The Truth Will Out

by Anna McPartlin

  ‘So what’s your point?’ George asked, swishing his wine vigorously enough to cause a minor spillage.

  ‘My point is that she committed three years ago on the day she signed for the apartment. She committed again two years ago when, against my advice, they bought that shithole in Wexford, and once again when they inherited his great-auntie Edna’s freaky fish and – Will you please stop swishing and just drink the stuffing wine?’

  ‘That’s ownership. Ownership and commitment are two totally different things – and it’s my apartment so I’ll swish if I want to swish.’

  ‘Homo!’

  ‘Witch!’

  ‘Could you both shut up?’ Harri said, and drained her glass.

  ‘Sorry,’ George said.

  ‘Me too,’ Melissa echoed.

  Melissa had been Harri’s best friend since they were both aged five. She had been George’s first and only girlfriend aged sixteen. He’d broken up with her exactly two weeks and one kiss into their short-lived affair. Six months later he came out to his mother while she was putting out the washing. She pretended to have gone momentarily deaf and it was another four years before George’s sexuality was mentioned in the house again.

  Suddenly Harri felt the need to throw up. Melissa got her to the bathroom and held her flattened hair away from her face while she vomited red wine. Afterwards Melissa took her to George’s spare room and tucked her into bed.

  ‘Melissa, do you ever wonder why things happen?’ Harri asked.

  ‘All the time,’ Melissa said.

  ‘Do you think George is right?’

  ‘Well, he never has been before.’ Melissa laughed a little.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on.’

  ‘I know but give it time.’

  ‘James won’t talk to me.’ She was crying again.

  ‘Give him a little space.’

  ‘How much space? A day, a week, a year?’

  ‘Harri, in the church … well, he was devastated too.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to hurt him.’

  ‘I know. We’ll get to the bottom of it, Harri. I promise.’ Melissa turned out the light and closed the door.

  ‘Too late,’ Harri whispered, ‘I’ve lost him.’

  Melissa sat outside the door, listening to her best friend’s sobs. She cried too. She couldn’t help it. In James’s face she had seen something break. There was no going back. Harri was right, she had lost him, and it felt like a death and a time to grieve.

  George had another glass of wine waiting for Melissa when at last she returned. They sat opposite one another, comfortable in each other’s company, like family. ‘Is she okay?’ he asked.

  Melissa shook her head. George became unusually quiet.

  ‘What?’ Melissa asked, after a while.

  ‘James believes it’s all about him.’

  ‘Well, he wouldn’t be far off. Two attempted weddings, two pretty serious panic attacks.’

  ‘It’s not the only time,’ George said, rubbing his chin in what appeared to be a demonstration of careful consideration.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘When we were kids it happened a lot, maybe until Harri hit five or six. I can’t remember exactly.’

  ‘But she said –’

  ‘She doesn’t remember.’

  ‘But your parents, they told the doctor –’

  ‘They lied.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’ she whispered, although her friend was a floor away.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘All that stuff earlier about Harri not being ready for commitment …’

  ‘That could still be the case. I just don’t understand why my parents are lying.’

  ‘She needs to know.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘So?’ she pushed.

  ‘So I’ll talk to them, see what they say. Harri’s upset enough – I need to understand before I bother her with this.’

  ‘And James?’

  ‘James needs space. I mean, wouldn’t you?’

  Melissa nodded. ‘I just don’t get it.’

  ‘Me neither,’ George shrugged, ‘but something’s off .’

  Gloria picked at her evening meal. She’d put together a pasta dish with leftovers from the night before. Father Ryan was starving, having travelled from Galway early that morning after snatching half a slice of toast, then barely making it to the church to hear that his niece would not be joining the congregation. There had been no time for lunch because James had driven him from the church to the hospital. Poor boy. He had tried to speak words of comfort but James had been silent and too far away to be reached. The journey to St Vincent’s had seemed to last an eternity, especially as James had a tendency towards aggressive manoeuvring.

  Father Ryan favoured travelling by bike. His parish was a small one just outside Galway city. He only used the car when he had to travel between parishes to say Mass. ‘Nothing like a bit of fresh air,’ he’d say. Father Ryan wasn’t afraid of the cold – in fact, he welcomed it. He couldn’t stand his brother’s central heating, which brought him out in a rash, but, of course, he’d never say so, even going as far as to thank Gloria for remembering to put on the electric blanket – he’d discovered this when he had taken his suitcase upstairs. It’s spring! What on earth is the woman thinking? He’d switched it off .

  He was looking forward to going home on the train the next day. He’d sit and eat some lunch, watch the countryside pass him by and attempt to quell his fears and any associated guilt. I did it for you, Harri. Mostly I did it for you.

  Duncan watched his wife picking at her food, afraid that she might break. He was ever mindful that at any moment he could lose her to the deep depression that had once all but stolen her away. Days like this one were testing. He was determined to protect her, he just wasn’t sure how. ‘Are you still with me, Glory?’

  She looked up absent-mindedly. ‘I’m cold,’ she said.

  Bloody hell, Father Ryan thought.

  ‘Maybe you’d like to go to bed,’ Duncan offered. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t sleep.’

  ‘I’ll turn up the heat.’ Duncan got up and went out, leaving his wife and brother alone.

  ‘Is this our fault?’ Gloria muttered.

  ‘Don’t think that,’ he said. ‘How could it be?’

  ‘I’m scared,’ she said. ‘I can’t lose her again.’ Tears welled in her dark eyes.

  ‘You’ve never lost her,’ he reminded his sister-in-law, squeezing her hand.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she said, allowing a tear escape. ‘I can’t lose my child again.’

  Duncan came back in time to see his wife wipe away a second tear. ‘Glory?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she lied. She stood up as he sat down and kissed the top of his head. ‘Maybe I will have an early night.’

  Duncan again rose to his feet.

  ‘No.’ She was adamant. ‘I’m fine. Stay here with Father Ryan. Finish your dinner.’

  ‘Goodnight, my love,’ he said, from his chair.

  ‘Goodnight, my darling,’ she responded, from the door.

  Father Ryan sat quietly by the thankfully empty fireplace, staring into his glass. Duncan sat in the chair opposite. Their spirits were somewhere else. After a time Father Ryan broached Gloria’s fears with his younger brother.

  ‘Harri’s scared of something unseen, something unknown,’ he said.

  ‘She shouldn’t be.’

  ‘You’re still so sure she doesn’t deserve the truth? That, somewhere inside her, she doesn’t already know?’ he asked, unafraid of his brother’s wrath.

  ‘There’s nothing to know!’ Duncan said, slamming his glass down on the table.

  ‘Toda
y –’

  ‘Today has nothing to do with anything!’

  ‘Duncan –’

  ‘Thomas.’

  Father Ryan knew that when his brother called him by his given name he meant business. ‘Maybe her panic attacks have nothing to do with anything and maybe they do – all I know is that in the end the truth will out,’ he warned. ‘No matter what, the truth will out.’ He headed up the stairs to his bed, leaving his brother alone to contemplate.

  Duncan drank two more glasses of whiskey, then went up to his attic office, to the drawer that held the copy of the file he hadn’t had reason to look at for many years.

  He opened it and a picture fell out. He picked it up and turned on his desk light. The girl’s hair was long and dark, her staring eyes deep green, her skin pale and her lips part purple, part blue. She was seventeen and she was dead.

  10 May 1975 – Saturday

  It’s the tenth of May already. Today I am sixteen! Sixteen! Can you believe it? I can’t. Sixteen years ago my mother gave birth to me. It was a warm spring afternoon in 1959. Mam said that my dad nearly crashed the car trying to get her to the hospital. She said it was a miracle that we all survived the drive. He nearly crashed into a tree, a wall and an old man in a cart. He had borrowed his boss’s Ford Fair-lane and Mam said that he wasn’t a practised driver at the time and all she could think about was, how would they pay for a replacement fancy car if they survived the crash? Thinking of him driving like a madman, with Mam roaring at him, makes me laugh. I can hear him. ‘Hang on, Deirdre! We’re nearly there, girly girl!’ He always called her ‘girly girl’.

  I can hear her too. ‘Hang on? I’m hanging on for dear life! Slow down, you maniac!’ She used to be so strong. She never let my dad get away with anything. What happened to her?

  I’m sixteen. It’s so weird. I used to think I’d never make it to sixteen. When I was ten, sixteen seemed so far away, and after Dad died I was convinced I’d die too. I don’t know why but for the longest time I had a sense I’d die young. I still do but only sometimes and, anyway, now I’m sixteen and that’s not so young. This time next year I’ll be seventeen and, let’s face it, seventeen is practically ancient.

  Mam actually lived up to her promise. She said she might get me a bottle of Charlie and a Bay City Rollers tape and she did. Wonders will never cease. Now that I think of it, she used to always keep her promises before he came along and now … well, I know it’s not really her fault. She’s doing her best. I had a good day. We had cake for tea. Sheila came and it was nice, even if she did bring stupid Dave. Still, he gave me a bunch of flowers. He’d picked them himself and they were mucky but they’re nice. He didn’t have to do that. Even Sheila seemed surprised. It made me feel mean for thinking he’s a thick even though I still do.

  HE was nowhere to be seen, TG. Mam says he hasn’t been drinking for over a week now. He’s been quiet, no banging doors, no shouting, no nothing. He still can’t look me in the eye but I’m glad. Let him keep his eyes on the floor. Let him rot.

  Today after school I went to sit by the painting of the Eliana cargo vessel on the pier wall. I love looking out across the water and far away. On a clear day you can see Wales. Well, not really, but kind of. The doctor was fishing again. He hasn’t been there for a few days. I tripped and hurt my ankle. He came over to help so I pretended it was worse than it was. I don’t know why, I just wanted to talk to him. Sheila thinks I like him. She’s wrong. It’s nothing like that. I mean I do like him but not the way she likes Dave. He helped me up and he sat me on one of the flatter rocks. I said I was okay and asked him his name. He told me Brendan. He’s from Cork. I like his accent – it’s sing-songy. He’s only in town until Dr Anderson gets better. Dr Anderson is about 107 and has had four heart attacks. I told him the old man should stay at home and let him keep the job. He laughed but he says he belongs somewhere else. I know the feeling.

  Henry from Delamere’s riding school phoned and told Mam that there was a summer job if I wanted it. I’m not sure. Cleaning stables is pretty low – horse manure morning, noon and night. PUKE!!!!!!! Still, there’s nothing else out there. I’ve tried every coffee place in town, and the restaurants and the shops. Henry is the manager. He seems nice, and the owner is never really there. He’s a horse trainer and spends a lot of time away. Good. I’ve heard he’s a bit of a bastard from Jessica Harney, whose brother is a jockey. He’s twenty-five and half my size so I suppose it’s a good thing he can ride. It’s a nice place. I’d never been there before the interview. The house is huge!!!!! I wasn’t inside it, though. Henry walked me around the stables and the paddocks while we talked. The horses were lovely. A brown one called Betsy really took to me – well, she made lots of noise, tried to butt me and dribbled on my shoulder, but Henry said that’s a good sign. WEIRD. Maybe I’ll take it and then if something else comes up I can always leave.

  HE’s working since yesterday and the job will run on till tomorrow. The load is spirits so he’ll sneak some to sell or to drink, and either way he’ll be delighted with himself – that is, until he gets so drunk that he wants to do nothing but hurt someone. First he’ll come home with flowers and a box of Milk Tray and Mam will wear her best dress – and she could really do with a new best dress – and they’ll dance in the sitting room and he’ll whisper to her and kiss her neck even if I’m in the room. And when I leave I’ll hear her laugh, and although she’s laughing I know that she knows that in another few hours it’s likely she’ll be crying and I just don’t understand.

  I might be knee deep in horseshit but I’ll do my best to make the most out of working at Delamere’s. The summer holiday is just around the corner and I’m going to do my best to make it a good one. I’m sitting in my room listening to the Bay City Rollers and I smell great. My flowers are in one of Mam’s vases. Happy birthday to me!

  3. Broken

  It was after two when Harri unlocked the door to the apartment she shared with James. When they had first decided to buy, she had insisted that any property purchased would be south-side and by the sea. She didn’t want to move far from her parents, and although James was initially reluctant, when they eventually found a two-bed apartment in Monkstown he had been the first to fall in love. Now it was empty as she had suspected it would be. Unopened post lay on the hall floor. The plant on the table across from the door was in desperate need of hydration. The full-length gilt-edged mirror revealed Harri to be a shadow of the girl who had left three days earlier. She hadn’t slept one wink in two nights. James was still not speaking to her. His phone was permanently off. George had insisted that if she was intent on going to the apartment he would accompany her.

  ‘No,’ she had said firmly.

  ‘But –’

  ‘No.’ Harri needed to go home – and she needed to wait there until James returned. She had to see him, to explain, possibly to beg. ‘I need to see him … to explain …’

  ‘Explain what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted.

  ‘Stay one more day.’

  She shook her head. ‘Thanks for minding me, George, but it’s time I left.’

  He stepped aside to allow her out of the door. ‘I’m always going to be here.’

  ‘I know.’ She smiled at her brother. I know.

  She hung her coat on the rack and opened the door to the kitchen. Healthy plants stood on the windowsill over the sink. She opened the window behind them, allowing sea air to circulate. She put the kettle on and ventured from kitchen to sitting room. Boxes sat in the middle of the floor. They contained belongings, specifically James’s belongings. The realization smacked her with the force of a bus. Her legs felt weak and she sat down quickly on the sofa. She stared at the boxes for the longest time, digesting their meaning. He’s leaving me. In the large tank, James’s auntie Edna’s exotic fish swam about, unperturbed by the boxes or indeed the woman crying.

  It was after six when she hear
d the key in the lock. She hadn’t stirred for a few hours and was afraid to move for fear of stabbing pins and needles. It was a few minutes before he appeared. She was gazing at the door, waiting for it to open. His face betrayed slight shock, making it clear that he hadn’t noticed her coat hanging in the hall.

  ‘Harri,’ he said quietly.

  ‘James,’ she replied.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Fine. Better. No, actually I’m worse. With every passing moment I feel a little worse.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, still standing by the door, both arms hanging limply by his sides.

  ‘Why are you sorry? I’m the one who did this,’ she said, looking from him to the boxes.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ he said, glancing at his exotic fish, swimming and carefree.

  ‘So forgive me.’

  ‘It’s not about forgiveness.’

  ‘Don’t leave.’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I can’t do this again.’

  ‘Well, let’s just not get married – let’s stay as we are. I love the way we are.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he whispered, and his big grey eyes filled. He shook his head. ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘It’s not you!’ Harri cried.

  ‘How can it not be?’ he asked.

  Harri’s head hung low. She was dissolving and James fought the urge to hold her.

  ‘James.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I should go. You should stay.’

  ‘I won’t have that. I’ll be staying with Malcolm until I find a place.’

  ‘What about the apartment?’ she asked dully.

  ‘In a few months when we’re settled we can think about selling this place and the house in Wexford.’

  ‘Okay. And the fish?’

  ‘I’ll come and get them when I find somewhere to live.’

  ‘Okay.’ Her eyes were leaking fiercely. ‘I really hate those fish – they freak me out.’

  ‘I know. I’ll pick them up as soon as –’