Page 24 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
In rural Ireland, the sky was heavy with dark clouds, casting a foreboding pallor over the landscape as a relentless downpour soaked everything in its path. Mary had completed the school run and, with four damp and grumpy kids safely deposited, now drove along the coastal road that led to Kindale Golf and Wellness Retreat. Shrouded in mist, the countryside was deserted, with only the occasional brave soul venturing out.
Rain ricocheted off the windscreen of her Range Rover like bullets as Mary carefully negotiated muddy potholes and thought about the day ahead. Aware that Roisin, her cleaner, was hard at work at Belvedere House, Mary had no desire to return home and get in the way of the woman’s overactive Dyson or make endless cups of tea. Instead, Mary was heading to the gym.
Roisin had been with the family since they moved to Belvedere House several years ago. She had a full diary with cleaning bookings at all the larger houses and ran her business, Roisin’s Shamrock Shine,with her two daughters. Mary was conscious of never using the term ‘cleaner’ when Roisin was within earshot, knowing thatthe fussy, self-important woman preferred the more favourable ‘Environmental Services Provider’. Roisin was a gossip of the highest order, and had it not been for the fact that her work was first-class, Mary would have ditched Roisin’s Shamrock Shinesome time ago. But, if Mary wanted to catch up on any goings-on in Kindale, Roisin was a mouthpiece worthy of a plate of chocolate biscuits and several cups of strong tea, as she shared generous titbits of spicy scandal.
This morning, however, Mary had more important things on her mind than a juicy gossip with Roisin. Over breakfast, with the kids fighting over Coco Pops and Rice Crispies, Conor, running late, was in a hurry to leave for work. Drinking the fresh fruit smoothie Mary had made, he’d informed her that he wouldn’t be home for dinner that evening.
‘Has something important come up?’ Mary asked.
‘It’s the land deal. There’s a dinner tonight at the country club. All the planning committee will be there, along with the builder who’s bought the land.’
‘Are wives not invited?’ Mary asked as she watched Conor abandon his empty glass on the table.
‘It’s not that sort of dinner,’ he replied.
Mary wondered what sort of dinner it was as she picked up his glass and carried it to the dishwasher. Turning to Conor to straighten his lapel, she asked him when he would be home.
‘I have no idea, so don’t wait up.’ He paused to pick up a leather document case and stared at Mary. ‘Your leggings are getting tight,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t a longer shirt be better if you go out?’
Mary felt her face flush and grabbed the hem of her top to tug the fabric over her tummy. It was the first time in months that Conor had commented on anything Mary wore. There was nothing she’d like more than to be tummy-tucked, groomed, and dressed in a smart suit and at the cut and thrust of their business. But instead, she shook her head. She was about to tell him that if he had to look after four highly demanding children, each a whirlwind who left chaos in their wake, he wouldn’t have time to worry about a slowly expanding waistline. But before she could reply, Conor was all over the kids, covering them with kisses and telling them to be good and work hard at school that day. He left the kitchen before their sticky fingers could stain his immaculate suit.
Mary stared at Conor’s retreating back.
She hadn’t mentioned the shirt incident from the previous day, and with the evidence washed away, she wondered if she’d imagined it. Mary’s gnawing sense of doubt about her husband’s fidelity niggled at her, and despite her search for signs of betrayal, she knew that Conor was too busy with his job. Had she asked him, he would probably have explained away the scent, saying it had occurred accidentally, exchanged in a friendly embrace with a co-worker.
Mary felt that her own inadequacy had fuelled her paranoia. She’d let her weight increase, and it was her own fault if Conor didn’t pay any attention to the often-fraught mum she’d become.God, how she missed her former working life!Tightening her fists, Mary followedConor through the house. He stepped back as he opened the front door, almost colliding with her.
To his surprise, Roisin stood on the doorstep.
‘Good morning, Mr Murphy,’ Roisin beamed. ‘I didn’t expect to bump into you again so soon?’ She raised a pencilled eyebrow.
Conor gave Roisin a curt nod and then turned to Mary. ‘Goodbye, darling,’ he said. ‘Enjoy your day.’
As Mary drove her vehicle through the gates of Kindale Golf and Wellness Retreat, she wondered what Roisin had meant about meeting Conor ‘so soon’. He always left the house before Roisin’s arrival. Still, Mary reasoned as she parked and reached for her gym bag, Roisin was probably working at a property Conor was selling, and their paths had crossed there.
Mary held an umbrella, battling against a strong gust and rods of steely rain. As her trainers crunched across the gravel, she wished she still worked in the office with Conor, in the business he’d started and encouraged her to join. Mary missed the magic of negotiating sales and dealing with the public. But four children had put paid to that. She had been an integral part of the early days when they were establishing the fledgling business, setting up systems and charming clients, building trust. Murphy’s Auctioneers had soon become an essential and popular agency in the area, and Conor and Mary were a glamorous young couple on everyone’s party invitation list. These days, Mary couldn’tremember the last time they’d had a night out together on the town.
The clear glass doors of the retreat glided back, and Mary was greeted by a subtle blend of essential oils that filled the air like a gentle caress. How tempting it would be to book a massage and escape from her everyday life for an hour to ease the tension out of her muscles. But, remembering Conor’s comment, Mary deposited her damp umbrella, patted her stomach, and headed for the torture chamber – otherwise known as the gym.
As she reached the changing room, her phone began to ring. Hoping Conor had changed his mind and invited her to the dinner that evening, Mary tore into her bag to grab her mobile.
‘Hello?’ she said and held the phone to her ear.
‘DEAR GOD, MARY, were you in on it too?’ an angry voice bellowed, without any introduction or courtesies.
‘Hello… Mungo?’ Mary frowned.What on earth was Mungo banging on about?‘What’s wrong? You sound upset.’
‘UPSET?’ Mungo yelled. ‘I’m absolutely furious.’
‘Calm down,’ Mary said, looking around for a quiet corner to take the call. Perching on a bench at the far end of the changing room, Mary gripped the phone. ‘Now, what’s happened?’
‘It’s Dad,’ Mungo stated. ‘The old fool has set off in the camper and is in Portsmouth with the dog, waiting to board a ferry to Spain. Did you know?’
‘I had no idea.’ Mary’s eyes were wide, and she began to punch the air without realising her actions.So,he’d done it. Her dad was off on an exciting adventure!‘Well, I don’t see what’s so wrong with that,’ she replied.
‘WHAT?’ Mungo was shouting now. ‘He’s driving thousands of miles in a vintage vehicle that should have been put out to grass years ago! For heaven’s sake, Mary, Dad’s never even been abroad!’
Mary could sense Mungo’s exasperation. ‘I’m sure he’s very organised,’ she said. ‘I can’t for one moment think that he’d attempt such a journey without planning and discussing it with Arthur.’
