‘Not at all. I immediately understood how keen you would be to hear what she had to say.’ Susan slipped her arm around her sister, and the two women turned to walk back to their car.
PJ shut the door and rubbed his eyes. If Abigail had seen Tommy getting on the bus, then why would she deny it now? If you told the landlady of the pub and the sister of the biggest gossip in Duneen, it was as if you wanted everyone to know. And if Tommy had left, why had nobody seen him come back? Something didn’t add up.
‘Breakfast is on the table!’
Sometimes he felt himself just going through the motions of eating Mrs Meany’s cooked breakfast, but this morning PJ relished every bite. Things were beginning to shift. It was like undoing a very tight knot and sensing a tiny amount of movement. Soon they were going to unravel this mess.
After breakfast he had a shower and then sat at his desk reading and deleting emails. He wondered how Brid was getting on and why she had come to find him last night. He liked her and was happy to see her when he had opened the door, but that wasn’t enough. He couldn’t be with someone simply because they were willing to be with him. Besides, her life was in turmoil and was about to get even worse. Did he really want to take on all of that? He thought about Linus and his marriage woes. There were no happy endings in this life, he decided, so why bother looking for one?
He checked the clock. Half past ten. Should he wait for Dunne or head up to Ard Carraig by himself? He was impatient to have a showdown with Abigail Ross. The attitude she had given him the last time he was up there! Well, Vera Hickey was not suffering from dementia. It would be harder to dismiss this bit of information. He felt the key this time was to talk to her away from Evelyn; he couldn’t pinpoint it, but there was something strange about the Ross sisters when they were together. He had seen it in the hospital the other day. A closeness but at the same time an awkwardness, a resentment between them.
He grabbed his coat off the chair. He was going to head up to Ard Carraig now. In the hall he called to Mrs Meany. ‘I’m just going out. If the detective superintendent from Cork shows up, tell him I’m at Ard Carraig.’
‘Oh, Sergeant Collins!’
PJ turned to see the old woman’s grey-haired head poking out from the kitchen.
‘Yes?’ He hoped his voice didn’t sound as impatient as he felt.
‘I was just wondering if you’d heard anything about the NDA?’
‘The … Oh, Mrs Meany.’ He dropped his arms to his sides and looked at the little face in the doorway. He was ashamed of himself. This poor woman was waiting to find out the fate of her only child and all he could think about was charging around the country being the big cop who solved the crime.
He walked slowly down the hall and led Mrs Meany back into the kitchen.
‘Well I did get some news, but I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer to hear it from Detective Dunne.’
She looked up at PJ and a flicker of fear danced across her face.
‘Oh no, Sergeant. I want you to tell me.’
‘All right then.’ He pulled out a chair for the old lady. ‘The tests we carried out prove that the remains found on the old farm are …’ He hated how this was coming out. Surely there were kinder words, softer ones to tell this woman the fate of her baby? He ploughed on. ‘… are those of your child.’
Mrs Meany slowly raised her right hand to her mouth and lightly drummed her fingers on her upper lip.
‘Poor Tommy.’
‘I’m very sorry, but I suppose it is better to know.’
Her faded blue eyes filled with tears.
‘Yes. Yes. Of course.’ Her cheeks were wet now. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. PJ handed her a roll of kitchen paper and she tore off a couple of sheets to dab her eyes.
She sighed. ‘It was a bad business. I should never have agreed to any of it.’
‘You did what you thought was best.’
‘I knew it was wrong. We all knew. If it was right, why did those two babies both end up buried on that farm, without a prayer, without a flower?’
PJ didn’t know what to say. How could anyone explain why bad things happened? He looked across the table at the little old lady wiping her eyes and thought about Lizzie Meany all those years ago. Why had evil been visited on that small defenceless girl? Why had she spent her whole life punishing herself for a sin she didn’t even commit? He felt utterly useless and at the same time a strange affinity with Mrs Meany. Somehow life had conspired against them both. If, as it seemed to PJ, the world was divided into winners and losers, he knew which group the two people sat across from each other at this kitchen table were in. He spoke softly. ‘It’s not fair. That’s what it is. Not fair. But it was a different time and at least you saw him grow up into a man. Not many girls like you got to do that.’
Mrs Meany pushed her hair back from her face.
‘You’re a good man, Sergeant, but if you don’t mind I’m going to go home now.’
‘Of course. Can I give you a lift?’
‘No. No, the walk will do me good.’
12
Brid wasn’t surprised. The wide grey expanse of the deserted yard was exactly as she’d expected to find it. Inside, there was no note, just three washed cereal bowls leaning against each other in the dish rack. They were still wet. Brid pulled the door of the dishwasher open. Last night’s dinner dishes, still dirty. She took one of the detergent tablets from under the sink, slid it into place and slammed the door shut. The familiar sloshing and whirring sound that she heard nearly every day began. She felt very calm.
Upstairs she laid a suitcase on the bed and started packing a small selection of clothes. Where was she going? For how long? She didn’t know. Suddenly she froze. No. She mustn’t do this. Some shadowy corner of her brain was telling her that she shouldn’t abandon the family home. Why? She couldn’t remember that, but she was fairly certain she should stay. She thought of PJ. He was right. She really should see a solicitor.
The sun was high and bright as Brid drove towards Ballytorne. It felt good to see the unbroken blue sky and feel the warmth of the light hitting her face through the windscreen. Everything seemed possible. After she checked that Carmel and Cathal were in school – they were; Anthony hadn’t done anything crazy – she drove through the town and up the long, slow hill that led to the coast road. Bungalows and detached houses sat in their neat gardens. Each one had something that made the person who lived there think it was truly special. The dormer window, the cut-stone facade, the hacienda arch that joined the house to the garage. She thought of Anthony and of driving as a family through the countryside. Every new house they passed sitting squat and square in the middle of a bare field prompted him to say, ‘Somebody’s pride and joy.’ The words were meaningless, a simple verbal tic, but today Brid wondered if they could be true. Could bricks and mortar piled up in a field really bring someone pride and joy? She imagined that for Anthony they actually could. Brid wondered if she had ever in her whole life felt like that. Of course she had. Carmel and Cathal. Holding their small, wriggling bodies had filled her with pride and joy. She could feel like that again. She was sure of it.
She began to slow down and checked the driveway on the right. She was almost disappointed that it had been so easy. There, sitting outside her mother-in-law’s own slice of bungalow bliss, was Anthony’s car. She parked on the street and walked up the short drive. A small cherry tree sat in the middle of the blanket of lawn bursting with eager pink blossom against the wash of blue. Brid felt a little jolt of confidence. She had a plan.
Her mother-in-law opened the door and stared at her. Her face wore the expression she reserved for buskers and the groups of schoolgirls shrieking at the bus stop at four o’clock each afternoon. She raised an eyebrow. Brid swallowed. She would not rise to the bait.
‘No,’ she said firmly.
‘No? What do you mean?’
‘I’m saying no to your attitude today. I want to speak to your son.’
&
nbsp; A silence. Brid wondered if she was about to get a door slammed in her face, then, ‘Anthony, your wife is at the front door.’ With that her mother-in-law turned and walked back into the house, leaving Brid to wait on the narrow concrete path. High above her a jet heading out towards the Atlantic had left a long white arch smudged across the sky. She heard a door open and close, followed by whispering, and then Anthony stepped forward.
‘So you’re alive then.’
‘Yes.’
‘We were all very worried about you.’
‘Well I’m sorry about that, but quite honestly, you are not the injured party here. I only left because you refused to.’
Anthony lowered his voice. ‘I was not going to leave you in that state, not with the kids.’
Brid felt herself becoming irritated. She didn’t want to get bogged down in all of this. This was the past. She didn’t want to waste time with the same tired squabbles. She had a plan. She must stick to it. Raising both her palms in front of her to signal a full stop, she decided to start again.
‘Look, Anthony. Can I come in? I want to talk to you. I have a proposal.’
Anthony stepped back in a silent invitation to enter the house. Brid walked down the short hall and then to the right towards the front room. She knew it would be empty. Anthony followed. He shut the door behind them. They stood looking at each other, both remembering the last time they had been in this room. The tears. The begging. Brid had a twinge of regret that this was where they were going to have this conversation.
‘Shall we sit?’ she said.
He nodded and they took either end of the stiff sofa. Brid smoothed her skirt and then looked Anthony in the face.
‘This is over.’
‘Brid, I—’
‘Anthony, please. I don’t want to argue. We don’t need to fight any more. Here’s what I want to happen. Let me finish and then you can tell me what you think. Agreed?’
He gave a small nod.
‘Right. I think our marriage is over. I know it is. We both know that. And that can be a good thing. I suggest that we don’t try and get divorced – not yet, anyway. If we go to court, it’ll be lawyers and judges and money and custody. OK. So what’s really important to us? You want the farm, and you’d like it if Cathal could farm it after you, if that’s what he wants. I want to keep the house and the children together. So my plan is that we sell a few sites – maybe the bottom half of the lower paddock – to raise some cash. We use that to build you somewhere to live on the farm. The four of us can sort out some sort of rota for when the children stay with you, and I’ll draw an allowance from the farm income. We both get what we want, and if the kids don’t want the farm, then we can think again when you retire.’ She folded her hands in her lap. ‘What do you think?’
Anthony rubbed the back of his neck and squeezed his eyes shut. A long sigh and then he looked at her. ‘I don’t know what to think. It seems so final. Should we not be talking about trying to make things work? I don’t know, Brid. This is going to be so hard on the kids.’
‘It’s going to be hard on all of us, but not as bad as a divorce. If you want to fight me on this, then we will fight, and surely that’s worse. This way they sleep in their own beds and they still have a mammy and a daddy who at least pretend to like each other.’
‘What about your drinking?’
‘What about it? It is just that – my drinking. I’ve shown you I can control it. I don’t want to throw myself some pity party or try to blame you, but when I need a drink it’s because I’m unhappy. I’m not happy. You’re not happy. That’s why something has to change.’
Anthony held his head in his hands, breathing deeply.
‘What would we tell people?’
‘Tell people?’
‘You know. People will ask questions. What would we say?’
So much of the plan was very clear to Brid, but she hadn’t considered this. It surprised her that this was the first thing that concerned Anthony.
‘Well, we’d tell them that we’re separated, because that would be the truth. An amicable separation.’ She liked the sound of that.
‘It just feels so strange.’
‘People break up all the time, Anthony. I don’t want to start a slagging match, I really don’t, but if you were happy in this marriage, you wouldn’t be off fucking some nurse.’
‘Ah Brid. I never even … It was a mistake. I felt flattered, and one thing led to another.’
‘I don’t care, Anthony, I really don’t, but if you refuse to agree to what I’m proposing, then I will go ahead and divorce you.’
He looked at her blankly.
‘And if we get divorced, the farm, the house, it will all have to be sold.’
‘Not necessarily. I might be able to raise the money.’
‘And what? Send me packing into the night with a suitcase full of cash? It’s my family home, where I’m raising our children. If anyone is sent packing, it’ll be you. All that work for nothing. No inheritance for the kids. My plan is a good one. It’s the best offer you’re going to get, Anthony Riordan.’
Brid felt pleased. She hadn’t become emotional, and looking over at Anthony, she could see that he looked frightened. He knew that these were not idle threats. She was surprised by how detached she felt; this was just some man she was negotiating with. She couldn’t imagine that this person had ever touched her or licked her neck or stroked her breasts, and yet she knew he had. This was the father of her children.
‘I’m going to give you some time to think things over. I’ll pick up the kids and I think it’s best if you stay here for the next couple of nights.’ She stood up.
Anthony clearly hadn’t thought this far ahead.
‘But why don’t I just sleep in—’
Brid was at the door. ‘Stay here, Anthony.’ As she stepped into the corridor, she turned. ‘What have you told the children, by the way?’
‘I said you were sick. I said you’d gone to stay with a friend.’
‘Right.’
He stood and quickly called after her, ‘Where did you go last night, Brid?’
‘Goodbye, Anthony.’
The sound of the front door shutting, and then silence.
13
The house looked different today. It was the first time PJ had seen it in sunshine, and somehow the bland grey exterior seemed to rise to the occasion. The small panes of glass flashed, the door looked wide and effusive, and the dark slate roof had a sheen to it that he hadn’t noticed before.
He could hear the bell jangling deep inside the house, but nobody came to the door. He tried again. Nothing, just the jaded caws of a few crows perched in the trees that lined the driveway. There was no car, but PJ knew that didn’t mean that nobody was at home. He crunched his way across the gravel to the door in the low wall that led away from the house to the left. He let himself into the yard and was greeted by Bobby the dog. PJ wrestled him away, trying to avoid muddy paw prints on his uniform. ‘Good dog. Down, boy. Down, boy.’
He edged forward and checked to his right. There were no lights on in the kitchen. He decided to look behind the outhouses where he had first found Evelyn all those months earlier. In the far corner of the yard one door was slightly ajar. For some reason it made PJ wary. He walked across the cobbles and gave it a small push. ‘Hello?’ The door swung open fully and the morning sunshine flooded in to reveal a figure sitting on some old wooden pallets in the corner.
‘Evelyn?’ PJ felt compelled to speak in a whisper.
She looked up and gave him a weak smile. ‘PJ. Hello.’
‘Are you all right? What are you doing out here?’
She ran her hand through her hair and shook her head.
‘I really don’t know. Just being a sentimental fool, I suppose.’
‘Right.’ PJ stood awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. Bobby was sniffing at his feet.
‘This is where I found Daddy, you know.’
‘Oh.’ PJ had heard the story
. Was there something appropriate to say to a woman sitting in the room where her father had hanged himself? ‘That must have been a very hard time for you all’ was the best he could muster.
‘Yes. Yes it was.’ She sounded distracted, as if her mind was on something else. ‘Why am I like this, PJ? Do you think I’m half mad?’
Finding her sitting alone in the gloom made PJ consider that maybe she was, but he reassured her with ‘No. You’re bound to be finding this very upsetting.’
‘Things happen to everyone, don’t they? Everyone. Bad, awful things, but people get over things. They manage to move on.’ Evelyn spoke slowly, stressing each word like a teacher explaining the key points of her lesson. ‘Why can’t I? Why am I still sat here?’
PJ knew better than to try and answer that question, so he just stood and looked around the old storeroom. The cobweb-covered stone walls, the rough rafters overhead with old hooks and pulleys, their purpose long forgotten.
‘Daddy left. Tommy left. I just don’t think I could … You know, this morning I beat the poor dog.’
‘Bobby?’
‘He ran away. I don’t know, rabbits or a fox or something, but he just ignored me calling his name. It was like he had forgotten my existence. Everything in the world was more important to him than me. When I finally caught him, I was so angry and upset I frightened myself. I beat him with my fists. I felt awful afterwards. He’s just a dog being a dog.’
PJ felt uneasy. He didn’t really know how he could respond to any of this. He inched backwards towards the brightness of the yard. ‘Is Abigail around?’
‘No. No, they kept her in for an extra night. She should be back after lunch.’
‘Great. Thanks.’
‘She did see Tommy, you know.’
PJ froze.
‘What? She told you that?’
‘She had to. I found this.’ Evelyn held up a small pile of material that had been bunched in her hands. ‘It’s a scarf. Tommy gave it to me.’
‘Sorry. I don’t understand. Where did you find it?’
‘Abigail had it. I left it at the Burkes’, but Tommy wanted me to have it, so he gave it to her when she saw him in Ballytorne.’
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