Guilty

by Siobhan MacDonald

  Siobhán MacDonald was born in the Republic of Ireland. She was raised in Cork where she learned to read and do joined-up writing, and in Limerick where she first had notions of becoming a writer.

  Siobhán studied engineering at University College Galway and had a successful career writing for the technology sector in Scotland and the south of France before returning to Ireland.

  Growing up in a large family, there was a premium attached to being able to spin a good yarn. Siobhán’s mother taught speech and drama and was a proficient storyteller – a talent she encouraged in all her children.

  After writing many short stories and scripts, Siobhán published her first novel, Twisted River, in 2016. She followed this up with her second novel, The Blue Pool. Twisted River won an AudioFile Earphones award in 2016 and The Blue Pool has been a top ten bestseller in the Kindle charts. Guilty is her first novel for Constable, Little, Brown.

  Siobhán lives in Limerick, where she is married with two sons.

  Also by Siobhán MacDonald

  Twisted River

  The Blue Pool

  Copyright

  Published by Constable

  First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Constable

  ISBN: 978-1-47213-412-7

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Siobhán MacDonald, 2020

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Constable

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Siobhán MacDonald

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Now

  Luke

  Classified

  A Few Months Earlier

  Doctors

  Sebastian

  Tanya

  Family Dinner

  A Proposal

  The Mask

  The Gathering

  Banished

  In the Beginning

  Raymond Grogan

  Ways and Means

  The Chosen One

  Pinky Promise

  A Time to Share

  White Bird Falling

  Haunted

  No Worst, There is None

  Diagnosis

  Daughters

  An Alternative Truth

  Now

  Crow Hall

  The Curse

  Breakfast at Tiffany’s

  A New Normal

  The Package

  My Lady’s Chamber

  The Doll

  Encampment

  Mafia

  Home Alone

  In Memoriam

  Personal Effects

  Fire

  Cameras

  Suspect Device

  Taken

  Breaking and Entering

  Out of Hours

  Now We Can Start

  The Boathouse

  Feel My Pain

  The Truth

  You’re a Doctor

  Goodbye, Sweet Daughter

  Family Tragedy

  Full Disclosure

  Myths and Truths

  Diggers

  Acknowledgements

  For Neil, Jamie and Alasdair.

  And for my parents, Pat and Catherine,

  who came before.

  Now

  Luke

  Saturday 13 April

  Something told Luke not to watch, to turn away, that he’d be sorry if he looked. But his eyes were drawn above him where he stood. A white flash seared overhead. It gathered mass and started falling. It tumbled, spinning ever downwards, ever brilliant against the darkening sky. In a drunken pirouette, it cast a spinning shadow as it fell towards the earth. Luke was in the creature’s path. He stepped aside just in time. There was a sickening thud as it hit the ground.

  The creature quivered, inches from him. It was mangled, its neck was broken and its blood-soaked feathers splayed as if reaching out. It blinked with a glazed eye and he shied back. The creature shuddered and gave a long, low, piteous moan.

  Luke bolted upright against his pillow convinced that he’d cried out.

  ‘Sophie …’

  The woman beside him was breathing gently, her long hair tousled, tired from the night before. Luke sat shaking, a cold sweat prickling his brow. He stared nervously into the dark, listening to the sound of the water lapping outside. It had been a while since the white bird called to see him.

  Last night’s shift was heavy going. The girl had been critical. According to her friend she’d taken some pills at a party. She was young – fifteen – three years younger than Nina. It had taken hours to get her stable. Everyone called him a hero.

  Wide awake, he sat and waited for the dawn. When light streaked the sky, he dressed quietly and slipped downstairs. Through the kitchen, out the heavy door and down the glass corridor to the boathouse. The air was damp and it was cold for April. His breath formed in ghostly clouds as he stepped into his boat. It felt good to be up and about.

  Checks complete, he steered the cruiser out into open water. Powering up the engine, he planed slowly through the waves before picking up speed. It was the first Saturday in a month he wasn’t on call. He’d left his mobile in the glove compartment of the car and his laptop in the boot. He was under orders.

  The sky was bruised and sullen, and rain was in the air. He’d head first for Carey’s Island then cruise across to Lisheen Bay before heading back to Kilbawn Pier. Out here, alone, Luke could think. He often thought about escaping, of floating off to somewhere safe. As he watched, a bank of trees sheared away from the pine-green stubble of the hillside down towards the lough. The rain had been relentless. Mudslides had closed roads all around Lough Carberry and the forecast warned of further flooding.

  The surface of the water wrinkled as the breeze picked up. On the northern hills, turbines were staked in the ground like giant white crucifixes, their long arms turning in the rain-soaked wind. In the distance, Luke saw folds of starlings swishing one over the other, dispersing then coming together in great bisecting arcs of flight.

  Something had disturbed these starlings. He scoured the hillside for a bird of prey. Luke’s days were driven by reason and logic. Birds of prey were driven by instinct and impulse alone. He envied their simplicity, the pureness of a kill to sate an appetite, not cursed by doubt or conscience. There were things in life he couldn’t control and Dr Black was helping him with those. There were also things he couldn’t accept. Things that lay between him and sleep. Things so dark no one would want to know.

  The wonder of the starlings lingered as he approached the house. Seeing his home from the water made him feel sad. It was a project he and Alison had worked on together. Locals had dubbed it the Glasshouse and the name had stuck. Three large cubes of flat-roofed, glass-panelled walls, off-set slightly from one another. They linked to the boathouse by a long glass corridor over the lawn. The house had won several design awards. That had made Alison happy. His wife liked beautiful things.

  But there was something else. Foreboding. As he looked out for the inlet marked by a rocky outcrop and an old bench, he sensed that something was out of place. He spotted what it was. Somethi
ng painted on the lough side of his boathouse. Drawing close, he made it out.

  Six white letters in fresh paint:

  G U I L T Y

  Classified

  Luke guided the cruiser into the boathouse and sat in the silence, trying to think. Low drifts of fog swirled across the water. It was the first time in a fortnight he’d been out on the lough. He checked his watch. Sophie would be up by now expecting him back. She was coming to his place most weekends now. He told himself not to worry, that she couldn’t have seen it. It was on the lough side, and couldn’t be seen from the house. He’d clean it later.

  He had to move. He couldn’t stay out here, shivering. Stepping off the boat and onto the steps, he grabbed the handrail. There were five steps clear of water instead of the usual eight or nine. He’d never seen the water as high. The result of all the rainfall, combined with run-off and the opening of sluice gates up the river. He stopped at the security camera by the door, and waved.

  ‘Hello,’ he mouthed and smiled. ‘I’m home.’

  It was a one-way system and he didn’t know if Sophie was even watching but he’d behave as if she was. Yanking the door open, he started to hum as he dragged his legs through the glass corridor on towards the house.

  OK, showtime.

  I’m a normal guy with a normal life.

  At the sound of footsteps in the kitchen, the dog raised his head.

  Luke bent to rub him. ‘What’s got into you, little man?’

  No reaction.

  ‘He’s jealous, pure and simple,’ said Sophie. ‘He doesn’t want to share you.’

  Sleepy-eyed, she handed Luke a coffee.

  ‘I dunno, he’s not the jealous type.’ He took the mug. ‘I’ll tell you one thing though. He’s not the same since giving up the fags.’

  Sophie laughed.

  ‘Can’t believe you used to smoke. A bad boy in your day?’

  He tapped the side of his nose and looked at the dog. ‘Hey pal, you’re going to have to straighten up. Cos if it’s a toss-up between yourself and this gorgeous woman …’ He turned to Sophie. ‘We’re together how long now?’

  ‘Two months and twelve days, to be exact.’

  ‘Really? You hear that, Duffy? So pull yourself together, because I’m hoping the lovely Sophie’s going to stick around.’

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her neck. She smelled warm and musky. He was trembling but she didn’t seem to notice. The animal watched them closely. Sophie pulled away and returned to the hob with a smile playing on her lips. Luke headed for the table.

  ‘The paper man buzzed a while ago,’ Sophie said.

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  He sat down.

  ‘Said this place was as far as he could go, that further up the road is flooded.’ She twisted the peppermill over the pan. ‘How bad is it out there?’

  She fetched two breakfast plates and, leaning over, she set them onto the table. She was wearing nothing under the white cotton nightdress – usually enough to get a reaction but right now Luke’s mind was elsewhere. Anyway, Sophie didn’t like it when he took the lead. That was her domain.

  ‘It’s like some enormous bog. Floods, muck, sludge, trees uprooted. I witnessed a mudslide right in front of my eyes … a whole bank of trees just ripping away. It’s a godawful mess. They’ll have to close more roads and as for driving, well, that’s going to be even more of a pain in the arse …’ He was speaking way too fast. His mind was racing.

  Sophie set the cafetière on the table. ‘Eggs all right?’

  He’d started without her, not out of hunger but keen to occupy his shaking hands.

  ‘Perfect. The dog’s bollocks, in fact.’ He cast an eye in Duffy’s direction. ‘Sorry, pal.’

  No reaction.

  ‘A pity about all the kids making first communion today.’ Sophie sat down. ‘Imagine, all those pretty white dresses in the wet.’ She looked up from her plate and across the table at him. ‘You OK? You seem a bit off.’

  ‘Fine.’ He held her gaze. ‘It was great to get out on the water. It’s been a while.’

  Her eyes stayed on him as she reached across the table for the paper.

  ‘You’re pale though.’ She peeled off the plastic covering. ‘Sleep all right?’

  ‘Tired, that’s all. It was rough in the ER yesterday. I didn’t want to bother you with it last night but we had a young girl in. For a while there we didn’t think she’d make it. Same age as Nina, more or less. But it worked out all right in the end.’

  ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she murmured.

  He was still getting used to being asked how he felt. Alison had never asked. He watched as Sophie opened the paper. She spread it across the table at the entertainment pages.

  ‘Jersey Boys is on up in Dublin.’ She fixed him with her soft brown eyes. ‘We should go. It got great reviews.’

  ‘So I believe,’ he said. ‘Some of the guys at the hospital have been. I’ll check my diary.’

  He’d spotted the ad for U2. He fancied that as well. Maybe he could swing it that they’d do both. The thing about Sophie was that she enjoyed entertainment for entertainment’s sake. Not like Alison. Not to fundraise. Not to lobby. Not to grease a palm.

  ‘Top up?’ She held the cafetière.

  ‘Please.’

  She came close to pour. This time Luke reached out and stroked her leg.

  She pushed his hand aside. ‘Chancer.’

  ‘Spoilsport.’ He pulled a face.

  Settling into his chair, he pulled the paper towards him. It was a treat to sit with the weekend papers and a cooked breakfast. If only he could relax. He started to turn the pages but it was impossible. His mind kept returning to the scrawl along the boathouse wall.

  Something in the paper caught his eye. He stiffened.

  ‘Luke, you all right? What’s the matter? Luke …?’

  He was staring. Sophie stood. He felt her eyes on him, watching as he read and re-read the classifieds, his finger pressing down hard on the paper. He angled the paper towards her, his finger drawing attention to one particular entry. He turned his gaze up to her.

  The private rooms of Professor Luke F. Forde (Paediatric Cardiothoracic Surgeon) will remain closed on Monday 15 April and Tuesday 16 April due to the tragic and untimely death of Nina Forde-Thompson, beloved only daughter of Professor Luke Forde and Government Minister Alison Forde-Thompson. May she rest in peace.

  Sophie was saying something but he couldn’t make it out. Her hand was squeezing his shoulder. He felt light-headed. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Sophie sat on the chair beside him and turned the page over. The listings were alphabetical. She traced her finger down through the death lists.

  There it was, again:

  Forde-Thompson, Nina, 18 years of age. 12 April. (The Glasshouse) Tragically and untimely. Only child of Professor Luke F. Forde and Government Minister Alison Forde-Thompson. To the inestimable grief of her parents and her loving grandfather Senator Cornelius Thompson. House private. Family cremation at a later date. Ashes to be scattered over Lough Carberry in County Clare. A bright star gone for ever. May she rest in peace.

  Luke looked at Sophie in horror.

  ‘Oh, God, no.’

  He jumped up from his chair and rushed to the hall, grabbing his car keys from the hall table.

  He had to get to his phone.

  A Few Months Earlier

  Doctors

  January

  ‘So then, Luke – you don’t mind if I call you Luke?’

  Luke shook his head. He just wanted to get this over with.

  ‘Better to dispense with titles, I always think.’ The guy was softly spoken. He pointed to a green upholstered armchair. ‘You were referred to me by your GP?’ The therapist was rustling through a sheaf of papers.

  ‘No.’ Luke sat down awkwardly. ‘I was given your card by … a friend.’

  ‘Ah, that explains it. I can’t see the referral and I like to keep my paperwork to
gether.’

  Not making a great job of that, thought Luke, as three more sheets floated off the desk. His secretary Fran, however, had recommended this guy and she didn’t recommend lightly. ‘Doctor Black’s good to talk to, so I hear,’ she’d said. ‘Helped my brother when he went through his marriage difficulties. Men are such rubbish at talking about their feelings.’

  Yet another article of faith, another incontrovertible fact from long-serving, officious Fran, gatekeeper to his consulting rooms, custodian of his business affairs. She had placed the business card on the filing cabinet. ‘One of those that left the priesthood,’ she’d said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Married now, so I believe.’ Fran was nothing if not thorough.

  The therapist abandoned his paperchase. ‘Right then, Luke, what would you like to talk about today?’ he asked, settling himself into the armchair opposite.

  So that’s how this was going to go? A series of open-ended questions when a few pertinent ones could put an end to all of this? Luke rubbed his chin. He contemplated making his excuses there and then, and leaving.

  ‘In your own time …’ Terence Black nudged a box of tissues in his direction.

  Did this guy think Luke was going to become emotionally incontinent on demand? He’d regretted coming as soon as he’d set foot in the waiting room. All those crappy photos of waves and mountains and Buddhist temples. He should have acted on instinct, finished his take-out coffee and crossword in the car, and driven off.

  ‘Would you like a glass of water?’ Terence asked.

  ‘No …’

  Luke was floundering, vainly trying to think of an excuse to get out of here.

  ‘Oh well, OK, maybe I will then …’

  Jesus. Why had he ever thought that this would help?

  ‘Don’t worry. It can be hard to start.’ Terence poured from a jug into a plastic cup and set the water in front of Luke.

  Luke checked his watch. ‘It’s just that I’m due back at two-thirty.’ He was doing a valve replacement that would be assisted by his senior registrars.

  ‘My fault. I was late,’ Terence apologised. ‘Look, a lot of the time, people come to see me because they feel that, for some reason, things are not quite right. Finding out the cause can be something of a … process.’ He drew quotation marks with his fingers.