Page 64 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
‘Are you going out?’ Roisin asked, stating the obvious as she ran a feather duster along a skirting board and nodded to the picnic basket by the door.
‘Yes,’ Mary said, picking up her car keys. ‘If you could give Finn’s room an extra going over today,’ she added, knowing that the nine-year-old’s chaotic kingdom was a masterpiece of messiness. It would take more than a duster to bring order to Finn’s untidiness.
‘If you really think it’s necessary,’ Roisin scowled.
‘I do.’ Mary forced a smile, grabbed her basket, and opened the front door. ‘I’ve left your money on the kitchen table,’ she said. ‘Enjoy your day.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Murphy’s Auctioneers was in the centre of Kindale. Amidst the quaint streets and historic charm, the modern estate agency was a beacon of contemporary sophistication.
We’ve come a long way, Mary thought as she parked in a reserved space and reached for the picnic basket. She stared at the sleek glass frontage and remembered the days when they’d had little more than cupboard space squeezed between a butcher and an ironmonger. Happy days when each new listing felt like a trophy and a sale as though they’d struck gold. With Mary glued to the phone, chasing every lead, and Conor dreaming up inventive ways of marketing his fledgling business, they’d been like kids in a candy shop, excited by everything that ended up on their books.
Although Conor had started the business in his sole name, Mary had often thought it would be advisable to have her name on the paperwork too. Mungo, alwaysworried about the future, had urged her to make it official to protect her and the children should anything happen. Conor had laughed off Mungo’s suggestion, assuring Mary that if he were to suddenly die, she’d get the lot as his wife. But family life had since taken over, and as she’d eased away from work, Mary had forgotten all about Mungo’s concern.
Four children were a full-time job.
As she opened the door and stepped into the office, Mary was distracted by the warm glow of designer lighting. It illuminated the reception area and the modern furnishings, which provided both style and comfort. She looked around at the space she’d so carefully redesigned shortly before Finn was born. It was wearing well. High-tech interactive screens showcased virtual tours and 3D images of each property listing, allowing clients to immerse themselves in homes without needing to step inside.
The girl on reception was new. Mary didn’t recognise her and wondered when this young face had joined the company, and why Conor hadn’t mentioned that Linda – a lovely woman who’d been with them for years – had moved on.
‘Good morning, can I help you?’ the girl asked.
‘I’m here to see my husband,’ Mary replied, then began making her way toward Conor’s office, which lay at the top of an open-plan staircase, behind a glass door. She waved at the staff working behind low partitions, who looked up with expressions filled with curiosity.
‘I beg your pardon?’ the girl asked, appearing puzzled and chasing afterher.
‘I’m Mary Murphy, Conor’s wife. I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.’
‘Oh…’ the girl hesitated, then began fiddling with her necklace. ‘I’m afraid Mr Murphy is in a meeting and can’t be disturbed.’
‘Don’t worry, whatever your name is, he’ll disturb his meeting for me.’
Mary swept up the stairs, and when she reached the door, she carefully balanced her basket and turned the handle. Stepping cautiously so as not to surprise her husband and his client, she opened the door and walked in.
To her surprise, Conor’s office was empty.The meeting must have finished,Mary thought, just as she heard the sound of a sink flushing. Conor was in the bathroom.
Placing her basket on a chair, she began to unpack its contents onto the corner of his desk. She smiled as she unwrapped his favourite cheesy quiche and a pot of caramelised onions.
Just then, Mary heard the bathroom door open and turned to greet her husband. ‘Surprise!’ she called out.
The sight that greeted her was not that of an overworked husband, harried from a meeting, but a red-faced Lucinda, her blouse half undone as she zipped up the side of her skirt. Taking a step back, Lucinda almost fell into Conor, who was buttoning his cotton Oxford shirt.
‘Oh,’ Lucinda said, an eyebrow raised and an amused smirk crossing her ruby-red lips. ‘I didn’t realise we’d ordered room service.’
Mary wasn’t clear on her exact words as she flung caramelised onions over herenemy’s immaculate hair. Conor raced forward, and despite his acrobatic twists and turns, he couldn’t avoid the impact of a whole cheesy quiche, which landed slapstick-style on his open-mouthed face. Unable to speak, he began to choke on Mary’s perfect pastry.
Mary followed up her dramatic display of culinary vengeance with two tubs of creamy coleslaw, which caught both cheaters in the chest. Grabbing more food projectiles, Mary’s aim was sharp. Conor, ungluing cheese from his eyes, hurriedly bustled Lucinda back into the bathroom and locked the door.
‘There’s your room service!’ Mary yelled as she landed a custard slice on the door’s smooth wooden surface and watched a sluggish trail of thick, creamy rivulets descend.
Conor’s words sang like a chorus in her head as she theatrically swept pastwhatever-her-name-isfrom reception, who now stood alongside a group of highly bemused staff assembled on the stairs.
‘You are obsessed with something that simply isn’t true,’he’d lied.
As Mary ran down the stairs past the staff and marched out of the office, she thought she heard a ripple of applause and one or two cries of ‘Bravo!’
Did they all know?she questioned, thrusting her car into gear and racing away from the building. A cyclone of emotion was whirling through Mary’s body, unleashing a fury that threatened to blind her as she tried to focus on the road and stay calm. Her heart was pounding, each beat a punch as a tidal wave of anger crashed over her.
