Page 27 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Twenty

S unday at Belvedere House, the morning after the Halloween party from hell, Mary sat in her kitchen, idly wondering how she would get red paint off a brilliant white wall.

Strangely, her worry wasn’t a big concern.

Neither was her anger toward Patrick, the child who’d produced a paint gun and, like a scene from a massacre, proceeded to pump paint over two dozen departing partygoers.

Mary remembered the pleas of the parent of Paintballing Patrick, who swore they thought the paint was washable and had no idea that her little darling would use the gift he’d brought for Declan.

Mary’s hangover was pounding, and as she sipped her coffee, she winced and thought of the horror on the faces of parents arriving to pick up their offspring.

Clutching party bags and riding sugar-fuelled highs, little feet hardly touching the ground, the mini-ghouls and monsters squealed as they dodged Patrick’s parting shot and ran out of the house.

She wondered how soon it would be before the bills for dry cleaning arrived.

The house phone beeped with messages from horrified parents complaining about the liqueur chocolates in the party bags, and Mary cursed Caitlin for grabbing the first items that came to hand in the larder.

‘Oh, sod it,’ Mary muttered as she looked around at sticky surfaces and a crumb-filled floor.

Having risen early to deal with most of the mess, Mary decided that Roisin could deal with it.

She wandered over to the window and felt glad that she’d booked the Environmental Services Provider for that day.

Gazing out at her garden, where rain lashed, Mary felt as battered as the bushes and trees that swayed in an unrelenting southwest wind whipping over the headland from the Atlantic. More pressing problems than cleaning weighed her down, and these concerned Conor and Ruari.

The party had begun well, and the children enjoyed the food Mary had painstakingly prepared. Una turned up halfway through, breathless and full of apologies. She was dressed as a leprechaun in a glittery green outfit, carrying a massive bag containing enough sugary snacks to fuel a classroom riot.

‘Do you still think Conor is having an affair with Lucinda?’ Una asked as she lobbed sweets into the air like a chaotic pinata.

‘Keep your voice down,’ Mary hissed, glancing nervously at the children swarming around Una like seagulls after a chip.

‘Ah, Mary, you’ve nothing to worry about. Conor is a family man,’ Una said. ‘You think you have problems? Last week, I found a pair of knickers in Jimmy’s coat pocket, but did I panic?’ Una shook her head.

Mary clutched her chest. ‘Oh, God, Una, what did you do?’

‘I put them in my own coat pocket,’ Una smirked, ‘and am waiting to see if the eejit has the nerve to ask for them back…’

Settling in a circle surrounding Witchery Wanda, the children’s eyes were wide as she performed a magic show, casting playful spells and performing tricks.

They listened carefully to tales of friendly ghosts and haunted houses, before eagerly taking part in the Monster Freeze dance, standing like statues and prancing like monsters.

But it was the Halloween Twister where trouble began.

Declan insisted that the grown-ups play the game, and as the birthday boy for the day, Mary could hardly refuse her youngest. Una had refused to get involved and went into the garden for a smoke and the only other grown-up in the room was Ruari, who was keen to participate.

As children spun the dial, calling out colours and body part combinations, Mary and Ruari stretched and contorted to reach the circles without falling over.

Boundaries blurred as they navigated the slippery mat, and soon, they tumbled in a giggling tangle when Mary fell flat on her back, and Ruari landed on top of her.

It was at this moment that Conor arrived home.

Mary remembered moving Ruari’s soft, curling locks from her face to see who was towering over them. Her dress had ridden up her thighs, where Ruari had fallen between them.

‘What on earth?’ Conor hissed as the two quickly parted. His eyes were stormy, and his face flushed. ‘This is a children’s game,’ he added.

‘Keep your cool,’ Ruari said as he eased to his feet, straightened his jacket, and reached out to help Mary. ‘The kids suggested it, and they’ve had a lot of fun.’

‘Yes, Daddy!’ Declan yelled, gripping his father’s leg. ‘You go next.’

‘Not now,’ Conor said. He turned to Witchery Wanda and told her to organise another game.

As Conor led Ruari toward a corner by the garden windows, a row soon ensued.

Mary, perched behind a bookcase and unseen by the two men, heard Conor ask why Ruari was at the children’s party.

Ruari, angry at being insulted, retaliated by asking Conor why he spent so much time at Creek House when he had a beautiful wife at home.

Creek House.

Like a Monster Freeze dance participant, Mary froze like a statue. It took all her strength not to grab the cauldron of green punch and fling it at Conor.

Now, as she stared through the windows, where forceful gusts bent branches and trees swayed, she knew for sure that Conor had been spending time at Lucinda Darby’s home.

Time when he said he’d been working.

She thought of their night at the Salty Dog Inn and the look of guilt on Conor’s face as he ended a call.

Mary suddenly realised that he’d been speaking to Lucinda and not the babysitter.

There hadn’t been an opportunity for discussion, and with too much to drink, Conor had fallen asleep as soon as they’d gotten home.

In the days that followed, the kids were as demanding as ever, and Mary had felt too weary to pursue her misgivings.

Now, Witchery Wanda’s departing words came back like a slap in the face. She’d reached for payment from Mary’s hand, then leaned in and sang in her ear.

‘ Beware, for betrayal lurks in shadows deep ,

where hearts now wander ,

secrets they shall keep .’

Mary had wanted to tell Wanda to mind her own business and cut the witching out.

But as she stood in her kitchen, still staring out at the garden, she replayed the night before, and the old woman’s words rang true.

Conor, furious about the game of Twister where she’d humiliated herself, had blamed Mary for the paint incident and for not being more attentive.

He’d retreated to the playroom with the kids and told her he’d put them to bed.

Unaware that she’d overheard his conversation with Ruari, he had suggested that Mary unwind in a bath.

Taking a large glass of Chardonnay, Mary felt too exhausted and upset to discuss the state of her marriage with Conor in front of the kids.

After a soak, she went to bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

Now, Mary looked at the wild beauty outside and sighed. She thought of calling Una, but her friend was unlikely to be out of bed at this time on a Sunday morning.

Mary wished the energy of the wind could revitalise her.

Indeed, she should be racing up the stairs, demanding to know what her husband had been up to and sorting out their flawed life.

But at that moment, she felt weary. Instead of being angry at Conor and his probable lies, her emotions were filled with sadness.

Sadness for the closeness she’d once shared with her husband and the happy times they appeared to have lost. Sadness, too, for the way Ruari looked at her, with lust in his eyes, when it should have been Conor staring that way.

Mary longed for loving arms to wrap around her and tell her everything was alright.

She slumped onto a chair and wrapped a blanket around her legs.

As her family slept on, Mary reached for her phone.

There was one person she might be able to talk to, and she had a sudden urge to speak to her dad.

It was an hour ahead in Spain, and with luck, he would be up.

But before she found his number, Mary turned to his Instagram page.

The Travelling Grandad was having the time of his life! New images showed Atticus driving around in a Fiat 500 convertible. Mary thought it suited him, unlike Mungo’s comments about the Noddy car.

Mary gasped when she saw photos of Atticus on a bike, towing Ness in a trailer. ‘How bloody brilliant!’ She grinned. Atticus had caught the sun and wore shorts and a white T-shirt. Gone were his comfortable hide boots, and now, tanned toes peeped out of a pair of leather sandals.

Mary realised what a handsome man she had as a father. With a full head of hair, a toned body, and well-muscled limbs, years of farming had kept him in good shape. Clearly, the climate in Spain was suiting him.

‘And he’s out partying…’ she breathed, shaking her head.

Atticus was at a barbecue, cooking steak and handing out fat sausages from a long-handled fork. In the many images, he was laughing and smiling with guests at the party, which appeared to be held in and around a palatial-style motor home.

Mary sat up. ‘Oh, Dad, I am so happy for you,’ she smiled.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded on the landing, and Mary pushed her phone to one side.

The kids were up, and Conor, despite the wind and rain, would soon be off to his Sunday morning workout.

There wasn’t time to speak to Atticus, and as she stared at the gloomy weather, she knew she could hardly go pouring out her troubles to him.

It would be so unfair when her dad was having such a good time.

‘Mammy! Finn’s got Teddy, and he’s throwing him downstairs!’ Declan screamed.

Mary took a deep breath and sighed. ‘Coming,’ she called out.

As she passed the front door, Roisin’s Shamrock Shine pulled up, and in seconds, Roisin let herself in. ‘I hear it was quite a party,’ she commented as she marched past Mary, who was picking up Teddy from the bottom of the stairs .

Mary turned to watch Roisin, bucket and mop in hand, stomp into the kitchen.