Page 7 of The Trap by Catherine
But the last thing she wanted to do was go in there.
It had been disconcerting to discover that, even when your life had a person-sized hole in it, you still occasionally had to pop to the supermarket. You had to eat, even if you’d no appetite for it. And no matter what else was happening in your life, you were going to need things like toilet paper and rubbish bags.
Lucy had never fully appreciated how many mundane items were needed to keep the complete and utter breakdown of civilized life from the door.
But she always made sure to go to a supermarket far away, late at night, to minimize the sting of stares, the not-very-whispered whispers behind her, the curiosity disguised as concern. This one, on the other hand, was small, and more of the local area’s central meeting place than a grocery store. And here she was at just gone nine o’clock in the morning the week the schools were starting back; she’d have to run the gauntlet of chattering Sweaty Betties seeking out their post-school-run skinny flat whites.
But the only thing worse would be having yet another argument with Chris over her late-night excursions.
She didn’t have the energy for it and, anyway, it was pointless now. Because she had made a decision after last night’s misadventure: she was going to stop. She was going to accept that Nicki wasn’t coming home. She was going to move on with her life.
Starting today.
Startingnow.
And this time, she meant it.
Lucy grabbed her wallet and got out of the car, her limbs stiff from sleeping for three hours sitting upright behind the wheel.
The early-morning air felt cool and fresh in the wake of last night’s rain showers, but the ground was already dry and the strength of the sun promised it was going to be another scorcher of a day. It had been a long summer of unexpectedly summery weather, the kind Ireland prided itself on not being used to or built for. There wasn’t a fan to be had, the outdoor dining hastily installed to get around lockdown rules had come into its own and the news was full of gorse fires and drownings.
Lucy thought the bathrooms were just inside the entrance, but they either had never been or weren’t any more, and as she stood by the fresh flowers searching for them, she felt a sudden, vice-like grip on her arm.
She turned to see Mrs. Daly, her octogenarian neighbor, peering up at her.
“Lucy,” the woman said gravely. “Howareyou, dear?”
“Fine, thanks. You?”
Mrs. Daly had lived opposite since the estate was built back in the nineties and had, she claimed, been friendly with Lucy and Nicki’s late mother, although neither of them could remember seeing any evidence of this when their mother was alive. The reality was probably more that, even then, a single mother attracted the likes of Mrs. Daly, prospecting for gossip she could share with her equally disapproving peers. Since Nicki’s disappearance, the woman seemed permanently stationed at her gate, usually in conversation with one or more of the other neighbors. They’d stand there chatting for hours, tugging absently on the small gold crosses around their necks, with their eyes on Lucy’s house, relishing her misfortune like a premium-channel spectator sport.
Chris called them the Gray Gossips.
“Fine?”
When Mrs. Daly repeated it, it sounded like an accusation.
“Managing,” Lucy corrected.
The other woman relaxed, nodding approvingly at this far more acceptable answer. In the outside world, you always had to be the exact right amount of devastated. Look like you’re on the verge of falling apart, but not let it actually happen. Be grateful that people were enquiring as to how you were, but thank them by never burdening them with the raw, horrible truth. Be OK, but nottooOK.
A Goldilocks of grief.
“Would you happen to know where the bath—?” Lucy started.
“I hope you’re looking after yourself, love. Are you sleeping?”
Translation:You look terrible.
“Yes,” Lucy said. “I am, thanks.”
Even though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d met the morning feeling in any way rested.
“And I see theFor Salesign is up again?” Mrs. Daly said.
Translation:Didn’t your mother leave that house to both of you? Are you trying to run off with your missing sister’s inheritance?
Lucy nodded. “It is.”
