Conor looks over to where I’m standing and winks. Then, like the man I hope I married, he thanks his mam for being here when we arrived home and asks her if she needs a lift. Maggie looks from right to left, then at her bag, then at the baby.
‘Oh sure… of course, I’ll leave you to get settled.’ Then she turns to me and says, ‘Laura, get plenty of sleep and don’t be afraid to call me if you need any advice.’
What does she mean by that? ‘Thanks Maggie, but I think we have it covered.’
‘We’ll see,’ she whispers, bending over to kiss Shay goodbye. ‘Bye bye little Shay. I have to go. Daddy is throwing me out.’
‘C’mon Ma,’ Conor laughs, handing her bag to her.
* * *
The house is quiet now, just the three of us. Conor and I stare into the crib. I feel like my heart is never going to slow down, like it’s beating to a rhythm it was always meant to. I cannot look away from him; his silky streaks of dark hair, his…
‘Is that what I think it is?’ Conor says, holding his nose.
‘Time to try out the new changing unit.’
Both of us bend down to lift Shay, bumping our heads in the process.
‘Time for you to rest, Laura, let Daddy do something.’
Lifting Shay like he might explode if he makes a wrong move, Conor holds him against his chest. I want to stay with him, share the moment, check Conor is doing it right.
Shay is about two years younger than Conor had hoped for, judging by the disposable nappies he bought during the week.
‘For God’s sake, Conor, we can’t put these things on him. They’re not for newborns, look!’ I hold the nappy up. It could double as a sleeping bag for my little boy.
‘I don’t know, I just grabbed a packet. I’ll go down to Spar and get… what have I to get?’
‘Nappies for newborns. It will say it on the packet.’
Conor’s eyes dart from the counter to the sofa to the coffee table. He can’t find his keys. The poor guy is already struggling and it’s only day one. Walking over, I put my hands on his face and make him look at me. His eyes are wide with fear.
‘It’s okay Conor. Relax. We have this.’ Slowly I bring my lips to his, close my eyes and remind myself why I’m here. After a brief moment Conor pulls away, takes a deep breath and stares back at me.
‘I’m sorry Laura. I… I—’
‘Shuuush.’ I kiss him again. This time he engages, sweeping his tongue around my mouth with vigour. He squeezes my body close to him. I want to scream with the pain but I don’t. I bear it, letting him relax with me until eventually I have no choice but to pull away.
‘I hope these stitches dissolve soon,’ I say.
‘Are you okay, Laura?’
‘Yes, I just need to sit down. No – I just need to stand up. Actually, I think I’ll take one of those salt baths the nurse recommended when you get back.’ We both turn our attention to the crib, staring at our little miracle sleeping like… well, a baby. Conor puts his arm around me.
‘Thank you Laura,’ he says, looking at his watch. ‘I’ll run down and get the nappies now.’
* * *
Shay is awake, staring at me, kicking his bare legs while his tongue explores how far it can travel outside his mouth.
‘Daddy won’t be long,’ I say, pulling the blanket up over his body. I turn around and notice the cards that were dropped in through the letterbox sitting on the shelf. Picking them up, I carefully settle myself on the nearby sofa.
I open the first one. There’s a picture of a baby dangling in a towel from a stork’s mouth. I open the card. To Laura and Conor, Congratulations on the birth of your new baby! Ollie and Ciara. Ah, the couple from the petrol station. Nice of them.
Then I open the second card. A blue teddy bear sits on the cover, his hands clapping, ‘Congrats!’ written in gold above his head. I open the card. To Conor and Laura, Congrats, Margaret Cash. That’s the older lady who lives on her own in the next house about fifty metres down the road. ‘Thanks Margaret,’ I say out loud while opening the third one.
The pink envelope is addressed to me alone. Laura. The card inside has a picture of a tower of toy bricks with ‘Congratulations on the birth of your new baby girl!’ written above it. Ha. I open the card and read the words scripted in black letters.
Your husband is a murderer. Where was he the night Vicky was killed?
Chapter Three
Your husband is a murderer. Where was he the night Vicky was killed? I read the words again, pulling myself off the sofa. A jab of pain lets me know this is real. This is not a dream; this card is in my hand and it’s saying that Conor is a murderer. But who sent this? And why?
Maybe someone hates me. Someone jealous that this outsider, this city girl managed to nab their most eligible bachelor. There are a few candidates, especially Olive. But she wouldn’t do this. Would she? No one could despise me enough to send a card like that.
But if the card wasn’t sent to upset me, then someone out there thinks Conor did it. That my husband killed Vicky Murphy. But that’s impossible. Conor was with me the night she was killed. All night. And while I haven’t known him that long – only a little over a year – it was some year. Moving house, getting married, having Shay. We’ve done a lot together. I got to know Conor and the more I did, the deeper I fell in love with him. I think I would have noticed if he was capable of murder.
I read the card again and check the envelope to look for a clue. But there is none. My heart is thumping hard in my chest, and the thought occurs to me that it might just be a sick prank. One of the lads from the club. They’re always playing the worst tricks on each other. But I don’t think so. Not the day I come out of hospital with Conor’s son. No, this is not a prank. This is not funny at all. This card was sent to upset me… or to warn me.
* * *
The sound of the key turning in the hall door disturbs the silence. Quick, hide it. I don’t want Conor to see it. If he sees that card, what he has described as the best day of his life will be ruined. Pushing the card back into the envelope, I shove it between the other cards and place them on the counter under a magazine.
The stress of it all has me gasping for air when Conor bursts into the room swinging a shopping bag.
‘Daddy to the rescue,’ he says, rushing over to Shay and glancing into the crib before turning to look at me.
‘Are you alright, Laura? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Conor walks over to me and puts his arms around me. His body feels warm. ‘You’re shaking, babe… are you okay?’
No, I’m not okay, but I can’t say this. I can’t let him know about that card. Whoever sent this is not going to ruin this moment…
‘I’m… I’m okay, just a bit of pain.’ I watch his face, looking for any sign of stress or worry. If he’s hiding something behind that electric smile that hasn’t left his face all day, he’s doing a good job of it. ‘I think I need to take some more painkillers.’ God, I wish I had some real drugs. ‘But first let’s get this nappy on this little man.’