Kate stepped out of the taxi and slammed the door behind her. Standing on the footpath for a moment, she watched the car move away. Then she strode up to the entrance to the apartment building where she and Stephen – yes, his name was Stephen, damn it – lived.
She keyed in the door’s code. The interior of the building was chilly and unwelcoming. Kate ignored the post boxes and walked straight to the elevator.
As the lift ascended, Kate fumed. She remembered the elevator ride up to Stephen’s office.
Stephen. Stephanie.
She couldn’t believe what that bastard was doing to her. She was in her prime. She could have had her pick of men and she had chosen one who was a woman.
Worst of all, Kate was the only one who didn’t know.
Stephen’s colleagues had been there, happy as hell, celebrating whatever the fuck it was called when a guy decided he was a chick. A coming out party? A gender reveal party?
Happy birth, the stupid cake had said.
Whatever the occasion was called, Kate hadn’t been invited. Stephen was celebrating with the people who actually knew him.
Now she understood his text messages. He must have planned to break the news to her later. He’d celebrate with his friends and commiserate with his partner. They’d been having a grand time till she came along.
Stephanie.
“Fuck,” Kate snarled, as the elevator doors opened, revealing her elderly neighbour, Mrs. Lynde, in the corridor, waiting to go down. Mrs. Lynde flinched.
Kate brushed past, nearly knocking the walking stick out of her hand.
She strode down the hall to her apartment and let herself in. It was exactly as she’d left it, and yet everything was different now.
Kate kicked off her shoes and walked down the hall to the kitchen.
She poured a glass of white wine, and knocked it back, her hand shaking all the while. The rim of the glass clicked against her front teeth. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, unsatisfying breaths.
Her phone rang. She pulled it out and checked the screen. Stephen. She rejected the call.
It rang again at once. She was sure it would be him again, but this time it was her mother. Kate knew she’d keep calling until she got some kind of answer, so Kate picked up.
“I can’t talk,” she said, and ended the call.
She powered the device down for good measure, then poured another half glass of wine and walked into the bedroom, her footsteps muffled by the rug on the floor. The duvet at Stephen’s side of the bed was pulled down and the faint outline of his body was still visible on the mattress.
Should she have known earlier?
Were there clues?
Kate stepped out the door onto the balcony. The concrete footpath was thirty-five or forty feet below her. And beyond the neighbouring buildings, the dark sea churned.
Her marriage to Stephen had been rushed. She’d been on the rebound, eager to hurt her previous boyfriend, who had dumped her. Stephen had been so handsome, so kind, so goddamn clean and neat, that she should have known it would never work out.
He’d obviously had his doubts too. All those panic attacks, all that anxiety. He always put it down to stress, but now she knew what was behind his suicide threats. She winced thinking of all the times she had reassured him that he was a great guy, that he had a lot to give, a lot to live for.
Kate needed to vent. Lucky that tonight was book club night. She just needed to hold on a little longer. Then she could tell everyone what a bastard Stephen was.
She brought the glass to her lips. Another few mouthfuls of wine went down easy. She was getting a slight buzz from the alcohol now.
Maybe she’d walk the pier to kill the time till the book club. She loved the pier, especially at night.
Or maybe she’d do something else that would make her feel better. Something that would make her feel like a woman.
Kate had momentarily forgotten about Tess’s request. But now it seemed like the timing was perfect.
She decided to check if Gareth was at his house. She’d told Tess she’d have an answer for her tonight, so why not do exactly that? And Stephen would see that Kate could have any man she wanted.
*
Adam smashed his phone against the steering wheel. Izzy still wasn’t picking up. He was sitting in his van, just around the corner from the diner.
The skin of his face prickled hot and cold as he thought of how he’d been kicked out by Mr. R., how Hannah had ignored him when he called her name, how Izzy had walked out on him without a word.
All those losers were treating him like garbage.
It was Thursday and Thursday was poker night. He always had friends over. And Izzy was always sitting next to him, his own little good luck charm. She prepared the drinks and snacks and greeted everyone.
He couldn’t do poker night without her, and there was no sign that she was about to come back. Not yet.
He quickly sent a text message to his friends.
Sorry, lads. Got a dodgy stomach. No poker this evening.
When he was done, he threw the phone on the passenger seat next to him. He ignored the beeps as his friends replied. He didn’t care what they said. Adam’s only concern was getting Izzy back, so things could get back to normal.
He started the engine. He’d go to Dun Laoghaire again and set things right.