The Girl Who Lied

by Sue Fortin

  Locking up behind him, Kerry left by the rear of the workshop. He only lived in the flat above but he wanted a quick smoke before he went up. Despite it being the middle of May, the day had been a particularly wet and dreary one. Kerry gave a little shiver, the sea breeze drifting in from the Irish Sea chilling his arms. He rolled a cigarette and, standing on the path, he looked across the High Street and to the service road opposite, which ran behind the parade of shops.

  He saw something. At first he thought it was a pile of black bin bags that hadn’t been put in the commercial wheelie bins, but as he took a draw on his roll-up and looked closer, he realised it was someone kneeling down, bent over something. Or rather someone.

  The person kneeling raised their head and flicked their hand towards the end of the service road. Then, as if sensing they were being watched, turned to look over their shoulder at Kerry.

  ‘What the…?’ said Kerry, instantly recognising Marie Hurley, not least because of her distinctive bobbed auburn hair.

  She jumped to her feet and began running towards him. ‘Kerry! Kerry!’ she shouted. ‘Help me. Please.’

  Kerry chucked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and dived across the road. He caught Marie as she bundled into him in a blind panic.

  ‘It’s okay, Mrs Hurley,’ said Kerry, holding onto the tops of her arms. ‘Mrs Hurley. What’s wrong?’

  She looked up at him. Her face was paler than normal, if that was possible. Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘It’s Jim,’ she said. ‘He’s had a fall or something.’ She pulled away from Kerry and then, taking hold of his forearm, started dragging him back down the service road. ‘He’s bleeding. Come quickly.’

  Jim Hurley was indeed bleeding, badly. A dark crimson pool of blood was leaking out from under the back of his head. One of his arms was twisted underneath his body, which was sprawled flat out on the tarmac.

  Kerry snatched his mobile from his pocket and dialled the emergency services.

  ‘Get a blanket and some towels,’ he instructed Marie, while he waited for his call to connect. He reached over and tried to locate a pulse in the man’s neck. It was there. Weak, but there.

  The operator answered the call and after a few minutes’ exchanging information and advising on basic first aid, she assured Kerry the ambulance was on its way. Marie reappeared with a blanket.

  ‘Is he going to be okay?’ she asked as Kerry draped the pink candlewick bedspread over Jim’s body.

  ‘The ambulance will be here soon,’ said Kerry. He had no idea if Jim was going to be all right. He bundled the towel up and placed it at the side of Jim’s head.

  ‘If you can’t see where the wound is, then don’t move him,’ the operator instructed. ‘He might have spinal-cord injuries. Wait for the medics. Keep the towels either side of his head to stabilise him.’

  ‘I think I can see part of the wound,’ said Kerry. ‘It’s right at the back of his head. It looks pretty deep.’

  ‘Just leave the towel there. Don’t apply pressure. You could end up causing more damage.’

  Kerry was no doctor but the trickle of blood from Jim’s ear that appeared didn’t look good to him. Marie was standing over her husband, looking down on him in a trance-like state. She was probably in shock.

  ‘It’s okay, Mrs Hurley. Come and kneel down. Hold his hand,’ said Kerry. Marie glanced around. ‘The ambulance will be here very soon. Come on, now.’ Marie nodded and, kneeling down, she took Jim’s hand, making soothing noises and offering reassuring words. Kerry suspected this was as much for her own benefit as for her husband’s.

  Jim’s breathing was becoming shallower with each beat of his heart. Kerry willed the ambulance to get a move on. Rossway village was a bit out of the way, ten miles south from Cork itself on the Irish coast and the roads were twisty and narrow. Not exactly the easiest of routes to be throwing an ambulance around.

  The sound of an empty bottle being knocked and rolling across the road made Kerry look up. He thought he saw something move in the shadows of the evening sun. A cat jumped out from behind one of the wheelie bins, trotted across the road and then sprang up onto the fence before disappearing into the grounds of the doctor’s surgery.

  A thought broke into Kerry’s consciousness. The doctor’s surgery. Why didn’t he think of that before? He looked at the building. It was in darkness. He dismissed the small beacon of hope with his next thought. Half an hour earlier and one of the doctors might still have been there. Now, though, they would all have gone home. As far as he was aware, neither of the GPs lived in Rossway. It wasn’t as if he could get one of them here to help. There was, of course, Diana Marshall. She used to be the local GP, but he dismissed the idea pretty much straight away as well. She lived on the edge of the village. It would take over ten minutes to get there and back. The ambulance would be here by then. Besides, he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t have been drinking tonight. From what Roisin had told him in the past, her mother more than liked her sherry.

  Eventually, there came the reassuring sound of an engine turning at speed and blue lights bouncing off the walls of the High Street. Kerry ran out to the main road and flagged the ambulance down, pointing to the service road.

  With an assured confidence and professionalism, the paramedics examined Jim, wrapped his head with a temporary dressing and manoeuvred him from the ground to the back of the emergency vehicle. It took less than five minutes.

  Kerry stood with his arm around Marie’s shoulder as they watched.

  ‘Is he going to be all right?’ Marie asked.

  The paramedic pushed the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. ‘We need to get him to hospital straight away,’ he said. ‘Are you coming with us?’

  ‘Oh, but I haven’t locked up,’ said Marie, looking anxiously back up the steps to her flat.

  ‘Don’t be worrying about that now, Mrs Hurley,’ said Kerry. ‘Give me the keys. I’ll do it for you.’ He was aware of the undercurrent of urgency and had registered that the paramedic had offered no comment to Marie’s question of Jim’s prognosis.

  Marie grappled in her coat pocket and pulled out a set of keys. ‘The flat and café keys are all on there.’

  Kerry took the bunch. ‘Off you go, now,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to contact Fiona?’

  ‘Yes please. Tell her to phone Erin too.’

  Chapter 2

  London, England

  When the call comes, it strikes me numb with fear. I don’t know what to think or what to feel. Thoughts and emotions are crashing around in my head like bumper cars, bouncing and rebounding, stopping and starting. Confusion reigns.

  ‘How bad is he?’ A thread of compassion laces Ed’s voice. ‘What exactly did your sister say?’

  ‘Fiona said it’s serious. He’s in intensive care. Apparently, Dad fell down the steps to the flat and hit his head,’ I reply with a hint of impatience. I was uptight enough that I hadn’t been able to phone Roisin earlier. This is only adding to my agitation. ‘Fiona was in a bit of a fluster when she rang.’ I hit the print button on Ed’s laptop and the image of the document on the screen is sent to the printer.

  ‘Have you booked a return flight?’ Ed moves behind me as I loom over the printer. He squeezes my shoulders in a reassuring gesture.

  ‘No, I’ll see how things are first. I need to go and make sure Mum’s all right, really.’ Then more because I feel I ought to, I add, ‘And see how Dad is, of course.’ I silence the voice that also wants to add the need to face Roisin.

  ‘Okay, I’ll sort out some cover at work.’

  ‘I’m sure Amber will do my shifts, she’s always saying she needs more hours.’ I take the sheet of paper as it glides out of the printer.

  ‘Keep me in the loop, though, won’t you? You know what it’s like organising the staff rota.’

  Whilst it’s nice being the boss’s girlfriend, it sometimes irritates me that Hamilton’s Health and Beauty Spa always comes first with Ed.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’
I say. ‘I’ll have a better idea once I’m there and can speak to the doctors myself.’

  There’s a small silence before Ed speaks again.

  ‘Will you be okay on your own? Do you want me to come with you?’ I can detect an apprehension in his voice. ‘It will be a bit tricky with work, but I could manage a couple of days away, I should think.’

  I withhold the sigh that threatens to escape. I know Ed better than he realises. His priority is work and the offer to accompany me is more out of duty than concern. I take care to respond in a conciliatory manner, not wishing to get into an argument.

  ‘No, it’s okay. Probably best if I go alone.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to it? You were feeling sick earlier.’

  ‘It was nothing. I’m fine now and I’ll be all right on my own. Thank you, anyway.’

  ‘Sure? Okay. Look, I’ll organise you a cab home so you can pack and I’ll book another to take you to the airport.’ This time the relief in his voice is very much apparent. ‘I would take you myself but you know what it’s like at work…really busy…I’ve got meetings …’ His voice trails off.

  ‘Thank you. And don’t worry. I know what it’s like.’ I ignore the fact that Ed actually has the day off tomorrow.

  As I climb into the cab, this time I release the sigh unrestricted. Ireland definitely isn’t a place I want to be going. Since moving to England, my visits home have been few and far between. Far too many unhappy memories linger around the coastal village where I grew up. And now I’m being forced to face them. The unease begins to transform into fear.

  Once the cab turns the corner, leaving Ed and his apartment behind, I take my phone from my pocket and find the email Roisin sent me. Her number is highlighted blue and I double-tap. After a few seconds the call is connected and I hear the sound of the phone ringing.

  The phone goes to voicemail.

  ‘It’s me…’ I hesitate. I need to be careful what I say. I’m not paranoid, merely cautious. Maybe overly, but it has stood me in good stead all this time and I’m not about to get caught out now. ‘I’m coming over. I’ll ring you again when I’m in Rossway.’

  County Cork, Ireland

  Looking at my father lying in his hospital bed, crisp white linen and a cellular blanket surrounding him, his face seems to have taken on a grey tinge. He looks older, frailer and smaller, somehow, as if he has suddenly aged without me noticing. His chest rises and falls as he lies motionless in a medically induced coma. He’s hooked up to a ventilator, which wheezes up and down, helping him to breathe as the heart monitor bleeps a steady beat.

  ‘How is he?’ I ask Mum who, having embraced me, is now settling herself back into the plastic bedside chair.

  She puts her forefinger to her lips and whispers, ‘They’re going to give him a brain scan in the morning. They want to see if the swelling will go down first.’ She gives me half a smile, which I suspect is supposed to be reassuring. ‘It’s all right. Your dad’s a fighter. Don’t go getting yourself upset now.’

  I turn my gaze away from the ashen look on her face. The guilt weighs me down. Guilt I feel because I cannot summon as much sympathy for my father as I know I should.

  Our relationship has always been a strained one, with any feelings of compassion finally quashed ten years ago. I swallow down the anger that always accompanies the memory. This time I am able to meet Mum’s eyes.

  ‘What exactly happened?’ I fiddle with my necklace. I need to keep my hands busy. Nerves are making them shake.

  ‘I came out of the café and found your father at the bottom of the steps,’ says Mum. ‘That’s it, really.’ She sniffs and when I look up, she’s fumbling with her sleeve and finally produces a tissue. She dabs her eyes and wipes her nose.

  ‘Do you want anything, Mum? Have you eaten?’ I change the subject, not wanting to upset her.

  ‘No, I’m grand,’ she replies quietly, a fleeting smile of gratitude dashes across her face. She stuffs the tissue back up her sleeve. ‘The nurses have been looking after me, so they have.’

  I’m not convinced Mum looks grand at all. She looks tired and strained. ‘I’ll make you a fresh cup of tea,’ I say. ‘I could do with one myself. Back in a minute.’

  One of the nurses kindly shows me to the community kitchen, where all the tea and coffee making paraphernalia is housed. While I wait for the kettle to boil I can’t help feeling more concern for Mum than for Dad. I don’t like the dark circles under her eyes or the depth of the hollows below her cheekbones. She looks exhausted. No doubt she has been working herself hard at the café. Now, with Dad incapacitated and set for a long recovery, I wonder how on earth she will manage to look after him and run the business on her own.

  The next thought snakes its way from the back of my mind, where it has been lurking, waiting to strike. What if he doesn’t pull through? How do I feel about that? I don’t trust myself to examine the notion too closely. I’m not quite sure I’ll like what I might find. Instead, I focus on producing an acceptable-looking cup of tea for Mum and venture back to collect her. We’re not allowed to take food or drink into ICU so we sit in the small family room at the end of the corridor.

  ‘You just missed your sister,’ says Mum, resting her cup on her knees. ‘She had to get back for the kids. Sean’s on duty this evening. You know he’s a sergeant now?’

  ‘Yes, Fiona said. He deserves it. He’s a good police officer.’ It seems a bit surreal talking about normal, everyday things when this situation is anything but normal.

  After drinking the tea, we venture back to my father’s bedside. It’s very quiet, apart from the rhythmic bleep of the monitor and the sighing of the breathing apparatus as it wheezes air down the tube. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

  ‘Time’s getting on. There’s no point in you hanging around with me,’ says Mum, breaking the silence that has settled. ‘You go on back and stay with Fiona tonight, she’s expecting you.’

  ‘What about you? I don’t want to leave you,’ I reply frowning. ‘You can’t stay all night, surely.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ My mother pats my knee. ‘Please, go to Fiona’s. Get some rest and then come back in the morning. I’ll ring if there’s any change. Besides, they won’t let you stay here on the ward.’

  I’m not entirely convinced, but deciphering her subtly placed eyebrows, I determine she isn’t going to take no for an answer.

  ‘Okay, only if you’re sure,’ I relent.

  ‘I’m positive. In the morning go over to Wright’s motorcycle shop and get the keys for the flat and the café. You can nip up to the flat and bring my wash bag and some clean clothes.’

  Mum stands up. I take this as a signal it’s time for me to leave. I walk round and give her a kiss.

  ‘It will be okay, Mum. I’ll see you in the morning,’ I say, hoping to sound positive before I beat the retreat. ‘Do I need to ask for anyone in particular at the bike shop?’

  ‘Er, yes…Kerry,’ replies Mum distractedly as a nurse approaches us.

  ‘I’m just doing some routine observations,’ the nurse explains.

  ‘I’ll get out the way,’ I say, giving Mum a reassuring smile. ‘Bye, Mum.’

  ‘What about your Dad?’ says Mum. ‘You should say goodbye to him too.’

  ‘We like to encourage family to still communicate with the patient,’ explains the nurse. ‘Sometimes, it can help with their recovery.’

  I hesitate. ‘What should I say?’

  ‘Just speak to your father as if he’s awake,’ says the nurse. ‘It seems a little odd at first but once you’ve done it a few times, it becomes much easier.’

  I go over to the bed and reach out to touch his hand. ‘Bye, Dad,’ I say, feeling terribly self-conscious. The nurse smiles encouragingly and I feel I need to say something else. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  It’s awkward and it’s not without relief that I escape the hospital and head over to Fiona’s.

  *

  Mini lights and pre
cision-planted marigolds line the brick path to Fiona’s front door. The outside light bathes the garden, highlighting the alternating dark-and-light-green stripes running up and down the lawn. Tidy to the point of being manicured. The black gloss of the door with shiny chrome furniture is smart and exact. Fiona, my older sister by eight years, opens the door before I reach the end of the path.

  Meeting me on the doorstep, she draws me into an embrace. The familiar smell of Fiona’s perfume clings to me in the same way I cling to her. A feeling of relief seeps out. Fiona has always been able to do that. To take away my troubles. To fix whatever needs fixing.

  ‘Hi-ya, hun,’ she says, giving me a squeeze. ‘How are you? How’s everything at the hospital? No change, I expect.’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s lovely to see you. Dad’s still sedated and Mum is happy to be there by herself.’ I give a little shiver in the night air. ‘I didn’t want to leave her, but she insisted.’

  ‘I know, but there’s nothing we can do. Anyway, come on in out of the cold. The kids are fast asleep, so we’ll go quietly.’

  Sitting in Fiona’s immaculate kitchen, I hold my hands around the fine-bone-china cup. The heat from the cup warms my fingers. On the fridge door there is a family snapshot of the Keanes: Fiona, Sean, Sophie and Molly. It looks like it was taken last year on their holiday to Spain. Sean is giving Sophie a piggy-back. Fiona and Molly are looking up at them and everyone is beaming with happiness. Sean is a tall man and none too skinny either. He must look very imposing in his Guard’s uniform. In this picture, though, he reminds me of Roald Dahl’s BFG and I think how aptly named their daughter, Sophie, is.

  ‘How’s Sean?’ I ask, as Fiona sits down beside me.

  ‘He’s fine. Well, that’s not entirely true. He’s exhausted, if I’m honest. We both are. His mum needs a lot of looking after. We’re thinking about moving her in with us.’

  ‘Is she getting to that stage where she needs a lot of care?’ I ask.