Page 32 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Twenty-Four

M urphy’s Auctioneers was in the centre of Kindale. Amidst the quaint streets and historic charm, the modern estate agency was a beacon of contemporary sophistication.

We’ve come a long way , Mary thought as she parked in a reserved space and reached for the picnic basket.

She stared at the sleek glass frontage and remembered the days when they’d had little more than cupboard space squeezed between a butcher and an ironmonger.

Happy days when each new listing felt like a trophy and a sale as though they’d struck gold.

With Mary glued to the phone, chasing every lead, and Conor dreaming up inventive ways of marketing his fledgling business, they’d been like kids in a candy shop, excited by everything that ended up on their books.

Although Conor had started the business in his sole name, Mary had often thought it would be advisable to have her name on the paperwork too.

Mungo, always worried about the future, had urged her to make it official to protect her and the children should anything happen.

Conor had laughed off Mungo’s suggestion, assuring Mary that if he were to suddenly die, she’d get the lot as his wife.

But family life had since taken over, and as she’d eased away from work, Mary had forgotten all about Mungo’s concern.

Four children were a full-time job.

As she opened the door and stepped into the office, Mary was distracted by the warm glow of designer lighting.

It illuminated the reception area and the modern furnishings, which provided both style and comfort.

She looked around at the space she’d so carefully redesigned shortly before Finn was born.

It was wearing well. High-tech interactive screens showcased virtual tours and 3D images of each property listing, allowing clients to immerse themselves in homes without needing to step inside.

The girl on reception was new. Mary didn’t recognise her and wondered when this young face had joined the company, and why Conor hadn’t mentioned that Linda – a lovely woman who’d been with them for years – had moved on.

‘Good morning, can I help you?’ the girl asked.

‘I’m here to see my husband,’ Mary replied, then began making her way toward Conor’s office, which lay at the top of an open-plan staircase, behind a glass door. She waved at the staff working behind low partitions, who looked up with expressions filled with curiosity.

‘I beg your pardon?’ the girl asked, appearing puzzled and chasing after her.

‘I’m Mary Murphy, Conor’s wife. I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.’

‘Oh…’ the girl hesitated, then began fiddling with her necklace. ‘I’m afraid Mr Murphy is in a meeting and can’t be disturbed.’

‘Don’t worry, whatever your name is, he’ll disturb his meeting for me.’

Mary swept up the stairs, and when she reached the door, she carefully balanced her basket and turned the handle. Stepping cautiously so as not to surprise her husband and his client, she opened the door and walked in.

To her surprise, Conor’s office was empty. The meeting must have finished, Mary thought, just as she heard the sound of a sink flushing. Conor was in the bathroom.

Placing her basket on a chair, she began to unpack its contents onto the corner of his desk. She smiled as she unwrapped his favourite cheesy quiche and a pot of caramelised onions.

Just then, Mary heard the bathroom door open and turned to greet her husband. ‘Surprise!’ she called out.

The sight that greeted her was not that of an overworked husband, harried from a meeting, but a red-faced Lucinda, her blouse half undone as she zipped up the side of her skirt. Taking a step back, Lucinda almost fell into Conor, who was buttoning his cotton Oxford shirt.

‘Oh,’ Lucinda said, an eyebrow raised and an amused smirk crossing her ruby-red lips. ‘I didn’t realise we’d ordered room service.’

Mary wasn’t clear on her exact words as she flung caramelised onions over her enemy’s immaculate hair.

Conor raced forward, and despite his acrobatic twists and turns, he couldn’t avoid the impact of a whole cheesy quiche, which landed slapstick-style on his open-mouthed face.

Unable to speak, he began to choke on Mary’s perfect pastry.

Mary followed up her dramatic display of culinary vengeance with two tubs of creamy coleslaw, which caught both cheaters in the chest. Grabbing more food projectiles, Mary’s aim was sharp. Conor, ungluing cheese from his eyes, hurriedly bustled Lucinda back into the bathroom and locked the door.

‘There’s your room service!’ Mary yelled as she landed a custard slice on the door’s smooth wooden surface and watched a sluggish trail of thick, creamy rivulets descend.

Conor’s words sang like a chorus in her head as she theatrically swept past whatever-her-name-is from reception, who now stood alongside a group of highly bemused staff assembled on the stairs.

‘ You are obsessed with something that simply isn’t true ,’ he’d lied.

As Mary ran down the stairs past the staff and marched out of the office, she thought she heard a ripple of applause and one or two cries of ‘Bravo!’

Did they all know? she questioned, thrusting her car into gear and racing away from the building.

A cyclone of emotion was whirling through Mary’s body, unleashing a fury that threatened to blind her as she tried to focus on the road and stay calm.

Her heart was pounding, each beat a punch as a tidal wave of anger crashed over her.

‘How bloody dare he!’ she screamed when Kindale began to fade, and the coast road lay ahead.

‘Lies and more bloody lies!’ Mary’s resentment bubbled in her throat, and for a moment, she thought she might be sick.

She dialled Una’s number, desperate to talk to her friend but the call went to voicemail and Mary hung up.

A beach came into view, and biting her lip to stem tears, Mary turned off the road and pulled into a space overlooking the sea. Silencing the engine, her hands trembled as she bunched them into fists, the nails dagger-like on her skin.

‘You are a lying, deceiving husband,’ Mary muttered, staring out to sea. ‘Conor, you’re a coward!’

Her humiliation was complete as the discovery hit her like a freight train, and she wondered what the hell she was going to do. They had four kids who were about to find out that their home life was broken, and their daddy didn’t want Mummy anymore.

‘Oh God,’ Mary cried. How on earth was she to live with the shame? But the most profound pain was that Conor didn’t love her, and he’d repeatedly lied.

His love was now for Lucinda.

Mary stepped out of the car and began to walk along the windswept shore.

A squall whipped her hair into a mess that mirrored her feelings, and salty spray stung her cheeks.

Tears blurred her vision as she tried to make sense of the betrayal that had shattered her world.

At that moment, she had no one to turn to and longed for Atticus’s strong arms to wrap her in his warm, fatherly embrace and tell her that it would all be alright.

But her dad was in another country, embarking on a new phase.

How could she burden him when he’d only just gotten his mojo back?

She couldn’t talk to Mungo and knew that her brother had little time for Conor and would probably race over the water, ready to kill his unfaithful brother-in-law.

And that would serve no purpose other than to cause distress for the kids.

This was one battle she had to solve on her own.

Mary shivered and turned away from the sea.

She felt cold all over and rubbed at her arms. Somehow, she had to find the strength to chart a new course, but at that moment, as her phone began to ring, all Mary wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sob.

Reaching into her pocket, she stared at the screen.

Conor.

‘Go to hell!’ Mary yelled, then pressed disconnect.

Ahead, waves crashed, and Mary was tempted to move forward and keep walking.

To let her body be carried by the sea’s deep current, away from the pain.

Like the turmoil of the water, her emotions were all over the place, but Mary knew that she had to face the situation and somehow emerge still standing.

Resisting the urge to lash out and kick at the pebbles on the beach, Mary screamed into the wind. ‘Damn you, Conor. I gave up my career to have your children, and in return, I get a husband who treats me like a housekeeper and a pile of laundry that never bloody ends!’

Mary folded her arms and thought of the time when she’d been a woman running a business with a title that didn’t involve the word ‘mammy’. She’d swapped the cut and thrust of commerce for toddler tantrums and ungrateful teens.

Reaching down to pick up a pebble, Mary hurled it into the sea.

A sharp gust almost knocked her sideways, and staggering, she cursed. ‘I may have given up my career and my waistline, but just you bloody wait, Conor Murphy!’ she yelled. ‘You might not appreciate me, but I won’t go down without a fight!’

Mary closed her eyes as spray dampened her skin, and her children’s faces appeared. Her four beating hearts were waiting for their mammy, and suddenly, Mary knew that life had to carry on. Unlike their father, she wouldn’t let them down.

‘I can do this,’ Mary told herself, repeating the words as she opened her eyes. Biting her lip and flexing her fingers, she drew in a deep breath and breathed out very slowly.

Turning away from the rhythmic crash of waves, Mary climbed into her car.

It was almost time to pick the kids up from their schools, and if she didn’t put her foot down, she’d be late.

Glancing in the mirror, she attempted to straighten her hair.

Somehow, she mustn’t appear upset. Reaching for her lipstick, she smoothed the gloss evenly.

The kids mustn’t know that anything was wrong.

She needed time to think about their future and was determined that she wouldn’t let her children down.

‘Not like my scumbag, pig of a husband!’ she whispered. Sitting upright, Mary gripped the wheel tightly and set off.