She returned to the hotel with a travel-case full of clothes; she had a short nap, charged her phone, washed and was back in town in new jeans and the green leather jacket. She was a glamorous blonde now and it showed in her step. This was just what she needed, a little break away from Dublin. Evie grimaced; she must ring Brendan soon or at least text him. As she passed a travel agent’s window, a huge blue display caught her eye, and she resolved to come back. She wanted to visit the cathedrals first.
In a side street, she stopped outside a pub and took out her phone, squeezing the sides. She could hear people laughing, and music boomed, and there was a heavy smell of strong hops. She pressed numbers slowly. She would ring Brendan and then Sheldon Lodge. She imagined the conversation. Everyone would be impressed with how she had organised a mini-break for herself. She would come back rejuvenated, blonde, invigorated. Sheldon Lodge still didn’t feel like home, but there could be other alternatives – a little bungalow perhaps, not too far from where Brendan lived.
Incredibly, the phone lit up and a bright array of clouds on blue sky showed itself. She pushed an envelope shape and within seconds she was looking at a text box, with the words ‘Brendan, Son’. Evie pressed letters and words came to life:
dear brendan I am in liverpool don’t worry love mammy
She poked her finger at the icon marked send and it was done. She had sent a text. ‘Is there no end to my talents?’
Something solid and shapeless clattered into her. She dropped the phone and fell hard onto gravel. A hand shoved her down and grabbed at her handbag but Evie wrapped her arms around the bag and pulled back.
A voice shouted, ‘Let go, you fucking old bitch.’
Evie hung on, rolling on top of her bag, as something kicked her arm. There was a crack of pain and she heard her own voice scream from somewhere distant. She curled into a ball and waited for the next blow. There was another bumping sound, shouting and scuffling. Evie raised her eyes; two men were struggling. One was a young lad in a dark jacket with a hoodie, his face twisted like a malignant imp. The other was a man with a huge belly, a red football shirt and heavy arms. One of his elbows was crooked around the kid’s neck and the kid was screeching, his eyes livid. The man was swearing; he pushed the kid roughly and he ran around the corner and away. The man turned to Evie and helped her up. She clutched the bag to her body like a shield.
‘You all right, love?’
Evie’s legs shook and her arm ached. The big man put an arm around her shoulders.
‘You want to come inside and have a brandy? You’re shaken up.’
Evie’s voice was strangled in her throat. The handbag was still pulled tightly to her chest. A brandy seemed like a really good idea. A double.
The man surveyed her again. ‘No real damage done there to you, love. You’re a plucky one, you are. Jeans are a bit dirty. This your phone?’
He bent down and handed Evie her mobile; the screen was cracked.
‘Think you had a lucky escape there, girl.’
Evie was shivering now.
‘Where do you live? Let’s get you back home.’
Evie told him the name of the hotel and he hailed a taxi and helped her into the seat. She made sure her phone was clutched in her hand and her bag was cradled in her arms. It was only a short ride.
‘The police can’t find a trace of her. It’s been two days and nothing. They’ve told me to not worry, to carry on as normal.’
Brendan slumped forward across the desk, sending papers in all directions. Penny Wray came to stand behind him; she laid her hands on his shoulders and pressed down on his taut muscles. Brendan tensed his body. ‘What if they don’t find her? Or what if something has happened to her?’
‘It’ll all be fine. Wait and see.’
‘She’s seventy-five, Penny. My head’s full of what might happen to her.’
Penny increased the pace of her rhythmic massage to his shoulders. Brendan put back his head and closed his eyes, allowing the warmth of her fingers to seep through the fabric of his shirt. He thought about Penny, who was standing a few inches behind him; how she’d been a friendly presence in the staff room for over a year; how he was grateful for her warmth and kindness. It occurred to him that she had never mentioned a boyfriend. She wore a huge silver ring on her wedding finger: some sort of Celtic design with a big ruby. She wasn’t married, she was Miss Wray, and if she’d never mentioned a man in her life, then perhaps there wasn’t one. The ruby ring was a deterrent. It was there to keep the wolves away, he decided; she was fiercely single, dedicated to sports, to fitness, health and beauty, to teaching.
Her fingers pressed deeply into the soft tissue of his shoulders and Brendan felt himself give in to the pressure of her knuckles. He knew she had training in sports massage, but she had always been especially friendly to him, supportive and kind. Brendan imagined Penny at weekends, waking early, going for a jog and then a swim. She’d make muesli, for breakfast; a salad, something with lentils for lunch, then off to Pilates or she’d teach a spinning class. He imagined her with friends in the evening. She’d live in a small cottage, have a dog – a Ridgeback – and it would go running with her in all weathers, dog and woman striding as one around a lake at dawn. No, he decided, she wouldn’t have time to be married to a man. She pressed her thumbs against the back of his neck and he felt tension seep away like a hiss of gas. His face broke into a wide smile and he wondered if she was enjoying the sensation as much as he was. A sigh shuddered from his throat and he heard the desperation in it. She moved away.
‘You’re very tense. It must be a heap of worries, Brendan. Is your wife not able to help?’
Brendan’s shoulders tightened automatically and he turned round to look at Penny, who was putting on her jacket. She was a practised masseuse. He had seen her pummel the knotty shoulders of other colleagues in times of stress. But she’d spent a long time on his shoulders, longer than she needed. He bit his lip. Her hair was long and glossy: she looked like an advert for shampoo. She made a little mouth at him, to show she was concerned.
He shook his head. ‘What can I do, though?’
She pushed one of her sandwiches towards him. It was cheese salad. ‘Here. You ate nothing at lunchtime.’
‘I’ve no appetite.’
Penny came over and took his hand in hers and held it. He noticed he was shaking and he had no power over the tremor.
‘Brendan, it’s nearly five o’clock. Why don’t you go home? We’re all finished up here. Give the Garda another call; ask them if you can talk to someone who’s on the case.’
His head began to feel heavy and a dull ache settled between his eyes. Brendan thought he would rather stay in school than endure an evening with his wife. He wondered if Penny could read his thoughts; perhaps she was impatient for him to go home. Perhaps she had somewhere else to be, somewhere more interesting. Perhaps there was a man after all. He eased himself up from his seat as if stuck to it, slowly, heavy with worry, picked up his case and shoved some papers in it.
‘You’re right, of course. It will all be better tomorrow. Thanks. You’ve been amazing.’
She hugged him and Brendan breathed in her warmth. He held his arms away from his body and wondered if he should clasp them tightly around her waist. A sob caught in his throat. He stiffened his shoulders. ‘I’ll say goodbye then, Penny.’
His mobile bleeped. It was Maura, no doubt, reminding him that he was late for his dinner. He fumbled in his bag and pulled out the phone. He saw the name on the screen, ‘Mammy’, and his hand clenched around the plastic casing, leaving finger marks of sweat. Penny was at his elbow as he pressed for the message; he read it once, then again. His mother was all right. His eyes blurred as he stared at the text again. She was in Liverpool.