Through an internet search, Dee found an archived story that mentioned the marriage of ‘entrepreneur Robert O’Brien to Ursula Doran’. Dee assumed Emer’s mother must have got her marriage annulled, and she wondered how much influence the ‘entrepreneur’ had been able to wield to make this happen.
Emer had also included links to some online articles about her stepfather. Reading about Robert O’Brien was fascinating. A local Ballincarraig boy who’d made his money in property and retail, he was now a prominent member of Ireland’s liberal-conservative Fine Gael party. He was also, according to several articles Dee read, widely considered to be the party’s next leader. If that happened, and Fine Gael won a future election, that would make Emer’s stepfather the most powerful man in the country.
Most of the articles highlighted the work Robert had done over the years with Ireland’s Travelling community. He ran an apprenticeship scheme, creating job opportunities for travellers they wouldn’t otherwise have. From everything Dee read, Robert O’Brien seemed that rare breed – a politician who actually cared about something other than himself.
There were also plenty of photos of Robert on the internet. In some, he was alone in the photo, but in most of them his wife was by his side. Several of the articles referred to O’Brien’s devotion to his wife. One of them had a direct quote where he described her as ‘the love of my life’.
Zooming in on the photos, Dee could see that Emer’s mother was a striking woman. She remembered Emer saying she took after her mother’s side of the family, but looking at this photo Dee couldn’t see the resemblance. Instead, she was struck by how much Ursula O’Brien resembled the woman Emer thought could be Kitty. No wonder poor Emer thought that, Dee reflected, looking at the photo of Ursula O’Brien, taken with her husband at some society event in Dublin.
When she’d finished reading about Robert and Ursula, Dee looked at what Emer had written about Lucy Ryan’s family. According to Emer, Lucy’s parents never recovered from what happened to them. The family had owned a hotel in Ballincarraig, but they’d sold this and moved to a different town in the years following Lucy’s disappearance. During the initial Guards investigation, Lucy’s father had been repeatedly questioned about his daughter. Emer said the family had no choice, in the end, but to leave town.
Niall had nothing to do with what happened to Lucy, Emer had written. But there were so many rumours, so much gossip, the family couldn’t cope. They sold the hotel and moved away. It was so sad.
Dee knew that parents were often the main suspects in cases like this. If Lucy’s parents really didn’t have anything to do with their daughter’s disappearance, she imagined the endless suspicion and scrutiny would be unbearable. Reading up on the case now, she could see how the press had become more balanced over time. She couldn’t find anything in the later stories that implied the parents were involved in their daughter’s disappearance. Unlike the earlier stories, printed in the weeks following Lucy’s disappearance, where almost every article Dee read implied Niall Ryan had killed his daughter and disposed of her body.
A journalist called Shay Flaherty had written extensively about Lucy’s disappearance. Unlike everyone else, Flaherty had professed Niall Ryan’s innocence from the start. From what Dee had found online, Shay Flaherty was also the only journalist who’d put forward a theory that there might be a link between Lucy’s disappearance and what happened to Kitty.
Back in 1997, when Lucy Ryan disappeared, Shay Flaherty was a journalist on a local newspaper called the Connacht Tribune. But when Dee looked him up on the internet, she saw he was now working for one of the country’s national newspapers, the Irish Times. His contact details were on the paper’s website. Dee sent him an email, introducing herself and asking if he might be willing to answer some questions she had about Lucy Ryan and Kitty Doran.
After sending the email, Dee decided she needed a break. Closing down her laptop, she spent the next few hours tidying her house, washing clothes and doing all the mundane tasks she always put off for as long as possible. By the time she’d finished, her house was spotless, a row of clothes was blowing in the wind on the line and Dee was ready for something else.
Telling herself she was lucky to be able to do whatever she wanted without having to worry about anyone else, she decided to walk into town and treat herself to an early dinner somewhere nice. Cru, maybe. Or the new restaurant near the train station that everyone said was so lovely. She thought of calling Louise, seeing if she was free to meet up, but decided against it. Instead, Dee was going to prove to herself that she didn’t need anyone else to have a good time. She had a decent book to read, and her phone for browsing the internet.
She put on some make-up, something she rarely did these days, threw her faded sweatshirt into the laundry basket, replacing it with the blouse she’d picked up in Phase Eight the previous week, and headed into town.
She walked along the beach. The tide was out so, for most of the way, she was able to walk down on the sand by the edge of the water. The stretch of beach where Dee lived, on the eastern edge of the town, never attracted many visitors, even in the height of summer. As she approached town centre, however, the beach became busier. By the time she reached the pier, she had to slow down to accommodate all the people – tourists mingling with locals – who were out and about, making the most of the warm September sunshine.
She dropped into Bistrot Pierre and, by some miracle, got a table outside facing the beach. She ordered a glass of Chablis and sipped it slowly. This was living, she told herself. Sitting in a nice cafe, drinking decent wine and watching the world pass by. Maybe this life wasn’t so bad after all, she thought. Of course, she would miss Jake and Ella. But she would find a way of moving forward. They would keep in touch, and if things kept going the way they were at the moment, Dee would have work to keep her busy.
She thought back over everything she’d read about Lucy Ryan’s disappearance and Kitty Doran’s death. Two girls, with their whole lives in front of them. One missing, the other dead. That wasn’t a coincidence. Something bad happened the night Lucy Ryan disappeared. Because of that, Kitty Doran walked into the sea three weeks later and was never seen again.
Dee imagined a piece of thread, connecting the two events, and connecting her too. Because she was involved now, bound to both those girls and what had happened to them, whether she liked it or not.
Fourteen
One month earlier
Emer was sitting in the conservatory with Ursula and Robert. Emer had done her best to stay out of their way since coming back from Galway this morning, but her mother had insisted she join them for a pre-dinner glass of sherry.
‘How was Galway?’ Ursula asked, once Robert had handed out the drinks.
Emer took a sip of her sherry, then wished she hadn’t. She’d drunk too much yesterday with Maeve. The last thing her body needed now was more alcohol.
‘It was fine,’ she said.
‘Who did you say you went in to meet?’ Ursula said.
‘I didn’t,’ Emer replied, ‘but if you must know, I went to see Maeve Ryan.’
‘Of course.’ Robert smiled. ‘She mentioned something about getting in touch with you. I’d completely forgotten.’
‘You also forgot to tell me you were thinking of going into business with her.’
‘I didn’t forget,’ Robert said. ‘I simply didn’t think it was worth mentioning. You’ve never shown the slightest bit of interest in the work I do, Emer. Why would I think you’d be interested now?’
‘Because it’s Maeve,’ Emer said. ‘She used to be my best friend.’
‘Ah, I see.’ The way Robert said it, he clearly didn’t see at all. ‘Well I’ll bear that in mind. I’m glad you two girls met up. She’s a very smart young woman. You know, it might be worth having a chat with her about your career options. Someone like that, she’d have all sorts of ideas.’
There were many things she could say to that, and Emer was trying to choose the best one
when Ursula decided to make her own contribution to the conversation.
‘It’s so refreshing to see someone like Maeve making such a success of her life. Most of your generation are lazy, Emer, plain and simple. I know people say Ireland’s changed for the better, and I suppose that’s true in many ways, but young people today are too soft. You haven’t had to work the way we had to. We didn’t grow up expecting things to be handed to us on a plate.’
‘Is that really what you think?’ Emer said. ‘Have you seen the state of the economy recently? The Celtic Tiger, the country’s big economic success story, is a thing of the past. Look at all the people who’ve lost their businesses or their incomes over the last ten years. And all the people living in houses they’ll never be able to sell because they’re in negative equity. How can you think that’s easy?’
‘People get what they deserve in this life,’ Ursula said. ‘You haven’t seen Robert’s business suffer, have you? That’s because he’s good at what he does and he works hard. It hasn’t been easy, but he’s weathered the storm, and maybe more people would have done the same if they hadn’t given in so easily. Too many people go into business not understanding what it takes to make a success of something.’
‘You think the economic crash was because people had poor business sense?’
‘I didn’t say that, Emer. As well you know. I meant that, for some people, it was a handy excuse, that’s all.’
‘I don’t think that’s very fair,’ Robert said.
‘No?’ Ursula said. ‘Well why weren’t you and others like you affected the same way as all those fools whose businesses went bust? You managed to keep things together during the worst of it.’
‘Ah, but not everyone’s been as lucky as me,’ Robert said. ‘They haven’t got you by their side, have they? You know yourself how important you’ve been to my success, darling. All the support you’ve given me over the years. That goes a long way, you know.’
‘I support you because I’m your wife,’ Ursula said. ‘It’s what wives do. But your success isn’t simply down to me. You were doing well before I ever agreed to become your wife. No. The simple truth is some people work hard and others don’t. Look at Maeve. She’s doing so well she’s thinking of expanding. Her parents would be proud of her. It’s such a shame they haven’t lived to see how well she’s done.’
‘Would you consider a career in the hospitality industry?’ Robert asked Emer. ‘I’m sure if this new hotel goes ahead we could find a role for you. I think you’d be good at it.’
‘It’s not something I’ve really thought about,’ Emer said. The truth was, she would rather stick pins in her eyes than work for her stepfather. It wasn’t that she had anything against Robert, far from it, but she knew working with him would mean working with her mother as well. As long as there was breath left in Emer’s body, she would never let that happen.
‘Well maybe you should think about it,’ Ursula said. ‘You can’t drift along the way you have been forever. You need a plan, something to focus on.’
‘Actually,’ Emer said, ‘I was thinking of trying London again.’
A lie. Since losing out on the last London job, she’d lost the confidence to apply for another job there. But now she’d said it, suddenly the idea didn’t seem like such a bad one. London was where Nikki was. If Emer wanted any chance of winning Nikki back, it’s where she should be too. Plus, if she moved to London she might be able have a second shot at finding Kitty.
‘London?’ Ursula’s eyes latched on to Emer, staring at her as if she was trying to see inside Emer’s soul. ‘You can’t go chasing off to London just because that’s where your ex-girlfriend has gone. Unless Nikki’s not the reason? Oh, I see.’
‘See what?’ Emer said.
‘It’s this nonsense about your sister, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not nonsense,’ Emer said. Then, seeing the warning look on Robert’s face, she changed the subject. She’d promised him earlier she would avoid talking about this in front of Ursula.
After dinner, which seemed to drag on interminably, Emer escaped to her bedroom. The idea of moving to London for a bit had taken hold. It was great that Robert had hired a private detective, but if Emer was in London then she’d be able to try and contact the woman herself.
She opened her laptop and did an internet search for the Town of Ramsgate pub in Wapping. She’d done this lots of times already and, as she scrolled through the results now, there was no new information here. She’d already looked through the different images of the pub, scanning the faces of the people in the bar, searching for Kitty’s face. But no matter how many times she looked, she couldn’t see her sister.
The pub’s phone number was listed on the website. Several times, she’d called the number. She’d always hung up as soon as someone answered it. Her phone was on the table beside her laptop. She picked it up now and dialled the number again.
‘Hello?’ A man’s voice. The same person who’d answered every other time she’d called.
‘Hello?’ He said again, sounding impatient. ‘Who’s calling?’
In the background, she could hear the different noises of the pub – people laughing and talking, the clink of glasses.
‘Can I speak to Kitty, please?’
‘Sorry, love. No one here called Kitty. You sure you’ve got the right number?’
‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Kitty. Tall with blond hair?’
A pause before he answered.
‘Afraid not,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
He hung up before she could say anything else. Had he been telling the truth? She thought so, but she really had no idea. The conversation had shifted something inside her, spurring her determination to take action.
But if she wanted to go to London, she needed money. Which meant she’d have to find a job first. She had been registered with several job agencies for a while now. Apart from that one interview last month, she hadn’t heard anything back from any of them.
She thought back to her earlier conversation with Robert. Maybe he was right, and she should have a chat with Maeve. Emer wasn’t foolish enough to think Maeve would be able to find her a job at the hotel, but she might have some good ideas. It was worth a shot, at least.
She’d received a text from Maeve earlier, saying how much she’d enjoyed last night and that she hoped they’d meet up again soon. Emer found the text and typed in her reply:
Really great to catch up. Head very sore this morning. Any chance you’re free for a coffee over the next week? I’d like to pick your brain about something.
Maeve’s reply was instant:
Coffee sounds fab. Not sure there’s anything worth picking but happy to help. Can’t stop thinking about what you said about Kitty. Wd be good to chat x
She’d been mortified earlier when she’d remembered telling Maeve about Kitty. Now, reading Maeve’s message, Emer was glad she’d told her. Because Maeve had believed her. Which meant maybe she’d be willing to help Emer find her.
Fifteen
A few nights after the text from Leonard, he called Dee to tell her he’d seen Annie again.
‘I followed her this time,’ he said. ‘Seems she’s part of a group of artists exhibiting their work in a gallery near the pub. The gallery is called E-One Art. I’ll text you a link. The website has details of all the artists, including the woman you’re interested in.’
‘Does it give a name for her?’ Dee asked.
‘Annie Holden, There’s a biography and a photo. Says she grew up in Sussex. Nothing to hint that she’s really your long-lost cousin, I’m afraid.’
After hanging up from Leonard, Dee went onto the internet and looked up the gallery. The exhibition featured work from a group of artists all local to east London. Scrolling through the list of artists, Dee found Annie’s photo and biography. She scanned the text. Annie Holden. Born and raised in Sussex, she now lived in London. After graduating from Central Saint Martins with a degree in fine art, Holden had been s
lowly building her artistic career and was, apparently, ‘one of the rising stars of the East End art scene’.
There was no doubt then. The woman in the pub wasn’t Kitty. Even so, Dee wanted to see her one final time, just to make absolutely sure. She decided she would go the next day. The following morning, she got up early and was on a train that arrived into London Victoria train station at 9.35.
Getting off the train, Dee switched to the Underground, joining the bustle of commuters, tourists and other bodies all crammed into a carriage on the eastbound District Line to Aldgate East.
Dee had bought her first flat near Aldgate East, way back in the early nineties, before property prices had gone stratospheric. Today, the neighbourhood was unrecognisable from the scruffy, down-at-heel area it had been back then. Gone were the tatty corner shops, the sleazy pubs and the greasy takeaways, replaced by glossy apartment complexes, trendy bars and high-rise office blocks. Although when she reached Commercial Road, she saw pockets of the area had managed to escape gentrification.
She was pleased to see the Castle pub was still open for business. She’d spent many hours propping up the bar in there, chatting shit with John Doyle, the Irish landlord. Despite a lick of paint and a new sign over the door, the pub looked very much as it had when Dee had lived nearby.
A lot more buildings had been converted into apartments, of course, but the rows of wholesale clothes shops were still here, along with the small kebab houses that sold some of the best meat Dee had ever eaten. And, somehow, Watney Street Market – with its budget shops, Iceland supermarket and one seriously grim pub – had survived the gentrification as well.
The E-One art gallery was on Deancross Street. It occupied the ground floor of a modern, characterless apartment block. Looking through the windows, Dee could see the space included a cafe as well as a gallery and, as she pushed open the door, she was hit with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
Before You Were Gone Page 9