much like hard work.

  “My boyfriend should accept me for who I am,” she’d complain to her friend, Louisa, when she tried to convince her to get dressed up and maybe wear a little more makeup.

  “Of course he should,” Louisa would agree, “but it doesn’t work like that. He’ll soon stop seeing you as the sexy creature that you really are if you only ever wear grubby jeans and baggy tops.”

  Isabel could see her point but she was yet to find a man who was worth the effort. “I’m sure I’ll find someone someday who accepts me for who and what I am, not what I wear,” was her usual defence.

  Maybe she’d had too much wine or she was over-tired but sleep wouldn’t come. She lay there tossing and turning, getting hotter and hotter and more uncomfortable. Her mind kept wandering back to her latest case, about the mysterious missing man and his two wives. Isabel knew it had the potential to become very messy. If the media got hold of the story then the two women’s lives would become a living hell. She knew they’d be hounded for their stories and wouldn’t get a minute’s peace from the paparazzi. It was an absolute fiasco; one marriage of twenty years and another apparent marriage of a year. Conor Darcy, or whatever his name was, was probably having a mid-life crisis when he met the younger woman and instead of having an affair he decided to do the “honourable” thing and marry her instead.

  She’d spent hours on the internet poring over the law relating to bigamy. The fact of the matter was that if Conor had knowingly married Hope while he was still married to Kerry, then he was a bigamist. It was as simple as that. Ludicrously, both wives seemed to believe they were legally married to him. It was Isabel’s job to investigate if the first marriage was valid and whether or not the second marriage was carried out in a legal way. She needed to find out if anyone at the second ceremony knew anything about the first marriage, in which case they would have aided and abetted in the crime.

  It was a mess and the work involved seemed never-ending. She had to check Conor’s background and his alter ego, Niall’s too. Maybe he was a serial bigamist. Perhaps Kerry and Hope were only two in a long line of unsuspecting wives! Where did he get the time or the energy to carry on a double life? It was exhausting to even think about it! She could see that Conor did have ample opportunity with the amount of travelling he did to carry on multiple lives. Maybe there had been weddings in other countries too. Isabel vaguely wondered if her superintendent would allow her to travel overseas in the name of research. She doubted it but it would make a nice change from being stuck in the police station in rainy, grey Cork. The weather forecasters had predicted a heat wave but it was the middle of August already and there was no sign of it. The sun had barely peeped out from behind the clouds in weeks.

  Conor was the person she really needed to interview but he was nowhere to be found. She had vaguely wondered if he’d seized the opportunity of the tsunami to disappear and start a whole new life somewhere else. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility given his behaviour to date. What if he was dead? There would be all sorts of legal and financial issues to be sorted out. She had to investigate every lead and it would be up to the Director of Public Prosecutions to decide whether or not the matter went any further.
Her responsibility was to see what harm had been caused and what public interest would be served by prosecuting him when or if he did eventually reappear. It was her job to gather the facts and present them to the Director. She had to find out the truth of the matter even if she really didn’t want to get involved and even if it would prove to be painful to Kerry and Hope.

  She got up to get a drink of water. Why did people do such crazy things? Wasn’t life complicated enough without creating even more drama? I’m glad my life is relatively simple and straightforward, she thought wearily as she turned her pillow over to the cool side and finally drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 11

  Isabel got up early and made a valiant effort to tidy up the apartment before going to work. She couldn’t sleep anyway and she really didn’t think she could stand another evening of coming home to such a tip. “Bad feng shui,” Charles used to joke and Isabel was becoming more and more inclined to agree with him. She gathered up the piles of papers and magazines and flung them in the recycling bin. Then she gathered the multitude of wine bottles and placed them carefully in another box. Have I really drunk that much wine on my own? She surveyed the bottles in mild surprise. The empty pizza cartons and takeaway boxes were thrown into another bag and she noted that as well as having drunk way too much wine she’d also been eating far too much junk food. Isn’t wine supposed to cut through fat? She asked herself hopefully, vaguely remembering a diet tip she’d picked up in one of her magazines.

  When she’d finished tidying up she quickly dusted, plumped up the cushions and gave the place a quick vacuum. “Much better,” she congratulated herself, standing back to admire her handiwork. There was still a huge pile of ironing to be done and a mountain load of laundry to be washed but that could wait until another day. Work was her priority and her motto was that the housework would wait for her but her job wouldn’t. Overall the cottage was much tidier.