The Truth Will Out

by Anna McPartlin

  ‘Harri?’ James repeated. ‘Harri, I know it’s you. Are you going to say something?’ A few seconds passed. ‘Harri, this is ridiculous.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘At last she speaks.’

  ‘How did you know it was me?’

  ‘No one else calls me in the middle of the night with nothing to say.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Stop apologizing. What time is it?’

  ‘Just after three.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I have a picture of my mum. My real one, not Gloria.’

  ‘Does she look like you?’

  ‘A little. Susan thinks I’m the head cut off her and Melissa said so too but I don’t see it.’

  ‘Does she look happy?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, she does.’

  ‘Good,’ he replied, and Harri felt instantly better.

  She’d first called him after Melissa had shown her a picture of her father. She had been silent that night too. She had really only wanted to hear James’s voice but then she had changed her mind and pretended there was something wrong with the line.

  ‘Can you hear me now?’ she’d asked.

  James’s turn to be silent.

  ‘Do you mind that I called?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Nice to hear your voice.’

  She’d told him about her dad.

  ‘Do you want to meet him?’ he’d asked.

  ‘No,’ she’d said, not really knowing if her answer was true.

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of time,’ he counselled.

  ‘I haven’t had a panic attack,’ she said.

  ‘Of course you haven’t. They only tend to happen when you’re due to marry me.’ He said it lightly but she sensed his pain.

  ‘Not true,’ she said. ‘My parents told me it used to happen a lot when I was a kid.’

  ‘But they said …’ He trailed off as it occurred to him that her parents had done a lot of lying and, in the general scheme of things, that particular lie was inconsequential.

  They had talked on and off since that night. It was always at Harri’s instigation, when she was at breaking point, and usually the call began with silence. Except for once, two weeks previously, when she’d seen him in a coffee shop in Bray with Tina Tingle. Tina was leaning in for a kiss and Harri was walking with a client discussing fabric samples – otherwise she would have fallen to her knees right there on the street.

  That phone call began with the words ‘Tina fucking Tingle!’

  James had laughed but Harri wasn’t amused.

  ‘How the hell?’ he’d asked.

  ‘I saw you,’ she’d said, in a tone that dripped disgust.

  ‘Saw us what?’

  ‘Kissing!’ she’d said, through gritted teeth.

  James had laughed. ‘Since when has a peck on the cheek constituted romance – which I presume is what you believe you witnessed?’

  ‘Peck on the cheek?’ she’d said, and realized that if anyone had cheek it was her. Who the hell do I think I am?

  ‘I’m converting her attic,’ he’d told her.

  Tina Tingle has her own attic. For some reason Harri had seen Tina Tingle as a permanent renter.

  ‘How is she?’ she’d asked, as though the call had just begun and was merely continuing on a pleasant note.

  ‘She’s fine. Married.’

  ‘Married,’ Harri had repeated, winded.

  ‘To a dentist.’

  ‘A dentist. Jesus!’ Harri had never seen Tina Tingle married to a dentist. ‘Did she ask about me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’

  It was weird. Tina and Harri had lived together for a few years, yet when Harri had moved out their friendship had ended without malice, an ill word or deed. It had just ended. It turned out that Tina and Harri had had nothing more in common than a shared address. So why would she ask about Harri?

  ‘Well, I asked after her.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ James reminded her. ‘You saw me with her, presumed an affair and called her names!’ He was laughing.

  She had wondered if he missed her as much or even half as much as she missed him. Either way it wouldn’t matter: James had made up his mind to give her space and there was nothing she could say or do that would change his mind. She hoped that he would live up to his promise of waiting for her. She knew if she didn’t hurry up and sort herself out he might slip away from her. What if I never really know who I am? What if the only thing I want is you? What if, while I’m faffing around trying to find myself, you find someone else? Bollocks to this finding-yourself stuff! Is it really necessary? I am what I am, whatever that is, and I want my life back with you and me and our little country kip that’s falling down around us, and maybe a house instead of the apartment and a rabbit. I’m seriously thinking about getting a rabbit. Isn’t that enough?

  ‘I should go,’ he’d said.

  ‘Right, me too.’

  ‘’Bye.’

  ‘’Bye,’ she’d repeated.

  He used to end every call with ‘I love you’. If truth be told it had got on her wick a bit because it meant she would have to say, ‘I love you too,’ and that was okay if she was alone but she felt stupid saying it in front of strangers on public transport or in a shop or in the queue at the bank or, God forbid, a garage where invariably she’d get some crack from an old fart with too much time on his hands: ‘Do you love me three, darling? Ha! Do ya see what I did there? Go on, you good thing!’ She had often bitched about it to Aidan but she missed it now that it was gone. She had made a real effort to stop calling when she’d realized she was averaging a call a week. She was scared she’d end up relying on him too much and afraid that if he did find someone new, someone who knew who she was and what she wanted and wasn’t verging on being a little bit mental, that he’d ask her not to call any more and that would kill her. Still, that night at three o’clock, with her mother’s photo still in her hand and tears falling from her eyes, all she’d wanted to do was talk to James. And, when, after less than three minutes on the phone, he had made her feel considerably better and therefore suitably sleepy, she was glad she’d called, even though talking to him was sometimes more painful than not talking to him.

  9 August 1975 – Saturday

  I had such a great day with Sheila. It was hot and we spent it on the beach sunning ourselves and catching up. It seemed ages since we were alone together. She said that Dave shoves his knickers up his arse and does a funny walk with a good impression of her mother giving out about the price of a nice slice of ham. She did an impression of him doing an impression of her mam, shoving her bikini bottoms up her own arse, just as Mrs Brown from Brown’s bakery was passing. Mrs Brown didn’t seem too impressed but I was rolling around. She said her dad’s thinking about selling the bar and retiring. He comes from Kerry and he’s always wanted to go back.

  She says she really doesn’t want him to sell. She’d thrown the wobbler to beat all wobblers when he mentioned it. She says if they sell they’ll definitely end up in Kerry and where will that leave her? She has one more year of school and where will she come home to if they bugger off to Kerry? After messing up one too many hairstyles she’s back to considering nursing now and she’s pretty sure that’s what she wants to do – when Dave stood on a piece of glass, she pulled it out of his foot, then cleaned and bandaged the wound. He was crying like a baby but she said that even though he was wailing and carrying on she did a really brilliant job. I could see her as a nurse. She’s definitely bossy enough. If Sheila told you to drop your drawers you would.

  Dr B asked me in for a cup of tea on Wednesday. I was passing the gate lodge on my way to the stables. I still can’t believe I’m back in the stables. I bet the only reason Matthew’s dad kicked me out of the office is because I saw him cry. Anyway, it’s not so bad. I did miss Betsy and Nero and Henry is
a nicer boss by far, and it’s way nicer to be around Matthew and watch him ride. He looks amazing on a horse. It’s a pity he’s way too tall to be a jockey but it wouldn’t suit him to be short. Anyway, Dr B called me in for a cup of tea. We talked about my hand and he made me flex it a few times and we listened to the radio and the DJ played a song called ‘Born To Run’ by a guy called Bruce Springsteen and Dr B turned it up and we danced in his kitchen. He was twirling me around and we were laughing, and that man can really sing and it was weird – I really did feel like I wanted to run somewhere. The DJ said it wasn’t available to buy and that he had got it in America so I’ve been listening to his show every night since just to hear it.

  I think Dr B is lonely. He tends to stay away from the crowd, keeping himself to himself. It’s a pity but I suppose he doesn’t like football, drinking and fighting. I told him he should learn to ride. I’ve got much better and I’d help him out. He could start off on Betsy. Matthew said he’d help him too. So that’s what we did. We went riding yesterday. Matthew was on Nero, I took Favourite, she’s Henry’s best pony, and we put Dr B on Betsy. She was good to him and had him galloping in no time. He really took to it and I’d say he’ll keep doing it. He was really happy afterwards.

  When he went home Matthew and I went walking in the woods. He looked so handsome in the streaming light and he pulled me in to him and leaned on a tree and kissed me and told me he loved me and I told him I loved him too. Every part of me wanted to burst and it felt so good. Sometimes when I’m alone, sitting in this room behind a locked door, I wish I didn’t love anything or anyone because everybody knows that love hurts, but I do so I’ll have to live with it. Since I’ve met him I’ve never been happier. He makes me smile and feel warm inside, and when he touches me my heart races and my hands sweat and I lose the power of thought and speech and my head buzzes and my heart and stomach dance and spin and I’d die for him. I’d die for him with a smile on my face.

  Mam thinks I’m going to Dublin with Sheila and her mother next weekend but I’m not. I’m going camping with Matthew. Mam won’t know any different. She has given up her cleaning job and I can’t remember the last time she bothered to leave the house. Anyway, I don’t really think she cares and HE, well, he and I don’t speak. He stays well clear, knowing I would kill him as soon as look at him.

  I can’t wait for next weekend for Matthew and me just to be alone together. Matthew will be going back to school in the first week of September and it seems like ages away but it’s not. It’ll fly by and then he’ll leave me and I’ll be broken-hearted, but I can’t think about that now. All I can do is live for now and enjoy the time we have together. I’m not going to be miserable. I’m going to be happy and glad and things will work out. I just know they will.

  Dr B tried to see Mam but she wouldn’t let him in. Father Ryan tried to talk to her but she shut the door on him too. She’s not so bad at the moment. She’s wearing all her clothes and she’s started to cook again and the other day she even did a bit of weeding. We watched Coronation Street together and she laughed at Deirdre and Ray. I can’t remember the last time I heard my mother laugh.

  Yesterday morning I woke up crying. I have no idea why but I felt a terrible darkness and so alone, but that was a dream. I’m not alone – at least, not any more. I’ve got Matthew. Father Ryan told me once that no one was alone as long as they had a relationship with God. Well, that’s nice for him but give me Matthew over God any day!!!!!!

  Today Matthew kissed me by the old stone wall under a light blue warm sky with not a cloud in sight and then, arm in arm, he walked me home. At my door he told me I was the best thing that ever happened to him. I’ve never been anybody’s best thing before. Today was a good day and maybe one of the best.

  17. A secret shared

  Matthew Delamere woke a little after six. He lay still for a few minutes, listening to the stranger next to him breathe. What’s her name? What’s her name? What’s her name? The party the evening before had been an impromptu celebration after the successful purchase of a highly sought-after filly despite strong bidding competition. The hotel had been packed for the auction but there was also a wedding and a ladies’ lunch. Somehow all three events had blended. The excitement had become too great for Henry, and after a hearty meal, Alfio had taken him home. Henry was still living in one of the lodges on Delamere land, and although he was pushing eighty-two and officially retired, he still tended the horses and could always be found strolling around the grounds. He loved a good auction, especially when Matt flexed his considerable financial muscle.

  ‘Oh, she’s worth it, son,’ he’d said. ‘She’s worth it all right.’

  ‘Good man.’

  ‘Good man yourself!’

  Alfio had returned later to find his boss in the bar chatting up two ladies who had finished lunch and were looking for something more fulfilling. Matt was only too happy to oblige.

  ‘Ladies, this is Alfio.’

  Alfio bowed his head. It became obvious instantly that the blonde with the boob job was the object of Matt’s desire. The pretty redhead smiled and patted the seat beside her. Tentatively Alfio sat. Ambushed! Tomorrow he will suffer.

  ‘Alfio is a champion polo player,’ Matt said to the girls, signalling to the barman for more drinks.

  ‘I was,’ Alfio said, in a tone not too distant from huffy.

  ‘Once a champ, always a champ.’ Matt raised a glass to him. He’s going to kill me. I hope she’s worth it.

  ‘Oh, I loved The Champ. I’ve seen it a hundred times and it still makes me cry,’ the blonde said, laying her hand across her considerable breasts.

  ‘Oh, that’s the one with the kid from Silver Spoons in it.’ The redhead shook her head. ‘What a little heartbreaker!’

  ‘Some people shouldn’t be allowed grow up,’ the blonde said, with authority.

  Matt nodded, then glanced at Alfio, who responded with a look that suggested he might be considering shoving a polo stick up his boss’s arse.

  ‘Yeah,’ the redhead said thoughtfully. ‘The kid from Silver Spoons, the Uncle Buck/Home Alone kid and that little spiky-haired one from Jerry Maguire.’

  ‘Aaah!’ the blonde said, slapping her friend’s hand. ‘I love him!’

  ‘Remember the bit about the human head?’ the redhead squealed.

  ‘It weighs eight pounds!’ the blonde almost shouted.

  Matthew put his hand up to his face so Alfio couldn’t tell if he was laughing, grinning or reconsidering his need for sex. Please, please, please, reconsider.

  Matt didn’t reconsider so Alfio was forced to listen to twittering and bullshit and bear witness to tentative groping and when it was time to book a room, which no doubt Matt would do, he would be obliged to make an excuse to the redhead because he just wasn’t interested. Alfio sat quietly while Matt held court, making the two ladies giggle and squeal. He thought about the girl he’d left at home in Argentina, a brunette beauty with large coffee-brown eyes, mocha skin, full mouth, full bosom, and long, lithe legs. She was intelligent, fiery, strong, athletic and funny. She was everything. Ah, Maria, you have ruined me. He smiled kindly at the tiny redhead, who was telling a story that involved traffic.

  ‘Bumper to bumper and no one was going anywhere and I thought, I’ll never hold on. So two hours later, with tears in my eyes, I hitched up my skirt and peed at the side of the car while three builders in a Hiace shouted, “Go on, ya good thing!”’

  Cue laughter from the blonde and Matt.

  Alfio had had enough.

  ‘Oh, no, stay!’ the redhead begged.

  ‘I’m really tired,’ he explained.

  ‘One more drink!’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Ah, come on!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ah, you will!’

  ‘This is beginning to sound familiar,’ laughed the blonde. ‘G’wan – g’wan, g’wan!’

>   The redhead covered her mouth. ‘Oh, my God, I’m Mrs Doyle!’

  The two women were laughing raucously again. Alfio hadn’t a clue what they were talking about. Neither did he care.

  ‘Oh, Alfio, you wouldn’t know this but we’re quoting from a very funny Irish comedy – it’s called Father Ted,’ the redhead said, with her hand firmly fixed on his arm. You’re going nowhere, mister.

  ‘Really?’ He sighed.

  ‘Poor Dermot Morgan, he was taken too young.’ The blonde shook her head.

  ‘RIP,’ the redhead said solemnly, and blessed herself, thereby loosening her grip on Alfio. He took his opportunity and, within seconds, was gone.

  The disappointed redhead left in a taxi soon after.

  Matt and the blonde made their way to his hastily booked suite.

  What’s her name? What’s her name? What’s her name?

  Now, in the cold light of day and with a headache, Matt was sorry he’d stayed. The blonde was a board in bed. She just lay there with a fixed expression while directing: ‘No. Not down there … Touch me here … I don’t like it on top … I don’t want to move … Have you come yet?’ She dropped off after twenty minutes and even as a sleeper she was annoying, both restless and loud.

  He knew by her breathing that she was still sleeping heavily so he got up and showered leisurely. She woke when he was shaving.

  ‘Morning, Matt,’ she said, standing behind him and looking into the bathroom mirror.

  ‘Morning, sexy.’ He grinned from force of habit rather than anything else.

  ‘Will I order breakfast?’ She reciprocated his grin.

  ‘If you’re hungry, order what you want. I’ll take care of the bill.’ He winked at her.

  ‘You’re not staying?’ She sounded disappointed.

  ‘I have an early business meeting. Sorry.’

  She smiled. ‘Okay.’ I’m going to order everything on the menu and rob anything that isn’t nailed down, you using tosser! ‘It was nice while it lasted.’