In the kitchen, Aidan is peeling potatoes. The smell of herby roast chicken already drifting from the oven.
‘How did you know that’s what I was going to cook?’
‘Because I know you.’ He scrapes peelings into the bin. ‘And because I was on call yesterday so we missed our roast.’
I sit at the breakfast bar. Classical music – soothing strings and a tinkling piano – drifts out of the Alexa.
Aidan pushes a coffee towards me. My favourite mug is printed with a tiny green handprint on one side and a footprint on the other. Aidan had it made for me on the first Mother’s Day after I had given birth and I had cried when I’d seen it. For a long time, I wouldn’t use it, it felt too precious and I was scared it would break, but as the years passed I needed that physical reminder that these impossibly small hands and feet once belonged to my child. Ever practical, Aidan reassured me that he had a spare so if it did accidentally smash I could have another.
Some things are so easily replaceable, but not everything.
‘So.’ I take a sip of my now lukewarm drink.
‘Lucy…’ There is such weariness in that one word. ‘Can we just… not. Not today.’
‘But we need to talk.’
‘All we do is talk about Kieron and we go around in circles. Words can’t heal him no matter how much we want them to.’
I know that’s true but I believe that words can heal us. The right words anyway, but I fumble to find them, to pluck them out of my mind and form them on my tongue in the correct order. Lately, almost everything I say sounds accusatory or argumentative. I wish I could say what’s in my heart which is, ‘I need you. I love you. I want us to feel like a family again.’
‘Aidan,’ I whisper, hurt pulsing inside of my chest.
His sorrowful hazel eyes meet mine, the eyes I’d looked into when he’d slid the thin gold band onto my finger and promised me forever. Does he regret marrying me? Is forever too long? Too hard? Too much of everything?
Marriage takes work.
My nana had told me this when I’d splayed my fingers and glittered my engagement ring at her. I’d told her not to worry. Aidan and I were so in love I couldn’t envisage a time we wouldn’t be happy. Now I can’t quite remember what happiness feels like. It visits us fleetingly: sharing a Saturday lunchtime pizza with Fergus and Melissa, the four of us playing rummy while we lingered over coffee; me and Aidan curled onto the sofa sharing a bottle of wine. The other night something funny came on the TV and we laughed aloud before we’d both snapped our mouths shut as though we had no right to experience any joy.
I miss him.
I miss us.
‘Can I help?’ Once I wouldn’t have asked, we’d have stood side by side, both knowing instinctively what the other needed.
‘I’ve got everything covered.’ He’s crushing garlic for the potatoes, rosemary sprigs from the garden already washed.
‘What do you think about going back to Center Parcs in October half term? With Mel, Fergus and Ryan?’
‘Is that fair on Kieron? He can do less this year than last.’
‘He loves the pool. And the wildlife. He was so happy watching the deer and squirrels eat the food he’d put outside our lodge every day. Mel’s addicted to the spa there and Fergus loves all that adrenaline stuff. It’s partly why he volunteered to go along on the school residential to supervise. Or are you just worried he’ll want a turn at the activities this year and you might have to—’
‘Fergus offered to sit out with Kieron—’
‘I know. I was only teasing.’
Aidan slices into a carrot with more force than necessary.
Wanting to change the subject, I search for something to say, topics that we might have talked about before tragedy reached out with its dirty fingers, staining our hearts with its blackness, a common ground that doesn’t involve the boys but nothing comes to mind. Our conversations usually centre around Kieron and now there’s Connor to worry about. Everything circles back to the kids in one way or another.
It’s the ringing of my phone that breaks the silence, the screen alight with the face of my best friend.
‘Hi, Melissa.’ I assume she’s ringing to find out how Kieron’s appointment went today but instead all I can hear is the sound of her crying.
‘Mel? What’s wrong?’
‘Have you seen Fergus?’
‘We haven’t seen Fergus?’ I raise my questioning eyebrows towards Aidan and he gives a shake of his head. ‘Is something wrong? I can come—’
‘No,’ she says sharply.
‘Mel… What’s happened?’
‘It’s… He’s… Fergus,’ she speaks falteringly, releasing one syllable at a time. ‘Fergus has left me.’
Fergus adores Mel and Ryan. Working as a pilot he’s often away and when they’re together they are always touching, holding hands.
‘Left you?’ I’m parroting her but I can’t process what she’s telling me.
Aidan’s expression flitters between confusion and alarm. ‘What’s going on?’ he mouths.
‘Mel… Why has Fergus gone? Where has he gone?’
She ignores my question. ‘He hasn’t been in touch with you? Or Aidan?’
‘Neither of us have heard from him, Mel… You’ll be able to sort things out, won’t you?’
There’s a beat before she says, ‘Some things can’t be repaired, Lucy.’
I glance at my mug. Those tiny hands and feet.
‘If Fergus gets in touch with either of you can you let me know?’
‘Of course but I’ll come over. Give me half an hour and—’
‘No! Please don’t.’ There’s an urgency in her voice combined with something I can’t quite identify. ‘Just don’t. And if Fergus turns up on your doorstep, don’t let him in.’
‘But—’
‘I’ll be in touch.’
The dial tone whirrs against my ear.
‘What’s going on?’ Aidan asks.
‘He’s left her.’ It’s hard to believe. Fergus and Melissa seemed like one of those bulletproof couples, built to stand the test of time. We haven’t seen much of either of them since the residential and I recall the first time I saw Fergus afterwards.
‘I’m so ashamed,’ he had whispered. ‘I just didn’t—’
‘Shhh.’ I had swept him into a hug. ‘Nobody is to blame.’ But had he blamed himself? Is his running away a result of his festering guilt?
‘Did Mel say why he’s left?’ Aidan’s phone beeps with a message. When he reads it he tightens his grip on his handset, his skin stretched tightly over tensed muscles.
‘Is that Fergus?’
‘No. The Thompsons’ horse isn’t right. It’s probably colic again. I’ve got to go.’
He heads towards the door, his limp more pronounced than usual, which is a sign he’s tired or stressed. I wish he didn’t have to leave. I’m used to him being called out at odd hours, missing meals, weekends, but tonight I’ve such a sense of impending doom.
I follow him as he opens the front door. The security light shines a perfect circle on the porch.
‘Lucy, go back inside.’ There’s an edge to his voice.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Don’t look.’
But I can’t help peering over his shoulder to see what he has seen.
My stomach roils. I clamp my hands over my mouth as I stare at the macabre sight on the step.
Two dead birds. Beaks hanging open.
‘Aidan?’ I’m trembling. One might be a coincidence, two feels like a warning.
‘Go inside, I’ll take care of it.’
‘Do you think…’ I can hardly bear to voice my fears. ‘Who do you think put them there?’
‘Nobody,’ he says sharply. ‘Nobody left them here deliberately, Lucy, why would they? It’ll be a fox or a cat or something.’
But he doesn’t look at me as he speaks and I wonder whether he’s trying to convince me or himself.
‘But—’
‘Mum?’ Connor hollers down the stairs.
‘Go. Everything is fine. I’ll see you later.’ Aidan pulls the door closed and, shaken, I press my palms against it, wanting him to remember he hasn’t kissed me goodbye.
It remains closed.
‘Mum! Ryan has messaged to say Fergus has moved out.’
‘I’m coming.’
I head towards my son, knowing I don’t have an explanation to give him. I run through the conversation with Mel in my head. Over the years, I’ve heard her happy and sad. Excited and exhausted. But I’ve never heard her… I recall her voice and try to label the emotion I heard.
‘Don’t come here. Just don’t.’
And then it comes to me.
Fear.
She’s scared.
She’s not the only one.
Her son, Ryan, was there that day, with Connor. Is it all connected? Has something happened today that could have caused a row with Fergus?
In my mind I can still see those two savaged birds on the step.
I’m frightened too.