Semi-Sweet (21 page)

And afterward, she had no idea how long afterward, the curly-headed guard at the station put a blue-and-white mug of too-hot,
too-sweet tea on the table in front of her—her lashes stiff with salt, her eyes hot and stinging, the ball of her sodden tissues
lying next to the mug, her skirt creased—and then he sat on the wooden bench beside her and said quietly, “Now, Alice, there’s
something I have to tell you.”

And as he spoke, as he told her, her face crumpled and the screams and the tears began all over again.

Geraldine unlocked the grille and slid it upward into its casing. She opened the shop door and stepped in, inhaling the robust,
leathery scent. She locked the door again and walked through to the rear of the shop, where she hung her coat on the back
of the door and stowed her handbag in the small green cupboard that held the accounts ledgers and the petty-cash box.

She filled the kettle and plugged it in, then lifted the two red mugs from their hooks. The mugs said OXO in fat white letters.
She took the milk carton from the tiny fridge and sniffed it. She dropped tea bags into the mugs and added half a spoonful
of sugar to hers before she remembered she’d given it up for Lent. She took out the tea bag and poured the sugar into the
sink.

She switched on Alice’s transistor and let the ads wash over her as the kettle began to sing. She didn’t care for the local
radio station, but Alice liked it. At a minute to nine, she went out to the shop and unlocked the front door and wheeled out
the display of boots on sale. She went back and poured boiling water into her mug, adding milk as the newscaster reported
on the latest political scandal, and the shelving of plans for a new motorway in the west, and the protests over the cancellation
of another route out of Shannon Airport, and the closing of Carbert Road in Clongarvin following a traffic accident. An accident—that
would be what was delaying Alice, who came by Carbert Road.

At ten past nine, she called Alice’s mobile and got her voice mail. “I presume you’re stuck in traffic,” she said. “No rush—it’s
quiet here. See you in a while.”

At twenty past nine, when there was still no reply from Alice’s phone, she called the house. Maybe they’d both slept it out
after last night, or maybe Alice’s mobile was stuck in her handbag, out of earshot.

But the phone rang and rang, and she finally hung up.

At half past nine, she phoned the dental clinic. “Is Tom there?” she asked Suzie, the receptionist.

“No—Stephen says he’s not coming in,” Suzie told her.

“Has he phoned? Or Alice?”

“No, I’ve heard nothing.”

“Will you put me through to Stephen?”

Stephen had heard nothing either. “He’s not here, so he must be sleeping it off. I thought Alice would have rung, but she
didn’t.”

“Alice hasn’t arrived here either—and she’d definitely let me know if she wasn’t coming. I’ve tried phoning, but there’s no
answer.”

“Maybe they
both
slept it out, then. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.”

At a quarter to ten, Geraldine phoned Hannah, who told her that Una Connolly’s four-year-old nephew had been knocked down
on his way to school.

“I’m waiting to hear how he is,” Hannah said. “Una just rang me on her way to the hospital.”

“Oh, Lord, the poor little thing.”

“Why were you ringing me?”

“Alice never showed up for work,” Geraldine said, “and Tom isn’t at the clinic. I can’t contact her.”

“They could be stuck in traffic. Maybe the accident caused a delay.”

“But Alice would let me know. It’s not like her at all.”

“The battery could be gone on her phone—you know how easily that can happen.”

“Mmm.” But still Geraldine was anxious.

The main item on the ten-o’clock news was an accident on the Carbert Road in Clongarvin, in which a young boy had been knocked
down and fatally injured.

Alice couldn’t stop crying. She leaned her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands and sobbed loudly, the tea
forgotten.

“Oh, God,” she wept, thinking of the small blue boy flying upward. “Oh, Jesus, God. Oh, God Almighty.”

And sometime after that, with the tears finally over and her throat aching and her eyes burning and her head throbbing, Tom
walked into the room, chalk-faced, and said quietly, not meeting her eye, “We can go home now.”

And all Alice could think was how desperately she wanted to hit him.

“Mum, it’s me. I’m afraid I have bad news.”

Geraldine’s hand flew to her chest. “Is it Stephen? What’s wrong?”

“No, it’s not Dad…It’s Claire’s son. He died. Una just rang me.”

“Oh, Lord.” Geraldine sank onto the stool, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, the poor little thing—what age did you say?”

“Four. He was only four.”

“Oh, that’s so…” She pulled a tissue from her sleeve. “Oh, I can’t believe it.”

The shop door opened just then. “Someone’s here, I have to go,” she said hurriedly, hanging up and slipping her phone under
the counter. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose and tried to put the news from her mind while she dealt with the customer.

And after the woman had decided against any of the three pairs of shoes she tried on, after the shop door had closed behind
her, after Geraldine had tried Alice’s mobile again and again gotten no response, a terrible suspicion began to dawn slowly
inside her.

Nora strolled along the rails of clothes, running a hand over the different fabrics, occasionally pulling something out to
have a closer look.

“Can I help you at all?”

She smiled at the assistant, who could lose half a stone, easily. “Not really, thanks—just looking.”

She wasn’t just looking: She knew exactly what she wanted. In the dressing room, she removed her top and jeans and tried on
her selection, turning to see as much as possible in the floor-length mirror. She got dressed again and walked to the checkout
desk with a high-waisted purple skirt, a fitted cream top, a black wool wraparound dress, and a deep crimson jacket.

“Hang on to these,” she told the assistant. “I need to pick up some lingerie.”

A bustier, maybe—she hadn’t bought a new one in ages. Stockings, of course, and suspenders. A cream bra for under the top,
one that gave serious cleavage. A couple of lace thongs.

And it was so satisfying, as the assistant folded her purchases and wrapped them in tissue, as Nora slid her credit card across
the counter, to remind herself that Jackson Paluzzi was paying for lingerie that some other man, with any luck, would get
a lot of pleasure from.

Not that she had any specific man in mind, of course. But with her new job, and meeting all those newspaper employees, somebody
would surely come along.

And if he happened to be out of bounds…well, so much the better. The last thing she needed was another husband.

“What d’you fancy?”

Leah, full of heartburn, didn’t fancy anything. She looked for the least offensive dish on the menu. “The poached salmon.”

“Me, too.”

Patrick closed his menu as Leah stifled a yawn and eased her swollen feet one by one out of her stilettos. She’d barely made
it from the car to the table in them. “No sauce on mine,” she told the waiter as he took their order.

What she wouldn’t give to be stretched out on the couch in front of the telly, a cushion under her back. What she wouldn’t
give for a foot massage—except that Patrick wasn’t talented in that department. His attempts at massage left her more frustrated
than relieved.

He reached across the table and covered her hand. “Good day?”

She pushed her hair out of her eyes with the other hand. It needed a cut, but she hadn’t the energy. “Fine. You?”

“The usual.” He filled their water glasses. “Did you hear about the accident on Carbert Road?”

“I did. Horrible. A child, wasn’t it?”

His wine arrived, and her apple juice. She was sick to death of apple juice. She hoped to God he wouldn’t say cheers.

He lifted his glass toward her. “Cheers.”

Irritation flooded through her. She knew that it was her hormones gone haywire, but the knowledge didn’t stop her from wanting
to wipe the smug look off his face, whatever it took.

She looked for something to rattle him, and found it. “By the way,” she said, “did I mention that your new PA is Adam O’Connor’s
sister?”

Patrick’s smile faded. “You don’t say.”

“Twin sister, actually.” She watched him assimilate the knowledge that he’d just employed the sister of his ex’s best friend.
“Not that it matters,” she added, daring him to contradict her. “I mean, now that you and Hannah are history.”

He shrugged. “Of course not. Why would it? I’m just surprised, that’s all.” He lifted his glass again. “Mind you, she did
say she came from around here, so I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me if I know someone belonging to her, in a place this size.”

“I’d be a bit careful all the same, if I were you,” Leah said. “She probably tells Adam everything. You know how twins are.”

Patrick smiled, his equilibrium restored. “I hardly think Adam would be interested in the comings and goings of a newspaper
office.”

“Probably not.” Leah sipped apple juice. “They’ve moved in together—did you know that?”