My Husband's Wives (11 page)

‘Maybe we should go and see how that girl is?' Grace whispered to Evie. Evie didn't need to ask who Grace was referring to; she'd thought of little else since Annalise had walked into the corridor, clearly not the one to have been driving alongside Paul when he'd had the accident.

‘Who she is, don't you mean?' Evie shot back. Anything was better than standing here and watching Annalise Connolly next to her Paul. They made their way towards reception. Evie decided she would let Grace do the talking.

It was the sense that she was not alone – perhaps a sigh, a word, or just the smell of expensive perfume – that woke Kasia. She knew she was somewhere she should not be. The light made her blink at first. She concentrated on getting her bearings. When her surroundings finally came into focus, she knew where she was. She was in hospital. The place smelled of disinfectant and unpalatable dinners. She had a room to herself, a faded room, with walls that needed repainting and windows grimy with weather. The women sitting opposite her were watching her with keen eyes, and although neither of them spoke, she knew they were Irish, well-off and did not want to be here. She did not have the energy to wonder why they were.

‘Where am I?' Kasia said through dry lips.

‘You're going to be fine; you're in hospital,' the younger woman, in her forties, volunteered. Her voice was softer than the Dublin accents Kasia was accustomed to. ‘You were in a car with Paul… there was an accident.' She let her head drop sideways, as though Kasia might supply some sort of explanation.

‘I was in an accident?' Kasia whispered, confirmed she'd heard properly. She had no memory of an accident. ‘And Paul? Where is he?'

‘I suppose we should call a nurse, or a doctor; tell someone that she's come round,' the older woman spoke. She was a steely grey-blonde whose emerald ring caught the light as she moved, each rounded vowel more disdainful than sympathetic.

‘Yes, of course.' The younger woman leaned forward to press the button behind Kasia's head. ‘How are you feeling? You must be sore. Tired?' Genuine concern filled her eyes, large and weary too. ‘They've said that you're not to worry. You are fine. There's nothing broken, not even a scratch on you, and of course… the baby…'

‘The baby?' The words slipped from Kasia like silk from her sandy lips. ‘The baby?' She watched as the two women exchanged glances again. ‘My baby?' That shared glance, it said much more than they could put into words. She was having a baby. Minutes passed in silence that was not uncomfortable for Kasia at least. She didn't notice the women watching her; instead, she closed her eyes gently. The idea began to settle upon her. She placed her hand upon her flat stomach. Could she really be pregnant? She had no idea how she'd ended up here, but she knew they were telling the truth and she wanted to jump for joy.

A baby.

She couldn't stay with Vasile, although they'd been together since they were kids. This was not his baby; it was hers. He rang her every day at work, anything up to ten times a day. Checking that she was okay, checking where she was. Checking. Since they came to Dublin, somewhere between Romania and Ireland, a coin had flipped and, with it, Vasile had changed. He made her feel as if she was under the watchful eye of her owner, not her equal. Did she want that for her child too? He could make a good father. If it were a boy, he'd play football with him and teach him how to play cards. Teach him how to drink vodka too some day. That wasn't what she wanted for her son. And if it was a girl? She would love a girl. Vasile would want to protect her too. Make her feel as if she could not breathe, couldn't make a mistake, couldn't let him down. No, she didn't want that for her daughter.

The door behind the older woman opened quickly, startling Kasia.

‘Who the hell is she?' screamed the tall, blonde woman, a dishevelled arrangement of expensive hair and teeth and skin topped off a gym-toned body, clad in trendy designer gear. She stood at the end of Kasia's bed with an expression filled as much with terror as it was with loathing.

‘Please,' the two women stood as though to attention, shocked as much as Kasia was by the dramatic entrance.

‘I'm Kasia, Kasia Petrescu.' She didn't have the strength to ask the seething blonde for her name in return.

‘Kasia?' the woman repeated, trying to see if she had heard it before, trying it on for any level of familiarity. ‘I don't…' She seemed to fall backwards, dazed, and glared across at the younger woman. ‘Grace? Grace Kennedy?' she whispered. It seemed to Kasia that the other woman – Grace? – was about as popular with the blonde-haired woman as Kasia herself was. ‘They thought it was me.' She moved backwards, almost stumbled into a faux leather chair. Kasia thought absurdly for a moment, it might be a commode, but it was draped in spare linen, so it was hard to tell. ‘On the radio, they assumed I was in the car with him.' She shook her head slowly, as though trying to make sense of something that was so far beyond her grasp, she might as well be reaching for Jupiter. ‘I should have been,' she breathed in a defeated murmur.

‘You're in shock, Annalise. We all are. We rang for a nurse, perhaps she'll bring you coffee…' The older woman lost some of her reserve.

‘And coffee will bring back my husband, will it?' She screamed the words angrily before covering her face with her hands and bawling like a helpless baby. At the door, a large nurse arrived, briefly inspected Kasia, and then hastily backed out of the doorway.

‘Nothing will bring Paul back, Evie,' the dark-haired woman said and suddenly things began to make sense to Kasia. Paul Starr had told her about these women, little bits about them. Enough for her to guess that the one who seemed concerned for everyone was, indeed, Grace. Enough to know that his marriage with Annalise was over.

‘Paul is gone? He has died?' Kasia stared at her. Shock, that's what they called it when you could not find the words that needed to be said. Kasia knew this was terrible.

‘Oh, God.' Annalise wailed at the foot of the bed. ‘What was
she
doing in Paul's car?'

‘Someone's going to have to get her something to calm her down,' Evie said, although she made no move to get any help.

‘I'm going for the nurse again. We're probably all in shock.' Grace fired the words at Annalise, her expression stern for her china doll appearance. ‘Don't you dare upset Kasia. She's just been in an accident, she's just heard about Paul; and she's pregnant.'

‘Oh God. Please no. I don't believe it.' Annalise sounded as if she might gag on her words. Instead, she dropped her impossibly perfect head between her knees to stop from either fainting, or getting sick. Kasia couldn't be sure which one.

‘Paul is dead?' Kasia turned her attention on the older woman. The words had tumbled across the room at some point. She wasn't sure who said them, or if she had managed to put the truth together herself, but it was all making sense to Kasia now. Paul dead? There had to be a mistake. Kasia considered the women, all so different and yet so connected. Evie was frosty white, straight and stern. Grace had a slight body and delicate face, long silken dark hair and large eyes sunken so deep, despair lingered enduringly behind them. She returned quickly, a doctor after her and a matron by her side. She explained to him that Annalise was Paul's wife and that she'd only just heard the news of Paul's death on the radio within the hour. There was, of course, the added complication of the girl in the bed, on whom all eyes rested once the doctor ordered a sedative for Annalise.

‘I can't take that,' Annalise protested. Her beautiful empty eyes told them she'd totally blocked them out. It was all too much to take in. ‘I have to collect my children, I have… a funeral to organize…' She began to cry again and it seemed as if Evie was about to correct her for a minute.

‘You have nothing to do for the next few hours. You can't drive in the state you're in and anyway, the funeral, well…' Grace nodded at Evie, her eyes passing a hardly visible warning to her. ‘It will fall into place, when you're feeling a little better.' They admitted Annalise for a few hours. Her family were on their way, as blindly panicked about her as she'd been about Paul Starr, no doubt.

The doctor was finishing off Kasia's notes, signing with a flourish. ‘You need to stay, just for obs, for twenty-four hours?' He checked his watch. ‘Yes, twenty-four hours, not that we expect anything. Better to be safe than sorry.' He was talking to himself, the opposite of the way Kasia would imagine Paul dealing with a patient. Poor Paul. It was the worst news about Paul and the best news about the baby, all in one roll. Kasia had a feeling none of it would make sense to her fuggy brain for some time.

‘The baby?' she finally managed to say. ‘Can you tell me about the baby?'

‘Everything seems to be perfect. The baby…'

‘No, I don't want to hear more. In Romania, it is enough to know a baby is there and it is well. It is not lucky to learn if you are expecting the boy or the girl.' Kasia smiled, a small twitch that carried with it, on this darkest of days, the biggest glimmer of optimism she'd felt in a long time.

*

The remainder of the day passed in a blur of sleep and unrest. Annalise Connolly was taken to another room, no doubt surrounded by her family. Evie Considine wished her well through an unsmiling mouth and eyes the light had deserted years ago. Grace Kennedy stayed the longest, making sure Kasia had everything she needed, leaving her mobile number in case there was anything she could do for her.

Kasia found sleep even more unsettling than being awake. Sleep brought nightmares of the accident; the dark hours brought flashbacks. By morning, she could remember every detail; the easy conversation between them in the car, stretching her aching legs in the footwell, looking across at Paul. His expression alerted her to the danger. A small dark dog scarpered past the car. Paul swerved to the opposite lane. Too late, they saw that the truck coming towards them was driving unlit, and too fast. In the darkness, she imagined that she could see the driver's face, but then it felt as though the whole world went into slow motion. The impact threw Paul back and then forwards. The crack when it came was loud and terrifying. Her memory replayed the truck scraping off across the road, she felt herself still hurled about by the impact. They bounced more than tumbled, across lane after lane. In the distance, the traffic lights changed, she could remember instant dread of oncoming traffic. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the car came to a harrumphing stop. She reached across to Paul. He was moaning. Behind them, she heard the ambulance race from a nearby hospital. There was a flashing of blue lights, voices trying to resurrect her. She wanted to shout at them, ‘Look after Paul,' but she couldn't find her voice.

Then she woke.

*

They gave Kasia Petrescu a private ward. While the light was harsh here, she would have looked pathetic and wan even in good light. Although she was completely unaware of it, she was a striking figure, thin to the point of delicacy, with long angular features, and large espresso eyes; strong and dark. They would hold you in their spell if you did not look away. Grace thought it was how she spoke that was most captivating. It was not so much her accent, but rather the animation held back, trapped within her voice. It resounded a lyrical sadness that mirrored those expressive eyes. Her clothes were cheap, plain and chosen to cloak her in invisibility rather than accentuate her fragile prettiness.

‘He was my friend. He was a good friend to me.' She sniffed through tears and ran her fingers over her thick brown hair. ‘I suppose you could say he was one of the few good things that happened to me in the last few years.' She smiled, ‘Apart from the baby, of course.'

‘He was a good man, a kind man. Did you know each other long?' Grace sat back in the chair, uncomfortable as it was; she would have to make the best of it.

‘It is hard to believe, but I know him nearly three years.' Kasia smiled. ‘He came to the hospital.'

‘In Romania? You met him there? When he was doing voluntary?'

‘He always came to the orphanage; it is part of the hospital. He brought presents for the smaller children. I was older, of course; I went there when my mother died, so I helped with the younger children. They loved him. He always brought bags of toys and clothes and treats – like Santa Claus. He saved many lives in Romania when our own doctors could not.'

‘He loved going out there.' Grace smiled. ‘Loved the people; he felt he was making a difference.'

Kasia Petrescu didn't look as if she had any visitors, nor did it look as though any would be arriving. She told Grace that Paul had helped her come to Ireland. She told her about her job in the café, her life in Dublin and how she loved the city. Grace listened to every word. This girl was on her own. She could see a great echoing emptiness there, far greater than the emotional crater she managed to gloss over in her own life. Kasia was different, though, in many ways. Already, Kasia spoke of her baby as though she held it in her arms. As though she knew it well, his every cry and murmur, every need and want – and she loved that baby. When Grace was six months pregnant, she resented the child growing inside her. It made her sick, it made her tired, slowed her down, and made her feel as if she was sharing herself unwillingly. It made her question whether this was the only reason why Paul Starr had married her. When Delilah arrived, those feelings of umbrage had remained. They might still be there today, had it not been for that terrible afternoon. It changed everything, thankfully. Even today, she could feel the guilt resurrect itself inside her when she remembered that time. She loved Delilah, although the feeling that Paul married her only because she was his chance at having a family had never left her. As if to confirm it, he left her for Annalise Connolly, another pregnant woman. Was Kasia pregnant with Paul's baby too? She didn't dare ask. There was no mention of a father.