Five Little Words
Jackie Walsh
Chapter One
I’ve never felt so happy. Pressing gently on the soft blanket below my hand, I smile. I cannot take my eyes off him. His tiny pink lips. His flickering eyelids. His marshmallow skin. How can something so small be the biggest thing in my life?
Conor briefly turns his attention from the road ahead to steal a glance at his new son.
‘Is he okay?’
‘Yes,’ I say, leaning over to get a closer look while swallowing the jab of pain that shoots up through my body.
‘You’re okay. Aren’t you, sweetie?’ I whisper in his tiny ear. My heart leaps when his eyes open, little dark pools of innocence looking back at me. He yawns as I run my finger down the side of his face.
I’ve already imagined him at every stage of his life. His first steps. His first word. Running down the stairs to see what Santa left. His first day at school and me crying in the yard. Trying on football boots for his first game with Ballycall GAA Club. Then college, girls…or boys. I see his life fast-forwarding before me, right up to the day he leaves me, to stand on his own two feet.
‘What a beautiful life you’re going to have, little Shay,’ I whisper, hoping, praying that he will but fully aware that not everything turns out the way you plan it. Stop it Laura, don’t go there, stay happy.
Conor turns the car off the M3, down the narrow road that leads to the village I’ve called home for the past six months. The autumn sunlight leaps in and out of the car through the tall golden-leaved trees. I lift my hand to block the glare from my eyes. My other hand automatically moves to cover Shay’s face. I’ve got this. I’m going to be a great mother.
‘Almost here,’ Conor says, snatching another glimpse of Shay before turning the bend. The church steeple piercing the sky is the first sign of life in this remote corner of the county. Then the road slopes down to where colour appears in the shape of shops, the school, the police station and the newly refurbished playground at the side of the church. I hope little Shay spends plenty of happy hours swinging from the monkey bars. After all, his daddy paid for them.
When we arrive at the village, the car twists its way down the narrow main street, past the shops and cafes before stopping at the traffic lights in the middle of the road. My attention is automatically pulled to the building on my right.
Hedigan’s Pub has a red painted frontage, with black and gold lettering boasting the sale of premium brands. There’s a board outside. Today’s Specials, scribbled in chalk. Inhaling deeply, I picture her standing there placing the board into position, her hand eager to wave at familiar passers-by.
Everyone knew Vicky. I even got to meet her in the short time I’ve been here. All smiles as she busily wiped down the table before taking our order. I would have liked to have known her better. Maybe had a drink with her at the bar. But I’ve been pregnant since coming to live here so it was only ever ‘a fizzy water for me, please’.
I hear a soft mumble: Shay, vying for my attention. He wiggles a little so I place my hand back on top of the blanket.
‘We’re nearly there, baby.’ I kiss his face. Conor moves the car on down the road.
I’m hoping the arrival of this new little life will bring some joy to this devastated community. The news of Vicky’s murder has suctioned the happiness out of the place, leaving everyone baffled, confused, sad, carrying on in disbelief that a young woman could lose her life so horrifically, in this, their perfect little village.
Chapter Two
Balloons, banners, ribbons; the whole house is covered in the stuff, blowing in the wind as the car crawls up the gravel driveway. That can only be the work of one person: Maggie. Conor’s mother has been so excited about the idea of becoming a grandma. I can see her waving as she stands beneath the two big pillars that adorn the entrance of this monstrous house. Five bedrooms, each with their own en-suite. A living room the size of a football pitch and a kitchen so modern you’d need a degree in technology just to boil an egg.
Taking a deep breath, I smile out the car window as Conor pulls up. Maggie rushes towards the car and grabs the handle of the door, pulling it open and sticking her head in before I even have a chance to get out.
‘Oh look at him,’ she gleams. ‘He’s so beautiful… so tiny.’ Her arm crosses over the baby’s car seat and unlocks the belt.
‘Come to Nana, little Shay.’ Without asking, she lifts the car seat out and pushes her face into the tiny bundle, snuggling and kissing him.
What is she doing? I want to carry him into the house. I want to be the one to take him home. But no. Leaving me and Conor in her shadow, Maggie walks up the two granite steps and in through the front door.
‘Welcome to your home, baby Shay.’
Conor looks over at me, shrugs and pulls an amused frown.
‘Sorry,’ he says.
He should be. I specifically asked him to tell his mother I wasn’t coming home until tomorrow. Just one night of peace is all I wanted. One night to get myself and Shay settled before all hell broke loose. I want to challenge him, ask him why he couldn’t do what I asked. But there’s no point. This is not the moment to create a negative atmosphere. And I doubt Maggie would have listened anyway. She thinks I’m lucky to be here at all. She’s made that quite clear, dropping subtle and not so subtle hints whenever she gets the opportunity, letting me know how so many women would love to be in my shoes. To have nabbed Conor, her son. The most eligible bachelor in the world, according to Maggie, with his good looks, his money, his future.
But I never saw him that way, which was one of the things Conor said he liked about me when we first met. I didn’t know about his money or his company. He was just a guy I liked, who liked me. Then he became a guy I loved, who loved me. It was quite a shock when I discovered he came with his very own world.
Conor takes the suitcase and baby bag out from the boot of the car and follows me into the house. When he closes the door behind us, I notice some cards have been dropped through the letterbox. I slowly reach down to pick them up.
‘How are you?’ Maggie remembers to ask.
‘I’m fine, just a bit…’ but before I get a chance to moan about how tired I’m feeling, she’s already telling Conor the list of people who called to congratulate her. Congratulate her? What did she do?
In the kitchen the festive décor continues: more balloons, more banners. Jesus, how much did that woman spend? It’s not like the baby will even know.
‘I’m going to take a selfie,’ she says, placing the baby seat onto the sofa by the wall and sitting down beside it. Maggie pulls the phone from her bag and swipes the screen with her red fake nails. Her tentative finger doddles backwards and forwards before deciding on which button she should press. She’s new to it all. Instagram, Facebook, a phone without a lead.
When she’s happy with her snap, she holds the phone up to Conor.
‘What do I do now?’
‘What do you want to do?’ he says, taking the latest, shiniest, smartest Samsung phone from her hand.
‘I want to post it.’
Placing the cards on a nearby shelf, I leave the two of them to decide which social media site my newborn baby’s face will be splattered all over and walk to the fridge to get some water. My mouth has dried up all of a sudden. I really should tell her: No. I don’t want Shay’s picture going all over the town. But again, not the right moment. And to be honest, I’m so tired I don’t have the energy to show I care.