My Husband's Wives (12 page)

‘I'll call to see you again,' she promised Kasia.

‘Thank you.' The words were simple, but behind Kasia's eyes, her gratitude was palpable. ‘I can see why he married you.'

‘Oh?' Grace almost lost her balance as she stood by the door.

‘Oh yes. I can see it. You seem aloof at first, but you are kind and good. That is why he married you; not because you are beautiful or talented, although he was very proud of you also. He valued kindness above beauty.'

‘Did he speak about me?'

‘He spoke about Delilah mostly.' Kasia's words were low; she must have seen the hurt that seared through Grace. ‘He did not say too much about his personal relationships.' That was true, thought Grace. He had uttered hardly a word, either good or bad about Evie Considine in all the years she knew him, and yet, it seemed that part of his life clearly wasn't over.

‘Having Delilah gave him the greatest joy,' added Kasia.

‘It was why he married me, I think.' There. She'd said it.

‘No.' The word was vehement, almost too strong. ‘No, you mustn't think that.'

‘You said he never spoke of me.' Grace did not need pity.

‘He never talked about you in that way, but I am sure of this. He married you because he loved you. What is the word? Fiercely. Yes. It is a strong word. It is his word.' She nodded to herself, satisfied that she had remembered the word. ‘He did not say good things or bad things about you, but he must have loved you very much to leave his first wife. He did not expect you to have his child. That was the greatest gift you could have given him, but it was… what do the game show people call it? The bonus prize?'

‘So…'

‘He married you because he loved you, whatever you have thought; he loved you very much. I think, if you hadn't pushed him away, he would never have left you.'

*

The doctor discharged Kasia the following day. She left just after breakfast, told the matron that she had a lift organized at reception. As it happened, Grace Kennedy rang the ward as she was leaving. ‘Hang on; I'll be there in a few minutes, and I'll drop you home.'

Kasia peered up and down the street outside the hospital and then idly walked towards the shop window next door. She stood there for a moment, next to a middle-aged woman who seemed to be in a daze looking at vulgarly large rings. There would be no rings for Kasia. Her hands told the story of her past; they were small and ragged and wizened from hard work and neglect. The last thing she wanted was shiny reminders. Anyway, she didn't have the money for rings.

Rain was beginning to fall. It seemed to Kasia that rain was never as wet as it was in Dublin. Back home in Bucharest, the rain was softer, gentler. Here it even sounded angry, as though you owed it something. Still, she was glad to be here. Not standing on a wet street at the poor man's exit of the hospital where Paul Starr lay cold and lifeless. But here, in Dublin, this empty-full city that brushed you along as if you meant nothing more than a falling feather from some anonymous bird. This city evened things out, or so it seemed to Kasia. She loved that the old life was pushed aside.

She started to the sound of a car horn. Grace Kennedy parked beside her, hovering on a double yellow line.

‘Get in, quick; you'll get pneumonia.' She flicked the central locking. Grace's car was a small two-door BMW, the kind of car Kasia dreamed of owning, when she dared to dream.

‘Thank you for coming. It's not far. I didn't expect you to think about me.'

‘Kasia, you were the last person with Paul. You're probably more traumatized than any of us. And you're pregnant; with… Of course I wasn't going to let you leave the hospital without making sure you were okay.' She drove onto the North Circular Road, a once affluent length of Georgian housing that had long been cut up into flats and bedsits for people like Kasia, who couldn't afford to live anywhere else. The houses here were tall and bricked, original doors and windows remained, but time and neglect had scuffed them so they reeked of pessimism. It was a place where old people shuffled and youngsters walked with vacant expressions and watchful eyes.

‘You are a good person, Grace Kennedy. Paul said a kind heart is worth more than…' Kasia said breaking the comfortable silence they'd driven in for most of the journey. They were nearing the flat, but something was wrong; she couldn't say exactly what.

‘Than what?' Grace turned off the ignition after parking.

‘Oh, he said that you had a kind heart that you couldn't hide, even if you tried, because it still showed up in your paintings. But then, for a while, he'd lost sight of it…' Kasia smiled, fearing she'd said too much, ‘I'm not sure what he meant, but that was how he described you when I asked.'

‘Oh.' Grace's eyes grew sad.

‘Please,' Kasia reached out a hand, keeping her eye on the apartment window just above her, ‘please don't doubt that he loved you.' It was true, Kasia was sure of it and she was certain that Grace Kennedy needed to hear it. She had seen the way the three women were together, each of them clinging onto something they believed was real, but now they'd never know. It seemed to Kasia that Grace was struggling most and she had been the kindest to Kasia, when she really didn't have to be.

‘Thank you Kasia.' Grace wiped away a small tear that had begun to fall from her kohl-framed eyes.

‘I must go in; it is the time to go. Thank you for taking me. It was a lot of trouble for such a short journey.' Kasia shook her head, smiling.

‘Oh no, I have to go in with you, make sure that you're settled, that you have milk and bread and chocolate. You'll need lots of chocolate.' Grace gave a small smile and began to unfasten her seat belt.

‘You can't.' Even Kasia could hear the panic that cracked across her own voice. ‘I live up there, on the third floor? You see it?' Grace craned her neck to get a look at the grotty windows, covered in faded yellow nets. ‘You see the heavy curtains are drawn behind them?'

‘Yes, I see,' Grace said gently.

‘I think Vasile must be back.'

‘Vasile?'

‘Yes, Vasile, he is my… how you say it here?'

‘Brother?'

‘No, he is my… boyfriend, my partner, I suppose. He has been away for almost a week. His father died, in Romania. He travelled back for the funeral. His father was a very…' Kasia thought for a moment of how to describe Vasile's father. ‘His funeral would have been very well attended. Lots of drinking, lots of vodka and beer.'

‘A bit like an Irish funeral, so?'

‘This would be the same as one of your…' she inclined her head for a moment, lowered her voice, ‘the same as one of your traveller funerals. Lots of drink, lots of fights, and it can go on for a couple of weeks.' She lowered her voice. ‘I didn't expect him back so soon, better if he doesn't hear about the accident or…' The doctors said she was lucky. Paul had died in the driver's seat beside her, and apart from some aches and pains, she had walked away from the car accident without a scar. Or, at least she thought to herself, none that you could see. It would take a long time to get over Paul's death, but that wasn't something Vasile needed to know.

‘Or the baby?'

‘Yes, or the baby. He is very… he can be a very angry man and he's very – what is that word? Possessive? I will need to talk to him alone. I'm not sure how he will react.' Kasia tried to smile, but looking up at the flat, knowing he was there, just brought back that familiar heaviness to her whole being.

‘Okay, whatever you think.' Grace wore a worried expression on her face. ‘Hang on,' she grabbed her mobile from the top of her expensive-looking bag. ‘Give me your number. At least I can ring you, make sure you're okay?'

‘Are you sure?' Kasia didn't make friends easily.

‘Of course I'm sure. We are all linked together through this. Give me your number. I'll ring you tonight?'

‘No. I will ring you, to tell you that I am fine and that all is well.' Kasia smiled. Within the space of a day, she'd learned she was going to have a baby and she might even have a friend too. All she had to figure out was what to do about Vasile.

He'd come with her from Romania. He found the flat for them and, so far, he wanted her around. Kasia knew he was a knucklehead but also a dangerous man when he was angry. Whatever love there was between them died the first time he hit her. Now, she wasn't sure which would be worse: his rage at her leaving or his resentment at her staying. She calmed herself. She didn't have to make any decisions just yet. She had a while before she had to make up her mind about whether to tell him or not. All she knew was she loved this baby already. It was hers and she knew, if she had to, she would die for it.

*

Funny sometimes how things turn out. The following evening, as Kasia was making her way back to the flat after work, she spotted a tall blonde-haired girl coming from her building. She was a little early. Vasile told her he planned on going to the gym, so she thought she'd get home, have a lie-down, and maybe take a bath. When she arrived at the flat, she knew something was different. To say that Vasile was shifty was an understatement. He ploughed past her, red-faced, towards the shower; there was aura of tidiness about the place. Someone had tried to straighten it out in her absence; gone were the takeaway cartons, used lottery tickets and empty beer cans, which were her welcoming committee most days. In the sink were two glasses, one half-filled with vodka.

‘Who was here?' she called into the bathroom.

‘Ah, Dacian.' He bellowed back in what seemed almost an absent-minded shout.

‘Oh?'
Liar
. Neither Dacian, nor Vasile would leave a half-drunk glass of vodka behind them, and Vasile would never have tidied the place in honour of Dacian. If anything, they would have headed off, down to the nearby park, drunk their drinks down there while aiming stones at the ducks when no one was looking. He brought one back once. A scraggy, bony duck, with glassy eyes, still warm, but dead maybe an hour or two. She had to pluck it and cook it and, after all that, there was hardly enough meat on the bird for a sandwich. She sat at the kitchen table for a moment, small things from the last couple of weeks clicking into place. Vasile had not instigated sex in almost a month, not since before his father died. In all the time they'd been together, even when he'd taken steroids and needed Viagra to help, he'd always wanted – she assumed needed – sex at least three times a week. It was a sign of his virility. When you were as dense as Vasile, it was an easy way to measure who you were. He'd taken on more shifts too, went out of here cocky as a turkey who'd survived until January. She never heard him come back, but then she just assumed that was because she was so dead tired. What if…? No, she would not be that lucky, would she? Eventually he emerged from the haze of steam. A few glistening beads ran leisurely down over the vein that was almost ready to pop on the side of his head.

‘My mother would be very upset, you understand this?' she said quietly as he flicked on the kettle. ‘I said, my mother would be…' Kasia had a feeling that if her mother had lived, she wouldn't want Vasile for Kasia. She would not mind this little lie to make him feel as if he was discarding something desperate, something not worth coming back for.

‘I heard you.' He dropped a spoon of cheap coffee into a mug that was far too delicate-looking for his mutton hands.

‘So, what are you going to do? You can't send me back. It'll look very bad, in front of all your friends. I wasn't even sixteen when we...'

‘I…' He obviously hadn't had time to think this one through at all. Maybe the blonde-haired girl was just a bit on the side.

‘I've seen her. She's very beautiful; I don't blame you.' She shook her head; honestly, she should have gone to drama school.

‘You've seen her? I do not know what you are saying. You are crazy; I always knew it. Never make the senses of what's going on in that quiet brain of yours.' He pointed to his own meaty head, his words still jumbled up when he tried to argue in English.

‘We were too young. You are an attractive man, and you will have many women who will want you.' He pushed his chest out. He was actually enjoying this. ‘I can't share you, you know that?'

‘I wouldn't expect you to.' He dropped down beside her, knelt as though in front of a child, but there was relief in his eyes. After all this, perhaps he wanted out too, only he didn't realize it?

‘I suppose,' she surveyed the little flat; she'd made it as homely as she could. It was still a dump, still a dosshouse, nowhere to bring up a small one. ‘I should probably go. You'll want to bring her here.'

‘Am, well… no, you can stay here. She has her own place, with another girl. They're looking for someone to share.'

‘But, Vasile, I can't afford this place on my own and there's only one room.' Her voice sounded weak, even to her. What he didn't realize was that she'd signed on for rent allowance just a few hours earlier. It had taken all her courage to get the forms and, even still, she wasn't sure if she could go through with it. The woman in the social welfare office said it would take five, maybe six months to go through. She'd have to find a nice flat, then she'd be a single mum, with a place of her own.

‘Okay, okay, stop whinging will you, it is not as if you don't have a job.'

‘Of course, but I don't earn even a third of what you're making. By the time I take the bus fares out, there's hardly enough to buy groceries.' Actually, that wasn't strictly true; she'd had two raises since she started at the hospital. She'd started out on the cleaning staff and moved across into catering. Of course, she wouldn't be paid a lot on maternity leave and she had no idea how she'd manage with a baby and a job. ‘What's her name?' She dabbed her eyes gently, but enough to make sure that they reddened; enough to look like tears of sadness not overwhelming joy.