Under Lying

by Janelle Harris

  ‘Millie!’ Paul roars, skidding on wet clay as he reaches the lake edge, almost dragging us both in. ‘Millie, are you here?’

  ‘Amelia! It’s Mammy and Daddy.’ I shake my hand free from Paul’s and run along the water’s edge, my breath shallow and laboured.

  The water is angry. Twisting and turning as if the rain and wind have woken it from slumber.

  ‘Do you think she’s hiding?’ Paul’s voice breaks and his fear is palpable. ‘Maybe she’s playing. She loves hide and seek, doesn’t she?’

  I shake my head. ‘The ducks.’ I point to where several ducklings swim in a straight line behind their mother, not far from us.

  ‘She can’t swim.’ Paul states what I already know. ‘She wouldn’t get in the water to play with them. She knows the water is dangerous. Haven’t you told her it’s dangerous?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ I shout. ‘But what if she slipped? Oh Paul. I can’t see her. I can’t see our baby anywhere.’

  Paul doesn’t reply. He runs around, retracing his steps up the laneway and back. I don’t move. I’m frozen to the spot, as if the chilly wind has turned me to ice.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Susan,’ Paul shouts. ‘Don’t just stand there. Look for her!’

  I begin to cry. I wrap my arms around myself and sob loudly.

  Some of our neighbours appear behind us. The looks on their faces tell me they’ve guessed what’s going on.

  ‘She can’t have gone far,’ Helen says, suddenly at my side.

  ‘She’s been gone for an hour at least,’ I say. ‘She’s alone. She’s all alone.’

  I look up to the sound of splashing. Paul and some of the men have begun wading into the water. A succession of loud voices calling my daughter’s name rings in my ears.

  The mothers and children stand back. The hyper children are calm now – silent as their mothers hold their hands much too tightly, keeping them safely away from the water as everyone looks on in disbelief.

  Helen passes me her phone. ‘Has anyone called the Guards?’

  ‘Oh God.’ My eyes widen. ‘The cops.’

  ‘It’s the shock, Susan,’ Helen says, sober as she drapes her arm over my shoulder and holds me close. ‘You didn’t have time to think. Call them now.’

  My hands shake as I try to dial. I hear Paul’s voice above all the other men shouting. The sound of my husband screaming our daughter’s name echoes around the trees and bounces back to punch me in the gut. I double over, almost dropping Helen’s phone in some long grass.

  ‘Here.’ Helen takes her phone back from me. ‘Let me help.’

  I watch the activity in the lake as if it’s some horrible film I wish I hadn’t come to see. The water must be freezing, but no one acknowledges the cold as they wade deeper and deeper.

  ‘Hello. Gardaí please?’ I hear Helen say as a teenage boy emerges from under the water with a yellow, knitted cardigan in his hand.

  Chapter Four

  THEN

  My alarm goes off at 6.30 a.m., like always. Too sleepy to open my eyes, I pat my hand around my bedside table, searching for the button on the alarm clock to shut it up. Triumphant, I flop on to my belly and pray that my flatmate hasn’t used all the hot water again. My flatmate is my twin brother, Adam. He’s recently broken up with his girlfriend of two years, and he spends most mornings in the shower, wanking. I’m cool with him taking the hands-on approach against heartbreak, no pun intended, I’m just not okay with having to have a bloody cold shower every day because of his penis.

  I love my brother, but the downside of being a twin is that every milestone you reach in your life your sibling reaches at almost the same time. Learning to walk, for example. Adam was marginally first, two days ahead of me, and he never lets me forget it. He proudly called me Snoozy Susie until last year. First tooth – according to our mother, I won this round by a whole month, but I also started losing my baby teeth before him, which meant Adam looked cute and loveable in our cousin’s wedding photographs when we were seven while I looked gappy and goofy. Academically, our results are usually on a par. We’re both high achievers, although the grades come easily to my brother while I work my arse off, but I’ll never admit that.

  Morning showers aren’t technically a milestone. But since Adam and I have a lot of overlapping classes we tend to be heading for the shower at the same time as each other every morning. I’m most definitely not a morning person. Adam is. Which means that for four years of college he has beaten me to the bathroom every day. This morning I’m determined to win the battle.

  I flop my legs over the edge of the bed and wince as fluff from the carpet – I badly need to hoover – sticks to my bare feet. I shake one leg at a time, shedding crumbs and bits of I-don’t-even-know-what. I pull on my oversized green hoodie with the college logo printed across the front in giant navy letters and fish around on the end of my bed for the clean towel I know I left there last night. Unsurprisingly, I find it in a ball on the floor. I pick it up, shake it out and throw it over my shoulder. A hot shower is mine. I open my bedroom door and the smell of eggs and bacon distracts me.

  ‘Why the hell are you up and cooking so early?’ I ask, running a hand through my bed hair as I bypass the bathroom to investigate the delicious smell.

  ‘We’ve a party to organise.’ Adam flashes a goofy smile as he stands in his boxers in the tiny kitchenette just metres from my bedroom, stirring eggs in a pan. ‘And I was awake anyway. Not all of us sleep all day, you know.’

  I pull a face and point towards the poky living room window. The weather is filthy. Strong wind blows rain against the glass with temper. Thunder rumbles in the distance and I laugh inwardly because I’d heard the noise already in my sleep but I thought it was my tummy telling me that I’m hungry. It’s the kind of day that makes you want to stay in bed bingeing on DVD box sets while eating too much chocolate and popcorn. It’s not the kind of day you celebrate your twenty-first birthday.

  ‘Do you think we should call off the party?’ I say, more of a statement than a question. ‘No one is going to want to come out in this crappy weather, are they?’

  ‘What?’ Adam scrunches his nose. ‘No. Of course we’re not cancelling. Are you mad? It’s only a little rain, Sue. Anyway, Mam is already on her way.’

  ‘She’s driving in this weather?’ I say.

  Adam’s eyes narrow and he looks at me seriously, seeming so much older than his twenty-one years. ‘Sue, it’s just rain, not bloody Armageddon. What’s up with you? You’re acting all stressed out or something. It’s our birthday. You should be happy.’

  I press my hands against my waist and stand nervously with a hip out. ‘It’s just this stupid thunder. It’s giving me the creeps or something.’

  ‘I think it’s awesome,’ Adam says. ‘Look at that. How can you not love it?’ He points towards the window as a sheet of lightning streaks across the horizon. It’s followed almost instantly by a nerve-rackingly loud clap of thunder.

  ‘I have a bad feeling.’ I fold my arms across my chest.

  ‘You’re just nervous about the party,’ Adam says. ‘But you only turn twenty-one once, Sue. And tonight is going to be the best party ever. Just relax and enjoy it. No one is going to give a shit about a little drizzle when the DJ gets going. Trust me.’

  I know my brother is right. Our friends won’t care about bad weather, and they certainly won’t miss out on a party because of it. Adam and I have been looking forward to this milestone for months. But I can’t relax. The knot of anxiety in my stomach is not just pre-party nerves. It’s silly, I know, and I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something is making me edgy.

  ‘Can’t you put some clothes on while you cook?’ I say, trying to distract myself from my concerns with something familiar and comfortable. Teasing my brother is about as comfortable as it gets.

  ‘Eh? I did,’ Adam laughs, dropping his eyes to his boxers.

  ‘Ugh. Yuck.’ I pull a face. ‘I didn’t need to know you sleep naked. What
the hell, Adam? Overshare much? You’re so gross, you know.’

  He shrugs, ignores my disgust and continues cooking.

  ‘Okay, next question,’ I say as my nostrils widen, savouring the enticing aroma wafting from the kitchenette. ‘Did you think it would be funny to set my alarm for stupid o’clock on a Saturday?’

  Adam laughs. ‘I didn’t. You can’t blame me if you were too lazy to reset it, Sue.’

  I groan loudly, knowing my morning-person brother is right. I fell into bed last night sometime around 2 a.m., after a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon.

  ‘But, it’s sooooo early,’ I protest, tossing my head back to stare vacantly at the ceiling. ‘We don’t even have class today.’

  Adam sighs. ‘It’s 1.30 in the afternoon. And yes! If you’re wondering if your alarm went off as usual this morning—’ He stops stirring the eggs to turn and face me. ‘It did. At 6.30. And want to know how I know that?’

  I meet my brother’s stare head-on. I know a lecture is coming no matter what I say.

  ‘Because you weren’t the one who turned it off, were you?’ Adam says.

  I grunt, knowing where this is going.

  ‘I was,’ Adam continues, turning his attention back to the eggs before they start to burn. ‘It woke me, Sue. From the other bloody room. You were in a fucking coma and didn’t hear it because you stayed up all night watching that vampire crap and drooling over the dude who needs to get a tan.’

  ‘1.30?’

  ‘Yup! I reset your alarm for lunchtime. I can’t believe you didn’t notice.’

  ‘No wonder I’m starving,’ I smile. ‘Is there some for me?’ I ask, yawning as I make my way into the kitchenette, which is barely big enough for two people.

  ‘Yeah, s’pose,’ Adam says. ‘If I don’t feed you, you won’t feed yourself, will you?’ Adam rolls his eyes, but he can’t keep a straight face as he pulls the pan off the heat. He’s laughing by the time he begins to plate up the eggs.

  I’m older than my brother. Three minutes and eleven seconds older to be exact. Although, ironically, timekeeping hasn’t been my strong suit since.

  Adam and I were born twelve weeks early, twenty-one years ago today. And our mother loves to tell the story of how she nearly died in the process; how we all nearly died, and how we’re lucky to be here at all.

  ‘I was barely eighteen. Only a baby myself,’ Mam says, as if Adam and I were very inconsiderate for gatecrashing her party lifestyle. ‘It’s not easy being a single parent. And you were such sickly little things,’ she often reminds us. ‘It’s a miracle. You’re miracles. I spent all my time worried about you.’

  She always points to the fine lines around her eyes and tells us we’re responsible. She’s joking, of course. Mam is only thirty-nine, but she looks ten years younger. When she comes to visit Adam and me on campus, our friends often think she’s our older sister, and she rarely tells them otherwise. Actually, people often think my mother and brother are related and I’m just a friend.

  Mam and Adam are tall and broad. They both have brown eyes and fair hair. On the other hand, I’m short and too skinny for my own good. I have black hair and my eyes are a greeny-blue, like the Caribbean Sea. Adam sometimes teases me that there must have been a mix-up at the hospital and they brought me home by mistake. But while my brother looks like Mam on the outside, inside he’s very different. He’s quiet and placid – nothing like our mother. Or me. Mam and I are outspoken and opinionated. And not always easy to get along with. We don’t always get along with each other. Thank God for Adam keeping the peace. Funny, that’s probably one of the few things Mam and I have in common – our love of Adam.

  Most people never believe we’re twins. He’s more than a head taller than me, ironic considering when we were born he was less than half my birth weight and the doctors warned my mother that he probably wouldn’t make it. Mam hasn’t stopped worrying about him since. While Adam spent the first three months of our lives in hospital on a ventilator, I was home after just five weeks. Those eight weeks are the longest we’ve ever spent apart. Adam is my twin but he’s also my best friend, and I rely on him more than I’ll ever admit out loud to anyone, especially him.

  ‘Right, make yourself useful and make some toast,’ he says, breaking into my thoughts as he throws a half loaf of bread at me.

  ‘You’re right beside the toaster,’ I say.

  ‘You are so lazy,’ Adam says, knocking his shoulder against mine. ‘Mam was right when she warned me if we shared a flat I’d end up taking care of your lazy arse.’

  ‘I’m not lazy,’ I groan, unfazed by my mother’s dig. ‘I’m just not good with cooking and shit.’

  ‘Or cleaning,’ Adam says, looking over his shoulder into the messy living area.

  I follow his gaze. A bottle of my foundation is on top of the TV, missing its lid. There are several pairs of my shoes scattered around the floor and a small mountain of my clothes at one end of the couch.

  ‘Whoops,’ I say, spying my favourite black lacy top peeking out from the middle of my clothes monster. I hurry over to the couch to drag it out, knocking half the pile of clothes on to the floor in the process.

  Adam groans, unimpressed.

  ‘What?’ I say, waving my top above my head like a flag. ‘I’ve been looking for this.’

  ‘Well, you need to clean this place up before tonight,’ he grumbles, adding some delicious crispy bacon on top of the two plates of eggs. ‘A few people will probably call round here for a drink before we head to the party.’

  ‘Ah Adam,’ I say, annoyed that my brother has obviously invited people to our flat without clearing it with me first.

  ‘It’s just a couple of the lads,’ he smiles, knowing I’m on to him. ‘I said it to your friends too, of course.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Well, I knew you wouldn’t so—’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, I wouldn’t. We promised Mam we’d keep it simple. And you know if things get out of hand, I’ll be the one she blames,’ I say. Sulking, I tuck my top under my arm and walk back into the kitchenette to fetch my plate of food. ‘I thought we could have a couple of glasses of champagne here, just you, me and Mam, and then head to the party together.’

  Adam scrapes his fork against his plate and the shrill squeak hurts my brain. ‘But that was before I was about to break the biggest, juiciest story ever,’ he says.

  I groan. Adam is always about to break the biggest, juiciest story – forever following a lead here and a hint there. I’m getting more and more frustrated that he can’t give it a rest for one bloody night.

  ‘I’m serious this time, Sue,’ he says, reading me. ‘All I need is a couple of incriminating photos and – boom! Exclusive has my name all over it. This story will be career changing. I want to par-TAY.’

  ‘Career changing?’ I snort. ‘Adam, it’s the college paper, not the national press. You’re still a student, remember?’

  ‘And Ms Mahon is still university president, but that doesn’t stop her sleeping with students.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ I say, my hand covering my mouth.

  ‘You should see your face,’ he chuckles, polishing off his bacon. ‘I told you this was a juicy story, didn’t I?’

  I can’t form any words.

  ‘Apparently she’s been at it for years. The canteen. The library. Her office. She’s a complete nympho. And, of course, her favourite students pass with flying colours.’

  ‘That’s so gross,’ I say, gagging for dramatic effect. ‘Isn’t she like a hundred and ten or something?’

  Adam rolls his eyes at my exaggeration. ‘She’s in her fifties, Sue. But that’s still thirty whatever years older than the students she’s banging. And she’s married and has kids.’

  ‘Wow. That is pretty fucked up.’

  ‘I know, right? There’s a couple of us on to her. But I’m determined to break the story first.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Adam, are you sure about this?’

 
; ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he grins. ‘I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. This story is mine.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ I say. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach puts me off my eggs. ‘But just be careful. She’s the president of our university. If this goes wrong, it will go spectacularly wrong.’

  ‘I know, but nothing is going to go wrong,’ he says, shovelling a huge forkful of egg into his mouth and swallowing. ‘Trust me.’

  ‘Oh Adam.’ I shake my head, unsure.

  ‘Look, I’ll tell everyone the pre-party is off. We’ll meet them at the venue instead. Will that make you feel better?’

  ‘Okay. Cool. Thanks,’ I say, taken aback. I was certain he’d put up more of a fight.

  ‘Don’t be too smug about getting your own way, Sue. You can pay for the champagne. I’m broke. Stupid suit hire is costing me a fortune.’

  ‘You’re hiring a suit?’ My eyes widen. ‘Jesus, isn’t that a bit fancy?’

  ‘No. It’s our twenty-first. Everyone will be dressed up.’

  ‘Yeah. Our twenty-first, not our fiftieth. Suits are for old people.’

  ‘Eh, listen to who’s talking, Miss I want to drink posh champagne with my family instead of chilling with my mates,’ Adam says in a terrible mimic of my voice.

  ‘Right. Fine. Whatever.’ I shrug, forcing the last of my eggs down. ‘But I’m wearing jeans and this top I just found.’ I pull my top out from under my arm and press the lacy fabric against my nose and sniff to make sure it’s clean enough to wear later.

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ he says, tossing his empty plate into the sink of soapy water. ‘Right. I cooked, so you can clean. I’m going to pick up my suit now. If you give me some cash I’ll get the champagne while I’m out.’

  ‘What? Now?’ I protest.

  ‘Yup,’ Adam nods. ‘The suit hire place closes at four on Saturdays.’

  ‘But the storm?’ I grumble, pointing to the window.

  ‘I’ll bring an umbrella, okay?’

  I don’t bother to argue. Adam is becoming annoyed, I can tell, and I don’t want to spoil the evening with a pointless argument over the weather.