‘No. No, it’s not fine,’ the waitress continues.
Deacon whispers something into Jenny’s ear as the waitress continues to hover around us.
‘I said it’s fine,’ I snap as I try to read Deacon’s lips.
‘It’s my first day. I’ve been getting things wrong all morning. I’m so nervous,’ the waitress babbles, her slender fingers with long, pointed nails reaching for the milkshake.
‘I said I like strawberry. Just leave it, okay?’ I grunt and wave my hand as if I’m swatting an irritating fly.
She gets a fright and knocks over the glass.
I jump as cold strawberry milkshake splashes across the table and on to my jeans.
‘You stupid bitch,’ I shout, shivering as the liquid soaks through the denim. ‘Look what you’ve done! I told you to leave it. Why couldn’t you have just left it?’
‘Susan?’ Jenny says, saying my name in a gentle whisper. ‘It’s okay,’ she reassures the waitress as she slides off the bench and stands up. ‘It was an accident.’
‘I’ll get this cleaned up straight away,’ the waitress says. She disappears, and I think she’s crying.
‘Here.’ Deacon finally speaks as he gathers some napkins from the dispenser on the table and passes them to me. ‘I hope that doesn’t leave a stain.’
‘What the fuck?’ I say, dabbing the napkins against the wet patches on my jeans. ‘I told her to leave it.’
‘She’s new,’ Jenny says, as if I wasn’t sitting right here when the waitress offered her lame excuse.
‘You’re right,’ I say, suddenly so sweet I’m almost angelic. ‘Poor girl. She must be mortified.’
‘No real harm done,’ Jenny says. ‘And hey, it’s an excuse to buy some new jeans when we finish here.’
‘Always a silver lining,’ I say, hating myself for allowing my temper to momentarily shine through so noticeably.
I count backwards from five, smile brightly and make a conscious effort to hide my irritation for the rest of the meal.
We move tables, after being reassured our meal is on the house, and are served by a new waitress. This time I sit beside Deacon and Jenny sits opposite. Every now and then I say something silly and slap his shoulder playfully or press my side against his and giggle like a naughty schoolgirl. Jenny doesn’t seem to mind, and more often than not I find her laughing too. The whole experience is painful but I keep up the act.
‘So, when is the big day?’ I ask, steering the conversation back to the wedding, desperate to know what they were whispering about.
Jenny shifts uncomfortably and her eyes lock with Deacon’s.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Have you not talked about that yet? Am I getting ahead of myself? I’m just sooooo excited for you.’
‘It’s September,’ Jenny blurts. ‘The twenty-sixth. Susan, I’m sorry but it was the only date the hotel had left this year. If we didn’t snap it up we would have to wait until next summer and we just want to be married as soon as possible. Please understand.’
‘September twenty-sixth,’ I exhale.
Deacon sits statue-like, staring straight ahead, and Jenny fidgets nervously with her nails. The food and drink sit in front of us untouched.
‘It’s perfect,’ I smile finally. ‘I mean, I can’t think of a better distraction the day before my brother’s murderer is released from prison early. Thank you.’
‘Oh Susan.’ Jenny throws her arms in the air, elated. People at the table behind us turn around to stare. ‘You’re really okay with this?’
Of course I’m not fucking okay with this, you selfish bitch.
‘Yes, yes. It’s great news.’ I throw my hands in the air too because, well, why not?
‘I’m so happy.’ Jenny does her usual bouncing on the spot with excitement. ‘I was really worried you’d be upset. Wasn’t I worried, Deacon?’
‘She was,’ Deacon says, but he doesn’t turn to look at me.
‘Well, I’m not. I’m delighted, and you have your fabulous fiancé here to thank for that, Jenny,’ I say, stroking my hand up and down Deacon’s arm as if I’m stroking a cute puppy.
‘Really?’ She purses her lips, intrigued.
Deacon shifts and the leather bench squeaks beneath him. I laugh as if he’s hilarious.
‘I’ve been struggling these past few months, as you know,’ I say.
‘I do know,’ Jenny sighs. ‘That’s why I want you to come back to the bereavement group. Everyone misses you. You left so suddenly.’
‘I know,’ I admit, ‘but that’s because I have Deacon.’
He slides further away from me on the bench.
‘We’ve been talking, and he’s been great,’ I beam. ‘Encouraging me to open up about Adam. I’ve even told him things about my mother that I’ve never told anyone. Not even you, Jenny.’
Her eyes shift from Deacon to the table and back to Deacon. I can tell she’s hurt. I keep going.
‘And when he told me about Kerri-Ann—’
Jenny cuts across me. ‘You told her about your daughter?’
Deacon nods sheepishly.
‘That’s great,’ she chirps. ‘Deacon, I’m so glad you’re finally able to talk about your little girl.’
My eyes narrow. Fucking hell, Jenny. I should have known – she can find the positive in every goddam situation.
‘Deacon says I should become a counsellor,’ I keep going. ‘He thinks I’m a good listener.’
‘You are.’ Jenny smiles.
‘I wasn’t sure at first, but I’m just not ready to leave my flat, or campus. All the memories I have of Adam are here. I can’t close that door yet, you know?’
Jenny nods.
‘It just makes sense to enrol for another year. I know I’ll be in a much better place next year. I’ll be stronger. I won’t still be grieving.’
‘I guess . . .’ Jenny frowns.
‘And Deacon promises that when I qualify he’ll be my first client.’
‘Really?’ Jenny says, her enthusiasm for the idea noticeably waning. ‘You never said anything about any of this to me. Either of you.’
‘I know,’ I shrug. ‘But isn’t this great? We both have such good news. You with the wedding and me with a career path. I’m so excited, Jenny. Aren’t you?’
I glare at Deacon and watch as he squirms.
‘It is great,’ Jenny says.
She’s a terrible liar.
‘How long have you two been planning all this?’ she asks. ‘Deacon?’
‘Oh, ages,’ I lie.
I’m a much better liar.
‘Susan told me about her idea to study to be a counsellor last week, over coffee,’ Deacon begins, reaching across the table to hold Jenny’s hand. ‘I told her to go for it, that’s all. It wasn’t really my idea, Susan. You’re giving me far too much credit.’
‘Nonsense,’ I say. ‘You’re my hero, Deacon O’Reilly. You really, really are. I don’t know what I would ever do without you. I mean that.’
‘Susan, I—’ Deacon shakes his head.
‘Oh, we just have so much good news to celebrate today, don’t we?’ I cut across him. ‘Milkshakes all round, yeah? My treat.’
I stand up and walk slowly towards the counter, smirking as I hear Jenny raise her voice and begin to fire questions at her new fiancé like emotional torpedoes.
Chapter Twenty
NOW
Deacon carries two cups with steam swirling out the top into the lounge and stands in front of the pizza box table. He looks at me but doesn’t speak.
‘What?’ I say.
The way he’s looking at me is infuriating. His forehead is wrinkled and his eyes are smouldering.
It takes me a moment to realise he’s waiting for me to clear some space on the stupid pizza box table. I gather up Amelia’s crayons and close her colouring book, pushing them to one end of the table. Deacon quickly sets the cups down.
‘Fuck, that was hot,’ he says, shaking the hand that was wrapped around the cup with
a broken handle.
I’m about to ask him if he’s okay, but he turns away, blowing on his hand to cool it as he walks back into the kitchen. He returns with a carton of milk in one hand and bag of sugar in the other. I don’t remember buying sugar for him, so he must have picked some up at the supermarket or, worse still, borrowed some from whoever lives across the hall. He wouldn’t, I think. I hope! But I hate the feeling of uncertainty that sits in the pit of my stomach.
I watch Deacon splash milk into one cup and leave the other black. He adds sugar to both and stirs roughly, banging the spoon against the inside of the cups.
‘Shh,’ I warn, his clumsiness worrying me. ‘You’ll wake her.’
He smacks the spoon against the cardboard table top. It bounces and falls on to the floor, creating another dark stain to join the countless others.
‘Deacon, seriously,’ I snap, unravelling. ‘I’ve only just got her back to sleep.’
‘So you suddenly care about Amelia’s sleep?’ he says, raising one of the cups to his lips and taking a large gulp.
He pulls a face and quickly puts the cup down. The coffee must have scalded his throat but he doesn’t react. He’s too angry to focus on anything except me.
‘I know you can take care of her when I’m not here,’ I say, sweeter than the bag of sugar on the table. ‘I trust you with my life, Deacon,’ I lie.
‘And what about Amelia’s life?’ he asks. ‘What kind of life is it for a little girl, trapped in a dingy flat above a chipper in the dodgiest part of the city?’
‘It’s temporary,’ I say. ‘We’ve been over this.’
‘She sits by that window all day . . .’ Deacon points to the narrow, rectangular window behind us where street lights shine through the threadbare curtains, casting a dirty orange shadow on the carpet. ‘She sits there for hours and hours and just stares out at the people passing by on the street below. I think she’s hoping one of them will finally be you or Paul.’
‘You let her sit at the window?’ I say, horrified. ‘What if someone sees her?’
‘What the hell do you want me to do? Tie her to a chair? C’mon, Susan. She needs daylight. She needs fresh air. She needs her mother, for God’s sake.’
‘Well, I’m here now,’ I snap.
Deacon snorts. ‘It’s cruel, Susan. That little girl misses you so much. My heart breaks for her.’
I lift the handleless cup off the table, and although it’s too hot to hold I don’t put it back down.
‘It’s just for a few more days,’ I say. ‘Paul really believes Amelia is dead. It’s all going to plan. He’s lost all hope. I’m the one saying over and over that she didn’t drown. I’m telling him that Amelia is still alive. I’m insisting that she’s missing. I’m drip-feeding him the truth and he doesn’t believe a word of it.’ I pause and an image of Paul’s forlorn face as he went out running tonight comes to mind. ‘Actually,’ I smile, ‘it’s going even better than I could have imagined.’
‘You’re saying what?’ Deacon’s eyes widen. ‘Jesus Christ, Susan. Are you mad? What the fuck are you sowing seeds of doubt in his head for?’
‘Because why wouldn’t I? Anything else wouldn’t ring true, now, would it? There’s no body, Deacon. Any decent mother is going to cling to hope.’
‘But you’re giving Paul hope too, then?’ Deacon sighs. ‘Dragging this out for everyone, especially that little girl.’ He points towards the bedroom and I can hear the faintest snores of a sleeping child.
‘I have no choice. Paul is stronger than I thought. Breaking him is hard.’
‘Jesus, Susan. What are we doing?’ He clasps his hands around his head. ‘This is madness.’
‘It is. It’s so mad it’s bloody brilliant. Soon we’ll be on a ferry to Wales, just the three of us. We’ll be a happy family, Deacon. You lost Kerri-Ann, but you’ll never lose Amelia. You’ll see. This will all be worth it soon.’
‘This is what’s best for Amelia, isn’t it?’ Deacon says. ‘I mean, we really are doing the right thing here, aren’t we?’
‘Yes. Of course. You know what Paul’s like,’ I say, showing a little fear. ‘We’re protecting Amelia, Deacon. We’re the good guys.’
‘I think she knows something is wrong,’ Deacon says. ‘She calls out for her daddy in her sleep sometimes. It breaks my heart.’
‘She’ll forget,’ I say. ‘In time, she won’t even remember Paul. She’s just a baby.’
‘It’s not too late,’ Deacon says. ‘I can bring her home. Pretend I found her wandering in the woods near the lake?’
‘Wandering the woods for days on end. A two-year-old! Alone. You’d be locked up before you got the chance to ring my doorbell.’
‘I could drop her somewhere here in the city, then.’ His eyes are wide and bloodshot and I know his mind is racing. ‘Or I could leave her in the park. People would recognise her from the news. They’d take her to the police. Bring her to safety.’
‘Are you fucking mad?’ I say, slamming my cup down on the pizza box table, tiring of his whining.
Coffee splashes over the edge and on to my hand, burning. I ignore how it stings.
‘Don’t you dare lose your nerve now, do you hear me?’ I grab Deacon with both hands, and curl my fingers tight around his arms, my nails digging into his skin. Maybe I even draw blood. I don’t look. My eyes are on his.
‘If we make one mistake . . .’ I begin as I shake Deacon and he sways on the spot like a rag doll. ‘. . . that’s it! Paul gets custody of Amelia while we rot in jail. Is that what you want? You really want me to lose my little girl all because you couldn’t keep your shit together? I trusted you, Deacon. I trusted you with everything. Don’t mess this up. I’m warning you.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Deacon says, snapping out of his trance. ‘I know how deep we’re in, Susan. I’m just scared.’
‘It’s only a matter of days,’ I say. ‘I’ll pack my bags. I’ll tell Paul I want a divorce and we’ll be on the ferry to Wales before you know it. After that, maybe Europe. We just have to keep it together for a few more days. You can do that, can’t you?’
‘A few more days,’ Deacon nods and gathers me in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-one
NOW
‘The body was discovered in shallow water early this morning by a local Ballyown woman walking her dog by the lake. Police have now confirmed that the rumours suggesting the body is that of missing toddler Amelia Warner are false. It is believed to be the body of an adult female. We will have more on this breaking story as it unfolds. And now, over to Marty with the weather.’
I flick off the radio. Sudden eerie silence engulfs my bedroom. I pace the floor, wishing I was wearing shoes. My feet make no sound as my socks sink into the luxurious carpet with each shaky step. I need noise. Something, anything. I’m desperate for a sound other than the deafening drone of my conscience.
Fuck you, Helen. Even dead you’re interfering. I throw the remote across the room. It crashes against the wall with a shocking bang and the batteries fall out and roll around the floor. My suitcase is open on the bed with half the contents of my wardrobe thrown in haphazardly. Underneath my blouses and jeans are a few of my favourite dresses belonging to Amelia. I’ve packed her lemon sundress with a white petal collar that my mother sent her from France for her second birthday, and the turquoise crochet dress that she refuses to wear because ‘it’s all scratchy’, but it’s just so pretty and brings out her blue eyes. She has many more pretty dresses that I wish I could pack, but I know Paul will become suspicious if he notices any of her clothes missing.
The doorbell rings unexpectedly and I jump. I snort at myself as I catch my frazzled reflection in the mirror. I quickly zip my suitcase closed and shove it under the bed. I glance over the room, and content that everything looks normal I close the door behind me.
The ringing is incessant, and I expect to find Langton and Connelly on the other side of the door.
So, you murdered your neighbour, Langton will s
ay. Got any biscuits? Connelly will add.
I make my way reluctantly down the stairs and take such a deep breath when I reach the bottom step that I make myself light-headed.
Why, no, I haven’t seen Helen. Is she missing? I practise over and over in my head, hoping I can squeeze out a few tears. My fingers tremble as I reach for the door handle and I count backwards in my mind. Three . . . two . . . one . . . open.
‘Oh. My. God,’ I say, letting go of the handle as my hand flies to cover my mouth.
‘Hello, Susan. Long time no see.’
‘Jenny,’ I say, instantly recognising the woman standing on my doorstep.
Her hair is longer now and falls past her shoulders in choppy layers. And her clothes are grown-up and sensible. No more crazy neon colours or wild leopard prints. She’s wearing skinny blue jeans, a cream jumper and white runners. But her goofy smile and bright eyes are the same as always.
Jenny folds her arms across her chest and tilts her head to one side. She looks uncomfortable, or perhaps confused. As if she wasn’t really sure she would find me on the other side of this door, and now that she has, she has no idea what to do next. Silence weighs heavy between us as we look at each other. She’s obviously waiting for me to speak first. It’s most unlike her.
All I want to do is close the door in her face and go back upstairs to finish packing. But the first thought that comes into my head spews past my lips rebelliously. ‘How did you find me?’
‘Your neighbours,’ Jenny says. ‘I asked about you in the village pub and a man having a pint gave me directions. Simple as that. Could you imagine asking something like that in Dublin? God, they’d look at you like you had three heads, wouldn’t they? People round here are so much chattier and friendlier.’
I exhale sharply. ‘People around here can’t keep their mouths shut. That’s true.’
Jenny frowns at my snarky comment. ‘He was nice – the man in the pub. Helpful. He even offered to drive me here in case I got lost.’
Great. That’s just what I need. Jenny dragging random locals with her for a nosy around.
‘Why are you here, Jenny?’ I say, reaching for the doorknob again, so I can shut it anytime I need to.
Under Lying Page 15