Let Them Lie, page 12
‘Did Sam and Dad get on well?’
Kate screwed up her face. ‘It was a long time ago, Aoife. But, yeah, they got on well. They worked on the farm, and they went fishing sometimes.’ She laughed wryly. ‘To tell the truth, I was jealous cos they spent so much time together. I was a couple of years younger than Sam, and they always seemed to do stuff together. The year before Dad died, he used to take Sam on trips. I was a bit pissed off as I imagined Sam having adventures but, looking back, Sam wasn’t in the best form after these outings, so they were probably a washout. I mean what a grown man finds interesting isn’t necessarily going to appeal to a teenage boy, is it?’ Aoife shook her head. ‘I feel that I hardly knew Dad. I was only ten when he died. I wish I knew what he was really like. You were about fifteen, so I expect you had a better sense of him.’
‘Well, I have nice memories of him teaching me the names of trees and helping me collect flowers to press in my scrapbook. He encouraged me to look up their names. I think he bought me books about plants and flowers and birds. Remember, Aoife, he used to do the same with you. He was very interested in the natural world. Apart from the news, I think the only programmes he watched on TV were natural history ones. He was never into sports much. I think he used to watch with Sam, but I don’t believe that he had any actual interest himself. Gosh, it’s amazing what you remember when you get to talking!’
‘Didn’t you and Sam ever reminisce about Dad?’
Kate paused. ‘Honestly, Sam never really wanted to talk about Dad. I think he felt guilty because Dad went off the day he died, and he never went after him. Perhaps he thought if he had been with Dad, then perhaps he could have saved him. I wonder sometimes whether they had words on the day he died because usually they were inseparable. It was rare for Dad to go off up the fields without Sam unless he was at school. In the last year of his life, he and Sam often went off together on what Dad called “adventures”, but really I think they just went on trips to the marts or to buy machinery. Occasionally they stayed away till late and I got jealous, imagining they had wonderful escapades and I was excluded just because I was a girl. But after Dad died Sam wouldn’t speak about him at all. He got angry whenever I talked about him. Nowadays, Sam would probably have been taken to a counsellor because he was so morose. It’s a pity because before Dad died we were pretty close – at least we used to have a laugh and trade music magazines – but after the funeral he shut me out. Maybe he felt guilty for quarrelling with Dad – if they did.’
‘What do you think they might have fought about?’
‘Ah, it was probably nothing. Maybe Sam rebelled about helping Dad and acted like a typical teenager – I mean, he could be moody. I know he snapped at me often enough and made disparaging remarks about girls. But why all this sudden interest, kiddo?’
Aoife shrugged and changed the subject and they talked about a mutual friend who had been caught playing away by her fiancé when he returned early from a stag weekend. It was the talk of the locality. This gossip about broken romance brought to Kate’s mind the romantic ruin of her sister, and the conversation took an annoying turn.
‘Aoife, love, you must be so upset. Do you want to talk about Connor and the break-up?’
‘It’s OK. We both realised that we wanted different things in life. Seriously, there is no big story, no epic betrayal. We just realised that we had different expectations from married life.’
‘Was it Connor’s lack of a job, then?’ Kate probed.
‘That was part of it, but a lot more besides. I miss him, but better end things now than later when things got messy.’
‘Kenny and I nearly broke up before our wedding.’
‘I never knew that! What happened?’
‘It was another girl. I mean, nothing happened between them. She was a blast from his past, a musician. I think he was in more love with the lifestyle she offered than her. Her career was flourishing, and she wanted him to be her manager. I knew if he took up her offer we’d be over. So, I gave him an ultimatum – me or her, and he chose me. I sometimes think he regrets it.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true, Kate. He’s lucky to have you.’
‘OK, OK, you don’t have to defend me. I’m just saying I sometimes wonder if Kenny’s bouts of depression have something to do with the feeling that he made the wrong choice and now he’s trapped with me, and for Sandy and Colm’s sake trying to make the best of things.’
The two sisters sat in silence together, and Aoife knew that there was no way she could talk about the contents of that innocent-looking biscuit tin sitting in her desk drawer.
CHAPTER 19
From the vantage point of her position on the couch, Aoife could see through a gap in the curtain that it was going to be a damp, dreary day. Kate had protested when she insisted that she sleep in her bedroom, but it made more sense to let Kate use it. She wasn’t sleeping well, anyway. Aoife debated what to do with Kate for the day. Her train wasn’t until six, and it wasn’t often that she got time away from the family.
At nine she brought her sister tea and toast in bed.
Kate grinned and stretched out on the bed. ‘This is a pleasant surprise. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had breakfast brought to me. Be careful or I may never leave.’
‘Enjoy, I’m going to hit the shower while you luxuriate. Do you have any ideas what you’d like to do today?
‘Well, I’d fancy a trip to the National Art Gallery. I haven’t been in years – the last time was to see the Turner watercolours about five years ago.’
‘Sounds good – and we can mooch in the shops on Grafton Street and then we can search out somewhere nice for lunch.’
‘That sounds great!’
At eleven o’clock, as they wandered through the galleries, Aoife felt a calm settle within her. The paintings performed their usual healing. The gallery was her favourite place to wander on a Saturday afternoon when the noise and mayhem of the shopping crowds got too much to bear. Today she stopped dead in front of the Louis Le Brocquy titled A Family. Something about that bleak, broken image pulled her up short. It seemed like devastation had visited the little nuclear unit portrayed. The parallels with her family were painfully reminiscent. If the cat with a red splash beneath its paw was replaced by her tin box leaking its awful secrets, the similarity would be complete.
Kate came to stand beside her. ‘I never could bear that painting – it’s so bleak and hopeless,’ she said
‘I think that’s why I like it,’ Aoife muttered as she moved away.
‘Sandy would love this. Art is her favourite subject in school.’
‘Well, why don’t you come up again before the summer and I’ll take Sandy for a cultural tour and you can indulge in the shops?’
‘That would be great. I’m worried about Sandy, to tell the truth.’
‘Why? Is she not well?’ Aoife asked, furrowing her forehead.
‘I think both she and Colm are finding their father’s depression difficult. Colm is angry at him, and Sandy just looks worried about it all.’
‘Look, Kate, let’s go find somewhere to eat and talk. I know a pub not too far from here that does some nice fish and chips, and we can talk properly then.’
The pub was busy, but they were lucky enough to find a seat overlooking the street. They ordered their fish and chips with glasses of larger. They held off talking until they had finished eating and the waitress brought them a pot of tea.
‘OK, Kate, tell me what has you so worried about Sandy. I thought she had a boyfriend and that all was good in her world?’
‘Well, the boyfriend has gone. She won’t tell me about it, but I think he was two-timing her and, to add insult to injury, he dumped her by text. Her self-esteem has taken a pounding.’
‘Aww, that’s rotten for the poor kid!’ said Aoife.
‘Well, to be honest, I’m kinda relieved they’ve broken up. She’s only fourteen and he’s a little shit. Colm told me he’s always boasting to the older lads about his success with girls and he’s a bit of a bully to the younger lads too. I think he’s made a few cracks about Kenny being mental to Colm as well. So really she’s better off without him. I just wish he hadn’t bruised her ego so badly.’
‘I’m sure Kenny is raging – he’s crazy about Sandy.’
‘Kenny doesn’t know, and I don’t think he’d care if he did. He’s withdrawn so much. I have to drag him out of bed every day, or at least I did. The doctor started him on a new tablet and has told him he needs to spend more time in the fresh air, so now he’s always mooching in the garden. He spends all his time in the shed until he hears me coming home, and then he’s out weeding, clipping, and spraying. I picked up the weed-killer spray can the other day after he used it, and I swear to God, Aoife, it was empty. Maybe he used it all but I think he was just pretending to be spraying to keep me off his back.’
‘That’s awful, Kate. Perhaps he needs to see a counsellor or a psychiatrist?’
‘Well, Dr Gibney has referred him to a psychiatrist, but you know how long the waiting lists are – it could be months.’
‘But you were telling me about Sandy …’
‘Yeah, well, I think both Colm and Sandy are being affected by Kenny’s illness. Colm is extremely angry – he has no trouble giving his dad backchat – but Sandy is getting withdrawn. Between that little toe-rag she was seeing and worrying about her daddy she’s very down in herself.’
‘Why don’t you talk to the school and get her an appointment with the school counsellor? I’ve seen the counsellor in our school work absolute wonders, and it will give Sandy a safe place to vent. She probably doesn’t want to worry you. I’m sure Colm could benefit from some help too – ask the principal if she can provide any support for him. Schools can be very discreet and none of his mates will ever find out.’
Kate wrinkled her forehead as she mulled over Aoife’s suggestion. ‘That’s not a bad idea. I suppose I’m a bit reluctant to start telling people our business, but I’ve met the counsellor in the school and she seemed lovely. I’ll think it over and maybe ask for an appointment to see her. And I’ve got a parent-teacher meeting coming up for Colm too, so, I might mention something to Mr Doran his teacher. Anyway, I’ll think about it.’
‘Well, any time you want to vent yourself, Kate, I’m here for you. You did enough listening to my woes when I was a young one.’
‘Thanks, love, I will of course and any time you want to talk about Connor or, well, anything, I’m there for you too. Now how about we hit the shops for a little retail therapy?’
As the waitress came to their table Kate grabbed Aoife’s arm. ‘Put your wallet away – this is my treat.’
The sisters headed out to the shops and the rest of the day passed in pleasurable wandering through the shops, trying on clothes but buying nothing. They wrapped up their day by visiting Brown Thomas where they looked at all the insanely expensive shoes and designer clothes, but neither of them had the neck to try on anything.
Aoife walked her sister to the train and hugged her hard before waving her off.
As she trudged back into town, she mused on Kate’s problems and was thankful she didn’t burden her further with her discovery of the box. At least for the time being, the secret remained hers. She remembered Kate mentioning how Sam had buried Polly, and the only explanation for the box finding its way into the grave was that Sam buried it there. That meant he must know what the box and notebook held. Kate also said their father’s death hit Sam hard, and he wouldn’t talk about him. Perhaps discovering the box after their father died had devastated him, and he needed to hide it fast before their mother could find it. That would make sense, Sam would want to protect his mam and maybe in a panic he got rid of it by burying it with Polly. And yet, he had done a great deal to protect the box, wrapping it in heavy black plastic so that the wet soil wouldn’t damage the contents. Did he plan to retrieve it? No, that made no sense: he buried it at least four feet down beside a decomposing dog. It was a puzzle, and only Sam could provide the answers.
She pulled up short, almost causing the pedestrian behind her to collide with her. Kate said that Manus and Sam went off on their trips. Did those trips to buy machinery or to go to marts include anything more sinister? Kate said Sam came back from them in bad form. Shit, could Manus have been trying to enrol Sam into some sick murder apprenticeship? Was he trying to make it into a warped kind of family business? Maybe Sam saw something or worse participated in some way and was horrified but Manus had somehow implicated him in his crimes. Maybe that was why they fell out. Aoife’s throat constricted. No, there was no way her lovely gentle brother would do anything so horrific. But then who would believe that Manus O’Driscoll was a fucking serial killer either?
She was on the bus when with a racing heart she thought: Perhaps it was Mam, maybe she found the box and in shock and horror buried it with Polly. Her stomach lurched at the thought, but no way did that make sense. Mam adored Dad, she spoke about him like he was a saint. Could she be putting on an act? Her mind revolted at the thought. There was no way her mother could keep the charade of devotion going all these years, holding anniversaries to mark her love for Manus each year. Aoife felt reassured and her breathing calmed. In a panic, she realised she was at her bus stop and dashed to the door just as the driver was about to pull out. She gabbled apologies and stumbled onto the street.
Back in her flat, she made herself tea and watched TV for distraction. But it proved no use, and soon another possibility suggested itself. What if her mother discovered the box and its contents and was so traumatised that she went into a sort of fugue state and wiped it all from her mind? That would mean her image of her husband would remain intact. She would have put all the horrors of the box into the deepest recesses of her brain. For the rest of the night, her thoughts veered between believing Sam was the person who found the box, or it was her mother. At three in the morning, she gave up trying to sleep and scrubbed her shower instead.
CHAPTER 20
Work dragged, and she endured a rollicking from the principal because she had forgotten to cover a class and the wee ‘feckers’ had wrecked the classroom causing the next teacher to complain vociferously to him. There was no excuse for her forgetfulness, and she had to zip her lip and take the telling-off. He also inquired how she was coping, causing her to worry that the news of her broken engagement had somehow reached his ears. His concern was harder to stomach than his earlier annoyance with her.
There was a small parcel awaiting her when she arrived back at the flat. Clarissa had sent Manus’s letters as promised. Before tackling them, she needed to eat. The choice was paltry – leftover pizza and a bottle of Chianti. She ate standing up, barely tasting the food, just gulping it down like a dog. Afterwards, she settled down with a glass of wine to open the package. There was a brief covering note from Clarissa, thanking her for her ‘lovely afternoon tea’ and asking her to pass on her love to dear Agnes. Clarissa was such a sweetheart. She arranged the letters by date. They were still in their envelopes, six blue airmail letters, four stamped from the USA, and three with Irish stamps. The handwriting on two of the letters matched the script in the notebook. Taking a deep breath, she opened them all and read them in order.
February 5th 1968
My Dear Manus,
Forgive the long delay in writing to you. But the sights and sounds of this amazing city have overwhelmed me. My three years living in London haven’t prepared me for the sheer scale of this place. To say it differs from home is like comparing night with day. It surprises me how many languages I hear spoken in the streets. And the native New Yorkers have a way with the English language that even the movies don’t convey. There are lots of different nationalities here, people from places I have never heard of. Emma is forever pulling me up on ‘my gawping ways’ as she calls them. But honestly, it’s mesmerising to see all the sights of New York. Everything is vast. The buildings tower from every side making me feel tiny and unimportant like a little ant. But even more bewildering is the constant rushing everywhere. Nobody strolls or just danders along – it seems like everybody is on a mission that propels them like rockets from one destination to another. I know I must sound like the original country mouse, but that is exactly how I feel.
Oh, how I wish I was home with you! We could go fishing or play draughts in the hayshed. I think of you often. How has Mother been? Try not to let her get you down. She thinks the world of you, dear. Where would she be without you? But she can’t admit it. As you well know, she has had a hard life. It is to her credit that we have all turned out so well. So, keep your head up. I have enclosed a few dollars for you. I have already written to Mother and sent her a bank draft, so this money is just for you. Why not buy some nice clothes for the next dance you go to? Perhaps there is some nice young one you have your eye on and you could take her out to the pictures.
Emma and Baby send their best wishes. They are well settled in NY. Emma is working in a fancy department store as you know and has got a big promotion. She is walking out with the store manager, and they all think well of her in Bloomingdales. Baby has settled in with the family that Emma recommended her to. They have a nice big house and only three children, so Baby can well manage her duties. She lives in and has her room and even a small stove for her personal use. She complains that she doesn’t get too much time off. But then Baby is never content – God love her! I have got a job as a waitress in a small restaurant – called a ‘Diner’ here. The work is hard and I’m afraid I’m slow but, so far, the boss has been very patient with my mishaps. Mother always said I was a bit of a clot and, well, my customers would probably agree. That’s all the news that I have for you. Keep well and write when you can. It’s lovely to hear from home. But Mother’s letters are brief, so I am depending on you for news.
