Let Them Lie, page 6
Aoife picked up the photograph and silently they followed Kate to the kitchen.
CHAPTER 7
It was after midnight when Kate, Colm and Sandy went home. Sam locked up and Aoife and her mother went to bed, but only after they cleaned up. Mam couldn’t bear coming down in the morning to an untidy kitchen.
Sleep proved elusive as Aoife’s head was dizzy with thoughts spiralling on an endless loop. She tried calling Connor again, but there was no answer. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was after one. Sighing, she got out of bed and fetched the box and the notebook. She opened the lid and spread the items out. What did they all have in common? Exhaling, she replaced them and, with dread, took the notebook and read.
The one bright shining light in my life is A. I met her when I was arranging my mother’s funeral. Unbelievably she liked me, and we began our courtship. I was too shy to ask her out and took to waiting for her to leave on her lunch break so that I could bump into her. I don’t think I would ever have worked up the courage to ask her out if she hadn’t suggested we go to see a picture the following Saturday. I couldn’t wait for the day to come and was waiting far too early for her to arrive. As soon as I caught sight of her tidy little figure rounding the corner, I ran towards her. She looked startled, and I worried my eagerness might frighten her off, but she seemed pleased. We didn’t know what any of the pictures were like, so we just went to the one that A had heard was good. It turned out to be Jaws. I recall little of the movie except for its menacing music, but I remember every clutch of my hand and every time she buried her head in terror on my chest. I have seen the movie several times since but, despite its terrifying tension and the gore, for me it holds only sweet memories. It was in that darkened cinema as I held her hand that I knew I had come home. She was my angel, the only one who could bring warmth into my broken life.
The more I got to know her, the more certain I became that I had to marry her. I sensed she was my salvation. With her by my side, the darkness, the ugliness would dissipate.
She was sweet-natured and lively. When I was with her, I felt a lightness and I knew that if I could be with her, then I would be whole – a proper man. I couldn’t believe it when she agreed to marry me. I felt as though I had a chance at life. We were so happy, and we seemed to laugh our way through every blessed day.
Our first married year together was a taste of paradise. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. That such a woman loved me, chose to be with me, lie in my bed and bind her life to mine seemed a wondrous thing. Foolishly I believed that my ugly, painful past could be put aside, and my new life begin. Even more foolishly I started to think I was the man A. believed me to be.
The years slipped by. We had the children. With each child I saw I was losing her. Her attention, her obsession was with the welfare of the youngsters. I suppose that’s being a good mother. But she stopped being my wife and became the children’s mother.
My descent began after the first one was born. A was quite listless. I felt she was punishing me with her muteness. Once more the walls of the house rang with deafening silence interspersed by the wails of the child. She shut me out – I was alone again. I escaped to the farm as often as I could because our home was no longer a sanctuary. At least out in the fields I could get some sense of order and distraction.
But there was no ease in my head. It was as though the old dark days had returned and the Harpy was my sole companion, filling my head with her disappointment and criticism, pounding and pounding at me wearing me away to the bone.
Then fate came to meet me. I was driving the tractor onto the main road so that I could access a field on the next side road when I saw her. She waved me down. The girl was wet and cold and had been trying for a lift, but no one had stopped. I could tell from her accent that she was a foreigner. Of course, I helped her. I gave her a hand up onto the tractor and offered to drive her to the nearest village where she could get something to eat and hopefully continue her journey.
She giggled at the idea of getting a lift on a tractor. I don’t know why I gave in to this impulse, but it started the chain of events that dragged me back to the old ways. I persuaded her that I needed to pick up something in my shed and that afterwards I would drop her off in town. She showed no uncertainty, no lack of trust, just nodded her agreement. Even as we drove to the shed, I was still unsure about what I planned to do. She jumped down from the tractor and sat on a potato box. I pretended to be searching for something, but I was watching her. She wasn’t pretty, but she had nice hair – it looked soft. Later I stroked it, but I didn’t feel sorry. I don’t know why I did it.
But afterwards, I felt alive, strong, as though the life draining out of her was surging towards me, transfusing into me.
Aoife dropped the notebook as though its pages had burned her skin. Jesus! Was this possible? Was her father calmly describing killing a young woman? Her heart beat unbearably fast and she felt sick and dizzy. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to continue reading.
I can’t remember planning it, but I must have done. Why else had I brought her to the shed? But I believed I was acting automatically, as though following a script written long ago. She was easy to kill. I just twisted her head and felt her neck snap. She didn’t leave a mark on me, she had no time to react, no idea of what was happening until it was too late. It differed completely from the first time. I didn’t panic. I could take my time and enjoy our special time together. Her skin was silky soft and stayed warm for a long time. Nobody disturbed us. She looked as though she was sleeping. Then I wrapped her up in a tarpaulin, lifted her onto the trailer and hitched it to the tractor. I dug a hole – good and deep. I didn’t want her unearthed by dogs. Afterwards, I decided it would be a good place to have a silage pit. No one would ever find her then. Exhausted and hungry, I went home to A. Strangely, I didn’t mind the noise or the chaos that was my home. I felt at peace.
Aoife lay stunned in her childhood bedroom, staring at the posters and peeling paint until a wave of panic swept over her. Then she rushed to the bathroom and was violently sick. As she slumped on the cold tiled floor, watching her sick swirl away when she flushed the toilet, her mind raced. Was it possible that her father had just confessed to killing a woman for no apparent reason? Her thoughts shied away from the unthinkable. She stared at the tiled walls and saw patterns that didn’t exist. She counted each tile top to bottom and side to side – anything to shut out the insanity of what she had read.
Creeping back to her bedroom, she stared at the notebook lying innocently on her bed. It defiled the room. What other horrors did it contain? How was she going to bring herself to read any further? She picked it up and flicked through pages and pages of tightly written script. Oh God, how am I going to continue to read this? Should she show it to Sam? She hesitated. Best to wait. Perhaps after all it was a work of fantasy. No need to do anything rash. She hid it in her drawer and switched out the light, but lay wide-eyed, afraid to close her eyes.
At last, she fell into an uneasy sleep. It was a relief when the morning came and she could get up.
CHAPTER 8
Sunday was always about food. Agnes went to early Mass, so she could spend the morning cooking dinner. When she had the family at home, she went into overdrive with her preparations. She spoke the love language of food. First was a thick mushroom soup, followed by roast lamb with crispy roast potatoes, vegetables from the farm, and a sherry trifle to finish.
Aoife was ill at ease among her family, aware that she was hiding something hideous. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched them as they sat around the table, Sam teasing Sandy about boys and Kate and Mam indulging the aunts by listening to their childhood stories. Aoife knew that her silence had not gone unnoticed. Aware of her brother looking at her quizzically, she forced herself to focus on the conversation. The food was tasteless in her mouth but resolutely she chewed and swallowed to stop her mother from commenting on her poor appetite. She was so busy masticating that she missed a question directed at her. Several pairs of eyes were gazing at her expectantly.
‘Well?’ said her mother.
‘Sorry, Mam, I wasn’t listening. What did you say?’
‘Is Connor planning a trip here before the wedding?’
‘Eh, I’m not sure what his plans are. I know he’s eager to get his thesis completed before the wedding so maybe he won’t make it down.’
‘Perhaps he could bring his parents down. They’ve never been down to visit. I’d love to meet them again and you can show them the hotel where you’re holding the reception.’
‘I’m sure his mum and dad would love to come for a visit, but we will have to wait and see.’
Aunt Baby beamed at her. ‘Tell me again, Aoife, what your young man does for a living. I’m sure that you’ve told me before, but my head is like a sieve.’
There was an awkward silence. In the O’Driscoll clan, the idea of a man not having a proper job by the age of thirty was anathema.
‘He hasn’t got a job at the moment, Baby, but he’s hard at work completing his Master’s so he can provide for Aoife,’ said her mam hurriedly.
Baby, aware that she had made a faux pas but not sure how, smiled, and nodded dementedly.
Aoife snapped at her mother. ‘For God’s sake, I don’t need providing for! It’s not the 19th century, and Connor will get a job when the right one comes along.’
A strained silence followed which Clarissa broke by asking, ‘Sam, I’m sure you’re very busy with the farm? I’m so glad you have some help at last. Your mother tells me that you have a young man helping. I’m so pleased as farming is hard work. I well remember Manus always coming in exhausted from a day of toil in the fields.’
Agnes, relieved to have a change in conversation, said, ‘Yes, Karol is a lovely young man. We’re lucky to get him. He’s over here from Poland and he has the most beautiful manners, and his English is first-rate.’
Sam nodded his agreement.
‘By the way, Agnes, where’s Nell?’ said Clarissa. ‘I haven’t seen her since I arrived. I must give her a wee treat.’
Aoife tensed as she waited for someone to answer.
‘She’s dead,’ Sam said, rolling his napkin into a tight ball and dropping it on his plate. ‘She went missing on Friday and I found her in the barn on Saturday morning. She crawled in to die.’
‘Oh Sam, I’m so sorry! I know you were fond of her.’ Clarissa squeezed Sam’s hand.
Baby, afraid of being left out, burbled, ‘Aww, the lovely wee dog! She was such a gentle creature. Imagine her dying this weekend when we are gathered to remember poor Manus! I’m sure she’ll be sorely missed.’
Emma raised her eyebrows heavenward. ‘Oh, do shut up, Baby, you never even liked the creature.’
Baby subsided sulkily, muttering beneath her breath.
‘Anyone for pudding?’ asked Agnes, keen to lighten the atmosphere.
Kate hurried off to help her dish up the dessert, and the conversation stayed on harmless topics for the rest of the meal.
After lunch, Sam went out to finish some work on the farm, and the girls left Agnes and the aunts in the living room with the Sunday papers.
They worked in silence. Kate cleared and wiped the table, Aoife loaded the dishwasher and they each busied themselves until the kitchen was restored to order. Then Kate sat down at the kitchen table and patted the chair next to her.
Aoife joined her.
‘Is there something troubling you, sis?’ Kate asked. ‘You’re awfully quiet?’
Sorely tempted as she was to blurt out her discovery, Aoife was unwilling to relinquish control. She needed time and space to think, to work out what to do.
‘No, there’s nothing wrong, Kate. I’m just stressed out about the wedding. You know how it is. There are so many decisions to make, and I suppose I’m getting fed up with the not-so-subtle criticism of Connor. I know Mam finds it hard to accept that he hasn’t a job, but he will get fixed up with something eventually.’
Kate patted her shoulder. ‘Mam just doesn’t believe that there is anyone good enough for you. But she’s very fond of Connor – we all are, and I know things will sort themselves out.’
‘Thanks, Kate, for listening to me moan. I know that you have troubles of your own. I hope Kenny will feel better soon.’
The sisters finished cleaning, and Kate joined her mother and aunts who were dozing in the living room.
Aoife called Connor, but once again all she got was voicemail. Frustrated, she headed outside, where she found Sandy and Colm throwing hoops in the yard. For a few minutes, she watched her niece and nephew, and then barged forward and snatched the ball from Sandy. She aimed for the hoop and missed amid cries of derision from her niece. They messed about for half an hour until Mam called them to say goodbye to the aunts.
The three sisters were heading back to town to the small holiday home owned by Emma where the three sisters stayed when they were visiting. Clarissa was driving, so Emma called seniority and ensconced herself in the front seat, much to Baby’s annoyance, and they were waved off.
Aoife glanced at her watch. ‘I’m going to have to head soon, Mam. It’s a long drive back and I have some prep to do for classes on Monday.’
‘I’m going to miss you when you go, love. But I would rather you leave while it’s still bright. I worry about you driving in the dark.’
Aoife fetched her things from the bedroom. She held the box and for a moment debated leaving it behind. Maybe she needed a bit of space from it, a bit of perspective. It unnerved her, but despite this she wanted it with her. Besides, the thought of her mam finding it terrified her. Again, she wondered if she should tell Kate and Sam about it. Shaking her head, frustrated and indecisive, she stuffed it into her bag.
When she went downstairs, Sam was back. She hugged him, kissed her mother and sister, and drove off to a chorus of ‘Safe home!’
The journey back to Dublin was uneventful. She blasted music out all the way to distract her and it worked. As she drove through the city, her longing to see Connor increased. She couldn’t wait to talk things over with him.
It was dark when she pulled up outside the flat they shared in Rathmines, the interior lit up like a department store. She was tired of telling Connor to switch off the bloody lights. He had no regard for either the environment or the waste of money in leaving lights burning throughout the flat. It annoyed her when he made her feel like such a nag. But it was good to be back with him again, and they still had the rest of the evening together.
Connor lay stretched out on the sofa with headphones on, listening to music, eyes closed, oblivious to her arrival. His long skinny frame was relaxed. He hadn’t shaved since she had left, and his stubble scratched her skin as she brushed his lips with hers. His eyes flew open, and she melted a little as he smiled up at her. He was a study in brown: eyes, hair, and skin were all shades from the rich chocolate-brown of his hair to the intense liquid toffee colour of his eyes to the light golden brown of his skin. God, she had it bad!
‘Hello, pet, it’s good to see you.’ He pulled her down for a strong welcoming kiss.
‘I may never go away again if that’s the welcome home I get,’ she said with a giggle as she came up for air.
‘Good! As I plan to tie you up rather than let you head off to the sticks again,’ he said, laughing. ‘Are you hungry, love? I have nothing cooked, but we could ring for a pizza. What do you think?’
She nodded. ‘I am peckish although Mam did one of her usual slap-up Sunday dinners. I think I could manage a slice of pepperoni or two. Mam sent up lots of leftovers from the weekend, so we’re set for the week.’
While he was ordering the food, she put the leftovers in the fridge and dumped her bag in the bedroom. It was a mess. Usually, when she was here, she could by dint of nagging keep some check on Connor’s untidiness, but in her absence he had free rein. Sighing, she lifted dirty clothes off the floor and remade the bed. She sorted out her bag and put the box under the bed. After a quick shower, she pulled on a nightshirt.
The pizza had arrived, and Connor opened a bottle of red wine. She turned on the gas fire and they sat on the sofa and ate their food from the box and sipped wine. Lying back on Connor’s shoulder, she savoured the pleasure of being back in Dublin. Suddenly the events of the weekend seemed like some insane dream. The box and that appalling notebook were just a silly game someone started a long time ago. Perhaps her dad had needed an outlet to the pressures he was under, and certainly his mother seemed a complete bitch. She pitied him for the life he must have had alone with her on the farm. Work, duty, and fear of God were harsh nourishment for a child to endure. It was no wonder that he used words as an outlet for the loneliness he faced. Perhaps there were other tin boxes with violent accounts of killings he wrote as a child. It was just a way for him to deal with stuff – like the stress of being a father. For a few peaceful moments, she convinced herself that was what the notebook was – a release, pure fantasy. But nagging thoughts intruded. What did the trinkets represent? Who did they belong to? Why the need to describe killing a young girl? It was creepy, to say the least.
She must have sighed because Connor looked at her with concern,
‘What’s up, pet, why so sad?’
Should she tell him? She felt tempted but then hesitated. Once she spoke about this, it would be out of her control, and it also felt like a betrayal of her father. It would be awful if Connor read the diary and concluded that her father was some kind of monster. Mind you, what other conclusion could he reach? Perhaps he would insist she did something about it – report it or show it to her mother? The idea of showing it to her mam horrified her.
So instead she shook her head and told him about Nell. She felt abashed as Connor was so sympathetic. He was fond of the old dog too and said he’d ring Agnes tomorrow and offer his sympathy to her and Sam. Listening to his concern for her family, she reflected that kindness was one of his nicest qualities. If only he would sort himself out career-wise.
