by Rachel Ryan
“I always thought he was a softie underneath,” she said. “The way he talks about his granddaughter…”
She trailed off. Something had occurred to her. Something she’d never realized before.
“Have you ever actually seen Lily?” she asked Bren.
“Who?”
“Lily, Anthony’s granddaughter!” she said impatiently. “The one he talks about all the time. I’ve never seen her. She never comes to visit him at the house. Come to think of it, have you ever seen any visitor at Anthony’s house?”
“I guess I haven’t,” said Bren slowly.
“That’s weird, isn’t it?” Georgina’s skin was prickling.
Then she saw Bren’s expression.
“Oh, come on!” she said. “You’ve got to admit that it’s odd.”
Bren removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Being eccentric isn’t a crime, Georgie,” he said. “Neither is being lonely.”
“I never said—” She felt wrong-footed. “I just want to know what he’s lying about.”
“If you wanted me to make a legitimate guess? I’d say anyone burying stuff in their back garden at night is holding drugs for someone. Or dodgy cash.”
“Come on, Bren, at his age?”
“Okay, then.” Bren put his glasses back on and looked at her. “Maybe Anthony was gardening in the dark. Maybe he’s barking mad. I don’t know what the neighbors are doing with their lives, Georgina, but I do know this: it has nothing to do with Cody’s imaginary game. Nothing.”
So he did know what she was thinking.
Abandoning all pretense, she said: “How can you know that, though?”
“I just do. How can you possibly think—”
Bren broke off. When he spoke again, his voice was more controlled. “Look, Georgie. I know you’ve been having a… difficult time.”
She couldn’t help but laugh coldly. “And whose fault is that?”
He looked miserable. “I know I’ve added to it, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied about what me and Emma—”
Her stomach turned over. “Don’t.”
“—about what we did that night,” he persisted, “and I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know that any of it happened in the first place. I fucked up. But I love you, Georgie, and right now, I’m worried about you.” He took a deep breath. “This is going to sound patronizing, but I have to say it. You’re not thinking straight. You’re grieving, you’re stressed, you’re sleep-deprived…”
“So?” She was struggling to keep up. She wished he hadn’t said Emma’s name.
“So,” Bren said, “maybe Anthony didn’t lie.”
Georgina blinked, thrown.
“Maybe you didn’t see what you thought you saw. It was dark, you only saw him for a second…”
What? “No. I saw him. Behind the shed, digging.”
“How could you see him if he was behind the shed?”
“Because of the angle,” she said indignantly. “Go up to the bathroom and look for yourself. We can see behind Anthony’s shed—not the ground, but if there’s someone standing—”
“Georgina,” he cut her off, “you haven’t slept properly in weeks. Do you know what lack of sleep does to the human brain?”
Georgina was silent, and Bren continued in earnest psychology-graduate mode. “Sleep deprivation is serious. It impairs mental function. It can cause hallucinations.”
She shook her head. “I saw Anthony digging in his garden in the middle of the night, I know I did, and he lied about it.”
“Georgie,” said Bren, in his gentlest voice, “you know yourself how the mind can play tricks. I mean, you’ve had problems before with—”
She flinched. “This is nothing like that!”
The shadows. The clock. The stuffed toy.
How could Bren use that against her now?
“I’m not saying it’s the same. All I’m saying is, why not go to Better Steps and have a chat with— Georgina. Wait!”
But she was walking out of the room. She closed the door hard behind her.
Hallucinations…
Maybe you didn’t see what you thought you saw…
No, Georgina thought fiercely.
She knew what she had seen.
Didn’t she?
Chapter 18
The following morning, Georgina slipped into Cody’s bedroom while he and Bren were downstairs having breakfast. From there she peered into Anthony’s garden, hoping for a glimpse of the freshly dug earth that would prove Anthony had been lying. But the ground behind the shed wasn’t visible. Just as from the bathroom window, while she’d been able to see someone standing there, she couldn’t see the soil.
Craning her neck made no difference. Neither did standing on tiptoe or pressing her face against the window. All she achieved was the circle of fog her breath made on the glass.
Maybe you didn’t see what you thought you saw…
“Mom!” Cody’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Are you awake? Do you know where my shoes are?”
Georgina hurried out onto the landing. Cody was standing there.
“What were you doing in my room?”
“Looking for your shoes, silly,” Georgina said smoothly. “Let’s check downstairs, shall we?”
Bren had spent the past two nights on the sofa in the front room, waking early to ensure his makeshift bed was tidied away before Cody could see it. When they went downstairs, both front room and kitchen were spotless. “I made you breakfast,” Bren announced. A plate of scrambled eggs sat obsequiously on the table. The sight made Georgina feel a sudden, huge rage, coupled with the urge to do something completely unlike herself, like fling the plate of eggs across the room. Why not? Other people smashed things when their spouses were unfaithful. She saw it on TV.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
Cody ate the scrambled eggs. It was Saturday, and Bren was bringing him to the Phoenix Park. Georgina had work. She grabbed a banana before she left, kissed Cody on the head, and said goodbye to Bren without looking at him.
The bookshop was quiet that day, leaving Georgina to occupy time with her fragmented thoughts. Her brain kept replaying the moment Bren had said “me and Emma…” That had hurt. Hearing their names linked together like that.
“Excuse me,” asked a customer politely, “do you have any good mysteries?”
Georgina led him to the right section, her mind far-off, obsessing over her own mystery. Anthony digging behind his shed in the dark. His gruff denial: “Dunno what you’re talking about.”
Why was he lying?
She drove home in a state of distraction, car horns blaring as she failed to notice a light turn green. When she arrived at the house, it was empty. Dark and quiet. She checked her phone. A message informed her that Bren and Cody had gone to the grocery store. They’d just left.
Georgina walked out to the back garden. It was another cold, clear night. Her breath turned to mist on the air. There was a single star visible in the evening sky.
At Vera’s, all the lights were on. The muffled sound of some radio talk show floated in from the kitchen.
There were no lights on in Anthony’s house.
She drifted across to the wall that separated her garden from Anthony’s, moving casually, in case somebody was watching. Not that she thought anyone was, but—just in case. She shot a furtive glance up at Anthony’s house, trying to shake the feeling that those windows were watchful eyes. They were glass, just glass.
When she reached the wall, Georgina leaned against it—trying, and failing, to look nonchalant—and peered over at the earth behind Anthony’s shed.
However, the area by the shed was where Anthony kept his garbage cans. They blocked her view of the ground.
Abandoning her casual act completely, she stepped up on a flowerpot and stuck her head over the wall.
But those damn garbage cans! They completely obscured her view.
Georgina thought about w
hat she was going to do for only a second before she did it. Any further consideration would have caused her to lose her nerve.
She swung a leg up, vaulted over the wall, and landed with a thud in Anthony’s garden.
As her feet hit the concrete, Georgina could barely believe what she was doing. But thudding in her ears, along with her heartbeat, was a pulse of determination.
Deluded, was she? Imagining things?
With footsteps soft as cats’ paws, she crept around the garbage cans, throwing a frightened glance at Anthony’s back door.
Imagine if Bren could see this, some wry part of her mind observed. You really do look like you’ve lost it now. She fought a ludicrous urge to burst into nervous giggles.
Then she stepped around the cans and looked down at the ground, and the desire to laugh completely died.
Behind the shed was a small, square patch of freshly turned earth.
Georgina stared down at it. Images raced through her mind. Stick-figure drawings. Golden wrappers. Broken pots.
Buried right there was the final puzzle piece. She was sure of it.
For a moment, the urge to sneak into Anthony’s shed, grab a shovel, and start digging was so strong she had to struggle to contain it.
That really would be crazy.
Her heart was racing. She was so close.
Don’t be insane. Go back. Now.
Her sensible side won. Quietly, she crept from behind the shed and towards the wall.
At that moment, a light came on in Anthony’s kitchen, illuminating the garden.
Georgina ducked back behind the shed, blood thumping wildly.
Had he seen her?
Motionless in the dark, she counted slowly to ten. Nothing further happened. She counted to ten again. Still, Anthony didn’t come outside. She must be safe.
But how was she going to get through that patch of light and into her own garden without being seen?
Just as she was considering this dilemma, she heard Anthony’s back door open with a slight squeak.
Her heart stopped. Or at least that was how it felt; it seemed to actually falter and pause in her chest before thudding against her breastbone with extra strength on the next beat.
She heard Anthony’s footsteps cross the concrete.
He knows you’re here.
He was just feet away from her. He was moving around the shed.
She had seconds left. She could try to scramble over the wall into the next garden and call for help…
But instead she stood there, immobile, as if she were watching her life from the outside.
It wasn’t just that she was paralyzed with fear. She needed to know what would happen next. She needed answers.
Anthony stepped around the corner. He was gripping a shovel with both hands like a baseball bat. How had she never noticed before just how stocky Anthony was, how powerfully built?
And now he was standing in front of her, holding a shovel, and there was nowhere to run.
Chapter 19
“Georgina?”
Anthony took a step forward and Georgina cringed back against the wall. He followed her frightened gaze to the shovel in his hands and lowered it apologetically.
“I thought you were a burglar.” He was wearing old gray tracksuit bottoms, a creased T-shirt, no shoes, and an expression of utter confusion. “Jaysis, Georgina, what’re you doing?”
He was now holding the shovel rather awkwardly, as if unsure what to do with it. He moved it to his left hand and stretched out his right to Georgina, who was still cowering against the wall.
But Georgina didn’t take it. She wouldn’t be lulled into a false sense of security. Anthony had lied.
She straightened up by herself.
Anthony withdrew his hand, looking more baffled than ever.
“Are you all right, Georgina?” he asked, very gently. “Do you need help?”
He had no idea what she was doing, she realized. His gaze did not flicker guiltily to the patch of dug-up earth. Whatever was buried there, whatever he’d lied about, it was nothing to do with her and Cody.
On the heels of that realization, several questions hit her like punches.
What was she doing? Why had she climbed into Anthony’s garden? Was Bren right? Was she losing her mind?
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said weakly. “I don’t…”
She trailed off. Anthony stared at her, obviously at a bit of a loss. Then he made a sort of helpless gesture with the hand that wasn’t holding the shovel and said, “Should we keep standing here like a pair of eejits, or d’you want to come inside for a cup of tea?”
* * *
Minutes later, she found herself at Anthony’s kitchen table while the kettle boiled.
“D’you take sugar, Georgina?” asked Anthony, busying himself with tea bags. He had stepped into a pair of tartan slippers.
“No, thanks,” said Georgina, slightly dazed. If someone had told her, half an hour ago, that she would end up sitting here…
Anthony’s home was the tidy, self-contained space of a person living alone. There was one of everything: one neat place set at the table, one mug and saucer drying by the sink. Standing against the wall was an empty rabbit hutch.
Anthony put a cup of milky tea down in front of her. Georgina, who had accepted the offer only to lend this encounter some semblance of normality, thanked him and pretended to sip it.
He sat down across from her. “D’you want to tell me what’s going on, Georgina?”
There was such kindness in his voice that a lump rose in Georgina’s throat.
“Can I ask you something first?” she said, relieved her voice didn’t crack.
“Go on.”
“Why did you lie to me about being out in the garden the other night?”
Anthony looked sheepish.
“Is that what all this is about?” He rubbed his face and sighed. “It’s stupid, Georgina. I was embarrassed. It’s—” He paused. “Remember I was telling you about the rabbit I bought for my granddaughter?”
“The one that ended up living with you.” Georgina remembered. What has the rabbit got to do with any of this?
“Well, I kind of got used to her,” Anthony went on. “I didn’t realize rabbits had so much personality. She’d follow me around the house, and when she wanted attention, she’d stamp her back legs, like this…” He made a thump-thump-thump with his hand against the table. “I always thought rabbits were stupid, but Cupcake—”
“Cupcake?” Georgina repeated before she could stop herself.
“Well, Lily picked the name, didn’t she? I wasn’t planning on keeping her. I thought I’d bring her back to the pet shop, but then I started thinking. What if she ended up with some kid who didn’t look after her, forgot to feed her? I couldn’t let that happen. So Cupcake stayed here with me. She’d sit on my lap when I was watching telly, like a cat. I didn’t know rabbits did that.”
He looked sadly at the empty hutch, and Georgina could see where this story was going.
“Maybe I should’ve called a vet. She seemed a bit quiet that day, but I didn’t think much of it. I went to the pub, and when I got back, she was lying dead on the straw.
“I felt terrible. Dunno what I did wrong. I didn’t want to leave her lying there, so I brought her out the back and buried her. I’d had a few drinks, like I said, and it just seemed like the decent thing to do.”
He gave the empty hutch another sad glance. “I’ll have to make a story up for Lily next time I see her. Cupcake went to live on a farm, or something.”
Georgina’s mind had gone blank. His rabbit. When Bren heard about this…
But of course, she couldn’t tell Bren any of this.
“So,” said Anthony. He was watching her intently. “Now. D’you want to tell me what you were doing in my garden?”
Georgina looked down at the table. “I know it sounds mental, but I needed to know what you were burying.”
“I’m not going
to lie, Georgina,” said Anthony, kindly but bluntly, “that does sound pretty mental. Been watching too many crime shows, have you?”
He was watching her closely, but Georgina couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She stared instead at the faded tattoos on his arms, blurred lines of ink bleeding together. “Anthony, I’m sorry. I’ve been under a lot of stress…”
How to explain Cody’s game? Or Bren and Emma?
She settled for: “I’ve been having personal problems. And I think—I think some of it might be happening inside my head. Some of it is very much in the real world, but…” She broke off and kneaded her temple with her fingertips. “My husband thinks I should go and talk to someone.”
Anthony nodded. “A head doctor? That could be a good idea.” But his pale blue eyes were shrewd. “What, d’you not want to?”
“Well…” Georgina hesitated. “Going to a doctor means admitting something’s wrong, doesn’t it? I’ve had episodes in the past where my mental health got bad. Like, very bad. I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to admit it might be happening again.”
The words came out in a rush. She hadn’t admitted that to herself yet, let alone anyone else. She felt embarrassed then, but Anthony’s face was kind and listening.
“In my day,” he said, “if you lost your marbles or you just couldn’t manage, you’d go talk to a priest. I still go to confession sometimes, myself. I always feel better after. Sort of… clearer, after getting everything off my chest. I can’t imagine my life without that.” Anthony’s expression was earnest. “I know it’s not what young people do nowadays, going to priests. And I know the church has done some terrible things in this country, but maybe talking to a doctor helps in the same sort of way. The best thing to do if you need help, love, is just to ask for it.”
They sat for a while in companionable silence. Anthony, with his tattooed arms and his tartan slippers, drinking his tea like this was a perfectly normal social situation.
Presently, Georgina said: “Can I ask you something else, Anthony?”
He nodded.
“Your granddaughter, Lily? Could I see a photo of her?”
Anthony’s blue eyes brightened. He passed her his phone, open on a photo of a beautiful child with a massive grin and hair bunched into two pigtails.