Page 85 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
Mary did a double-take as she tightened a scarf and slipped her arms into her Barbour. Roisin’s sharp retorts were no longer present, and recently, she’d gone out of her way to be helpful.
Sympathetic to Mary’s situation and difficulties, Roisin patted Mary’s arm. ‘Get yourself off and enjoy yourafternoon.’
As she drove away, Mary wondered if the whole of Kindale was following the Murphy marital breakdown, agog for news to feed the gossip grapevine. Mary knew that her elderly nosy neighbour, who hadn’t moved faster than a snail since they’d lived at Belvedere House, now had a sprightly step, glancing at the drive and over the fence like an arthritic ninja whenever Murphy family members stepped outside. Una had told Mary that the Ladies’ Lunch Club had a new topic for their chinwag, and ‘Piecing Together the Murphy Drama’ was weaving theories as intricate as a best-selling thriller.
Finding a space to park her car, Mary hurried through the town. As she passed Murphy’s Auctioneers, she glanced through the window and caught the eye ofwhatever-her-name-ison reception. To Mary’s surprise, the girl grinned and waved.
Mary wondered if Conor was in his office or warming his hands on roaring logs in the inglenook fireplace in the lounge at Creek House. Before he left early that morning, they’d exchanged heated words.
‘Lovely morning, isn’t it?’ Conor had said.
He stood by the kitchen window, packing his briefcase, as Mary handed him a mug of tea.
‘Oh, it’s a perfect morning to be left hanging in the air, Conor,’ Mary snapped, folding her arms. ‘Nothing like dragging out your decision while your marriage is going down the drain.’
‘Dear God, don’t go on.’ Conor rubbed his forehead. ‘I told you. I’ll have an answer by Christmas.’
‘Butwillyou?’ Mary snorted. ‘And what would you likeunder the tree this year? A divorce or a frying pan to the head?’
‘You’re impossible.’ Conor drained his tea, setting the mug down with a clatter. ‘I’ll be back at teatime to be with the kids.’
‘Oh, is that right?’ Mary shot back. ‘Why not send me a note by pigeon post to remind me, as you don’t communicate in any other way!’
Conor shook his head, then reached for his coat, and Mary remembered him leaving her standing alone, like a fool, as he strode out to his car without another word.
‘Who the hell does he think I am to be kept waiting?’ Mary muttered as she made her way to the market square. ‘The doting little wife who will follow whatever her disloyal husband decides?’ She balled her fingers in her gloves as she arrived with minutes to spare for her stint at the tombola stall.
Una, handing out tombola tickets, gave a thumbs-up when she saw Mary. Then, rolling her eyes, she nodded sideways to point out an elegant woman in a full-length white leather coat.
It was Lucinda, and she was handing out prizes.
‘Good morning, Mary.’ Lucinda glanced at her Chanel watch. ‘You’ve made it on time; that has to be a first.’
Mary was determined not to bark back, but Lucinda had some nerve. Not only was she sleeping with Conor, but she brazened it out as though nothing was wrong.
‘Happy Christmas.’ Mary smiled at Lucinda. ‘How’s my husband’s collection of unfulfilled promises working out for you?’ Mary took her position at thestand as an elderly couple held up a winning tombola ticket. ‘Did you manage to get the coleslaw stains out of your blouse?’
Lucinda glared as she handed the couple a box of scented bath cubes.
‘I did wonder if the caramelised onions that I glued to your hair would alter the colour,’ Mary continued. ‘But apart from needing your roots touched up, I see that you managed to wash the mess out.’
Lucinda’s hand flew to her head subconsciously, her fingers tracing the hairline.
The couple and Una joined two local ladies from the mulled wine and mince pie table, and leaned in. They looked encouragingly – from Mary to Lucinda – for the next comeback.
‘Conor always said he liked cold leftovers,’ Mary continued. She picked up a bottle of whisky and turned to look Lucinda up and down. ‘It’s good to see he wasn’t exaggerating,’ she said. Then, reaching out, Mary smiled at the couple and, to their amazement, handed them the whisky.
‘You can’t do that!’ Lucinda cried out. ‘Their ticket didn’t end with the number five!’
‘I can do anything I like,’ Mary replied and tucked a box of luxury chocolates in the couple’s shopping trolley. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she beamed.
‘And to you,’ the couple muttered and hurried away before the angry woman in white took back their stash.
‘We’ll run out of prizes if you carry on!’ Lucinda’s pale skin had reddened. Her aim was always for the tombola to raise the most money at the Christmas Fair.
Mary took a mulled wine from the adjacent table. Sheraised the steaming mug and smiled as she saw a sudden fear in Lucinda’s eyes.
‘Is there anything else you want from me, besides my husband?’ Mary asked. ‘Perhaps you’d like to share this mulled wine?’
