Ask No Questions
Page 27
And my contacts book that had gone missing and turned up in Ryan’s office? Well, it seems you can find anything you want in one of those. Even Jamesy Harte’s mobile number. I had been so very, very stupid.
‘You couldn’t have known,’ DS King had said, and I’d seen the compassion in her eyes.
But I should have known. It was my job to read people.
I had failed.
I had admired Ryan Murray. I had let him into the most private corners of my life. I had trusted him. Looked to him. Wondered whether or not I loved him. Now, seeing him for what he is really is, I feel ashamed to have been taken in by him.
I had questioned whether or not I was wise to believe in Jamesy’s innocence.
I had thought Liam Doherty to be little more than a drunkard.
I’m doing my best to cope with my guilt. I can’t bring myself to speak to either Declan or Niall again. Not yet. Not until I feel stronger. I do wonder how they are, though. Wonder how they are rebuilding their relationship. How their mother is. I can’t imagine the nightmare they’ve lived with these last twenty-five years.
But I can’t fix that for them – and I have to figure out to how rebuild my life.
I need to figure out how to make a better life. One with real friends. One with real meaning.
Trina is going to call over tomorrow after work. She’s bringing some Chinese food and a bottle of wine. We’re going to try to have a normal conversation. No work talk. No Ryan talk.
I’m told Christopher Doherty’s wife has had her baby. A little girl, who they’ve called Kelly. I wonder if they are looking out at the fireworks tonight, too. I wonder if they will tell her that the world is a good place and that monsters aren’t real. That the banshee is just an old legend. That the bogeyman will not come rapping at her window to steal her away.
I curl my feet up under me and the words of the childhood song that scared me so much come back into my head.
Who’s at the window, who?
Who’s at the window, who?
It’s the wee bogeyman with a sack on his back
Come to take Ingrid away.
I get up, walk to the window and draw the curtains against the dark night and the falling stars of the fireworks.
Epilogue
Niall
I believed an innocent man to be so vile that for twenty-five years I allowed my father, the true villain of the piece, to cover up for his own crimes while celebrating the fact he had got away with seeing Jamesy Harte sent down for murder.
‘You know it was an accident, son,’ my father had said as I’d watched the blood seep from the back of Kelly’s head as she lay on the ground.
It was strange how her expression changed. How her eyes were glassy. Her jaw sagged open. Even though I was only ten and had never seen a dead body before, I knew that she was gone just by looking at her.
I was crying. Sobbing. Tears and mucus from my nose running down my face. I couldn’t bring myself to rub them away. I was shaking so violently.
‘You don’t want me to go to jail because of an accident, do you?’ he’d said.
And no, I didn’t want him to go to jail because of an accident. I wanted him to go to jail because he was a violent bully.
‘It would kill your mother,’ he’d said. ‘And there’d be no one to earn any money. You would be out on the street. That’s not what you want, is it? I can sort this out. Just you wait and see.’
And he had. Him and the friend he had gone to for help. Both of them taking it in their stride as if death and cover-ups were nothing new to them.
I’d cried, sat on the ground beside Kelly and held her hand while I had waited for my father to come back with help, and while he and his friend – Ryan Murray – had planned what to do next. I’d willed her to move. I’d willed this to be a nightmare. When I realised it wasn’t, truly realised that, I had slipped the small bracelet from her wrist and dropped it into my pocket. I don’t know why. Maybe to remind me that life could be cruel and horrific.
It was relatively easy to convince myself my father was telling the truth when he said Jamesy Harte was a very bad man, who did bad things to children and who the police had never been able to catch before now. I came to hate Jamesy and everything he stood for. I think a part of me even started to believe that Jamesy was guilty, after all, and those things I’d seen that night on the banks of the reservoir were just echoes of a nightmare.
I realise now, of course, that I had needed to hate Jamesy Harte so deeply so that I could live with myself all these years.
We have all lost so much. Suffered so much. It’s hard to think of that. To think of how my relationship with Declan has been fractured. How my mother has suffered over the years, when she could have been free of him. To think of Jamesy, taken from his house and led to his death by some connection of the man I called my father.
So many people destroyed by one night of the year.
I kneel at Kelly’s graveside – a place I have refused to visit all through my life – and I tell her I’m sorry before I place her coloured plastic bracelet on her headstone.
It’s quiet here today. The early winter sun is bright in the sky and warm where it falls across the marble of her headstone. A feeling of immense peace washes over me. I hope with all of my heart Kelly feels it, too.
Acknowledgements
This book was part written, and entirely edited, during the COVID-19 lockdown. All my usual writing routines went out the window as, like so many, I combined home-schooling, stemming the worry of a global pandemic and not being able to escape to the beach for some fresh air.
I therefore appreciate even more the work of the people who worked behind the scenes to bring this book to life. All those who kept up the same level of support, enthusiasm and professionalism as usual while working in home offices and dealing with the strange ‘new normal’.
Most of all to my editor Phoebe Morgan, who once again has helped me polish this book and bring the characters to life. And thank you Phoebe for your never ending support. It really means the world.
Thanks to all the Avon team, and to all the fabulous people at HarperCollins Ireland who work tirelessly for their authors, but most of all are just really nice people to work with.
Thanks to all the brilliant booksellers, who faced their own uncertain times, but kept pushing all our books and offering their support. Special thanks to Dave at No Alibis, Jenny at Little Acorns, Bob at Gutter Bookshop, Heidi at WH Smith Ireland, and the staff of Eason, Foyleside. Thanks also to the staff of NI Libraries, especially the Central Library in Derry.
No one understands the strange writing life like other authors, and I have some of the best author friends in my corner. Even if that corner is at a social distance these days. Thanks and love to John Marrs, Louise Beech, Marian Keyes, Anna McPartlin, CL Taylor, Liz Nugent and Brian McGilloway.
Special mention to my writing work wife, Fionnuala Kearney, who has picked me up and dusted me off more than anyone should have to. Fionnu, I am grateful for your friendship every day.
To my family and friends; Mum, Dad, Lisa, Peter and Emma, assorted partners and the best nieces and nephews in the world, Abby, Ethan, Darcy, Arya, Thomas and Finn, not to mention the hairier family members Henry and Ben. Thank you for being you.
Thanks to Julie-Ann & Marie-Louise for Derry Girls-themed Afternoon Teas.
And to my lifelong friends, forged in the newsroom – Erin, Cat & Bernie. This seems as appropriate a place as any to say that Ingrid Devlin is not based on any living person and the experiences in the Chronicle newsroom are not based on any lived experience!
To my family – Neil, and my two amazing children (even if they don’t think I’m cool anymore). Thank you. I love you. To the two cats, Alfie and Purry – thanks for not vomiting in my shoes. And to Izzy, my beautiful pupper, thank you for sitting at my feet during long writing sessions.
Thanks also to all the media, book bloggers and book lovers who spread the word about my books
. And of course, to you, reading this. I would be nothing without your support.
To the lady who attended my book signing in Eason, Foyleside and asked if I could name a character after her – Sue in the police press office is after you.
Finally, this book is dedicated to my agent Ger Nichol, who has been by my side for fourteen years and fifteen books. I cannot thank you enough, Ger.
Credits
Editor: Phoebe Morgan
Copy-editor: Claire Dean
Proofreader: Simon Fox
Editorial Assistant: Bethany Wickington
Production Controller: Catriona Beamish
Cover Designer: Claire Ward
Marketing: Ellie Pilcher
Publicity: Sabah Khan
Sales: Caroline Bovey
Audio: Rebecca Fortuin and Stella Newing
Contracts: Florence Shepherd
Keep Reading …
Every family has it’s secrets …
A gripping suspense novel about deadly secrets and lies.
Click here to buy now!
I disappeared on a Tuesday afternoon.
They’ve never found my body …
An unputdownable serial killer thriller with a breathtaking twist.
Click here to buy now!
Just how far is a mother willing to go?
A gripping psychological thriller from the USA Today bestseller.
Click here to buy now!
You watched her die.
And her death has created a vacancy …
A gripping psychological thriller that will have you hooked.
Click here to buy now!
About the Author
Claire Allan is a former journalist from Derry in Northern Ireland, where she still lives with her husband, two children, two cats and a hyperactive puppy.
In her eighteen years as a journalist she covered a wide range of stories from attempted murders, to court sessions, to the Saville Inquiry into the events of Bloody Sunday, right down to the local parish notes.
She has previously published eight women’s fiction novels. Her first thriller, Her Name Was Rose, was published in 2018 and became a USA Today bestseller, followed by Apple of My Eye and Forget Me Not in 2019. The Liar’s Daughter was published in 2020.
When she’s not writing, she’ll more than likely be found on Twitter @claireallan.
Also by Claire Allan
Her Name Was Rose
Apple of My Eye
Forget Me Not
The Liar’s Daughter
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
Bay Adelaide Centre, East Tower
22 Adelaide Street West, 41st Floor
Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada
www.harpercollins.ca
India
HarperCollins India
A 75, Sector 57
Noida, Uttar Pradesh 201 301, India
www.harpercollins.co.in
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand
Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive
Rosedale 0632
Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com