Let Them Lie, page 10
At the rear of the pub, she sat and waited.
Connor arrived at ten past seven, looking tired and crumpled but achingly familiar.
Her heart and stomach collided at the sight of him.
‘Sorry, I got delayed. Can I get you a fresh drink?’
Aoife shook her head.
When he came back from the bar, he slipped into the seat beside her, not across from her as she was expecting. Sitting so close she could feel the warmth of his body. They both sat silently for an agonising while.
‘You look tired – tough day at school?’
‘Yeah, it was,’ she mumbled.
Silence resumed and, feeling suffocated by its weight, in desperation she blurted, ‘I suppose we should talk about what we’re going to do.’
He didn’t respond. He looked away and then down at her hand.
‘I see you’re still wearing the ring. I thought you’d have chucked that by now.’
Aoife flushed with annoyance. ‘Here, take it!’ she snapped, dragging it off her finger, slamming it down on the table where it promptly bounced off. Their heads smacked as they both dived under the table to retrieve it.
They laughed, and the tension dissipated.
He handed her back the ring. ‘What in the name of God would I do with that? I’m not planning to reuse it, ya know? I’d like you to keep it, really I would.’
‘You could sell it and at least recover some of its value.’
‘No, Aoife, I already got its value.’
Mutely she lifted the glimmering ring and dropped it in her bag.
‘I suppose we’d better make some decisions,’ she said.
‘Why? What’s the hurry? Why can’t we just take a breather and work things out later?’ he countered.
‘Because we have to let people know – the hotel, the band, our folks and all the guests who may already have bought gifts. It’s only a few months away. We can’t leave people in ignorance.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about us staying together and postponing the wedding? I love you, Aoife, that hasn’t changed. I want to be with you always. There’s been no one else I’ve ever felt this way about. Are you saying that you’ve stopped caring about me?’
He stared into her eyes and for a moment she melted, but only for a moment.
‘Connor, what’s the point of rehashing things? We have different ideas of what our lives should be. I wish I could say I was OK about you taking casual work so that you can work on your writing, but I know I’d resent you. Equally, I don’t want you to resent me for having to let go of your dreams. It’s only now I realise how different we are. I want a conventional secure life, a steady job, a house and a family. I guess I’m boringly conventional.’
‘But I want a family too. We can make it work, I know we can. I’ll still bring in money, we can still do the things you want, and I can still do what’s important to me.’
‘Connor, I know you mean that right now but, if you have to help support a family, it will be impossible to do that in part-time work where you can be let go at a moment’s notice. I need security and, I’ll be honest, I don’t want to have to struggle to make ends meet. I wish I wasn’t so boring and middle-class in my expectations, but I am.’ Her eyes filled up and she stopped talking.
They sat in silence.
‘So that’s it then?’ he said, his voice sharp with disappointment.
‘Yes, I think it is.’
The silence between them once more grew oppressive and Aoife rushed to break through it by dealing with practicalities.
‘Look, the first thing we have to do is tell our families. I’ll contact mine tomorrow evening and, if you do it at the same time, we won’t have anyone feeling offended about being the last to know.’
‘Well, at least your ones will sigh with relief that you’ve got the “waster” off your hands. I bet there’ll be rejoicing in the O’Driscoll family when they get the news.’
‘That’s not fair, Connor – you know they’re very fond of you.’
‘Sure, but they never thought I was good enough for you, whereas my family thought I was in clover when I met you. They finally thought I had become a sensible lad just like my brother.’
‘Please, Connor, let’s not do this. We have so many things to sort out. I’ve drawn up a list of what we need to do. Tell me what you’re willing to do, and we can get things started.’
‘Finished, you mean!’ Connor stated bleakly. ‘OK, I’ll cancel the band and the hotel if that’s what you want. You know we’ll lose our deposit, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do. I’ll draw up a draft email to send to the guests and return any gifts and contact florists, car hire and cancel my dress appointment.’
‘OK.’
‘The last thing to sort is the flat.’ she said. ‘Neither of us can afford to keep it on alone. What do you think we should do?’
Connor smiled grimly. ‘Well, you’ve already kicked me out, so I assumed you’d find one of your buddies to move in.’
‘That’s not fair, Connor! I was angry at the time, but I knew you could stay with family, or they’d fix something up for you – after all, they are estate agents and your brother has property. I figured they would help you out.’
‘I’m not in the business of asking my family for favours. You keep the flat and I’ll pay my share of the rent until you get someone to move in.’
‘But where will you stay?’
‘Don’t worry, I have a few possibilities – just keep any belongings until I can move them, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘I’d better get on now,’ he muttered.
Awkwardly they both stood, avoiding each other’s eyes, and then simultaneously they reached for each other. It was a tight, silent embrace and Aoife felt her insides dissolve and her heart hammered so loud she thought the barman could hear it.
Connor buried his face in her hair. ‘I love you, I love you,’ he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
Aoife felt her throat close over and could only gulp, ‘Me, too.’
Then, abruptly, he released her and strode to the door without looking back. She slumped back on the seat and felt the scalding tears roll down her face. Stumbling through the mist in her eyes, she made her way to the Ladies’, sat on a toilet seat, and howled as silently as she could into wadded-up toilet paper. Snot and tears covered her face. When the worst of the tsunami had subsided, she went to the sink to wash her ravaged face. Getting the mascara rivulets to disappear with only tissue and water wasn’t easy as the soap-dispenser was empty. Eventually she decided that, although she didn’t look presentable, her face was clean and that was the best she could ask for right now.
CHAPTER 15
The following morning, Aoife again considered taking the day off, but the thought of spending the day with nothing to distract her from thoughts of Connor but the diary drove her to abandon that idea.
Mercifully, the working day flew by, and she avoided the staff room, ducking the usual wedding chit-chat which was the hot topic of conversation as two other young teachers were planning their weddings too. The thought of all the excited chatter and comparing notes sickened her. Was it only last week that she had been the chief initiator of such conversations? It entered her head that everything in her life had imploded the day she opened the tin box and saw the diary. Its malign presence had enveloped her world, poisoning it.
Back at the flat, she checked her phone and saw five missed calls from Sorcha. She quickly texted to say she was fine and would be in touch. She had Cornflakes and chocolate for dinner and, opening a bottle of wine, decided she’d better get on with telling her mother about the cancelled wedding.
The phone in her mother’s hallway barely had time to ring before being answered.
‘It’s lovely to hear from you so early in the week. How’s work going, pet?’
Her mam’s voice was warm with affection.
‘Work is grand, Mam, same old same old. How are you? I bet you’re exhausted after the weekend. Maybe next year we could have the meet-up in Kate’s place and give you a bit of a break.’
‘You must be joking! How old do you think I am? I’m not in my dotage yet and I’m more than able to organise a bit of food for the family.’
‘OK, OK, I get it, you’re a tough woman. I just worry about you, that’s all!’ Aoife paused and then continued, ‘Mam, I’ve got a bit of news for you.’
Before she could elaborate, her mother burst out, ‘Are you pregnant, love? Is that the news? I thought you looked peaky the last time I saw you.’
‘No, Mam, I’m not pregnant. Look, Connor and I’ve been talking, and we’ve called the wedding off.’ She heard her mother gasp. ‘It’s fine, really it is. We both felt for a while that we were making a mistake, that we weren’t best suited for marriage. I’m mean, better to realise it now than after we got married.’
‘But, Aoife, you seemed so well-matched, so happy in each other’s company. Did he do something wrong – see someone on the side or something?’
‘No, Mam, there’s nobody else for either of us. We just didn’t want the same things.’
‘Oh, love, I’m so sorry, I truly am. Is there any chance that you’ll change your minds at all?’
‘No, Mam, we’re cancelling things. In fact, will you give me Father Francis’s number so that I can let him know?’
‘Don’t worry yourself about that. I’ll let him know tomorrow when I’m at the parish council meeting.’
‘Thanks, Mam, I’d appreciate that. I’d hate having to explain it all to him.’
They talked a little more before wishing each other goodnight. The call re-energised Aoife and she quickly drafted an email to send to all her wedding guests, informing them that regretfully the wedding of Connor and Aoife would not take place. After staring at it for ten minutes, she hit send. She visualised all the comments people would make on receiving the missive. Some would be tantalised and make up scenarios for what went wrong but most would be genuinely sorry and surprised.
Well, they’d done it. No going back now. She heard her mobile ping and saw a message from Connor. He had cancelled the hotel and band. As expected, they lost their deposit. She slumped on her couch and stared at his message on her mobile. It was strange, emailing guests and telling her mother had been difficult but seeing the words ‘hotel cancelled’ set her stomach clenching and made hot tears pool in her eyes. She tapped out a reply, telling him she had told her mother and had emailed guests and that her mother would inform the priest. When she finished, she poured herself another drink and turned on the TV. Flicking from channel to channel and finding nothing to interest or distract, she switched off in defeat.
With dragging feet, she went to her work desk and fetched the box. She picked up each of its contents. What did they signify? She tried on the Claddagh ring, but it was too small for her ring finger. Who did it belong to? She returned it to the box, carried the notebook over to the couch and read.
Life continues to surprise me. People more than life, in truth. Take A., she’s never been happier. She thinks I’m happy because her depression has lifted. She knows, of course, that I find the noise of babies, the demands, the smells difficult but she doesn’t realise it’s the loss of her that destroys me. If she were less of a devoted mother, it wouldn’t matter. But once a baby arrives, no, even beforehand, I lose her.
When she is expecting, her anticipatory excitement makes me feel diminished, invisible even. She had been quieter this pregnancy. I think she was afraid of becoming flat and depressed again. When our little girl was born, she was worse, lower than I’ve ever seen her. The silence was roaring in my head again and I felt such anger towards the new interloper. I feel ashamed now when I see our wee angel.
I didn’t feel invisible or diminished after ‘that glorious day’ – at least for a while. I felt calm, powerful, and truly able to be the man A. wants by her side.
Once they grow up a bit, I quite like the children. The lad’s a great wee fellow. I can see a bit of myself in him – already he shows signs of being good with his hands, he’s always making things with his marla, and you can see he’s a born farmer. He follows me around the farm like a good one. A. gets so nervous when I take him up with me on the tractor but, at only six, he’s already watching to see how to drive it. If it wasn’t for him being too small to reach the pedals, I’d have to hide the keys.
As for my wee princess, I can see C. in her. She’s so gentle and caring. I remember catching a wild baby rabbit once and taking it home for the young ones to see. Her brother grabbed it and would have squeezed the life out of it in his excitement, but she shouted at him to let it go free and she made me promise not to catch any more ‘bunnies’ as she calls them. She’s a wee softie! She cried over that animal, terrified he’d not be able to find his mammy. I had to make up a story to comfort her about seeing the mother rabbit meeting up with him in the top field. It was the only way to get her to go to sleep. Her Auntie C was just like that, tender-hearted and innocent.
If A. knew how high the price was for me and the ‘others’, she would never have brought these little ones into the world, but then a life without her children would have been annihilation for her. She was made for motherhood. What could I do?
Aoife’s mouth dried up and her flesh tightened against her bones. From her reading, it seemed her father killed someone whenever his wife was pregnant. The awful realisation hit her. Did he kill someone when her mother was carrying her? The thought made her stomach lurch. What should she do? The idea of reading any further, of finding out if the horrible book was going to reveal the death of some poor girl simply on account of her arrival into the world appalled her. Stumbling to her drinks cabinet, she poured herself another drink and went back to the couch.
With a rock in her stomach, she turned the page.
Life became wonderful again. There was a bit in the news about a missing girl but, because the body wasn’t found, talk soon died out. I was both disappointed and relieved at its disappearance. I felt she hadn’t got her due, and I missed the talk and speculation. I realised how lucky I was not to have been seen. There was a terrible moment when someone reported her getting into a van. But their description of the van was way off. They even got the colour wrong. But she had served her purpose, and I felt lighter, stronger, and better able to be a good husband and father. I kept back my keepsakes from each event, and I got great pleasure and peace from holding them, closing my eyes, and remembering every precious moment. They were holy relics that I kept hidden. Each time I felt the darkness and the doubts, I sat holding them until a calmness returned. My little travelling companion bequeathed to me her Claddagh ring. Its gold glinted in the sunlight on her little pale hand. I thought of her fondly whenever I held it. I wondered when I would need to renew myself again.
Shaking with revulsion, Aoife threw the diary on the desk and took two paracetamols, washing them down with brutally strong whiskey. Hoping for oblivion, she dragged herself to bed.
CHAPTER 16
She got little sleep that night. Staring at the ceiling, her stomach sick, her eyes scorching in her head, too terrified to close them, afraid of what images would burn the backs of her eyelids. It was a relief when it got light, and she could shower and get to work. Suddenly being the subject of gossip regarding her broken engagement was trivial and of no importance. If the contents of the diary got out, if the world knew that her father was a serial killer, then she would have something to worry about. On impulse, she rang in sick and decided that she would finish reading the diary and face up to whatever her father was, however grotesque.
She made herself some coffee, sat down at the desk and stared at the tin box as if contemplating hell. Steeling herself, she opened it and picked up the diary from where it lay looking so innocent and banal. So far it appeared as though a death followed each of her mother’s pregnancies. Now she would have to find out if her entry into the world heralded the destruction of some poor girl. The diary appeared to have no time frame and, although it detailed two killings, it also hinted at something from the time before he married. As she glanced at the page, she noticed that the writing was less neat and cramped and more hurried and sprawling.
It’s been a long time since I’ve visited my book of secrets. I’ve had no cause for a while to rid myself of the tension. But recently I’ve found a way of expanding my territory should I need to. My two little friends disappeared too close to home. I can’t take risks now, not with everything going so well. But I know that when the Harpy rides on my shoulders and the world is too tight to bear, I have my means of healing. I feel excited by the prospects ahead.
A. has been busy for days, preparing for the visit of my sisters. They come as a pack, like a virus settling in. I don’t mind C., but E. is a bossy, opinionated snob. I hate the way she lords it over my girl, acting as though A. is an intruder in our home. She constantly talks of the Harpy, but she calls her ‘Mama’ like she is some Edwardian miss. Bleating that Mama would do this, and Mama would do that. It makes my teeth grate and I have to leave the house to cool off. As for B., she was a whining spoiled brat as a child and now she’s a whining, whinging pain as an adult. A. waits on them hand and foot. If I didn’t stop her, she’d bring them breakfast in bed. They never ask A. about herself. It’s like they think we have no life of our own, and it’s their job to bring the light and colour of their world into ours. Each year they arrive, I dread it more. Even the children hate them coming. S. flinches as they slobber over him with their bright lipsticked mouths, ready to pounce and make their imprint on his pale little face. If he tries to avoid contact, they insist and force the boy to accept their vile slobbering. He can’t wait to get away and scrub the sticky colour from his face. As for the poor wee princess, they are constantly lecturing her on how a young lady should behave as if either of those two eejits would know. Poor little pet, I offer her asylum in the henhouse by giving her jobs to do that will keep her as far away from them as possible. They’re coming tomorrow afternoon. I have to pick them up from the train station, as if I haven’t enough to do.
