‘I know you’re not having an affair,’ Jenny says. ‘I realise that now.’
‘Good,’ Deacon sighs, visibly relieved.
‘Your relationship is a hell of a lot more twisted than that,’ Jenny says, shaking her head. ‘You know, Susan, I really was going to get the train. I was going to leave you alone once and for all, but I suddenly remembered the photos of the lightning strikes hanging in your hall. I thought about how your face lit up when you talked about them. There was so much pride in your eyes when you finally had a chance to showcase Adam’s talent. And I knew then, I knew that you could never ever forgive Paul. Never.’
Jenny takes my breath away, and for a moment I stand staring at her with my mouth gaping and tears glistening in my eyes.
‘Go on, Jenny,’ Deacon encourages.
My eyes shift to him and I see something unsettling in the way he’s looking at Jenny. I think he’s relieved she’s actually on to us. As if his conscience has reached breaking point and he can finally confess what we’ve done. And I’m powerless to stop him.
‘I know you didn’t just stop hating Paul as much for taking Adam away from you,’ Jenny says. ‘I know you hate him more than ever. And I don’t even blame you for it.’
‘Then, what do you blame me for?’ I ask.
‘For taking Deacon away from me . . .’
‘But, Jenny, I haven’t,’ I say. ‘He’s standing right here.’
‘Because you brought him here,’ she shouts. ‘And that’s what I don’t understand. Why?’
‘Because he’s my friend,’ I admit, maybe to myself more than to her.
‘But why here? Why now? And for what?’ Jenny asks. ‘Some shitty flat in Cork city? You’re clearly hiding here, but from who? Paul?’
Deacon shakes his head. ‘Jenny, it’s complicated.’
‘Why did you marry Paul, Susan?’ she asks. ‘You don’t love him. You couldn’t possibly.’
She can only figure out so much. I’m still safe. And there’s still time to leave.
‘Maaaaammmmyyy.’ A whimper carries through the slightly ajar bedroom door. ‘I want my maaaaammmmyyyy.’
Blood courses furiously through my veins. I can feel the sudden swell of pressure inside my brain as if a dam has burst its banks. I hold my breath and wait. Maybe Jenny didn’t hear Amelia. Maybe she was too distracted with temper . . .
‘Maammmyyy,’ Amelia cries again, a little louder this time.
And Deacon cracks. I see it in his face before he even turns towards the sound of Amelia’s sobbing. It’s in that moment, that one rebellious turn of Deacon’s body, that I know I’ve lost. I always thought he would put me first. And he did, for a long time. Even above his wife. But he has a new priority – Amelia. It’s all over.
‘Shh, sweetheart, shhh,’ Deacon says, charging towards the bedroom and fecklessly throwing the door wide open. ‘I’m here. It’s okay. You’re not alone. I’m here.’
Jenny’s hand is across her mouth. She’s shaking her head and I can see her joining the dots.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
‘Jenny, please,’ I say, grabbing her other hand. Her skin is clammy and I realise she’s scared. ‘Let me explain . . .’
Her eyes burn into me as she jerks her arm back roughly. I lose my balance and stumble backwards.
Hot, sharp pain explodes in the back of my head as I knock the pizza box off the blue beer crate and a shard of broken plastic drills its way into my skull. I instinctively reach up and warm, sticky blood trickles on to my fingers.
‘You bitch,’ I hiss as I watch Jenny standing over me. ‘You fucking bitch.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, her eyes wide with disbelief. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
My vision blurs as the searing pain swamps my thoughts.
‘You’re bleeding,’ Jenny says, her voice shaking. ‘It looks bad. Oh God, Susan. I’m so sorry.’
She takes a step forward and I try to grab her ankle to drag her to the ground with me, but she jumps back, screeching.
‘It’s okay. It’s okay.’ Deacon’s voice creeps from the bedroom.
‘Who’s he talking to?’ Jenny asks, her eyes burning into me.
Her curiosity is drawing her towards Deacon, but she’s scared, it’s obvious from how slowly she moves. But I don’t understand why. She must know it’s Amelia. So what is she afraid of? Does she think I’ve hurt Amelia? Does Jenny really believe I’m such a monster I could harm my own child? The realisation stings. What Jenny thinks of me should be irrelevant, but I find it’s not and my feelings are hurt.
‘Oh Amelia,’ Deacon says. ‘You’re too hot. You’re much too hot.’
‘Noooo,’ I screech as Jenny turns towards the bedroom.
I pull myself to my feet. My legs are shaking and I’m light-headed. ‘Don’t,’ I warn her. ‘Don’t you dare take another step.’
Jenny ignores me and runs into the bedroom.
‘Oh my God,’ she says. ‘I don’t believe it.’
I try to hurry after her but my legs are heavy and I can feel blood trickling down the back of my neck.
‘Oh my God,’ Jenny repeats. ‘What’s wrong with her? What have you done? Have you hurt her?’
‘God, no. Of course not,’ Deacon splutters defensively as he sits crouched on the mattress with Amelia in his arms. ‘I’ve taken care of her. Good care of her, I promise. I would never hurt her. Not in a million years.’
‘Look at her,’ Jenny says, close to tears. ‘She’s so pale. Is she dying? Oh God. Oh God.’
‘Don’t be fucking ridiculous,’ I bark, finally reaching the bedroom door. ‘She’s just sick. Kids get sick all the time. I was on my way to get her medication when you arrived.’
‘Oh Susan,’ Jenny says, disgusted. ‘What have you done?’
‘Nothing,’ I growl, pushing her out of my way so I can garner a better view of Amelia.
Her skin is blotchier than before and her lips are a terrifying blueish purple.
‘It’s not too late,’ Deacon says. ‘We can get her to hospital. Jenny can help, can’t you, Jen?’
‘I . . . I . . .’ she stutters.
‘Enough,’ I shout. ‘Enough.’
Amelia begins to cry and Deacon gathers her frail body closer to his chest.
‘Everything has changed. Amelia is sick. She has to come first, Susan,’ he says. ‘You must know that.’
‘Paul needs to pay for what he’s done,’ I say.
‘But Amelia doesn’t,’ Deacon says. ‘She’s just a baby, Susan, and she needs help.’
Jenny slowly backs away. I’m so distracted by my daughter’s worryingly pale complexion that I don’t notice Jenny leaving until she’s right by the flat door.
‘Where the fuck do you think you’re going?’ I shout after her.
‘Susan, let her go,’ Deacon says. ‘We’ve much more important things to worry about.’
‘She’s going straight to the Guards,’ I panic. ‘You do realise that, don’t you? We’re fucked. We’re completely fucked.’
‘Shh, princess. Shh,’ he says, stroking Amelia’s hair calmly, as if the whole world isn’t imploding around us. ‘Don’t be scared. There’s nothing to be scared about.’
‘Have you gone completely mad?’ I growl, turning to run. ‘I’m going to catch her before it’s too late.’
‘Susan, no . . .’ Deacon pleads. ‘Don’t do this . . . Don’t do anything you’ll regret.’
I can hear Jenny running down the concrete stairwell. It’s not too late. I can catch her. I have to catch her.
‘Take care of her,’ I say as I turn my back on Deacon and Amelia.
I press my hand against the back of my head. The bleeding has stopped. My legs slip for a moment and lose grip as I charge so fast after Jenny I almost topple over.
‘Susssaaaannnn, nooooo,’ Deacon screams, his voice chasing me out the door and down the stairwell.
I don’t look back. At Deacon. At the flat. At my little girl.
Chapter Thirty-seven
NOW
The rickety door at the bottom of the concrete steps is closed and Jenny pulls instead of pushes. I gasp inwardly. Her simple misjudgement buys me valuable seconds and I’m catching up with her as I charge down the stairs.
‘Wait, Jenny, please,’ I puff, short of breath. ‘I just want to talk.’
I’m right behind her when she finally pushes on the door and spills out on to the street. The sudden burst of sunlight dazzles me and I lose my footing and stumble on the bottom two steps, going over on my ankle.
‘Jenny, you bitch,’ I hiss, shaking off pain.
The door slams closed. I lunge forward and press both hands flat on the frosted glass in the centre and push much harder than I need to. It swings back and I burst on to the street. I glance left and right, grinning with satisfaction when I spot her almost immediately.
‘Jenny, please?’ I shout as she runs down the street towards the main body of the city. ‘Wait up. Please wait up.’
A woman with a double buggy strolls towards us, taking up most of the footpath. She makes no effort to move over. Jenny swerves around her, dodging passing traffic. Jenny’s back on the path within seconds and picking up speed. The woman trundles towards me.
‘Twinkle . . . twinkle little star,’ I hear her sing, out of tune.
My eyes focus on Jenny as the woman continues walking towards me, oblivious.
‘Up above the sky so bright,’ she continues.
The footpath narrows ahead to allow room for the traffic to widen from two to three lanes of fast-moving cars. There isn’t room for the woman and her buggy to pass me without pinning me to the wall. I can tell she’s expecting me to move into a shop doorway and allow room for her to pass. It’s unspoken etiquette and she continues singing and walking, obviously expecting me to oblige. But I can’t afford the lost time. I keep running.
‘Stupid bitch,’ I grunt, reaching the woman and her young children. I kick the front of the buggy out of my way. The woman gasps and struggles to keep hold of the handle as the buggy jerks and the front wheels flop off the path. An approaching car stops suddenly. The squeal of brakes is piercing and sudden, and the smell of burning rubber as tyres skid on tarmac wafts into the air. A child screams and car horns honk. Jenny takes advantage of the sudden commotion and darts across the road in front of the stopped cars.
‘Did you see what that woman just did?’ Someone runs out of a nearby shop to assist the mother with the buggy. ‘Crazy. Just crazy.’
Their shock slides off me as if I’m impenetrable. Perhaps in the moment of adrenaline and fear, I am. My eyes shift from them and on to Jenny. Traffic is moving again and I can’t cross the road. I run faster than ever. Charging ahead, parallel to Jenny. We glance over our shoulders at each other, only tossing our eyes at the path ahead every couple of seconds to keep track of where we’re going. I’m gaining on Jenny. As soon as the traffic stops, I’ll have her. But suddenly the bitch rounds a corner. I can’t see her. My chest is tight, and my breath is laboured. Each inhale drags too much oxygen into my burning lungs. I feel like my whole upper body might explode under the pressure.
I charge to the end of the road, running faster than ever. The lights change, and a generic green man beckons me obliviously across the road. Reaching the far side, I press my hand against cool pebble-dashed plaster and take a second to gather myself. I’m panting desperately, and my heart is pounding. Beads of perspiration that cling to my hairline begin to trickle down my forehead and run into my eyes. I drag a shaking arm across my eyes and with fresh vision look up. Jenny’s back comes into view instantly in the distance. I’m desperate to catch my breath, but Jenny isn’t giving up. If anything, she’s getting faster and gaining distance. I pick up the chase as she turns another corner. And another. It’s a maze of sharp, sudden rights and unexpected left turns. My calves are on fire but I push on, determined. I’ve never been in this part of the city and I don’t recognise any of the streets or buildings. There are no more shops, just large, industrial warehouses, and there are no more people walking the streets. If I’ve no idea where we are then Jenny must be completely lost too. I suddenly realise that I don’t know how to find my way back to Deacon and Amelia. But that doesn’t matter right now. Nothing matters except catching Jenny.
She whips around another corner, and when I follow my eyes light up and I come to a confident stop. It’s a dead end. The narrow laneway leads to the docks. It’s dull and chilly down here. I creep forward slowly. Jenny darts left. And then right. She’s cornered. And she knows it. I take another step. My foot hits something and I glance at the ground. A rusty old pipe stares up at me. It’s long and thin and useful. I bend down and pick it up. All the while Jenny’s knowing eyes are pleading with me not to.
‘Oh Jenny,’ I say. ‘Tut. Tut. Tut.’
‘Susan, please,’ she says. ‘Let’s talk. You said you wanted to talk.’
I step forward, closing the gap between us. The buildings on each side are storeys high and banish the sun. There is no light to break up the long tarmac path leading to the sea. No more side streets, no more exits. There is nowhere left for her to run except into the water behind her.
‘Oh Jenny,’ I say, edging closer with one hand confidently on my hip and the other wrapped tightly around the metal pipe. ‘Why couldn’t you have just gone home? I asked you to go home. I tried to protect you. I really, really did.’
Chapter Thirty-eight
THEN
The smell of disinfectant hits me like a slap across the face as soon as the hospital doors slide open. Reception comes into view straight away, spanning almost the entire left side of the spacious lobby. But I don’t hurry over. I don’t know why. Maybe I need a moment to catch my breath. Or maybe I’m desperate for some time to mull over what I’m going to say. I just can’t believe that I’m really here, that this is really happening. An hour ago I was straightening my hair and slipping into killer high heels, and now I’m standing inside the main doors of A&E in my little black dress, with mascara smudged around my eyes. I look at my mother standing beside me. I try to catch her attention, but her glassy eyes are vacant as if her body is present but her mind is somewhere else entirely. I take a deep, painfully sharp breath, link my mother’s arm and take a reluctant step towards the reception desk.
‘C’mon, Mam,’ I say.
There are two young girls behind reception. One is on the phone and the other is sitting painting her nails. Neither look my way when I approach. I stand for a moment, statue-like, and wait. It’s noisy. A TV is on in the waiting area to my right and patients litter the corridors that span like tree branches at either side. Some people moan and groan. Some sit quietly in solitude and some talk confidently into mobile phones despite all the posters dotted around prohibiting the use of phones. Two paramedics whizz by with a patient on a stretcher. The patient is crying loudly in obvious pain and he rolls to one side and throws up just as they pass by. I jump back as vomit splashes the glazed cream tiles next to my feet. The paramedics burst through nearby double doors into an even busier area and my eyes can’t help but follow them until the doors close and my focus is brought back to reception.
‘Excuse me,’ I finally say, followed by an awkward cough to clear my dry throat. The younger of the two girls lowers the delicate brush into the bottle of nail varnish and secures it with a quick twist. The smell of drying nail varnish is distinct, and I cough again. The girl slowly drags her eyes away from her fingers to meet my stare and I’m almost certain I hear her grunt inwardly.
‘Yes,’ she says.
‘I . . . I . . .’ I swallow.
My mother’s fingers grip my arm and her nails bite into my skin as her grip is tight and desperate. She’s hurting me, although she’s completely unaware. She’s heavy too, like a huge leech needing to be carried. I want her to take charge of the conversation. I want her to lead. To be the parent. I need her to shield me from this nightmare but she’s nothing more than a quive
ring mess.
My mother looks amazing. Her fair hair is sleek and falls in thick, layered waves around her face. Her make-up is pristine except for the long, narrow charcoal lines of mascara that trickle down her cheeks. She is dressed for the party, like me, although her crimson pencil dress is more conservative and mature. I’m sure to the girl on reception we look perfectly normal – too normal. We don’t belong among the injured, with bloodied body parts or broken limbs, among the stressed-out parents waiting with a child in pyjamas, among the drunks and drug addicts. But I can feel my mother swaying as if her legs just won’t hold her up much longer and her body shaking with angry tearless sobs.
‘Can I help you?’ the receptionist says.
‘My brother . . .’ I pause. ‘They asked us to come in . . . they said there was an accident . . .’ I trail off.
‘A car crash?’ the receptionist says, her shoulders round, and I notice a spark of recognition in her concerned smile.
She’s been waiting for us, I can tell. Her eyes fill with sadness as she slides her chair back and stands up. She catches the attention of the other girl on the phone and they share some mutual nodding. The girl on the phone’s eyes shift to me and she smiles at me gently.
‘My brother wasn’t in a car. He was walking.’ I shake my head, desperate for her to tell us this is all a big mistake. They’ve called the wrong people. We’re not the family they’re looking for. ‘He doesn’t drive,’ I continue. ‘He doesn’t even have a car.’
The girl walks out from behind her desk and drapes her arm over my mother’s shoulder. ‘This way please,’ she says.
It feels odd, the three of us tangled up together like a human caterpillar with so many legs. I unlink my mother. She doesn’t seem to notice I’ve suddenly lagged and she walks ahead with the receptionist’s arms steering her.
We walk through the doors next to reception where I watched the paramedics take their patient moments ago. Adam must be this way, I think, maybe the same paramedics brought him in. The main hub of A&E doesn’t seem as chaotic as moments before and I breathe a sigh of relief as I desperately try to gather my thoughts. Hideous floral curtains punctuate various cubicles. Some curtains are drawn. Some are open. Some patients are alone. Some are with medics. It’s all very stereotypical and expected. This isn’t somewhere bad things happen. This is somewhere people come to get better. Like that time Adam fractured his arm during the interschools hurling final when we were eleven. Mrs Clancy, our fifth-class teacher, chastised Adam for being so reckless, but looking back I guess she was just put out that the team captain would be out of action for six weeks until his cast came off. Although Adam didn’t attend this exact hospital as a child, the layout and environment are familiar. But the feelings now are frighteningly unfamiliar. Back then, I was excited to visit my fearless brother and tease him about his injury. This time . . . well, this time . . .
Under Lying Page 23