Deceptions (39 page)

“I never meant to fall in love with you. It didn’t make sense. You’ve no idea how hard I fought against those feelings but they cut through everything, the evidence and suspicions, all the anger. I went to Trabawn to accuse you.” He forced her to listen. “But that time in your studio … Killian almost died. We didn’t believe he’d make it back.”

Tears rushed into her eyes. She willed them away. She had shed too many tears over love.

He mentioned Meg’s name and other names that meant nothing to her. She was unable to absorb what he was saying. His voice was too fast, incoherent almost, his breathing shallow, his complexion as translucent as wax.

Before Meg and Eoin went to the States, they had thrown a farewell party. The house was so crowded that people spilled out into the back garden. Had Michael Carmody been among the crush of people who raised their glasses and wished Eoin success in his sabbatical? Had they noticed each other among the crowd then passed on by, never registering the moment? Surely she would have remembered his searching gaze. But she would not have been the object of his attention, not then, not when their worlds were intact and secure.

“I’m leaving, Michael.” She willed her legs to hold her upright.

If she walked from the ward she could reach her car in five minutes. Spine erect, eyes looking straight ahead. He pleaded with her to stay but then, realising the enormity of his accusation, his head fell back against the pillows and he was silent.

She ignored the urge to run but once outside the hospital she hurried towards the car-park. She gripped the steering wheel and drove carefully away. How was she to make sense of anything? A portrait of his son. She was mired in lies. Surrounded by illusions.

He rang her house and left messages. She ignored his entreaties, his declarations of love. He was discharged from hospital. Fred Byrne arrived and removed his car. The grass where it had rested was flat and withered.

His manuscript arrived in a Jiffy envelope a week later, sheets of printed paper stapled together. He had handwritten the brief note accompanying it.

I wrote this when I was in a dark place. Please read it and try to understand how I could have been so wrong.

She read about his son. The bitter struggles to claim his love, his loyalty. What a picture he painted. Tug love eventually replaced by tough love. She read about a wino with a clown’s name, a vandalised car, painting materials in the boot, a bracelet in the dashboard, uniquely designed, stolen by a homeless youth called Ferryman.

Silver was a colour of many hues: the moon above the sea, a shimmer of mist on hedgerows, the gleam in the edge of a sharpened blade. It reflected in the plunge of a needle, glittered on a woman’s wrist. In the dead of night, silver was a bullet waiting to strike.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY
-T
WO

Brahms ward
5 p.m.

Killian, I’m here now. Don’t mind me lumbering around the ward. I’m an awkward ass on these crutches. What a time I’ve had of it … what a time. Never mind. Onwards march, as Meg says. She gave me a right tongue-lashing, I can tell you. You look stronger today. Good colour on your cheeks. I like the new pyjamas.

Maggie says you’re pressing her hand, blinking with your eyes, sending signals.

“Goats in white coats.” She thinks she’s the new poet laureate. “Your lad has a grip as tight as a crab’s claw and he means business. Go on, see for yourself.”

Here’s my hand. Tell me – did you miss me when I was in Trabawn? Ouch, Maggie’s right. A real bone crusher that was … oh Killian … Killian … don’t mind me. I’m a fucked up mess. I’m sorry for staying away so long. As they say, the matter was out of my legs. Sorry, bad joke. Almost as bad as Terence’s knock knockers.

Count my fingers. Five blinks, excellent. How many fingers has Harriet? All present and correct, my man. I was fifteen years old when I told her I wanted to follow in her footsteps, figuratively speaking, not literally. Unlike your great-aunt, I’d no interest in paddling the waters of the Ganges or trekking to the roots of the Grand Canyon. I filled pages with unremarkable poems which she slashed with her eyes and said, “Dead words, Michael. I want to live inside your head, not stare at your thoughts through a window that shines too brightly from other people’s elbow grease. Bring me on a journey where I touch, smell, see, breathe, love.”

I sent your story winging through the post, addressed to Trabawn. Did she read it, I wonder, or did she scatter the pages to the wind? She never replied. She found me in a boathouse, a gaping mouth facing the sea. She held me in her arms. I didn’t care about the pain. That’s the way it is with love.

You remind me of my mother when you look at me like that. Eyes like pennies. Lorraine’s eyes closed me out. Her face seemed to break apart when I tried to explain. From the beginning we were on different wavelengths yet they joined together and everything seemed possible. Strange things, telephone calls. The one that brought an ambulance to the pier saved your life. The one Harriet made destroyed mine.

Do you think your father is a crazy, sad old man? Blink once for yes. Twice for no.

Blink!

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY
-T
HREE

Emily was still undressed, slouched across the armchair in her pony slippers and horse-printed pyjamas. “Gary’s parents are moving to Australia. He’ll be forced to go with them so that’s him out of the series – which is brilliant. Ibrahim thinks he’s an
absolute
abysmal asshole and I agree. Jessica’s career as a singer with Love Bytes will collapse in ruins. She’s
such
a bossy, belligerent, bellicose bitch. The way she treats Jason Judge makes me sick. Naomi becomes pregnant.” She shook her head in amazement. “Naomi! Can you believe she’d be so stupid, especially doing it with Gary –
ughh
!”

Virginia sighed wearily and resisted the urge to glance at her watch. “Emily, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Are these friends of yours because if they are –?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Emily’s laughter had a distinctly whinnying quality. Too much time mucking out stables, from the sound of it. “They’re the characters in
Nowhere Lodge
. I already explained that to you. My mother’s boyfriend writes the series. I rescued him from certain death.”

“Yes indeed. You
did
already tell us the story.” Adrian’s indulgence had been severely tested over the weekend. “Can you please change the subject and talk about something intelligent?”

Virginia had armed herself with a full schedule for Emily’s visit. Cooking chips and burgers, or whatever glutinous concoction teenagers were fed, was not on the agenda. After collecting her from the train on Friday evening they had dined out. A visit to an equestrian centre took care of Saturday afternoon. Pony paradise. The three of them went riding together. What a picture they cut, trotting through Pine Forest in jodhpurs and riding boots. Adrian was still sitting down with extreme caution and complaining about a shifting disc in his lower back. The evening had ended with pub grub on the way home and Emily had gone straight to her room.

Apart from constantly demanding her father’s attention, and playing on his guilt by mentioning Lorraine’s name at every conceivable opportunity, she had behaved like any normal pubescent horsy teenager over the weekend. One last visit to a restaurant – Virginia had decided on Thunder Road Café as a special treat – and then it was time for the train journey home. Sweet blissful relief.

“You’d better get dressed, Emily.” She forced enthusiasm into her voice. “We’ll soon be leaving for Thunder Road.”

“We’re not eating out a
gain
?” Emily lifted her shoulders to her ears in amazement. “Don’t you ever do home cooking? Mum is the most brilliant cook, isn’t she, Dad? Remember the pavlova she used to make for dessert on Sundays? Deliciously delightful, delicately –”

“You heard Virginia.” Adrian sounded close to breaking point. “We’re eating out and then we’re driving you to the station.”

“Bloody brilliant.”

“Don’t swear.”

“Fucking fantastic.”

“Emily! We’ve tried very hard to make this weekend work.” In a battle of wills Virginia was not going to be bested by a spoilt sixteen-year-old. “The least we can expect from you is a degree of courtesy.”

Emily crossed her knees. The heads of her pony slippers bobbed threateningly. “Craven, cringing common courtesy.”

She sulked her way through brunch, nibbled around the edges of a burger and asked for the remains to be wrapped in a “horsy bag”.

Adrian had bought her a pony for her birthday. His business was floundering and he was squandering money on a pedigree pony. Shortly after Christmas, Virginia had discovered the receipt in a drawer in his office, an innocuous-looking document with “Received with Thanks” stamped across it.

“If she wanted a pet so much why not a hamster?” Outraged, she had waved the receipt in his face. “Why did it have to be a pony?”

He had accused her of spying, forced her to go on the defensive, afraid that he would discover how thoroughly she had searched his office. The amount of unpaid bills in his files had alarmed her. She had read letters from his bank manager, his accountant and the leasing company which provided much of his office equipment. Among the unpaid bills was a demand from Ginia Communications for rent arrears.

Heuston Station was crowded with young people returning to the city after the weekend. Emily hugged her father, suddenly a vulnerable, repentant daughter. Virginia knew the wisdom of avoiding any contact other than a farewell nod.

“We really enjoyed having you to stay, Emily. You must come and visit us again soon.”

“Thank you so very much for having me, Virginia.” Emily’s contrived politeness was more difficult to tolerate than her rudeness.

Virginia willed the train to move. For an instant she saw it jolt forward. Her heart jerked with the same sensation but it remained stationary. Only her heart continued to race in sharp, painful palpitations.

“Well, Virginia, I think a stiff drink is in order, don’t you?” Adrian lifted his chin in relief as the train finally eased out of the station. “Don’t worry. It’s sure to be much easier the next time.”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY
-F
OUR

The central heating purred. No cracks or dampness marred the walls. The last crate was emptied, contents stored out of sight. What was not needed was dumped in jumbo plastic sacks and flung into the skip. Faintly, Lorraine heard the sounds from the farm, the clink of buckets and churns, the lowing of cows, the rumble of Frank’s tractor. The remains of Emily’s breakfast were on the table. She lifted a cornflake, nibbled it, grimaced at the stale taste. She made beds, brushed a duster over the furniture. In her daughter’s bedroom a framed photograph of Adrian sat on the dressing table. The large montage of family photographs was mounted on the wall. Smiling days. She pressed her face into them and closed her eyes.

The bracelet had fallen from her arm one night when she was at the theatre. She was unaware of her loss until she was leaving and her foot kicked accidentally against it. Adrian had promised to have the clasp repaired but she had no memory of this having been done.

An intertwining rope of silver, two separate strands, coiled but not soldered, softly curved. “A romantic piece,” Karl Hyland had declared when he delicately embedded pure blue sapphires within the coils to represent the stepping stones they would cross through their marriage. “I will never make another bracelet like this one. Let it become a love heirloom passed on from one generation to the next.”

Karl had been her best friend in college. He was much given to dramatic gestures and flamboyant phrases.

“Amazing.” Emily arrived home from school and stared around the tidied house. “Just when I’d adjusted to life in a tip-head you turn my world upside down again.”

“I’ve been searching for my sapphire bracelet.” Lorraine pushed her hair from her eyes and sank onto a kitchen chair. “Did you see it anywhere?”

“Have you checked your jewellery box?”

“Obviously! Can you remember packing it when we were leaving Churchview Terrace?
Think
, Emily. I’m exhausted searching for it.”

“How should I know? My life was falling apart, if you remember that far back. I wasn’t exactly cataloguing everything I packed. Maybe he took it and gave it to
her
.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why not?” Emily flung her school satchel into the corner of the kitchen. “He gave her everything else.”

Fred Byrne took his reputation seriously. Since Lorraine had refuted his opinion on the state of her car, his manner towards her when she drove into the forecourt for petrol had been polite but distant. In his office, she sat opposite him and spread her hands apologetically towards him.

“I’m here to apologise,” she said. “Since the last time we spoke I’ve discovered it’s possible my car was in an accident.”