The shock of it is halted by the second item, which somehow scares me more. My blue headscarf. Missing since last week. Suddenly back again.
It’s a lot to stumble on at once. My mind is reeling, and doesn’t know where to stop, or to start. What I need is to go over to Ciara’s house, lay out the contents of the handbag on her kitchen table and connect all the dots with her. She will understand all of this in a way that Bill won’t. He’ll only overreact. He’ll be too concerned and want to confront Tom and Anna before we get any real information. He’ll make a scene, and that won’t solve anything. I feel hot. I need a minute to think.
I go to open the window to let some air in, and as if by some miracle, Ciara and John are there, in the distance. I know her by her coat. They are coming our way. Ciara carrying something under a tea towel, John a few steps behind her, struggling to keep up. I bless myself as they reach our gate.
‘How are ye now?’
John calls, and Ciara rolls her eyes, keeping him a few steps away.
‘You’re heading down to watch the match, are you, Bill?’
Ciara asks, but it isn’t a question. Often, Ciara becomes so irate with her husband that she has to call to mine to vent. When this happens, Bill normally ends up babysitting John.
‘I suppose I am.’
Bill looks at John, annoyed over whatever he has done to Ciara that won’t allow him to come back home for a few hours.
‘You didn’t want to go to town, did you, pet?’
‘Another time! Ye enjoy the match.’
I smile, knowing that Bill would be more than happy to go down and meet all the boys at the pitch and sink a few pints after. And right now, I would much rather have some time alone with Ciara. Divine timing, all of it.
‘Ye better strike, so.’
Ciara says, not turning to look at John. Bill laughs as they go. I’ve never known a fortnight to pass without Ciara swearing that John is on his last chance.
The lads leave, and my day has changed. Inside, Ciara lays down what she has been carrying, taking off the tea towel to reveal a tart. A part of me wants nothing more than to sit down and listen to Ciara bitching all afternoon, eating slice after slice of sweet tart with her. Warmed by the fire, laughing over our husbands. I want a nice, normal afternoon with my friend. A routine that I understand. But the handbag remains on the table. And I must show her what I’ve seen. Only how do I start?
‘Jesus give me patience and strength, that man has me driven demented.’
Ciara starts, taking cups from the press, making a pot of tea, and telling me that John has lost half their holiday money in the bookies. She sits down, cuts into the tart.
‘Anna O’Leary was here last night.’
She pauses at what I’ve said, unsure why I’ve interrupted her with something so boring.
‘She left her handbag behind.’
I hold it in my hands, showing her that it’s already open. Her eyebrows raise, she knows I’m not the type to look through another woman’s things. And yet, it’s clear I have looked through Anna’s things. I don’t know how best to tell her what I’ve found, and so I take her through the exact motions that brought me to the Mass card and my headscarf.
‘I was minding Peggy a while ago, and she mentioned Jack had a girl before they arrived here. Lillian. She was mad about her. I thought they had split up or something.’
‘I remember, you were saying.’
Ciara says, through a mouthful of tart.
‘I was meaning to ask Tom or one of them what happened between himself and Lillian. Well, I’m glad now that I didn’t.’
I slide the Mass card across the table. It takes a minute for the penny to drop. Ciara’s hand covers her mouth.
‘Christ in Heaven, so young!’
She swallows the tart. I hear it in her voice.
‘Peggy was talking about her like she was still alive. Maybe she thinks that she is still alive, I don’t know.’
Then, before anything settles, I show her my headscarf. Which elicits no reaction, until I tell her,
