Chapter 21 #2
‘Funny. And what about you? Roaming the woods with the hunky vet night after night. Aren’t you tempted by a bit of al fresco passion?’
Vicky spat some of her beer out onto her leg.
‘No way. We’re looking for a psychopath, not spending our time flirting.’
‘He does come across as incredibly serious. He’s more likely to want to talk to you about new suture techniques than take advantage of the moonlight.’
Vicky’s frown made Suzie smile.
‘That’s not fair. He can be good fun, honestly.’
‘Gotcha! Defending him to the hilt as usual.’
Vicky stuck her tongue out. Suzie grinned.
‘You’ll get stuck like that.’
‘That’s what my mother used to say.’
They both had to smile when Alex, dressed all in black, came into the bar.
Suzie nodded in his direction.
‘Your Milk Tray man is here.’
‘Now that is ageing you. No one in here will know who that is. Or care.’
‘No, true. I will admit the adverts were a little creepy. He’d basically break into places, wouldn’t he, leave a box of chocolates for “the lady” and then disappear off again.’
‘These days we’d call it stalking.’
In unison they spoke the advert’s tagline in deep, sexy voices.
‘And all because … the lady loves Milk Tray.’
By the time Alex reached them, they were collapsed in a heap on the bar. His bemused frown made them giggle even more.
‘What’s so funny?’
Vicky wiped her eyes with a serviette.
‘Nothing, honestly.’
‘Are you still up for coming out?’
‘Yep, sure. Do you want a drink first?’
Alex eyed her half-drunk beer with suspicion.
‘No, thanks. How many have you had?’
‘This is my first, I’ll have you know.’
It was none of his business if she’d drunk the bar dry.
Just because she’d had that one little slip at the Easter party, he seemed to have it in his head that she might be a trainee alcoholic.
She’d seen a string of people with major alcohol issues during her nursing career, far more than he possibly could have done.
He didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.
‘Fine. Ready to go?’
Vicky downed the rest of her beer in one and jumped down from the stool, earning a thumbs-up from Suzie.
‘Sure am.’
After another quiet night tramping the grounds, Vicky had agreed with Alex that they’d try one more time the following evening, and if nothing happened, they’d give the whole thing a rest for a while. Maybe the poisoner had given it up as a bad job. She certainly hoped so.
She’d woken up earlier than usual this morning, just before dawn, and was about to head to the bathroom when she heard the unmistakable sound of a woman sobbing.
She popped her head out of the door and realised it must be coming from Aoife’s room, further up the corridor on the left.
She was about to go and see if she needed help when the low tones of a man speaking in a whisper halted her in her tracks.
Tiptoeing a little closer, she realised it was the voice of Aoife’s boyfriend, Jordan.
After a couple more seconds, the crying stopped, and Vicky reluctantly retraced her steps back to her own room. It was probably just a silly lovers’ tiff, and nothing to worry about. But something in his voice nagged at her. It had an edge to it, an edge she knew all too well.
Her therapist had warned her about tarring all men with the same brush after her unhappy marriage to Ian, and she was probably a little too quick on the draw in seeing the worst in people.
There were plenty of good men around, and hopefully Jordan was one of them.
The fine line between offering help and interfering hugely in someone else’s relationship could only be crossed once.
At breakfast, she was pleased to see that Aoife was her normal self, laughing and joking with the other volunteers and helping herself to an enormous bowl of cereal. Jordan was nowhere to be seen, probably on a different shift pattern.
Instinct and bitter experience told her to look a little closer, just to satisfy her no doubt groundless fears.
She approached the long wooden table where all the food was laid out in big colourful pottery bowls and spooned some muesli into her own bowl before joining the young volunteer by the jugs of fresh milk.
Aoife turned to her and smiled.
‘Hi. How’s Dolly doing these days?’
‘Very well, thanks. I’m hoping to take her out on a lead for a little while this morning.’
‘That’s amazing. She’s come so far. I was there the night of her op, do you remember?’
‘I do, and you were very kind. I’m sure I was in a bit of a state.’
‘Understandably!’
Vicky smiled and moved a step closer. The young woman was wearing make-up, which rang an alarm bell. Most of the volunteers went barefaced unless they were going out somewhere, and usually only in the evenings. Eight o’clock in the morning was a little unusual.
It wasn’t full slap, but Aoife had definitely used foundation on her skin and made up her eyes.
Vicky risked a closer look, and her heart sank.
The make-up was almost perfect, but she knew what to look out for.
Unless you were a professional make-up artist, there was no way to hide the darker discolouration in the soft tissue.
There was no doubt about it, this young woman had the beginnings of a black eye.
And judging by the slight swelling, it was fairly recent.
In the early hours of that morning recent, if she’d had to guess.
There was no way she could prove it, but her gut was telling her it was connected to the crying, and to Jordan. Vicky forced herself to focus on what Aoife was saying to her.
‘Is everything OK? You’ve gone rather pale.’
‘Yes, fine. Slightly dozy this morning. Didn’t get much sleep.’
‘Me neither.’
No, and I know why, Vicky wanted to shout out, but she needed to calm down and think this through.
There was still a tiny possibility she was adding two and two together and making five.
It wouldn’t serve any purpose to try talking to the young woman in the middle of a crowded breakfast service.
She’d find a way to sit down with her quietly somewhere later.
Placed in difficult situations, women often lied, because they didn’t want to admit what was happening to themselves, let alone to a virtual stranger.
The old lines about walking into doors or tripping over loose tiles were trotted out a lot more regularly than most people would believe.
As a nurse, she’d witnessed it for herself in casualty departments, women arriving bleeding or bruised but always with fear in their eyes.
There was no censure on her part – how could there be when she’d lied repeatedly too, to her mother, to her friends, to her GP on more than one occasion and, worst of all, to herself?
If there’d been someone whom she could have spoken to confidentially, without judgement, in the early days, things might have turned out differently.
The situation with Aoife would need some careful handling.
The fact that she had a daughter of a similar age tugged at her heart, and even though Tasha was currently on the other side of the world, she’d like to think someone would step in if they were concerned about her.
The embarrassment of misreading a situation was nothing compared to the possibility of saving even one woman from so much pain.