Chapter 8

      STELLA

      Her side had turned purple. Still tender to touch, but at least she was up and walking again. The pain kept at bay with the help of paracetamol. Matt had spent the past couple of evenings working late, electing to eat out. She knew he was keeping out of her way until things smoothed over. He’d work late for a few weeks or so, then he’d arrive home with gifts. Flowers, jewellery, clothes, vouchers for spa trips. Words would drip from his mouth, lies, telling her that he’d never lay a hand on her again. And as the bruising disappeared, the ugly reminder of a brutal marriage, they’d start to move forward, pretending that it never happened.

      Three days had passed since his last attack and today she’d managed to get dressed. But Stella was restless. She wasn’t physically able to do much, but days spent lying in bed or on the couch had tormented her. She liked to be active.

      When the doorbell rang, she jumped, yelping at the sound. She peeked through the front window and saw the An Post van parked outside. Pulling her mother’s comforting cardigan around herself, she forced a smile on her face, opening the door to Richie. He was a terrible gossip, loved passing on news about all of the neighbours.

      ‘Howya missus?’

      ‘Hello.’

      ‘Would you take a parcel in for number 72? No answer. She’s in there alright, but the curtains are closed. She must be still asleep. All she ever does, if you ask me.’

      ‘Happy to take it,’ Stella tried to interrupt, but he was on a flow.

      ‘Could be weeks before it gets back to her again, if it goes to the depot. You know how she never leaves the house. An awful situation to be in, the poor old thing. Ain’t natural.’

      ‘It must be terrible,’ Stella concurred.

      ‘And George, her aul’ fella, well he was the salt of the earth. Never missed giving me a bottle of Powers every Christmas. He was sound as a pound. But sure, how could he stay, with her as mad as a bag of cats?’

      Stella was torn between cutting the postman off from gossip and her natural nosiness to hear more.

      ‘I’m sure she’s not mad. Who knows what goes on behind closed doors?’ Stella wasn’t sure why she felt the need to stick up for her neighbour, but she did.

      ‘Right you are there. Sure, what with the business with her childer and all, near ten years ago, I’d say now. Some families have it rough. Would drive anyone crazy.’

      Now Stella felt uncomfortable. She wanted to know what happened to the ‘childer’, but the conversation had gone into gossipy territory. Time to end it. ‘Presume I need to sign for this?’ She reached over and used the stylo to sign the digital screen. ‘There you go, I’ll make sure she gets it.’

      ‘Cheerio missus.’

      She waved goodbye and closed the door, looking at the name on the parcel. Mrs Rea Brady. She recognised the labelling; it was from Amazon. It certainly felt like books. She’d drop it over later on.

      Her phone beeped. A text from Matt.

      Working late. Will eat out. Love you. Matt x

      She wasn’t sorry or surprised to receive the text. She was finding it increasingly difficult to be in the same room as him. In fact, she was finding it hard to be here, in this house. She needed to get out, feel fresh air on her skin. A walk to clear the cobwebs, her mam would say. She grabbed her keys and phone, shoving them in her bag and stepped out onto Derry Lane, grabbing Rea’s package as she went.

      Right or left? She turned right and headed inland, passing the gardens of her many neighbours. Each with pristine cobble lock drives, with rose bushes and cherry blossom trees. Most of the drives were empty, cars scattered all over the county, while their owners did the nine-to-five ritual of old. Stella heard the dull roar of an aeroplane and looked up at the blue skies. She scanned the clouds till she saw their white trail criss crosses as they made their final descent to Dublin airport.

      Where had they been? Was that the answer? Book a flight and disappear into the big wide world. She’d done it before, backpacking anonymously for years on her own. At first she enjoyed it. She made temporary friends wherever she went, but was careful never to get too close to any. She preferred to rely on herself; a loner. But loneliness began to creep in and the more she travelled the more isolated she felt.

      She should never have come back. She could be single, out there, exploring the world. Yes, with a dull ache and a wound that would never heal. But free.

      But she did come back.

      To be fair, things had started to unravel the previous year. She’d been tearing around the world for so long, she’d simply run out of steam. When the agent who looked after her house called and said that the tenants were moving out, she was grateful for the excuse to come home and rest. Just for a few weeks.

      But being back in Rathmines, in her parents’ house, was her undoing. Memories, too painful to examine and work her way through, came pounding back to her, demanding attention. She looked up friends from years ago and drank too much with them, trying to blot out the pain of her past. But so much had happened, she found she couldn’t connect with anyone again.

      And on the very day that she decided that it was all too much for her, she met Matt. Had he walked into the bar five minutes later, she’d have missed him altogether and wouldn’t be in this situation.

      She felt tired. Her head and her body hurt. A short walk to the end of Derry Lane had her drained, her side roaring in pain. She leaned against one of the oak trees, the rough bark prickling her hand and arm. Walking slower this time, she made her way back home. When she passed number 72, she noticed the curtains were now drawn. So Rea was up. She headed up next door’s path.

      Holding her finger on the bell, she rang it once, then stepped back. Stella felt shy suddenly. Should she just leave the parcel on the ground and run? She had no idea what to say to her neighbour. Had it been her who called the Gardaí the other night? What rows and arguments had she overheard this past year? Maybe she was as batty as the postman and Matt had said. All she’d need right now.

      Before she could come up with any conclusion to these questions, the door creaked opened.

      ‘Hello,’ Stella said.

      ‘Hello to you.’

      ‘I’m sorry to bother you. I wasn’t sure if you were in or not.’

      ‘Well, now you know.’ The woman’s face was impassive, but there was something a bit wild about her. And something else. Something she recognised in herself. Stella was a little afraid of her. She looked