Now You See Her

ELEVEN


THE NEXT MORNING MARCY returned to the house on Adelaide Road.

She was there by eight o’clock, having wolfed down the huge breakfast that Sadie Doyle prepared daily. The breakfast consisted of bacon and two eggs over medium, a bowl of oatmeal with raisins and brown sugar, and two pieces of brown toast, complete with homemade marmalade and strawberry preserves. Judith would be properly horrified, Marcy thought as she ate, knowing her sister would have ordered only a small bowl of fresh fruit along with at least three cups of black coffee. Marcy had avoided liquids altogether. Coffee had a habit of running right through her, and she wasn’t sure when she’d next have a chance to go to the bathroom.

It could be a very long day, she was thinking now, checking her watch for the third time in as many minutes. Already ten thirty and nothing had happened since Mr. O’Connor had left for work two hours earlier. At least she’d managed to find a fairly secluded spot at the side of a neighbor’s house across the street from the O’Connors’ from which she could stand and keep watch.

So far, there’d been nothing to see.

At least the sun was shining, she thought, purposefully ignoring the large cluster of ominous-looking clouds gathering on the horizon. Mercifully, it wasn’t as cold as it had been the last several days. She thought she might actually be able to take off the trench coat that had become something of a uniform since she’d arrived in Ireland. “Going up to almost twenty-one,” Sadie Doyle had remarked to one of the other guests at breakfast this morning. Marcy calculated the conversion to Fahrenheit: seventy degrees. “Positively balmy.”

“Positively balmy is right,” Marcy repeated now, deciding that about summed up her recent behavior. Nuttier than a jar of cashews, Judith had said. And she didn’t know the half of it. She didn’t know about either Vic or Liam, that Marcy had already slept with the former and was seriously considering jumping into bed with the latter. What was the matter with her, for heaven’s sake? Had she completely lost her mind? Could she really be thinking of getting naked in front of a man more than fifteen years her junior?

Why not? she wondered in the next breath. Men did it all the time. They never seemed to worry about not measuring up to their younger counterparts. Seriously sagging butts and flaccid underused muscles never stopped them. Despite receding hairlines and straining belt buckles, they generally seemed comfortable in their own skin and assured of their attractiveness, even when such assurance was unwarranted. Wasn’t Peter a prime example of this?

Not that Peter wasn’t a nice-looking man, Marcy thought. He was tall, slim, and fastidious about his appearance. He was also “generously endowed,” as Judith was fond of saying when referring to husbands numbers one and three. So it wasn’t altogether surprising that a woman like Sarah, who was only marginally older than Liam, would have found him appealing. Although when Marcy was feeling less charitable, she wondered if Sarah would have found Peter quite so attractive if he were less financially endowed.

I shouldn’t have eaten so much, she thought now, her stomach pressing against the top button of her jeans. If she continued to eat—and drink—the way she’d been doing these last few days, she’d put on so much weight Devon might not even recognize her.

Assuming I find her, Marcy added immediately. And then immediately after that, Of course I’m going to find her.

It was only a matter of time.

Maybe even today.

“Excuse me, but do you mind telling me what you’re doing there?”

The voice was equal parts curiosity and indignation. Marcy spun around slowly to see a middle-aged woman in a flowered housedress standing on the front steps of the house next door, curlers in her brown hair, hands on her wide hips. All that’s missing is the rolling pin, Marcy thought, smiling at the woman while silently debating whether or not to make a run for it. She took a few halting steps in the woman’s direction. “I’m sorry,” she told her, then stopped when she could think of nothing else to say.

“What are you doing there?” the woman asked again.

“I think I’m lost,” Marcy answered weakly.

“Lost?”

“I went for a walk—”

“You American?” the woman interrupted.

“Canadian. My husband’s mother was from Limerick,” she added hopefully, as if that might make a difference.

The woman seemed distinctly unimpressed with Peter’s lineage. “So what exactly are you doing skulking around behind the Murray house?”

“I wasn’t … skulking.”

“Looked like you were skulking to me.”

“No. I just went for a walk.…”

“This isn’t exactly a popular spot for tourists.”

Marcy improvised. “Exactly. As a rule, I try to avoid the usual tourist traps.”

The woman’s bushy eyebrows arched skeptically. “You miss out on a lot of good stuff that way,” she said.

“Yes, I probably do.”

The woman tilted her head to one side, as if waiting for further explanation. Or maybe she was just waiting for Marcy to start making sense.

In which case, they could be here a very long time, Marcy thought. “It’s just that I like to really explore the cities I visit, to see the way people actually live. You understand what I’m saying?”

“No, I don’t think I do. It looked like you were skulking around to me.”

“No, honestly. I was just resting. That hill’s a real killer.”

“You know what I think?” the woman asked rhetorically. “I think you were staking the place out. I think I should report you to the police.”

“Please don’t do that,” Marcy said quickly. “There’s really no need to call anyone. I’m leaving right now.” Marcy started to back away. In the next instant, she was running down the hill.

“Don’t ever let me catch you in this neighborhood again,” the woman called after her. “You hear me? I’ll call the police if I so much as see one curl on your head.”

“Shit,” Marcy exclaimed, doubling over when she reached the bottom of the steep hill, her breath coming in sharp painful stabs. “Damn hair,” she muttered, pushing a few perspiration-soaked ringlets away from her forehead. “What am I going to do now?” she asked the ground at her feet.

Get the hell out of here, she heard Judith say. Come home right now. Before you get yourself arrested.

“No way,” Marcy told her, turning around in a helpless circle, like a dog looking for a comfortable place to settle. She remembered seeing a small park a few blocks away. Surely inside that tiny square was a bench on which she could sit down, regroup, rethink her strategy.

You’re gonna get yourself killed, Judith warned her as Marcy marched toward the impressive hedgerows of blood-red fuchsias in the distance.

Marcy dismissed her sister’s nagging voice with a shake of her head, deliberately picking up her pace. Minutes later, she was sitting on a green wooden bench, surrounded by pink and blue hydrangea bushes, large patches of lacy white cow parsley, and rows of mauve foxglove spires. It really is a beautiful country, she was thinking, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. Maybe once she found Devon, they could tour the rest of Ireland together, take the trip Devon had always dreamed of taking with her father, visiting Limerick, maybe even finding the house in which Devon’s grandmother had grown up. Perhaps they’d travel to Killarney and Kilkenny, maybe even visit the famed limestone Cliffs of Moher in remote county Clare. Wherever Devon wanted to go. Whatever she wanted to do. Whatever Devon wanted, Marcy repeated silently, hearing a baby’s distant cries mingling with the drone of nearby traffic.

Marcy opened her eyes to see a skinny young woman with fair skin and strawberry-blond hair pushing a baby carriage in her direction. The girl was wearing tight blue jeans and a loose white T-shirt, and her ponytail swung from side to side as she walked. Shannon, Marcy realized immediately, then immediately after that, No, it can’t be. She must have fallen asleep. She was only dreaming this was happening.

“Do you mind if I have a seat?” the young woman asked shyly, waiting until Marcy nodded her consent before sitting down on the opposite end of the bench.

Marcy tried hard not to stare. Was this really Shannon?

The girl quickly removed the rubber band from around her ponytail, freeing her thick hair to fall around her shoulders. “There. That’s much better. I tied it too tight. It was giving me a headache,” she said, a hint of apology in her voice, as if she was afraid of offending Marcy with her unsolicited comments. She blushed, a surprisingly delicate shade of crimson. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not. It’s lovely hair.” Marcy studied the girl’s face, noting her almost translucent skin, her small green eyes and long, narrow nose. One of those girls who had no idea how pretty she was, probably because her mother had never told her.

Marcy immediately pictured Devon, who’d stubbornly insisted on hiding her natural beauty behind layers of concealer and heavy black eye shadow.

“Thank you,” the girl said, tucking her hair behind one ear self-consciously. Inside the carriage, the baby continued to cry. “Sorry for the racket. If she doesn’t settle down soon, I’ll take off again.” She reached out and began pushing the carriage back and forth, back and forth.

“No, that’s all right. I don’t mind.” Marcy stood up to glance inside the carriage. “A little girl, you said?”

“A very colicky little girl, I’m afraid. She’s been crying since midnight. We’re half out of our minds.”

“Is she your first?” Marcy asked, hoping the slight quiver in her voice wouldn’t betray her.

“Oh, she’s not my baby.” The girl’s blush deepened. “I’m just her nanny.”

Marcy took a deep breath, trying to still her growing excitement. “What’s her name?”

“Caitlin. Caitlin Danielle O’Connor.”

Marcy’s breath formed a small fist inside her chest, began pummeling her rib cage. “Pretty name.”

“ ’Tis, isn’t it?”

“How old is she?”

“Almost five months.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yes, she is. Even more beautiful when she’s not crying.”

Marcy extended her hand. “I’m Marilyn,” she said, wondering if the lie was really necessary but not confident she could trust Shannon with the truth.

“Shannon,” the girl said, shaking Marcy’s hand and leaning back on the bench. “Are you American?”

Marcy nodded. Sometimes it was just easier to lie.

Caitlin’s cries grew louder, as if protesting the deceit.

“Oh, dear.” Shannon sighed, defeated.

“I could hold her for a few minutes, if you wouldn’t mind,” Marcy said.

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” Shannon said as Marcy carefully lifted the screaming baby out of her carriage. “Poor Mrs. O’Connor was up half the night walking her around. She was almost falling down from exhaustion this morning. I tried feeding her, changing her, rocking her. Nothing did any good, so I thought I might as well take her out for a walk, at least give Mrs. O’Connor a chance to catch up on her sleep.”

“I’m sure she appreciates that.” Marcy held the baby tightly to her breast, kissing the top of her soft head through her pink bonnet and rocking her gently. Within seconds, the crying shuddered to a halt.

“My God, would you just look at that,” Shannon exclaimed wondrously. “Looks like you’ve got the magic touch, Marilyn. How on earth did you manage that?”

“Practice,” Marcy answered, feeling a surge of pride. She’d always had a way with infants. All she’d ever had to do whenever either of her children cried was pick them up and hold them close.

Why hadn’t the same magic worked as Devon grew older? When had Marcy lost the ability to soothe and comfort the child she loved more than life?

“How many children do you have?” Shannon asked.

“Three.” Each lie was easier than the one before, Marcy realized. “Two boys and a girl.”

“I bet the girl was the hardest.”

“Yes,” Marcy said, thinking, At last, the truth. “How did you know?”

“I have five brothers and two sisters. My mother said the boys were a piece of cake but the girls almost did her in.”

“Are you from around here?”

“Oh, no. I’m from Glengariff. Over on Bantry Bay. On the west coast. Near the Caha Mountains. Do you know it?”

“No. I’m afraid not.”

“Not surprising. It’s not exactly a tourist town. I couldn’t wait to get out,” she confessed, glancing guiltily over her shoulder as if someone might have overheard her. “Couldn’t wait to come to the big city. Soon as I turned eighteen, I was gone.”

“You don’t look much older than that now.”

“I’ll be nineteen next month,” Shannon said with a blush so deep her entire face turned red.

“So you’ve been here almost a year?”

“Well, I started out in Dublin. But I found it a little intimidating.” She blushed even harder. “It’s so big. I could never get comfortable. I almost went home. But then I came here.” She sighed with satisfaction. “It’s much better.”

“Cork’s a nice size,” Marcy agreed. “Very manageable.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Much easier to make friends here, I would think,” she said, deciding to broach the subject carefully.

Shannon nodded, the blush that had been threatening to recede now back in full force. “I’ve always had a rather hard time making friends. I’m kind of shy, believe it or not.”

“How long have you been here?” Marcy asked.

“Just over six months. I’ve been working for the O’Connors for four.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve made at least one friend during that time.” Marcy pressed her, trying to keep her voice casual and light.

“I guess I have, yes.”

“So that’s good.”

“ ’Tis, yes.”

Well, this is going absolutely nowhere, Marcy thought, continuing to rock the now-sleeping baby in her arms. “So, do you work around here?” she asked, deciding to circle around for a few minutes before bringing the conversation back to Shannon’s friends.

“Just up the street a bit.”

“It seems like a nice area.”

“Oh, it’s a lovely neighborhood. Definitely first-class all the way. And the O’Connor house is the biggest one on the block. Up near the top of the hill.” She pointed in its general direction. “You can’t miss it. It’s very grand. Even my room is enormous. Almost as big as the house I grew up in. I even have my own telly and everything.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I was very lucky to get this job.”

“Did a friend tell you about it?” Marcy bit down on her tongue. Could she be any more obvious? she wondered.

But Shannon didn’t seem to notice. “No. I went through an agency. The O’Connors had just fired their first nanny because she wasn’t working out, and they needed a replacement. I was told to dress conservatively and only speak when spoken to. Apparently Mrs. O’Connor didn’t take to the first girl because she was mouthy and wore her skirts too short.”

Marcy could almost see the ad the O’Connors might have placed:

WANTED. LIVE-IN NANNY.

SHOULD BE SHY AND DIFFIDENT.

ATTRACTIVE BUT NONTHREATENING.

NO SOCIAL LIFE A MUST.



Shannon definitely fit the bill.

“So, what does Mr. O’Connor do?” Marcy asked.

“He’s in construction. The development we live in is one of his projects.”

Marcy nodded, trying to figure out a way to work Audrey into the conversation.

Shannon continued unprompted. “His father was some kind of diplomat. He was killed by the IRA about twenty years ago, when Mr. O’Connor was a teenager.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Those were terrible times,” Shannon said.

Marcy nodded her agreement. “So, what do you do on your days off?” she asked after a moment’s pause.

“Not very much. Read, look in the shops, go to the cinema.”

“What kind of movies do you and your friends like?”

“All kinds.”

Great, Marcy thought. Another dead end. Now what? She was running out of questions. Not to mention patience. And the baby was starting to weigh heavily in her arms. “So, do you have a boyfriend?” she asked, deciding to give it one last try.

Shannon shook her head. The motion sent her blush spreading from one ear to the other. “Audrey says I’m lucky. She says boys only bring you grief.”

Marcy’s breath caught in her throat at the mention of Audrey’s name. “Audrey?” she repeated, her voice a whisper. Had she heard Shannon correctly?

“My friend. Well, sort of. More an acquaintance, really.”

“How so?”

“Well, I haven’t really known her all that long. Just a few months really. And we don’t get to see each other much. My job keeps me pretty busy.”

“Is Audrey a nanny, too?”

Shannon laughed. “Oh, no. Can’t see Audrey as a nanny.”

“Why is that?”

“Don’t think she fancies children all that much, to be truthful. Although she makes a proper fuss about Caitlin whenever she sees her. Still …”

“Still …?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I get.” Shannon glanced at her watch.

“So what does Audrey do?”

“As little as she can get away with.” Shannon’s blush turned a bright tomato red, as if she’d just said the most terrible thing imaginable. “Works as a temp. That sort of thing. My goodness, would you look at the time? I really should get going.”

Marcy returned Caitlin to her carriage, laying the sleeping baby gently on her back. There were so many more questions she wanted to ask Shannon: Where does Audrey live? Where is she from? Has she said anything about her past, about her mother? Where can I find her?

“Thank you so much for your help with Caitlin,” Shannon was saying. “It’s been really nice talking to you. Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”

Marcy watched Shannon’s skinny frame as she pushed the baby carriage out of the small park and eventually up the hill and out of sight. “Count on it,” she said.