The Truth Will Out

by Anna McPartlin

  Last night was good. Matthew brought me to a really nice restaurant. The prices were huge but he gets a big allowance so he said I could have whatever I wanted. To be honest, it was all a bit too fancy for me. I’d have way preferred a burger and a Coke to calf’s liver or duck. Ducks are sweet, and I really don’t like the idea of eating them, but I have to admit it was tasty but only if I closed my eyes because it looked weird on the plate.

  We went back to his place, and his dad called us into his drawing room. He was watching The Late Late Show and Gay Byrne was talking to Minnie Brennan from The Riordans. Her hair was lovely. Matthew’s dad asked us what we were doing. Matthew told him nothing. His dad told him to tread carefully. Matthew told him to go back to Argentina – and his dad threw a glass at him!!!! Matthew ducked but I never saw it coming and it barely missed me. It smashed right over my head. I’ve only just got my fingers out of bandages and now my head was nearly split open. Matthew’s dad got a shock and started to CRY! Matthew called him a drunk and we went to his bedroom. Matthew put on Elton John and he told me that since his dad split up with his bit he’d been drinking and acting the eejit. That, and it will be Matthew’s mam’s anniversary the day after tomorrow. I told Matthew we should visit her. He didn’t want to but I insisted. I’m going to make a picnic and the weather forecast is good so we can sit and eat with her and it’ll be nice. I’m looking forward to it.

  I was talking to Christopher Nolan the other day in town. He’s a friend of Shane McCafferty’s older brother. He said Shane’s mam hasn’t left the house since he died. I feel bad about not bringing over an apple pie but I asked Mam to make one and she said she was too tired. I should really learn to do it myself. I mean, how hard can it be? Although now it’s probably a bit too late – she’d think I was some sort of weirdo if I arrived up at the door with a pie now.

  Christopher said Shane’s brother Éamonn isn’t taking it too great either. He’s broken up with his girlfriend Ellen after five years together and he’s jacked in the football and he, like Shane, was a great footballer. I was still talking with Christopher when Father Ryan asked me to help him carry his shopping. It was too heavy for his bike as he’d done a big shop. Get a car, Father Ryan!!! Anyway, he carried two bags on the handlebars, one on the back of the bike with the handles wrapped around the seat, and I carried the lightest one, which wasn’t so light. He asked about my mam and I said I was worried. He said he’d noticed she was a little off himself. He said he’d found her sleeping in the confession box. I told him she sleeps a lot these days. He asked if HE was hitting her. I wish I could have said yes but he’s been too busy staying out drinking to hit her. Suits me. He’s at home so rarely it’s like he doesn’t live there any more. There’s a lot of work at the docks and when he’s not working he has enough money to keep him in the pub with his stupid toothless friend.

  Father Ryan thinks that Dr B should take a look at Mam, especially when I told him that sometimes she forgets to put on her skirt. It’s strange I didn’t think to say anything to Dr B. I knew she was acting weird but everything she does is weird to me. I should have said something. I should have realized something was wrong. My poor mam. What could it be? Father Ryan said it’s probably just stress. I hope he’s right, and if it is, I hope he takes one long look at himself because if she’s stressed she’s stressed because she brought that monster back into our house on Father Ryan’s say-so. I didn’t say that, though, but he’s no fool. He knew what I was thinking because I gave him the look.

  16. Something old, something new

  By the time Harri arrived George was frantic. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Working.’

  ‘Nothing’s ready – it’s going to be a disaster,’ he said.

  Harri glanced around the shop. ‘It looks great!’ She loved the floor-to-ceiling beechwood shelving running nearly the length of the left wall. The space was narrow and the arched ceiling gave it a cavernous feel. The artwork that hung behind the till was bright and bold – and the refrigerated room on the right was inspired and bloody cold.

  ‘George, let me out. Not funny, George.’

  ‘I see nipples.’

  ‘And I’m looking at a very swollen left testicle.’

  ‘Okay, okay!’ He let her out – the look on her face meant business. And she’d done some kick-boxing.

  She was happy to report that the cold room was beautifully appointed. ‘It’s a good finish,’ she said, following him through the shop.

  ‘What do you think of the spotlights? Are they too close together?’

  ‘No. They’re perfect.’

  ‘The painting?’

  ‘I picked it. I love it.’

  ‘What about the flooring?’

  ‘The flooring is exactly like I said it would be. It’s fantastic.’

  It was as though George had forgotten that Harri had made a serious contribution to the décor but it had been before her ill-fated wedding and she hadn’t been on site since. ‘It’s all worked out beautifully.’ She grinned.

  ‘You haven’t seen the best bit,’ he said, grinning back, and she followed him down the spiral staircase into the cellar, which had been converted into a tasting area. The room wasn’t entirely set up. Aidan was sweeping the old flagstone floor, and the boxes were open but the wine was yet to be uncorked. The nibbles were stacked and covered with clingfilm.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked, taking off her jacket.

  ‘The floor,’ Aidan said, handing her the broom.

  ‘Aidan!’ George exclaimed.

  ‘I’m pissed off sweeping. I’ll open the wine.’ He flopped down on the bench and grabbed a corkscrew.

  George began to lay out the sandwiches and buff the glasses while Harri swept, then dusted around the shelving, which housed yet more wine. Five small round tables with four seats each were scattered around the space. A Ray LeMontagne CD was playing. Once the tablecloths were spread, the floor was clean, the wine open and the food laid out, it was time. Aidan poured himself a glass of wine, and offered Harri water because she was driving. ‘Still or sparkling?’

  ‘Still.’

  ‘At least have sparkling.’

  ‘What’s the bloody difference?’ Harri laughed. George raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Bubbles. Obviously.’

  ‘I don’t want bubbles.’

  ‘You’ve no sense of adventure, you know that?’ Aidan said sulkily. He was spoiling for a fight. Uh-oh.

  George walked around in circles with a double espresso from the place next door. ‘No one’s coming,’ he said.

  ‘It’s one minute past eight,’ Harri pointed out.

  ‘No one is coming,’ he repeated.

  ‘And I’m the drama queen!’ Aidan snickered.

  ‘Calm down,’ Harri soothed her brother. ‘They’ll be here.’

  They sat in silence while Ray sang ‘Can I Stay?’. The doorbell rang just as he was asking someone unseen to whisper to him. George was up the stairs in seconds, leaving Harri with Aidan.

  ‘Everything all right?’ she asked.

  ‘Everything’s great,’ he confirmed, but his demeanour suggested he was lying.

  For a while Harri had sensed that all was not well with Aidan and George and wondered how long it would be before they’d split up again. He’s never going to be who you want him to be, Aidan.

  George arrived downstairs with four guests, including the wine critic he had hoped for. After that it was Harri who trudged up and down the attractive but energy-consuming stairs to answer the door.

  The night was in full swing. George was talking business and charming the pants off two middle-aged women, one of whom was the critic he was set to impress.

  ‘Oh, here we fucking go! George Clooney has entered the building,’ Aidan sneered.

  ‘Aidan!’ Harri warned.

  ‘Well, look at him – all over them. It makes me sick
.’

  Duncan and Gloria were in a corner talking with Melissa and Gerry. Duncan was thrilled with his son’s achievement, and when George arrived at his father’s side he told him so rapturously, slapping him on the back. ‘I’m proud of you, son!’

  George was polite and stayed with his dad for a minute or two, but the encounter was awkward. He had yet to find it in himself to forgive his parents their terrible lie, despite all appearances to the contrary. Gloria didn’t notice: she was too busy ignoring her family’s new reality and instead devoting herself to catching up with Melissa about the babies, and with Gerry about work.

  Harri and Aidan were the designated wine-pourers.

  Susan arrived with a partner. ‘This is Keith.’

  Harri nearly dropped the bottle she was holding. ‘Hello, Keith. It’s lovely to meet you.’

  Aidan was a little tipsy. ‘Not bad, Susan, not bad at all.’

  Keith just stood there, and Susan went red. Aidan winked at Keith, who, clearly perturbed, downed his wine.

  Harri dragged Aidan into the back storeroom. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Surely you mean what’s Susan doing?’

  He had a point.

  ‘I don’t know – it’s a bit weird,’ she conceded.

  ‘It’s fucking insane. Andrew’s on the guest list.’

  ‘He’s not coming, is he?’

  ‘Well, he said he might. He said he’d bring Beth.’

  ‘Sweet Jesus! Red alert! Red alert!’

  ‘Calm down,’ Aidan said laughing.

  Harri was crap in a crisis but always entertaining. There’d been the time when she was caught up in a bank raid on Henry Street. The raiders had told the customers to get on the floor and when they’d asked her why she was still standing she’d said it was because she couldn’t remember how to bend her knees. The raiders had had a sense of humour – which her father said was a good thing or she’d have left the place with a bullet in her.

  Aidan promised to deal with Susan if Harri would deal with the tasting table. He was getting tired of using the word soupçon. Initially he had felt the term lent him a certain air of professionalism but after four glasses of wine and twenty-four soupçons he was reaching his limit.

  ‘Waiter, the Barolo. Mmm – I’m tasting tobacco, vanilla, chocolate and …’

  ‘A soupçon of wild strawberry.’

  The man with the large nose smiled and Aidan smirked. I’m not a waiter, and read the back of the bottle, Dick-nose!

  Dick-nose called Aidan over to him many times so that he could talk at him. ‘Now, young man, the Bardolino – I’d say it’s light and fruit-filled with a faint cherry flavour and …’

  ‘A soupçon of spice.’ Aidan smiled the sickly smile that, to those who knew him, meant bad things could happen.

  ‘Indeed.’ The man smiled back.

  I’m not going to do you, you old queen. Aidan was bored. He wanted to get away from all this stuffy wine crap, and he was sick of watching George flirt with the women. You’re gay, okay? You’re gay. He wanted to drink a beer and dance to Kelly Clarkson rather than age to Ray LeMontagne and Peggy bloody Lee.

  ‘Who the hell put on Peggy Lee?’ he asked, when he approached Susan.

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Right, come on, get your coat – we’re leaving.’

  ‘I’ve just got here.’

  ‘Andrew and Beth may be coming.’

  ‘Keith, drink up.’

  They were gone before the wine had hit the back of the builder’s throat.

  When George had a minute, Harri explained that Aidan had left with Susan.

  ‘Thank God! If he’d said soupcon one more time I was going to murder him.’

  Andrew and Beth never appeared. Duncan and Gloria left with Melissa and Gerry, who were running home to have a shag because they had the will and the energy and if they hurried it might just last until they made it into the sack. The tasters and critics left smiling. George closed the shop just after eleven. ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Not bad at all.’

  Harri agreed. ‘It went well.’

  ‘Have a glass of wine with me,’ he begged. ‘I need to come down from all the excitement.’

  ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘One glass.’

  ‘Half a glass.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, leading her downstairs.

  The candle in the middle of the table was guttering. Harri and George sat opposite one another in the dim light and clinked glasses.

  ‘I love Paul Weller,’ George said, smiling.

  ‘Who the hell is Paul Weller? Does Aidan know? Is that why he’s so angry?’ Harri asked, alarmed enough to dribble a little wine.

  George laughed at his musically retarded sister. ‘He’s the guy singing on the CD.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. It could have been Paul Gascoigne for all I know.

  ‘I asked James,’ he said.

  Harri nearly choked. ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘I was hoping he’d come. I know you miss him.’

  ‘Understatement. What’s that saying? You never know what you’ve got till it’s gone.’ Her brother squeezed her hand. ‘I even miss his stupid knock-knock jokes.’

  ‘Don’t!’ George said, laughing at the memory. ‘Knock-knock!’

  ‘George.’

  ‘Knock-knock!’

  ‘Who’s there?’ Harri said, her head in her hands.

  ‘Wooden.’

  ‘Wooden who?’

  ‘Wooden you like to know!’

  He was laughing and Harri joined in.

  ‘He’ll come back, Harri,’ he said then, ‘maybe not tonight but he will be back.’

  ‘Nice dream.’ She smiled. ‘What about you and Aidan? Why is he so angry?’

  ‘It’s hard.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We’re so different.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I do care about him.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Stop saying “I know”.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Who ever said that opposites attract?’ George asked, swirling the contents of his glass.

  ‘Paula Abdul.’

  ‘Well, then, that says it all, doesn’t it? You know what Aidan said the other night? He said I hate myself. Can you believe he actually thinks that?’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘What?’

  The shock registering on George’s face was funny, and Harri grinned – but not for long.

  ‘Excuse me?’ George’s tone was elevated, suggesting he was getting snotty.

  Oh, no – and we were having such a nice time.

  ‘Look, George, everyone who loves you knows that there is part of you that would prefer to be straight.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘George, you’re a modern-day Rock Hudson. In public you’re every woman’s dream but in private you’re … yourself.’

  ‘Oh, come on! I can’t help it if women find me attractive.’

  ‘No, you can’t, but you don’t have to encourage them and you do. You want strangers to think you’re straight.’

  ‘Because it’s easier.’

  ‘Easier to flirt outrageously all night with those two women? That’s not easy.’

  ‘It’s business.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You don’t believe me.’

  ‘You forget I’m the one who found you cutting yourself at sixteen. I’m the one who held you when you cried for two days when you couldn’t make yourself shag Grace Fanning.’

  ‘That was one crisis summer and I came out earlier than most of the gay men I know.’

  ‘You came out to Mum, Dad and me. You came out in the Ryan household where nobody talks about anything. You didn’t come out to your friends or your classmates or anyone else until you were well into your twenties.’


  ‘Just because I’m not Liberace doesn’t mean I’m not content with my lot.’

  ‘I hope so, George, because you’ve got a lot.’

  ‘And you?’ he said, changing the subject – consensus as to whether or not his sister and boyfriend had a point would not be reached that night.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘Aidan told me about Matthew Delamere.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You’re not even curious?’

  ‘I am,’ she admitted. ‘I’m very curious.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Tomorrow’s my birthday,’ she said. ‘My real birthday.’

  ‘I hadn’t registered the date.’

  She sighed.

  ‘You’re going down there, aren’t you?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘You want me to come with you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank Christ! I’ve just opened a business.’

  Harri laughed. George was a selfish old sod but at least he was honest about it.

  Later that night, when she was tucked up in bed, she wondered what she would have done if James had been there. She missed his face, the crinkle under his eyes, the way he grinned, the way he licked his left incisor just before making a point. She missed his hair, his hands and everything else that began with H. I miss your hamstrings. She missed all of him. She wondered about Matthew Delamere and what he must have gone through in the wake of losing his girlfriend. Did he really love her? Does a seventeen-year-old understand love? Did he ache? Did he bury a part of himself with her? Does he even remember her?

  Harri stared at the picture her dad had given her of a smiling seventeen-year-old Liv stroking an old horse. She had such light in her eyes and a dirty grin. She was tall, much taller than Harri, and lean. They had the same hair and cheekbones but it was hard to see any other similarities when she looked from the girl in the picture to herself in the mirror – but, then, the girl in the photo was just a kid. The very next day, 11 July 2006, was Harri Ryan’s actual birthday, and Matthew Delamere’s girlfriend Liv would have been dead for thirty years. I’m so sorry. I wish I could change it for you. I hope you’re resting in peace, pretty girl.