Lying in Wait

by Liz Nugent

  As I went over the details in my mind, I felt a fever develop until I thought my head might explode. The question was suddenly painfully obvious. Had Laurence sent the letter – not just this one, but the first one too? Had he copied Annie’s handwriting from the notebook I’d let him borrow? I remembered him telling me and Bridget about being forced to forge other boys’ school reports back in the day. He was really good at it. He must have taken note of every detail I had told him about her and used them all to convince me that Annie was still alive. I phoned him at the office.

  ‘Laurence?’

  ‘Hi!’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I just need to ask you something, and I need you to be really honest with me, OK? I mean, if the answer is yes, well, that’s fine, but I just need to know.’

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  ‘Laurence?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did you write those letters pretending to be my sister?’

  19

  Laurence

  I allowed my mother to think that she was dictating the second Annie letter, but hers was too impersonal, too callous for what I knew of Annie’s temperament, so I tore it up and wrote another one later, using the words I thought Karen needed to hear. I remembered Karen saying something about a set of paints that Annie had been going to buy her before she disappeared, so I bought a set and included them in the package. I knew it would give an air of authenticity to Annie’s story. Karen would be reassured that Annie still loved her. That was important to me.

  I got the bus to Athlone that Saturday, knowing from Mr Monroe that Bridget had been transferred to Mullingar so there was no chance of my bumping into her. It was a simple task: get off the bus, go straight to the post office and then back to the station to catch the same bus returning to Dublin.

  Mum was waiting eagerly for my return. She had some news. She had been shopping and bought herself a whole new wardrobe. There was expensive wine in the drinks cabinet and smoked salmon in the fridge.

  ‘We got the cottage!’ she exclaimed. Apparently, Granny had left her cottage to us. The contents, which included some nice pieces of antique furniture and noteworthy paintings, had been left to Uncle Finn and Aunt Rosie. Eight years previously, my father had encouraged his mother to sell her four-bedroom Victorian house in Ballsbridge and buy an isolated cottage up on top of a cliff in Killiney. He had invested the balance in those disastrous Paddy Carey deals that came to nothing. Mum planned to sell the cottage and pocket the proceeds to spend on luxuries we had not been able to afford for a long time. I was again dismayed by her apparent glee. The counterfeit letters were of no consequence to her. She didn’t even ask about my journey.

  Some days later, Uncle Finn came to the house with Aunt Rosie. I welcomed them courteously, but Uncle Finn was in no mood for niceties.

  ‘My mother’s will. I’m hoping you’ll do the decent thing,’ he said, addressing himself to me.

  Mum intervened. ‘It was Eleanor’s wishes. You aren’t suggesting that she was of unsound mind?’

  ‘No, but you must see how unfair it is. Andrew was the one who lost our inheritance, and you are the only one to profit from what’s left.’

  ‘She left the contents to you. It’s not as if you got nothing.’ My mother was trying to be reasonable.

  Aunt Rosie glowered at me. ‘You owe us.’

  Why were they looking at me? Mum breezily dismissed them. ‘You are not going to contest it, are you, Finn? Drag us through the courts and make a public spectacle of the family?’

  ‘Of course not, but Laurence is old enough to decide for himself what happens.’

  I didn’t understand. ‘Me? Why me?’

  Uncle Finn glared at my mother. ‘You haven’t even told him the full truth, have you?’ He turned to me. ‘My mother left her cottage to you, Laurence. Not to Lydia, just to you. For your independence, she said.’

  Mum was defiant. ‘Yes, and Laurence sees no reason why he should share the proceeds with you.’

  Aunt Rosie was furious. ‘You might have told him, Lydia. Well, what do you think, Laurence? Are you going to sell up and keep the money for yourself or are you going to share it with us, like a decent person?’

  Mum stood behind me and put her hands on my shoulders. ‘I think it’s appalling the way you are trying to bully my son. I must ask you to leave. Right now.’

  Mum saw them to the door.

  ‘The nerve of them! Who do they think they are, trying to tell us what we can do with our inheritance? Your father would be livid if he could see how things were turning out. Don’t mind them, Laurie. That cottage is ours and we’ll do what we want with it.’

  ‘Mine. The cottage is mine,’ I corrected her.

  ‘Of course, darling,’ she said, flashing her most dazzling smile. She continued to rant about Uncle Finn and Aunt Rosie.

  ‘How could you not tell me about this, Mum?’

  ‘Don’t make such a fuss, Laurence. How does it make any difference?’

  ‘But, Mum, it isn’t fair. They should get at least half the value of the cottage.’

  ‘Why? Why should they get anything? Eleanor knew exactly what she was doing. Finn and Rosie can afford their eight children, and if they can’t, well then, they shouldn’t have had so many.’

  My mother tried to hide her jealousy of Aunt Rosie’s ability to successfully bear eight children.

  ‘We have struggled. You know I never liked to complain, but I would like us to live in the manner to which we were accustomed. Back when your father died, everyone was trying to get me to sell this house and move into a nasty little flat, and I know it’s been a big responsibility for you to keep us here but now we can relax a bit. You have earned it, darling.’

  Helen dropped in later that evening. Mum and she were on good terms now, since Helen had been so ‘helpful’ around the time of Granny’s funeral. I even got the impression that Mum would quite like us to rekindle our teenage romance. She made a point of leaving us on our own.

  ‘Granny left me her cottage in her will.’

  ‘Wow! Seriously? That’s cool. Your own home!’

  ‘Not really, Mum is selling it.’

  ‘Wait now, who did your granny leave the cottage to?’

  It hadn’t occurred to me till now. Earlier, I had thought that we really should sell the place and split the proceeds with Uncle Finn, but Helen alerted me to the possibilities.

  ‘Your own place. Rent free! What’s it like?’

  As I described it, I gradually realized it was perfect, exactly what I needed. Granny had specified that it was for my independence.

  ‘It’s quite isolated, up a laneway off a tree-lined avenue in Killiney. One large bedroom that stands out over a cliff. There’s a big sitting room with views out to Dalkey Island and the bay. The kitchen is a bit old-fashioned. No neighbours. It backs on to the train tracks on one side, and beyond that, the cliffs and the sea.’

  ‘Party in your place!’ said Helen, missing the point entirely.

  In Rome, Karen had told me she was moving out of her da’s place. I’d been impressed by her ambition to live freely and independently. It was time I did the same thing. I was surprised that Karen hadn’t rung me since she got the letter, but I was busy making plans for our future, hers and mine.

  That evening, I told Mum that I was moving out to the cottage at the end of the week. I didn’t dance around the issue. I was quite matter-of-fact and told her that I needed to live as an independent adult and that she would soon see that it would be good for her too. I explained that I would still cover all her bills and expenses and that I would call to see her at least once a week. She would be free to entertain Malcolm whenever she wanted. I was sure that he would be more comfortable in the house if I wasn’t there.

  Mum cried and begged me to stay, but I didn’t rush to comfort her. I felt awful, but I couldn’t give in to her again. I needed to be allowed to grow up. She went
to her room and remained there for the evening.

  About 11 p.m., I knocked on her door to say goodnight. There was no response. I pushed the door open. She was sprawled across the bed, fully clothed.

  ‘Mum?’ And then I saw the two empty pill bottles.

  I shouted at her, pulled her head up. She was breathing but the breaths were uneven and shallow.

  ‘Jesus! Mum! What –’ But I knew exactly what she had done, and I knew why.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she mumbled, ‘I just want to sleep.’ I dragged her out to the bathroom, opened all the windows and positioned her on the floor. I held her jaw open with one hand and used a toothbrush to poke at the back of her throat until she began to retch. I pulled her over to the toilet as she started to vomit.

  ‘Mum, I have to call an ambulance.’

  Between retches she screamed, ‘You can’t, you can’t! They’ll send me back there!’

  I knew she meant St John of God’s, and I knew she was right. I left her there throwing up, and belted downstairs and dialled.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Helen, it’s me, Laurence.’

  ‘Well, what the fuck time –’

  ‘Can you come to my house? Right now? It’s an emergency.’

  ‘Why, what’s happened?’

  ‘Can you come? Please. My mother has taken some pills, a lot of pills!’

  She finally got the urgency of my tone. ‘Is she conscious?’

  ‘Yes, she’s throwing up now.’

  ‘Good, that’s good. OK, yeah, I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  Helen was fantastic. Once I explained what my mother had done, Helen took over. She ignored my mother’s protestations and eventually put her to bed, not before removing all of the medications from the bedroom and bathroom. We stayed with my mother until she fell asleep, then we went downstairs.

  ‘Don’t worry, she won’t try anything else tonight, she’ll be out cold for at least twelve hours. Why did she do it?’

  ‘I told her I was moving out.’

  Helen looked at me with genuine sympathy.

  ‘You should have called an ambulance.’

  ‘They’ll only take her back to St John of God’s.’

  ‘Well, maybe that’s where she needs to be.’

  I couldn’t help it then: the tears came to my eyes and I began to sob. I don’t cry gracefully. I heave my shoulders and it’s noisy and ugly. Helen went to the drinks cabinet and poured me a large whiskey.

  I took it gratefully and drank half of it in one go, feeling the welcome heat coursing through me.

  ‘I promised her she wouldn’t have to go back there.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Laurence, that is a promise you can’t keep.’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘You don’t.’

  ‘Helen, you don’t understand. She doesn’t have anybody else. It’s my duty to look after her.’

  ‘And what about your duty to yourself? What about living your own life? Are you going to live at home for the rest of your life to stop your mother from topping herself?’

  ‘I didn’t think she’d take it so badly. I knew she was upset, but I thought she’d see in the end that it was for the best. She’s been quite stable for a few years now. She has a boyfriend –’

  ‘Will he look after her? Is he kind to her? Like, will he marry her and move in? Is it even a possibility?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know him. He’s a psychiatrist.’

  Helen began to laugh, and in the emotion and horror of what had just happened, I began to laugh too. And it was like loosening an air-pressure valve. The hilarity subsided.

  ‘What am I going to do?’

  Helen was thoughtful for a minute or two.

  ‘You definitely don’t want her to go back into psychiatric care?’

  ‘No. Besides, we can’t afford it.’

  ‘Can you afford to hire me?’

  ‘You? What do you mean? You have a job in St Vincent’s … don’t you?’

  ‘Not any more. They fired me last week. They found out I’d nicked a load of Valium.’

  Why was I not surprised?

  ‘Helen! Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was stupid really. I should have nicked amphetamines or something that gives you a bit of a buzz. Fuck’s sake. Valium are just downers. I was at a party a month ago and everyone was asking for them, but the fucking eejits got greedy and took them like Smarties. Nearly everyone fell asleep. Disaster!’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was lucky they didn’t take me off the register. I was going to apply for some nursing-home jobs, but I could work here, couldn’t I?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just for a few weeks, until she stabilizes, like. I still have the Valium. That’s probably all she’ll need for a while, and I could monitor the dosage –’

  ‘Helen, my mother doesn’t even like you very much.’

  ‘Yeah, well, she likes me a lot better than she used to. And what option does she have? Are you going to give up work and nurse her, watch her?’

  It seemed like a drastic solution but Helen was right. I didn’t have a lot of choices.

  ‘You’re not moving in. Just watch her while I’m at work.’

  ‘Fine.’

  We sat up till 3 a.m. We negotiated a fee. She actually charged a lot less than I expected. ‘Mates’ rates. For cash, like,’ she said.

  I told her about work. We talked about our disastrous relationship in the past, and she admitted that she had been unnecessarily cruel to me. I admitted that I hadn’t been attracted to her.

  ‘Wanker,’ she said. She told me about the nine different boyfriends she’d had over the previous six years. ‘You weren’t the only gobshite I dated.’ She complimented my weight loss. I let my guard down and told her about my break-up with Bridget and the non-proposal. As expected, Helen thought this was hilarious. Helen convinced me that I must move out, that I had to live independently.

  ‘It will be good for you. And her. Get the Malcolm fella on board.’

  I was incredibly grateful to Helen for her company that night.

  I stayed off work the next day and carefully explained to Mum that Helen was going to mind her for the next few weeks and reassured her that I would not move out until she was more stable. She was tearful and ashamed. She apologized over and over.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry. Why am I so useless? Why am I like this?’

  ‘You’re not useless, Mum, far from it. You’re just not ready for me to move away yet. I should have let you get used to the idea for a while.’

  ‘Please don’t go!’

  ‘We’ll talk about it again when you’re stronger. Would you like me to ring Malcolm?’

  ‘No! Don’t tell him. He’d just – don’t tell him.’

  ‘OK, I won’t. But, Mum, why are you … Is he married, is that it?’

  She was taken aback. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘You never talk about him. You never have him around to the house when I’m here … but when you’re better, I’d like to meet him properly, OK?’

  She nodded. ‘Malcolm is … he’s … I just want to keep him separate, away from the rest of my life.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘He knows me … too well.’

  ‘Don’t you … like him? Do you want to go on seeing him?’

  ‘I do, he’s a good man. It’s just that … he knows.’

  ‘About Annie Doyle?’

  ‘No, of course not, I’d never tell anyone about that, it’s just …’ She trailed off.

  I had no idea what she was talking about but speculated that she might feel she had compromised her privacy with him. If that was the case, though, why did she continue to see him? It hardly made sense, but further questions increased her unease so I let the matter drop.

  I recalled how Helen had behaved around my parents before with her couldn’t-care-less attitude, and I worried that it was a big mistake to have her
looking after Mum, but she was completely different when she was in nursing mode: courteous, respectful and caring. I came home from work one evening to find her repotting plants with Mum at the kitchen table. She spoke softly and gently held Mum’s arm steady when the pot threatened to fall from her hands. If only she could be like that all the time. I said so to Helen later.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m a good actor, aren’t I? I should get a fucking Oscar.’

  Mum and Helen bonded over those few short weeks. Who would have ever thought it? Helen said Malcolm rang a few times, but Mum refused to talk to him. He sounded concerned, apparently.

  ‘Should we tell him what happened?’ I asked Helen.

  ‘No. It’s her business. She doesn’t have to see him if she doesn’t want to.’

  ‘But he obviously cares about her.’

  ‘Yeah, but does she care about him?’

  At work, I was the subject of some office gossip. The girls held me responsible for driving Bridget out of her job. Evelyn and Sally wondered why I hadn’t been the one to apply for a transfer. I tried to explain that Bridget wanted to be closer to home, but they had talked to her and knew that I had broken up with her.

  ‘She was really good for you,’ said Jane. ‘Look at how you started eating healthily when you began going out with her. You couldn’t have done that on your own.’

  I protested that I had done it on my own. They accused me of being ungrateful. I pulled rank and sent them back to their desks. Bridget rang me at home, and in the office several times, hopeful of a reconciliation. She told me that Josie had seen me in Athlone. I point-blank denied it. I told her that Josie must have been mistaken. She rang back later that afternoon. She had double-checked and Josie was absolutely sure it had been me.

  ‘Jesus, Bridget, just drop it, will you? We are not getting back together. I did not go to Athlone. I do not love you.’ I hung up to see Jane watching me through the open door of my office. She shook her head in disgust.

  Some days later, Malcolm called to the house an hour after I’d got home. Mum was upstairs, resting.