Lake of Sorrows

The cottage wasn’t difficult to find, with the directions Cormac had provided. The gate was open. As she pulled into the drive, Nora caught a whiff of turf smoke and saw a pale gray smudge rising from the chimney. Evelyn hadn’t used the place in months, and yet it looked well cared for. Someone was making sure that the flues were cleaned and that damp and mold had no chance to set in. The rough exterior walls were painted a dull yellow ochre, the trim rusty blood-red. She could see the tail end of Cormac’s jeep parked behind the house. It had been easy enough to put off thinking about their situation as the events of the day unfolded. Now she had no excuse—apart from being famished and thirsty, windburned and exhausted from all the fresh air out on the bog. What she really needed was a quiet evening without emotional upheaval. Nora gathered up all the resolve she could muster and opened the car door. As she lifted her case from the trunk, she checked the second-story window above; no movement, no indication that anyone was about. As she turned the corner, her bag brushed against the flowers in the window box, releasing a raft of dark crimson petals. She knocked three times.

The door swung open, and Cormac stood before her. He studied her for a moment, as if trying to decipher the day’s events from her appearance. She tried to imagine the sight that greeted him. She’d taken off her waterproofs, but her work clothes were still a muddy mess.

“Nora—what happened? Your eyes—”

“Oh—I got caught in a dust storm first thing this morning. I’d almost forgotten about that. It’s been an incredibly strange day. Another body turned up at the site, only it’s not as old as the other one. The police were there, and the state pathologist. They think it’s a murder.”

Cormac’s face clouded. “Jesus. And you were there when they found it?”

“Yes. I’m supposed to go along to the postmortem tomorrow morning too.”

Cormac’s eyes fixed her with a questioning look. He stepped forward to slide the bag from her shoulder, then reached out and brushed her face with the backs of his fingers, the way he had first touched her, outside the bar in Stoneybatter. The inner turmoil she had managed to keep at bay all afternoon seemed to rise to the surface in response to this simple, compassionate gesture. But her arms hung inert at her sides; she sank forward, exhausted, to rest her forehead against his chest.

“You must be knackered,” he said. “Why don’t you come upstairs straightaway and have a bath? Then you can tell me what happened.” He took her by the hand and led her up the narrow stairs, into a comfortable room with a low, sloping ceiling and a deep window that looked out into the treetops in the orchard. He set her bag on the broad double bed. Knowing what she had to do before she left this house, she felt something false in the prospect of sharing this bed with him tonight. It raised a pain in her stomach that wasn’t remotely related to a lack of food.

“Bathroom’s through that door,” he said. “There are clean towels in the press, and there might be some drops in the cabinet to help your eyes. I’m very glad you’re here, Nora.” He leaned down to kiss her, but for some reason she couldn’t respond; her whole body felt wooden. He could feel it too, and he began to back away.

She wanted to reach out for him, but instead she said, “I’ll be in a better mood to tell you everything after a nice long soak, I promise.”

“Take as much time as you like. I’ll fix us something to eat—is an omelette all right?” She nodded. He turned from the doorway, and Nora heard his quiet footsteps receding down the carpeted stairs. She started the water running in the bath. Maybe a little warmth would help melt away the stiffness in her limbs. She opened the nearest container from the row of bath salts on a shelf above the tub and threw a handful of powder under the tap, watching it bloom into a froth of soap bubbles. Returning to the bedroom, she stowed her case on the floor by the night table. She decided not to unpack; she wasn’t going to be here long, and there was certainly no point in hanging her work clothes in a wardrobe.

Nora quickly stripped off, leaving her dirty clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor for the moment, and eased herself into the steaming water. It was almost hotter than she could stand, but she slid down to immerse herself completely for a couple of seconds, closing her eyes and holding her breath. The heat was too much; she burst through the suds, gasping for air, her chest heaving with the first tightness of a sob. There was no relief, no respite from the grinding dissonance of her two impossible realities. She lay back in the tub and let the tears flow down her wet face onto her throat.