The Women Who Ran Away: Will their secrets follow them?

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  ‘There’s certainly a monastery,’ said Grace. ‘But I don’t know if he’s linked to it in any way. Or if it has anything to do with a convent.’

  ‘Perhaps Iñez and Julia were done for hopping over the convent wall and fraternising with the monks.’ Deira grinned.

  Grace raised an eyebrow. ‘I hope that wasn’t what led to their demise.’

  ‘I hope so too. Anyhow,’ continued Deira, ‘I know we have to figure out the nuns bit, but overall I think the clues are getting easier.’

  ‘You do?’ Grace looked doubtful. ‘We nearly didn’t get Pamplona, even though Ken said it was easy.’

  ‘But we did,’ said Deira. ‘And we didn’t need all those guesses. We’re a good team.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’

  ‘No doubt about it.’

  ‘Like I said before, it’s about four hours to Alcalá de Henares, allowing for a stop.’ Grace studied Google Maps. ‘Pretty direct, though.’

  ‘And after that, no more than an hour to Toledo,’ observed Deira.

  ‘And then about three and a half hours to Granada.’ Grace added it as a destination and followed up with the address of her apartment, a further three and a half hours away.

  ‘You know, we’re doing so well on the clues, we could probably finish it all in a couple of days,’ said Deira. ‘Then you could get to your apartment quicker.’

  ‘But we wouldn’t get to explore the various cities,’ said Grace. ‘Ken and I talked a lot about travelling through Spain and staying in out-of-the-way places. I guess this is partly his way of making me do it.’

  ‘To be fair, none of these places is particularly out of the way,’ said Deira.

  ‘Well, no,’ agreed Grace.

  ‘Though we could add a more secluded destination if you like.’ The thought had been in her mind ever since Charlie had given her the business card.

  ‘Where?’

  Deira took the card out of her bag. ‘It’s somewhere between Granada and Cartagena,’ she said. ‘En route, so to speak.’

  ‘How do you know it?’ asked Grace.

  Deira cleared her throat. ‘That guy, Charlie, gave it to me. He said it was worth a visit.’

  Grace’s glance flickered from the card to Deira and back again.

  ‘Will he be there?’

  ‘He plans to interview the owners, though I don’t know exactly when. Probably not for ages,’ she added.

  ‘Is there something going on between you two?’ Grace put the card down. She didn’t look at Deira as she typed the address into Google Maps. ‘Did something happen last night?’

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Deira a little too forcefully. ‘He was a nice, agreeable kind of man and this place sounded interesting. I thought it might be fun to visit.’

  ‘And that’s it?’

  ‘Seriously, Grace. There’s nothing between us,’ said Deira, even as she clamped down on her visions of having sex with Charlie Mulholland. ‘He seems to be very close to his ex-wife.’

  ‘I’m sure that wouldn’t stop him sleeping with you if that’s what you wanted. Do you?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ Deira felt herself blush.

  ‘It’s not an unreasonable question given your circumstances. Given what you’ve already told me.’

  Deira could hear disapproval in every word. ‘I . . . It was an idea. That’s all.’

  ‘Ken’s itinerary doesn’t allow us time for heading off into the mountains, which is where this place is.’ Grace turned the laptop towards her.

  ‘I’ve no problem sticking with the itinerary.’ Deira’s glance at the map was fleeting as she stood up. ‘We’d better get on our way, don’t you think? I still have to check out of my hotel.’

  ‘Deira—’

  ‘It’s fine. Everything’s fine,’ said Deira. ‘I’ll see you back here in half an hour or so.’

  She left the room without waiting for a response.

  When Deira returned nearly forty minutes later, Grace was standing by her car, which was parked outside the hotel. Grace opened the boot and Deira stowed her bag before getting into the passenger seat. Almost immediately, Grace started the engine and moved away.

  ‘Did I delay you?’ asked Deira.

  ‘No,’ replied Grace. ‘It’s just that they expect you to go as soon as they bring the car from the car park.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  But there was a problem, thought Deira, because she could feel a tension in the air between them, an atmosphere in which it would be easy to say the wrong thing. Or, to be accurate, more of the wrong thing, because she’d started it by suggesting the additional stop, and Grace was perfectly correct in thinking that her only reason to go to the quaintly named El Pozo de la Señora was to see Charlie Mulholland again. Because if he’d suggested it, surely it meant he was interested in her and might want to sleep with her – and if that was the case . . . Well, why shouldn’t she take advantage of it? And what business was it of Grace’s anyhow? There was no need for her to get judgemental about it. Deira was fed up with people judging her. She was fed up with Grace too, and her serene way of going through life as though nothing, even the horrible circumstances of her husband’s death, truly touched her.

  She glanced across at the older woman, but Grace’s eyes were fixed firmly on the road ahead. They were journeying together but they were very different people, thought Deira. And although they’d got along perfectly well until now, they might have reached the end of the road with each other. She wondered if she could abandon Grace in Alcalá de Henares. The town wasn’t that far from Madrid, and there must be some kind of public transport to the capital. She could get a flight home from there and leave the other woman to her own devices. But that way she’d be passing on the opportunity to sleep with Charlie. Not that the opportunity actually existed, because, of course, Grace wasn’t going to divert to the mountain village and she wasn’t going to give Deira the chance of getting pregnant by a man she hardly knew. No matter what, Grace was a woman who’d been brought up in a different age to Deira. Her values were different too.

  Deira nibbled the tip of her nail and wondered what her own values were right now. Was it right to want to sleep with someone – anyone – simply to get pregnant? She’d never have thought so before. But personal circumstances changed everything. Even your most deeply held beliefs.

  She’d thought her life was sorted. That she had everything she wanted. Now she realised it had simply been a fantasy. And yet, she reminded herself, when I was with Gavin, I did have everything I wanted. I had a career and a nice home and a man I loved. As for the baby . . . well, maybe he was right that it wouldn’t have worked for us as a couple. Maybe I was fooling myself in thinking that it would have been fine. Maybe the only way I was ever going to have a child was to meet someone else. Gavin was prepared to make it work with Afton. But not with me.

  She glanced at Grace again and saw something in her set expression that reminded her of Gillian whenever her older sister was annoyed with her about something. Is it me? she asked herself. Am I the common denominator in everyone’s problems? Am I the one who needs to take a long, hard look at herself?

  She felt the vibration of her phone buzzing in her bag and took a deep breath. The buzz was a text and not a call. She dug the phone out of the bag and looked at the notification.

  Gavin Boyer.

  He’d texted her.

  Finally.

  She took a deep breath and opened the message.

  What’s the name of our car insurance company?

  That was it. No ‘hello’, no ‘please’ or ‘thanks’. Just a question. And he needed to ask it because she was the one who looked after all the domestic things. The car insurance. The house insurance. The property tax. The utility bills. The cleaner. She did it all, and he didn’t know where any of the policies or paperwork was.

  It only struck her now how confusing it could have been if he had known the insurers’ details and had call
ed them to report the missing car while the company was processing a claim for it having been burnt out in France. They’d think it was some elaborate hoax or scam. She laughed to herself, although it wasn’t really an amused laugh. It was more of a relief of the tension she’d been carrying around inside. More of a realisation that the chickens had finally come home to roost.

  Call me, she replied.

  Tell me the name of the company ffs.

  She thought for a moment. Should she call him anyhow? Keep calling till he picked up? So that she could explain it to him properly. Texting was so impersonal. A text wouldn’t make him understand what had motivated her to take the car in the first place. But, she thought, even if she spoke to him, he wouldn’t understand. So what good would talking do? It hadn’t worked before; why should it now? Anyhow, people didn’t talk any more. Bex’s generation hated the faff of actually speaking on the phone. All their communication was by text. Most of it consisted almost entirely of emojis.

  Do you want to report the car stolen? she typed.

  Why? The response was almost immediate.

  Because it hasn’t been.

  And you know that because?

  I had it.

  Had? Have? Where is it now?

  I took the ferry to France and brought it with me, she typed. We were supposed to be on holiday now, remember?

  You had no right to do that.

  Well, I did.

  For fuck’s sake, Deira. I need the car. There could be an emergency.

  I’m sure lots of people have emergencies but don’t have cars.

  Don’t get smart with me.

  Just saying.

  When were we supposed to be back?

  The trip was for three weeks.

  You’re some piece of work, you know that.

  Indeed. But you’ll need to make alternative arrangements for the next few weeks anyhow.

  Why?

  I don’t have the car any more.

  Was it stolen!!!!!!!!

  Deira laughed out loud at the exclamation marks. Grace glanced at her and broke the almost hour-long silence.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘It’s Gavin,’ said Deira. ‘And it’s getting to the crunch moment. My next message will tell all.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Deira’s fingers flew over the keypad as she explained what had happened. A minute later, the phone rang.

  He’d called her. He was the one who’d cracked.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, ignoring the fact that her heart was beating faster.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he demanded. ‘A fire? What sort of fire?’

  She told him.

  ‘You allowed my car – mine, Deira, the only thing I took with me – you allowed it to burn? Or did you set fire to it yourself?’ His voice was shaking with rage.

  ‘Of course I didn’t set fire to it,’ she said. ‘It was an accident. I’ve dealt with it. I’ve spoken to the insurance company. There’ll be a payout. I have to send back some forms.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you,’ he said.

  ‘What part?’

  ‘Oh, I believe that the car is destroyed.’ His voice was still shaking. ‘I believe that all right. What I find hard to believe is that you had nothing to do with it. And that you had the bare-faced cheek to steal the car in the first place. You know it’s important to me.’

  ‘Yeah, well, things that were important to me haven’t worried you too much over the last few months, have they?’

  ‘Is that what this is about? Some kind of revenge fantasy?’

  ‘If I wanted my revenge on you, I’d think of something better than torching the car,’ she said. Although she wondered what better scheme she could have come up with. And then she asked herself if he was right anyway. She’d seen coming to France with the car as some kind of therapy for her, but had it really been a kind of revenge on him?

  ‘I’m reporting you to the Gardaí,’ he said. ‘The car is registered in my name. You’re nothing more than a common thief.’

  She’d thought the same herself when she’d first taken it. But not now.

  ‘The car was a shared asset,’ she said. ‘And it was sitting in the car park even though it was booked to go to France.’

  ‘The car didn’t know it was going to France!’ cried Gavin.

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps not. You always referred to it as “her”,’ she reminded him. ‘You used to call it Lucy, after the song.’

  ‘I never thought . . . For God’s sake, I can’t believe you’ve lured me into this deranged conversation,’ said Gavin. ‘Bottom line, I’m calling the police.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ she said. ‘If you do, I’ll tell them you were loitering outside the house.’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘You were seen. Yesterday. Outside the house. Loitering.’

  ‘I’m perfectly entitled to be outside my own house.’

  ‘Well, I’m entitled to take my own car.’

  ‘But it’s not your car, it’s mine.’

  ‘In that case, it’s not your house, it’s mine.’

  ‘How would you feel if I torched it?’ demanded Gavin.

  ‘The house? You wouldn’t. That’d be arson. And you’d go to prison for it. How would the lovely Afton manage then?’

  ‘You’re a crazy bitch, Deira O’Brien. My mates told me to watch out for you, that you’d try to get back at me. I didn’t believe them. Now I know they were right. You haven’t heard the last of this.’

  He ended the call.

  Deira exhaled slowly and dropped the phone back into her bag.

  Grace indicated and took the slip road to the service station half a kilometre ahead. She pulled into a parking space, shaded from the sun.

  ‘You OK?’ Her voice was warmer than before.

  Deira nodded, and then started to cry. She didn’t know why she was crying, but she buried her face in her hands while she sobbed. Grace watched her for a minute, then put her arm around her shoulders and suggested they get a coffee.

  ‘Probably not a good idea.’ Deira sniffed a couple of times. ‘I don’t need to be caffeined up right now.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Grace. But she opened the car door and stepped outside.

  Deira did the same. A blast of warm air hit her and she felt herself relax slightly.

  ‘I’m guessing he’s not too thrilled about the car,’ said Grace as they walked to a wooden bench beneath a tall tree.

  ‘I don’t blame him,’ said Deira.

  ‘So what’s going to happen?’

  ‘Oh, he wants to report me to the police. I was worried about that when I first took it,’ Deira added, ‘but it’s not like they can do much about it now. And I’ll forward him the insurance money when it comes through. So he’s pretty much wasting his time.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re seeing it in a practical way,’ said Grace.

  ‘I’m not practical at all,’ said Deira.

  ‘Of course you are,’ said Grace. ‘You’ve been practical all along. You took the car when he wasn’t there. You came away. You found me. I realise that was accidental,’ she added, ‘but I was a practical solution for you. You’ve been practical about helping me solve the clues. And you’re practical about the next moves you want to take. You saw that guy, Charlie, you assessed him, you want to make a diversion on our journey so that you can see him again—’

  ‘That’s not why,’ lied Deira again. ‘I thought it would be a nice thing to do.’

  ‘Oh, please,’ said Grace. ‘Give me credit.’

  ‘He might not even be there.’

  ‘But if he is?’

  ‘Look, we’re not going,’ Deira said. ‘I’m not making you do something you’re not comfortable with. I was thinking about all this, Grace. I can leave you after Alcalá de Henares. I can get a flight home.’

  ‘Is that what you’d like to do?’

  ‘It might be best.’

  ‘Whatever you want,’ said Grace.


  They sat in silence for a moment. Then Deira said that she needed to use the bathroom.

  ‘I’ll wait for you in the car,’ said Grace.

  Grace got back into the Lexus while Deira went into the service station.

  She was sorry that she’d annoyed the younger woman again, but in all honesty, she hadn’t been able to help herself. Even though she felt acutely sorry for her, she also thought that Deira’s attitude was completely wrong. Yes, her boyfriend had treated her appallingly, but that didn’t give her the right to treat other people equally badly. Which, as far as Grace could see, was how Deira was thinking about Charlie Mulholland. She wanted to use him, and that wasn’t right, but she simply didn’t care.

  Maybe realising that someone you thought had loved you had betrayed you did that to a person, mused Grace. She leaned her head against the window and wondered how Ken’s actions had changed her. If they had. Because even though she’d come away on her own, which was certainly a change, she didn’t feel very different inside. She was still angry with him. And yet she was also still proud of the life they’d had. Of the marriage they’d worked at. She was proud that they’d stayed together through all the ups and downs. But had that simply been inertia? she asked herself now. A desire not to rock the boat? Because they were happy enough together? Not setting the world alight, but getting along OK. Giving a secure family life to the children.

  If there hadn’t been children, would they have stayed together?

  The question lodged itself in her mind and wouldn’t go away. Had Ken stayed with her because of Aline, Fionn and Regan? Or because he loved her for herself?

  The day of his death came back to her, clearer than she’d ever recalled it before. The police car waiting outside her house when she arrived home. The two Garda officers stepping out to meet her, one male, one female, their faces composed into expressions of sympathy, so that she’d known, before they even spoke a word, that something terrible had happened.

  And the guilt that she’d carried with her since that day, because she might have provoked it. Because she’d gone out without him even though he’d asked her not to. But she’d wanted to meet Melissa for dinner and a catch-up. Melissa, who’d been one of her best friends in her cabin-crew days. Who’d married an American hedge-fund manager and moved to the States. Melissa, whom she hadn’t seen in over five years, had come to Dublin and asked to meet and Grace had wanted to go, even though Ken had asked her to stay home that night.