Page 6 of Three Widows

‘What did you get in your sandwich?’ she asked, with her mouth full.

‘You’re not having any, if that’s what you’re after,’ he said.

Swallowing, she shook her head wearily. ‘Can I not ask anyone anything this morning without my head being bitten off?’ She rolled up the crusts into the greasy wrapper and threw it into the footwell. ‘And you’re like a hen on an egg since you got back from Malaga.’

He stayed silent.

She looked at the raindrops streaking down the glass. July had been brutal weather-wise, and it was now mid August and not much better. Two days of sunshine, three days of rain. It was typical to experience four seasons in one day in Ragmullin. Frustrating.

Leaving the house in a huff earlier, she’d swiped one of Sean’s sweatshirts from the hook. When she’d pulled it on in the car, she was horrified to see it had a Batman image on the front. She couldn’t go around with her arms folded over her chest all day, so she’d just have to suffer the comic remarks. It was worse for Boyd, because she knew he’d be called Robin. She smirked for a second, then felt the seriousness of the energy in the car weigh heavily on her shoulders. Boyd was miserable, and having her mother living with her was making her grumpier than him. A right pair.

What they needed was a big investigation. Something to get stuck into. To have the team working diligently and concentrating hard. They were all sick of administration and paperwork. If she saw another Excel column of an unbalanced budget, she’d scream. An investigation would give her a bona fide excuse for not having the returns completed and distract her from her home life. Superintendent Deborah Farrell was grouchy as hell, and that mood had wended its way right down to the desk sergeant.

She glanced at Boyd, and read the irritation written on the hard line of his jaw. It took a lot to irritate Boyd. Maybe they needed a holiday together rather than a new investigation. But her life was complicated. And it was even more complex since Boyd had arrived home from Malaga with Sergio, his eight-year-old son. He’d only found out about the boy a few months before he’d met him for the first time in June. She was sure she knew what was eating him. She wanted him to admit it. That wasn’t looking likely any time soon, so she decided she’d be the one to say it.

She twisted around to look at him. ‘It’s Jackie, isn’t it? Have you heard from her?’

‘My ex-wife has nothing to do with anything.’

‘Of course it has to do with her. I’m not stupid. Talk to me. Please, Boyd.’ He was as thin as ever. The subtle tan that had given him a healthy glow had faded. His jaw was sharp and unforgiving. His sticking-out ears had turned red. She struggled with how to comfort him.

Placing his uneaten sandwich back in its wrapper, he folded the paper around it neatly and fastened the sticker back in place. ‘You can have it if you like. I only took one bite.’

‘Stop using diversion tactics.’

‘You’re such a head wreck, Lottie Parker.’

She took the sandwich from him and placed it on the dashboard. Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it. ‘Talk to me when you feel comfortable doing so.’

He extricated his hand and stared out at the rain. Silence washed over them before he spoke.

‘She’s coming to Ireland.’

‘Feck! Ah, shite, Boyd.’

‘Just when I have Sergio settled with me. You and your family have been amazing with him, especially Chloe and Sean. I couldn’t do it without you. And now this bombshell.’

With her daughter Chloe caring for Sergio during the day while Boyd worked, Sean, her seventeen-year-old son, had come out of his box, as her mother had put it.

‘The kids enjoyed the carnival last week,’ she said, ‘and Sean even brought Sergio to his hurling training the other evening. First time in ages he’s trained. They’re good for each other.’

‘They got drowned in the spills of rain,’ Boyd pointed out.

‘Bet Sergio was happy.’

He smiled. ‘He thought it was hilarious, traipsing water all over my matchbox apartment. Our life is just getting settled, and my ex-wife pops up like the proverbial bad penny.’

Lottie grinned back at him, but shivered inside. A nugget of anxiety had taken root. She was afraid to ask, but she had to know. ‘When is she arriving?’

‘No idea. Got a text that said, “Can’t wait to see my little boy soon.” She probably has her flight booked and could appear at any time.’

‘Try not to let it get to you. She can’t take him away from you.’

Boyd twisted in the seat and faced her. ‘That’s just it. She can, and she will.’

‘But you have the DNA test to prove he’s yours.’

‘What judge will take a boy away from the mother who’s raised him for eight years? Sergio’s been with her since the day he was born. I didn’t even know of his existence until a few months ago. What does that demonstrate? What type of father does that make me?’