Page 93 of Three Widows

‘He’s only three years old.’ Lottie rinsed the cloth under the running tap. Cold. ‘I’ll kill Katie for using all the hot water.’

‘In my day, children were seen and not heard. He charges around like a bloody train. It’s getting on my nerves. Where’s my coat?’ Rose stood, abandoning the tower of bread.

‘Sit down, Mother. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that, Charlotte Fitzpatrick. Wait until your father gets home and then you’ll be in big trouble, missy.’

She wandered out of the kitchen. Lottie leaned her forehead against the cold rim of the sink and wrapped her hands around her head. She wished her father was still alive; to hold her and kiss her wounds better, like he’d done when she was little; to take care of her mother. How was she going to manage this phase of her life, with Rose deteriorating, now that Boyd was preoccupied?

The front door banged, rousing her out of her self-pity.

‘Mother?’ she called as she ran to the hall.

Rose’s coat was hanging on the hook, but there was no sign of her. Opening the door, Lottie saw her marching down the avenue, wearing only a light cotton dress and slippers.

‘Come back inside,’ she yelled, taking off after her. ‘You’ll get pneumonia.’

‘As if you care,’ Rose spat back. She stopped walking, swung around with her hands on her hips. ‘You’d like me to die so that you can steal my house from under me. That’s what you’re up to, missy. Well, listen to me, I won’t let you! I’m going home to my own house. Right this minute, you hear?’

‘Sure, fine, whatever you want. We can talk about it inside. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ Lottie remained frozen in place, pleading with her mother.

Rose’s shoulders slumped. She gazed around with vacant eyes. ‘It’s so cold.’ She lifted her dress, feeling the thin material. ‘Why have I no coat? Where am I going? A cup of tea would be nice, if you’re making it.’

Taking her mother by the elbow, Lottie hugged her gently before steering her towards the door. She had no idea how they would get through this. She felt powerless.

And she was powerless to stop her tears breaking free and rolling down her face.

60

Kirby stood under the shower for a good ten minutes, scrubbing his skin until it turned red. He washed his hair in the expensive shampoo and conditioner he’d bought on the way home. Then he switched off the water and dried himself thoroughly in the old towel that hung on the back of the door. Time to throw out the old and get in the new, he thought. No matter what he did with his hair it refused to flatten down, so he just ran his fingers through the curls and decided they had won that particular battle.

He took new boxers from the bag of clothes he’d purchased in Wilfs, along with what he thought was a white shirt but now found to be a light shade of pink. At least it was new, with fresh creases. Amy would think he had ironed it specially for her. The black trousers were a perfect fit, and he’d been delighted in the shop to find he’d gone down a waist size. He conveniently ignored the fact that well-made clothes fitted differently to what he was used to buying in Primark. The new outfit was outside his budget, but Amy was worth it.

He’d booked Amber Chinese restaurant for their dinner. Martina had recommended it, saying the ambience was as good as the food. He’d thought she looked put out when he told her he had a date, but she’d rebuffed him so many times, he didn’t feel any regret.

Suitably attired, he cringed at the state of his bedroom. His overspent budget hadn’t stretched to new sheets, but he made the bed and picked the clothes up off the floor. It was passable.

Arriving early, he ordered a bottle of white. He’d have loved a pint of Guinness, but decided this was one night where he should be civilised. His life was due a dramatic shift, and Amy was the driver.

He’d finished half the bottle and two rounds of prawn crackers before admitting she wasn’t coming. He felt his whole demeanour deflate as he checked his phone for what seemed like the millionth time. No messages. No missed calls. No nothing. He’d been a fool. An idiot. He’d been stood up, plain and simple.

The petite waitress was at his table again, and the look of pity on her face almost did him in. He might as well eat. After he’d placed his order for curried pork and garlic fried rice, she still hovered.

‘Will you be eating alone, sir?’ she asked, almost apologetically.

‘No, he won’t.’

He peered around the waitress. Amy stood there, still in her supermarket uniform, her face flushed, hair askew.

‘I’ll have whatever he’s having, and bring another one of those.’ She pointed to the wine bottle in the ice bucket and the waitress poured her a glass.

‘I don’t know what to say.’ She shuffled out of her gilet and slumped onto the chair opposite Kirby. ‘I got held up. Hadn’t time to call you. It was Luke, he… Ah no, forget it. I don’t want to talk about him. I hadn’t even time to go home to shower and change. And look at you. You’ve gone to so much trouble and I’m like the wreck of the Hesperus. I’m so sorry.’ She shook her head before taking a long swallow of wine. ‘I needed that.’

Kirby smiled with relief. ‘You look beautiful.’ And he meant it. Her eyes were so bright, the hazel flecks glinted like gold from the light of the centrepiece candles.

‘Bet you say that to all the girls.’ She grinned wickedly and he let out a belly laugh.

‘Amy Corcoran, you are good for my soul.’