Kate

RIVERSIDE DRIVE

“Well, blow me . . .” Mannix let out a low whistle. “Come and get a load of this, Kate.”

“What?” She swung her legs out of the bed. She’d just woken up.

“Oh, man, you’ve got to see this dude . . . I could tell he was a prick from his owner profile.” Mannix was standing in front of an open wardrobe door.

“How do you mean?” Kate hadn’t noticed anything untoward on the home-exchange Web site.

“That photo of him posing in those tight bicycle shorts and that spray-on Lycra top.”

“Well, you go round in tight rowing gear . . .”

“I don’t have a fucking wardrobe like this guy—look at it!”

Kate shuffled over the soft carpet, hugging her T-shirt tight. Behind the dark louvered door was an extensive rack of crisply ironed shirts. It was no hotchpotch arrangement. Like colors hung together in their individual colorways. Above that were neatly folded, soft-colored sweaters and T-shirts. But what had really caught Mannix’s eye was the collection of shoes. The sheer number of shoes was staggering. There must have been at least eighty to a hundred pairs, all neatly housed in pigeonholes.

Kate picked up a pointy brown-laced pair. She turned them over. Italian. She guessed as much. There were all kinds of sports shoes, runners, and golfing studs. The formal shoes were all pristine and shining.

“Christ alive!” Mannix said, laughing. “This dude’s got it all!”

Kate thought back to the ten or so well-worn shirts hanging in their shared wardrobe at home. Tidy, but probably unironed. And as for shoes—Mannix had a few pairs under the bed. They’d all been heeled and soled in the last year.

“Some of these have never even been worn . . .” He hunkered down and pulled a cardboard box out of its cubbyhole.

“Leave it, Mannix.”

It was one thing going through clothing on display, but rummaging about in boxes, even if they were only shoe boxes—that didn’t feel right. But Mannix had already taken off the lid.

“Nope,” said Mannix. “This one ain’t shoes . . .”

He stood up, cardboard box in hand, the lid half-perched on top.

Kate stepped closer to Mannix, about to lean her palm against the scar across his back. She pulled back quickly without touching, remembering she was still half angry with him.

“Fuck me! Look at that kid, Kate. The lad’s a bit of a porker, isn’t he?”

Mannix held up a fading black-and-white photograph.

“Can I see?”

In the photo, two kids stood in front of a very large tree, a Christmas tree. The chubby little girl was dressed in a nurse’s uniform. She clutched a first-aid box to her chest. A boy stood next to her in a cowboy hat, a gun slotted into his holster, his dark waistcoat about to pop, straining at the buttons. He was extremely overweight, obese, in fact. The little nurse was smiling. The cowboy sullen. Kate turned the photo over. Someone had written OSCAR AND HELEN, CHRISTMAS in capital letters on the back.

“This one’s worse,” said Mannix, picking another photo from the pile. “At least poor fatty had his clothes on in the other one . . .”

It was a color photo this time, showing the same two children. This time they were sitting on the steps of a porch outside a pale-blue clapboard house. The little boy was in bathing togs, clutching a plastic bucket on his knees. The bucket hid some of the rolls of belly fat. The little girl wore a polka-dot sundress. Her arm was draped around her brother. The inscription on the back was in the same hand. OSCAR AND HELEN, SAG HARBOR, SUMMER VACATION.

“Come on, Mannix, that’s enough. Put them back,” said Kate.

There was something sad about both photos.

 • • • 

Whoopi Goldberg’s voice came over all warm and earthy in the darkened planetarium. Kate glanced along the row to see if the kids were enjoying the show. They were enthralled. Kate felt proud of Fergus, delighted at his patience about the delayed visit to the Empire State. A wave of tenderness washed over her as she watched his little upturned face, his mouth open, brilliant galactic explosions reflected in his glasses. Then, for a second or two, her eyes came to rest on Mannix. Kate sighed and looked away, trying to concentrate on the show.

What did I tell you? What did I tell you about those O’Briens? All those O’Briens are the same. Like their father before them. Like all their uncles. Every whole one of them the same, to a man. Oh, shut up, Mam, she said to the voice in her head.

She’d decided last night as she pretended to sleep. Kate wasn’t going to think about Mannix’s disturbing confession. Not on holiday. There was a welcome otherworldliness about being in New York, so far away from home. As if the real world didn’t matter. They were safe here, far across the ocean. Safe from bullies. Safe from the Flynns and the Bolgers. Safe from mortgage worries and phone calls from the bank. Safe from Spike and all the mayhem that followed him.

For the rest of this week, at least, she was going to bury her head in the sand and live for the moment. She might even let Mannix make love to her. Last night, he hadn’t dared to slide as much as a hairy leg anywhere near her. Pity that. She’d been looking forward to some intimacy, but the stupid idiot had gone and spoiled it all.

Withholding sex was risky. She’d learned that to her cost. She remembered back to the beginning of the year and yet another argument about money. Things were tight and she’d pleaded with Mannix to get Spike to return the money they’d lent him five years ago.

Predictably, when that didn’t work out, she tried giving Mannix the cold shoulder. But matters soon escalated, and before she knew it, five months had slipped away without so much as a cuddle. Reluctantly, she came to understand what her single friend Rosie in the Art School meant by not minding being left on the shelf, as long as she was taken down and given a good dusting every now and then.

Kate had become fearful then that a rift had opened up that might not heal. Yet somehow they’d arrived where they were now, with ground to make up, but happier. It was their common bond with Fergus that had pulled them back together. So for the next few days she was going to pretend that all was well. She was going to ignore what Mannix told her last night. And she was going to pretend the guy she’d married was just a regular guy.

She stole another look at Mannix. What was he up to now? And then she realized. The electronic glow was a giveaway. He was texting. She wouldn’t get annoyed. But she felt unnerved. Mannix was usually a laid-back guy. When he was uneasy, it made Kate uneasy too. He looked up and, realizing he was being watched, let his hand fall to the side. He smiled innocently, teeth pearl-white in the dim light of the planetarium. She found herself smiling back. Oh, he was smooth, this man of hers.

The kids pronounced the show as “awesome,” and they were all in for a big surprise as they left the museum.

Snow!

It was snowing outside. It wasn’t even November and fat flakes of snow filled the sky. Foamy white flurries fell on the trees in Central Park—trees still thick with leaves. Pedestrians caught by surprise hailed cabs and scurried for cover.

“This is so cool,” said Fergus.

“I don’t know about that,” said Kate. They’d planned on having lunch somewhere in Central Park and Kate had wanted to see the Boathouse restaurant. The snow had changed all that.

“How about we get a cab to the Museum of Modern Art? We could get some lunch there . . .”

Her suggestion was met with blank faces.

“How about Abercrombie on Fifth Avenue?” said Izzy, not expecting her suggestion to fly.

“You know what? Let’s go for it!” said Kate.

Hell, the child had put in a rough year. So what if Kate thought it a criminal use of time? It would make Izzy happy.

 • • • 

Back out on Fifth Avenue after a torturous hour in Abercrombie, Kate was glad of the bracing air and the smell of toasting chestnuts. There was something disturbing about the physically perfect shop assistants in there. She’d allowed the kids to buy a T-shirt and a sweatshirt each. The snow had stopped falling and what lay on the street was wet and slushy. Mannix marched ahead with the kids, who were merrily swinging their shopping bags.

They were headed for Times Square and the Hard Rock Café. The plan was to eat early, and hopefully by the time they got back to the apartment, Du Bois would have managed to get them tickets for War Horse at Lincoln Center. Fergus had read the novel with his special needs teacher and it had struck a chord with him. When Hazel Harvey mentioned to Kate that Du Bois had a contact for discounted theater tickets, she had been delighted. They certainly couldn’t afford to pay full price.

“Hang on, Mannix . . . You guys!” Kate called to them to come back.

They were unaware that they’d walked past a famous landmark from their favorite Home Alone movie. They’d passed by an opening to Rockefeller Center. Kate had noticed the row of flags in front of a skyscraper and thought it looked familiar. On first glance there was little evidence of skaters, but as they drew closer to the central square, they spotted the pockets of hardy skaters on the rectangle of ice. How deceiving television could be, thought Kate. The ice rink had a cozy, almost intimate feel and was not at all on the scale she had imagined.

“So, guys, this is where young Kevin found his mother,” Kate declared.

“This is it?” said Izzy.

“Sure is. Look, over there is where the huge Christmas tree was. We’re too early in the season for the Christmas tree. Just one second, stay there,” said Kate, and she quickly snapped the three of them.

Twenty minutes later they found themselves outside the Hard Rock Café in the gaudy quarter that was Times Square. It seemed strangely lifeless in the daylight. Like fireworks on an inky sky, it needed night to kick it into life.

“I’m bloody starving,” announced Mannix. “I’d eat the arse off a Christian brother.”

“Mannix!” said Kate.

Fergus and Izzy giggled.

They all tucked into burgers, Fergus removing only some of the “alien” gherkins and tomatoes from his burger bun. By the time they finished their meal and got outside again, darkness had fallen. Harsh and garish lights exploded from every angle.

“Feck it anyway,” said Mannix looking up at a flashing alert.

“What is it?” asked Kate, alarmed.

“Shares are down today . . .”

“What shares?”

“Exactly . . .” He laughed ruefully.

Kate smiled and slipped her hand in his. The kids walked ahead, looking for a subway sign.

Out of nowhere, a guy with a long overcoat approached the kids, doing a grapevine dance routine alongside. Mannix tensed. The guy forced a CD into Izzy’s palm and dark spots of embarrassment stained her cheeks.

“Only five dollars to you, sweet cheeks! It’s got some cool beats. What do you say now? C’mon. It’s wholly Justin Bieber approved . . .” He shoved his face closer to Izzy’s.

“Lay off!” Mannix shouted at the guy. “She’s only a kid. Fuck off, pick on someone else . . .”

“Hey, chill, no panic, bro . . .”

And just as quickly he pranced off, swooping on someone else.

“That was a little aggressive, you don’t know what he could have done,” ventured Kate.

“That stuff really annoys me, Kate. Don’t worry, I can handle myself.” He looked at Fergus. “I could take a guy like that anytime, isn’t that right, Soldier?”

Fergus looked up at his hero. Kate had no doubt that Mannix could do just that.

Half an hour later they climbed the steps at the Verdi Square subway station. Kate had wondered just how safe the subway was. From what she’d read, Ed Koch’s zero tolerance policy had worked a treat on cleaning up the transport system. She was happy to find it was a surprisingly easy journey, from buying the MetroCard at the vending booth to finding the right platform and train.

 • • • 

“You get caught up in this crazy snowstorm?” asked Du Bois.

“We were indoors mainly,” said Kate, “but we could certainly do with a change of footwear.”

“I’ve got news for you,” he said, grinning. “My buddy’s got four tickets for the Lincoln. Four good seats as well.” Du Bois handed them a thick white envelope.

“Thanks a million,” said Mannix. “Now, what does that come in at, Mr. Du Bois? I’d like to fix up with you.” Mannix reached for his wallet.

“Nothing at all, sir. Lenny owes me a favor. Just you go and make sure you all enjoy yourselves.”

“Are you sure?” said Kate.

“Sure.” Du Bois smiled again. “Oh, before I forget . . .” Suddenly his face clouded over. “This arrived for Mrs. Harvey.”

He placed a small paper carrier bag on the marble counter.

“It’s a personal item that Mrs. Harvey left behind at a local diner. My sister is a waitress there and she dropped by with it earlier.”

The paper bag had Duane Reade lettering. Duane Reade was a chain of drugstores, wasn’t it? Du Bois pushed the bag toward Kate. “Maybe you can take it up to the apartment? Or I can hold on to it here until Mrs. Harvey returns, if you prefer?” He pulled the bag back toward him as if unsure.

“It’s no problem at all.” Kate took the bag.

Once inside the lift she took a look. Du Bois had made her curious but it was only a book with a note stuck on the front:

Mrs. Harvey,

You left this in Viand last Thursday.

Thought you might like it returned.

Anita

Back in the apartment, Kate offered to make a pot of tea. They had only an hour to spare before heading out again. Mannix had collapsed onto the sofa without even taking off his coat, hat, or scarf. He was surfing the TV channels with the remote. Every channel was carrying the same news story.

“Snow, snow, snow. Yeah, we get it, guys,” he muttered.

Kate listened to him muttering as she walked across the kitchen floor enjoying the cool feel of the marble floor on her bare and swollen feet. She put on the kettle to make tea.

As she waited for the kettle, her eyes fell again on the Duane Reade bag. What did Hazel Harvey read? What kind of a person was she? Hazel Harvey had come across as personable but reserved in her e-mails and on Skype. It was difficult to tell what she was like, not having met her face-to-face. What did feel peculiar to Kate was that every time Hazel Harvey’s name came up, Du Bois bristled protectively. This woman was in Kate’s house in Ireland. Curiosity aroused, she took the book out of the bag and looked at it again.

Oh, shit!

She did a double take at first. She felt as if she’d been slapped. Shocked, she dropped the book onto the work surface, letting the cover slam shut. There had been nothing on the spine or the front cover to indicate what it was. Nothing to indicate its contents. Japanese lacquerwork. A gold ribbon acting as a placeholder. Nothing more. Tentatively, she picked it up again. She knew she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help herself. Had she really read those words? She quickly fanned through the pages again. There it was. At the bottom of the page. She read the diary entry for a second time.

September 4—I can still hear it. The hissing in my ear. The smell of garlic on his breath. You’re a cunt he hisses. A prize cunt. I find it hard to write. To see those words on paper. But I need to keep a record. Over and over he repeats it. His face contorted with rage. I am afraid.

Kate felt herself go cold. This was not a conventional diary. No preprinted dates. It was more like a notebook with a mishmash of diary entries and scribblings. Her heart in her mouth, Kate turned the page.

September 5—Met Elizabeth today. She agrees that it’s a good idea to record everything. She is angry with me too. All of a sudden it’s like everyone’s angry with me. Oscar, Elizabeth, even the kids.

The writing was neat, written in blue pen. She read on.

September 11—Getting flashbacks. It’s over a week ago now but I’m still trying to make sense of it. How it happened. I need to get it clear in my head. This time he accused me of showing him disrespect, that I do not value his opinion. I find myself wondering if I have been unfair in any way. I know I cannot let myself condone this behavior. Yet I’m trying to rationalize his response. Sometimes I think it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have laughed. He thought I was laughing at him, not laughing with him. I know things haven’t been easy for him. I’m confused. I feel powerless, like he’s the one controlling everything.

September 12—Think he suspects I’ve been talking. He said if I told anyone, he wouldn’t stand for it. Told me it would be over. I try not to show my fear. As long as I stay composed and look like I’m in control, there is hope. I have been here before I say to myself. I can find a way through this.

The writing became bigger, more uneven, no longer sticking to the confines of the pale-blue lines. As if the entries were made in haste. Kate wondered now if, like she was doing, Du Bois too had scanned through the pages. Could that explain his hesitation?

September 13—We are going to Ireland. I can find a way through this. I could leave, I know that. But I cannot admit failure. I have invested too much.

September 17—Flashbacks getting worse. I cannot sleep. Afraid to go to bed. I toy with the idea of telling Helen. And then I think the better of it. She knows we are going to Ireland but she doesn’t know why.

“What happened to that tea?” called Mannix from the sofa.

“Just coming!” Kate shouted back, her stomach feeling sick.

She quickly leafed through a few more pages. Some entries weren’t even dated. Lopsided scrawls that were hard to read. She tilted the journal, trying to decipher the letters. And then there was another spate of dated entries.

October 10—Feel like I’m going mad.

October 11—Went to the dog run today and pretended to read.

October 13—Went to the dog run again. I think about going back to work.

October 14—Had palpitations last night. Work not a good idea.

“I’m dying of thirst in here,” Mannix shouted again.

Snapping the cover shut, she dropped the journal on the table as if it had bitten her.

“You okay?” Mannix took the mug from her. “You look a bit pale.”

“No, I’m fine,” she replied, still in shock from what she’d read.

“We don’t have to go out, you know. We don’t have to go to this show—I mean, if you’re withered from all the walking . . .”

“God, no.” She couldn’t miss the show for Fergus. “Of course we’re going. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. It’d be a sin to miss it. I just need to get off my feet a minute.”

“Here, get them up next to me.” He patted the sofa. “Rest your weary little feet.”

Leaving her mug of tea on the coffee table, she did as he said. She lay with her head against the armrest as Mannix rubbed her feet and calves. The gentle pressure of his fingers did little to stop the alarm bells ringing in her head.

 • • • 

In terms of a spectacle, War Horse lived up to expectations. The puppetry was on a scale Kate hadn’t seen before. Fergus was enchanted, and for long stretches at a time he even forgot about the foot tapping that usually beset him in the cinema or at a show. Izzy too drank it all in with her big dark eyes.

Kate didn’t tell Mannix about the disturbing diary. She didn’t want to spoil their holiday. Hazel Harvey’s life was none of their business and Kate had inadvertently violated the woman’s privacy to no good end. There was nothing to be done, Kate told herself.

Surprisingly, she slept well that night and woke to find Mannix in front of the television. The news was full of stories of the freak October snowstorm and power outages across the state and in New Jersey. Parts of Central Park were closed, as branches still in leaf and heavy with snow were breaking and falling to the ground. The Con Ed electricity company was working around the clock to restore power. Halloween trick-or-treating was in danger of being canceled.

“We are still going to the Empire State, though, aren’t we?” Fergus was dressed and ready to go. Kate could almost see cartoon dust wheels spinning from his little heels.

Barely an hour later, they were standing outside on Thirty-fourth Street. “So, Soldier, this is it!” Kate declared to Fergus as they shuffled in the roped-off queues. He trembled with excitement. As they exited the first lift, Kate could feel the subtle vibrations of the building as it swayed. Fergus surveyed the King Kong posters on the walls as they waited a full five minutes for the next lift up to the observation deck.

As the lift doors opened and Kate walked toward the outdoor terrace, she experienced a momentary sensation of dizziness as her eyes adjusted to the scale of the panorama outside. “Hang on, just a minute, Soldier.” Mannix put a hand on Fergus’s shoulder, restraining him a moment. The wraparound terrace was wedged with tourists jostling for a viewing space. Mannix cut a path through the crowd and managed to corral the four of them into a corner next to a viewfinder. And for the next twenty minutes, Fergus remained frozen to the spot, with the lens of the viewfinder welded to his face.

Kate looked out west to New Jersey and then downtown to the tower blocks of the Financial District. She thought how vulnerable they looked, there on the very tip of the flat island. The iconic buildings, bastions of capitalism, screamed out to be noticed. She thought back to the events of 9/11 and imagined how surreal it must have been to see those planes as they fireballed into the World Trade Center. She shivered and said a quiet prayer for all the lost souls.

Mannix kept shifting position to shield them from the icy blasts. How cozy and safe he made them feel. What a tight family unit they must look, thought Kate. But looks could be deceiving. Her thoughts slipped back to Hazel’s diary. What exactly was going on inside the Harveys’ marriage? What was happening in Kate’s house at Curragower Falls?

Later that morning, they walked about with no particular purpose in mind, past the New York Public Library and on until they reached an entrance to Central Park at Columbus Circle. As they entered the park, some paths were cordoned off with tape. Tree surgeons were busy dealing with branches that had split under the weight of snow. Fergus began to complain of hunger. Until now he had been happily silent, savoring the morning’s experience. Rounding the crest of a small hillock, they found themselves at a pagoda-style coffee shop, Le Pain Quotidien. Izzy was struggling to say it correctly.

“What do you think about this Halloween Parade tomorrow?” asked Kate over lunch.

“Sounds great. It’s in Greenwich Village, yeah? I definitely want to go there.”

Kate knew they’d lose him for at least a couple of hours to the secondhand music stores.

“Okay, so we’ll do that Circle Line cruise in the morning—the one that goes from Forty-second Street around the bottom of Manhattan and then head to Greenwich Village afterward?”

“You’re the boss,” said Mannix.

 • • • 

“I think I’ll Skype the Harveys.”

Back at Riverside Drive, Kate could no longer contain her unease.

“Isn’t that a bit like checking up on them?” said Mannix. “They’d contact us if there was a problem.”

“You know what? It’s six P.M. there now. I’ll Skype, and if they’re in, they’re in, and if they’re not, they’re not.”

Kate set herself up at the screen on the pull-out console table in the kitchen. The call was answered within seconds.

“Oh, hi there, Kate! How wonderful to see you in our home . . .” A jittery Hazel Harvey zoomed into view.

It felt surreal to see Hazel in their study back at Curragower Falls. Kate went through some chitchat and apologized for borrowing a pair of Hazel’s shoes when her own had been soaked in the snow. Interpreting Hazel’s face and body language was difficult with the jerky video delay, but Kate felt her instincts had been right. Hazel Harvey looked upset.

“I’m going to cut to the chase here, Kate. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

Kate prickled with alarm. So she had been right.

“Can you hold on just a minute?” said Hazel. “I just want to get something.”

“Sure.”

Hazel disappeared from view and Kate had the bizarre experience of staring at her own bookshelves from thousands of miles away. Where were Oscar Harvey and the children? A full minute or so went by before Hazel returned. She was holding on to something.

“The kids were fooling around, Kate . . .” She looked nervous, apologetic. “And I’m very sorry but they broke this. I don’t know if it can be mended . . .”

For a moment Kate couldn’t make out what it was. She tilted her head from side to side. It looked like tubing. And then it came to her. Hazel was holding on to Izzy’s cast. It was the cast of Izzy’s arm that Izzy and Kate had made on Take Your Child to Work Day, and it was broken.

Relief washed over Kate. “Oh, Hazel, don’t you worry about that. We can always make another one. Izzy will understand.” She’d been expecting worse.

“That’s so good of you, Kate. There’s just one other thing, though . . .”

“Yes?”

“Something a little weird, I guess. This is what we found inside . . .”

Kate was stunned. Stuck for words, she felt her stomach lurch.

Hazel looked awkward. “I’m not sure what I should do with these? I’m not sure, Kate, but I think that could be blood.”

In one hand, Hazel Harvey held a hammer. In the other, a bloodied pillowcase. A chill ran up Kate’s spine. It was the same flowery pillowcase that Mannix had the night he took Izzy to Girl Guides. The night that Frankie Flynn was injured. The night that Frankie ended up in hospital.

Kate felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh, that’s all just part of Izzy’s project,” she improvised. “Honestly, Hazel, don’t worry at all. Just put the whole lot in a plastic bag in one of Izzy’s drawers.”

“If you’re sure . . .”

Kate inquired about the Harveys’ holiday. Did they do the cliff walk in Kilkee? What did they think of the café at the Diamond Rocks? She thought she sounded okay but felt a telltale rash spreading up her neck.

“Everything good in the house?” she asked, anxious now to end the call.

“You have a lovely home, Kate. Spike showed us where everything was. Oh, yes, and someone dropped by yesterday morning to read the gas meter.”

“You mean the electricity meter?”

“No, I think it was the gas, Kate. No, in fact I’m sure. It was the gas.”

Kate’s stomach lurched again. The rash was spreading down her arms. She felt herself go clammy.

Agreeing to touch base later in the week, she cut the conversation short.

Kate was truly shaken. But what could she have said? How could she tell Hazel Harvey the house at Curragower Falls had never been fitted with a gas supply? That they’d never been connected? But she couldn’t dwell on that just now. There was something even more urgent Kate had to see to first.

She stood up and walked into the living room.

“Look at me, Mannix.”

He didn’t move.

“Turn around and bloody well look at me!” she shouted.

“Jesus, Kate, what is it?” He swung around.

“What the hell did you do to Frankie Flynn?”

“What are you talking about, Kate?”

“Frankie Flynn! I can’t bloody well believe that you could be so bloody stupid, Mannix! It was you, wasn’t it? It was you who attacked him and landed him in hospital. You’re the one who attacked him with a hammer!”

“Kate, this is ridiculous. Where did you get all this?”

“The Harveys found the evidence. Today. Hidden inside the cast in Izzy’s room! The missing hammer wrapped in the bloodied pillowcase. The same one you left the house with. I saw it, Mannix. Don’t deny it. I’m sick to death of all the lies!”

“Stop! Stop it now, please, Mum!”

Kate spun around. Christ, they’d woken the kids. How much had Izzy heard?

“Please stop shouting at Dad.”

Poor Izzy. Always rushing to her father’s defense.

“Go back to bed, Izzy,” Kate said wearily.

“No, Mum. I heard what you were talking about. And there’s something I must tell you.” Izzy paused.

“What is it, Izzy?”

“You see, Mum, it wasn’t Dad that went for Frankie Flynn.”

“And how do you know that, Izzy?”

“I know that, Mum, because it was me.”