Mercedes’s tanned and shapely legs. She had worn that skirt to a wedding they’d attended in Barcelona just months after they’d met. He remembered slipping his hands beneath it later that night on a beach lit only by the lights of the fishermen lined up along the shore. Her legs were bare and he had run his hands along her silky thighs and pulled her to him as the fishermen, oblivious to the lovers, stared out at the black sea and waited for the fish to bite.
Oliver’s hands were shaking as he hung the skirt in the wardrobe. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of his wife like that for a long time. He had resented their lack of physical contact – a sex life that seemed to have petered out before it had run its natural course. Things had been strained between them long before Carmen had said anything. He tried to justify his actions by blaming Mercedes. If she hadn’t become so cold, so indifferent, would any of it have happened?
He spent the next hour sorting through his wife’s things – re-hanging some of them in their shared wardrobe and packing the others away. By lunchtime, he had finished. He took the bags and loaded them into the boot of the car. He wondered if any of the neighbours were watching – prying eyes peering from behind lace curtains. He was thankful that neither he nor Mercedes had struck up any friendships with their neighbours. They were private, passed themselves off with a ‘hello’ or a ‘nice day’, but that was as far as their contact had gone. Generally, he liked to avoid people who asked too many questions about his private life, and Mercedes had shared that feeling.
It was freezing despite the thaw. Oliver felt rather low as he drove into the city to unburden himself of Mercedes’s clothes, but he knew that it was the only way forward. Mercedes was gone, and his problem was far from over. There was Carmen to deal with. Not to mention the rest of Mercedes’s family. Soon, people would begin to ask questions and he’d better have his answers ready.
The shop was small and had a sign over it that read Mrs Quinn’s Charity Shop. He’d never been there before, but he figured that rather than going in with the stuff it’d be better to leave it outside. No point in drawing attention to himself. He pulled up close to the door and took a couple of bags out of the boot. Just as he put them down, the shop door opened and an elderly woman appeared.
‘Are they for us?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I have a few more to go.’
The woman, surprisingly agile for her age, grabbed a bag and made towards the door. ‘Bring them on in,’ she said, leaving him no choice but to follow her.
When he returned with two more bags, the woman was examining Mercedes’s clothes. She held a blouse up to the light and viewed it appraisingly. ‘This is nice stuff. Are you sure she wants to get rid of it?’ she asked.
Oliver panicked. ‘My wife died,’ he said quickly, thinking that would put an end to further questions.
The woman put down the blouse. ‘I’m terribly sorry.’ Her eyes narrowed in sympathy. There were deep lines etched at the sides of her mouth. She moved her hand as if to reach out to him and then didn’t.
Oliver nodded and tried to block out Mercedes’s voice in his head. Because of you. ‘I’ll just get the rest of the stuff from the car,’ he said.
The woman smiled sadly, and he left her sorting through Mercedes’s things, fingering the cloth, searching for any imperfections. He felt a strange sort of emptiness as he watched her examining the things that Mercedes had worn. That she would never wear again. He hadn’t expected to feel that way, as though there were a void somewhere inside him.
He leant into the car boot to take out the last bag. He’d forgotten to knot it and the contents were spilling out where it had toppled over. He was shoving the clothes back in when he heard someone calling his name.
‘Oliver. Oliver Molloy, is that you?’
He looked up. There was a woman hurrying across the street. He didn’t recognize her at first. He stood there, at the open boot, trying to figure out who she was.
‘It is you,’ she said, as she got closer. ‘My God, it’s been such a long time!’
Finally, he recognized her, but couldn’t think of her name. She was an old friend of Mercedes; someone she used to work with.
‘Hi,’ he said, as he slammed the boot closed. ‘I’m sorry I can’t remember …?’
‘Adrienne,’ she said. She smiled and extended her hand.
‘Adrienne. Of course, I’m sorry, like you said it’s been what … three … four years?’
The woman called Adrienne laughed. She hadn’t let go of his hand, and he was aware of her fingers squeezing his. ‘I know, it’s hard to believe … I mean … God, how are you? How’s Mercedes doing?’
Oliver cast a quick look at the door of the shop. ‘Yes, she’s fine. We’re both good …’ he said. ‘And you, how are you doing? Are you still at Abacus?’
Adrienne laughed, a tinkling kind of laugh that reminded him of the C note on a piano.
‘No, I left soon after Mercedes did. I don’t know if you remember I was studying acting at the time … well, I’ve been trying to make a go of it. It’s difficult, of course, no money in it, but I get a bit of work doing ads and stuff …’
‘Really … wow … an actress.’
Adrienne smiled and he smiled back. She had a very pretty mouth; there was a dimple at one corner and her lips were coated in a shiny pink lip-gloss. He had no doubt that this girl would get parts.
‘It’s so good to run into you like this. Mercedes and I should never have lost touch … we used to have such laughs. I must get your number, maybe we can arrange to meet up like we used to …’
Adrienne began searching in her bag and took out a mobile phone.
He gave her the house number and then Mercedes’s mobile number. ‘You won’t be able to get her at the moment. She’s away in Barcelona. Her father’s not so well,’ he said.
Just as he’d said it the shop door opened behind him and the old woman came out. Christ – that had been close. Adrienne was busy saving the numbers in her phone.
‘Oh, I’m really sorry to hear that. I’ll give it a few weeks then … hopefully, everything will be okay,’ she said.
‘Yeah, it’s hard you know.’ He glanced at the old woman who was standing feet away examining the display in her shop window. He thought fast of something to say to change the topic from Mercedes. ‘Hey, what ever happened to that guy you used to bring round for dinner … did you?’
Adrienne started laughing. ‘Norman? My God, I haven’t thought of him in a long time …’
Oliver laughed. ‘I could never see what you were doing with him.’
Adrienne looked away. ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t know either in the end.’
‘And now, is there someone special?’
‘No. I’m just concentrating on my acting … trying to make it work, you know?’
Her coppery hair fell in her eyes. She flicked it back, and when she looked up there was a moment
