Girl Unknown

by Karen Perry

  Frustration rose within me. The way she went to work on him right there in front of me was shameless.

  ‘I know, Zoë,’ he said quietly. ‘And it’s not that I don’t feel the same way. I just want you to understand that we have to be able to trust you.’ He continued to talk about the importance of honesty within a family but I could see that he was thawing. Her story had got to him. She was nodding as she listened, playing the penitent, bowing her head in remorse, and I felt a lurch of fear. How easily she had crept in among us, her troubling occupancy of the attic room, the nights I lay awake listening to the soft pad of her feet overhead, the murmur of her voice travelling to me through the floorboards. All this time, I had felt her duplicity, the coldness at the heart of her behaviour towards me. Just when I thought her deceptions would be revealed, and David would see for himself her untrustworthy nature, I felt the chance getting away from me. Drained by the encounter, he was bringing it to an end – the prodigal daughter, the forgiving father. Panic set in.

  ‘Just hang on a minute,’ I said, coming forward to break up their tableau. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘She lied to us about something pretty serious. What else has she been lying about?’

  ‘I’m right here in the room, Caroline,’ Zoë said quietly, which I found a little rich, considering how she had refused to make eye contact with me throughout the exchange.

  ‘I’m not happy to have a person I don’t trust living in this house.’

  ‘Caroline …’ David began, weariness leaking into his voice.

  ‘We have to think about the children. What lies have you been telling them?’ I demanded of her.

  ‘None!’

  ‘All those hours you and Robbie spend together upstairs, what have you been filling his head with?’

  ‘Caroline, that’s unfair,’ David interjected.

  ‘Is it? Look at his behaviour in school since she moved in. His grades have dropped, notes have come home about him not paying attention in class, not to mention his recent suspension. I’m absolutely dreading his parent-teacher meeting.’

  ‘Well, that’s hardly Robbie’s fault,’ David replied waspishly.

  I stared at him, wounded by this sudden attack. His pointed remark, a reference to my indiscretion, in front of Zoë – I could hardly believe it. Glancing at her, I thought I caught the trace of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. In the background, the doorbell rang. None of us made any move to answer it.

  ‘If you want me to leave, I’ll leave,’ she announced, breaking the silence.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ David muttered.

  ‘Just say the word and I’ll pack my bags. I’ll even drop out of university – that way you won’t have to see me at all.’

  ‘Don’t be so stupid,’ he said, clearly annoyed at the turn the conversation had taken. ‘No one wants you to leave.’

  ‘I want her to leave,’ I countered.

  She glanced at me, then looked at the floor, her shoulders slumping forward again, adopting her vulnerable pose. ‘I’ve tried to be friends with you, Caroline. Why don’t you like me?’

  I treated that with the disdain it deserved. ‘If she’s lying to us, then what’s she been saying to Robbie and Holly? Don’t you think we should consider their needs, their safety?’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ David snapped. ‘Zoë’s their half-sister, not a sociopath.’ The kitchen door opened and his attention momentarily shifted. She caught my eye and I saw her brow arch just a fraction, triumph briefly flashed across her face.

  ‘It’s Chris,’ Robbie announced, standing in the doorway, glancing nervously at Zoë.

  ‘Sorry, is this a bad time?’ Chris asked, coming into the kitchen behind him. ‘We’re going for a pint, remember?’

  David had his hands to his face, fingertips pressing against closed eyes. Drawing his hands away, he looked tired and defeated. ‘Sorry, Chris. I’d forgotten.’

  He made no move to leave, and Chris, detecting the atmosphere in the room, said: ‘Look, we can do it another time. If you guys have things you need to discuss …’ His eyes settled on Zoë as if noticing her for the first time. ‘Hi,’ he said, coming forward and offering his hand, which she shook briefly. ‘I’m Chris.’

  ‘Zoë.’

  ‘Do you mind if we leave it?’ David asked, with an air of apology. ‘I’m just back from Belfast and there’s things I need to sort out.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Chris shrugged. ‘I’m happy enough going for a drink on my own.’

  ‘I’ll go with you.’

  We all looked at her in surprise.

  ‘I mean it,’ Zoë continued, reaching for her jacket, which was slung over the back of a kitchen chair. ‘I could do with a drink.’

  ‘Okay, sure,’ Chris said, surprise tinged with excitement on his face. He stood back to let her pass, then turned and raised his hand in salute before following her out.

  Seconds later, we heard Robbie going into the living room, then slamming the door behind him. David and I were alone.

  ‘Does Chris know about Zoë?’ I asked him, and he shook his head.

  ‘Great,’ I remarked flatly. ‘God knows what lies she’ll tell him.’

  ‘Would you stop that?’ David said, exasperated.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m so sick of it, Caroline, this constant negativity towards Zoë, your resentment.’

  ‘My –’

  ‘If you actually tried to get to know her, rather than maintaining this suspicion, maybe you wouldn’t feel that way.’

  Now anger rose within me, too, like a pain, but his back was already turned. He began opening cupboards and the fridge, pulling out bread, cheese, relish, hastily slapping them all together into a sandwich.

  ‘I have every right to be suspicious,’ I countered. ‘She’s been lying to us –’

  ‘About one thing, that’s all. And I can understand her reasons.’

  ‘Oh, of course you can.’

  ‘Drop the sarcasm, will you? I’m tired and not in the mood. And another thing,’ he said, moving past me to the kitchen table, bringing his plate down with a hard thud. ‘I thought it crass the way you said she should leave when she was right there in the room. What got into you? Didn’t you see how upset she was?’

  My eyes widened. ‘How upset she was?’

  ‘Oh, Christ, don’t do this now,’ he said, turning away from me and sitting down at the table.

  ‘Don’t do what?’

  ‘Don’t make this into a competition between you and her.’

  ‘What?’

  He lifted his palms with an air of surrender. Then he picked up his sandwich and began to eat.

  How had things spiralled out of control so quickly? I thought of Chris and Zoë sitting in the warm conviviality of our local pub, sharing a joke over their pints, and felt a twinge of envy. Inside our kitchen, it felt very cold. I could tell from the way David was hunched over his sandwich, a hardened look about him, that I would have to pull back, tread a little softly, if I wanted to persuade him.

  ‘Listen,’ I began, as I sat opposite him. ‘One of the girls at work has a place free in the house she shares. All young girls, in their early twenties. It’s in Ranelagh, close to UCD. I was thinking Zoë might be interested. What do you reckon?’

  ‘She couldn’t afford the rent,’ he replied, taking another bite.

  ‘Well, we could help out there.’

  ‘A few days ago you were losing the plot over my suggestion of paying her college fees. Now you want to stump up for her rent?’

  I ignored the barb. ‘This was never supposed to be a permanent arrangement, David. It was just a stop-gap until she found somewhere new to live. Robbie’s going to be doing his Junior Certificate in a few months. He needs to be able to concentrate on his studies. Her presence at home is unsettling for all of us – a distraction.’

  ‘Robbie will be fine.’

  ‘Really? I’m worried about him.�
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  ‘You’re overreacting. He’s fifteen. Teenage boys act up from time to time. And I’ll talk to him about his homework, get him to knuckle down a bit.’

  ‘Will you?’

  He must have heard the doubt in my voice, for his gaze narrowed, his mouth settling into a grim line. ‘I just said I would, didn’t I?’

  ‘You’ve been so distracted lately. You keep brushing aside Robbie’s behaviour, instead of tackling him about it. I can’t help but feel that you’ve stepped back a bit from him – from Holly too. They need your attention as well, David, your love.’

  ‘Hang on a second. You’re the one who’s been out until all hours, doing trade shows and what-have-you, and now you’re giving me a hard time about not being there for the kids?’

  ‘What are you saying?’ I asked. ‘That I shouldn’t have gone back to work?’

  The swing of the argument took over, each of us drawing on the peculiar accounting involved in parenting, trotting out all the hours each of us spent with the kids versus the time we had to ourselves. Revisiting old ground, we criticized each other’s parenting styles: I accused him of being too hands-off, then jumping in at the last minute with harsh discipline; he argued that I was too soft on them, too wrapped up in their lives, that I didn’t give them the space and freedom to make mistakes and learn from them. The whole thing was exhausting.

  David finished his sandwich and got up.

  ‘What about Zoë?’ I said, determined not to let him walk out of the room without reaching some kind of agreement.

  He put his plate into the dishwasher, then straightened up. ‘I’ll talk to her. Tell her she can stay here until the exams are over.’

  ‘That’s not until the end of May.’

  ‘It’s a natural break, Caroline. End of semester. She’ll probably be heading abroad with her friends anyway – she mentioned something about a J1 visa for the States. We can make it clear that when she gets home after the summer she’ll no longer be living here.’

  There was a degree of sense in what he was suggesting. Still, I felt a niggle of worry.

  ‘Happy now?’ he asked coldly, and without waiting for my answer, he left the room.

  The house was empty when I got up the next morning, having waited for the others to leave. The days spent at the trade show had taken an unexpected toll. Peter had given us leave to come in late that morning, and as I lay there watching the time tick by on the digital clock, I felt the passage of dull pain around my body, tenderness at the bridge of my nose a warning sign I was coming down with a cold. I had left my phone downstairs in the kitchen the night before, and it was a relief not to be able to check for emails from the office. After a while, I got up and stood for a long time under a hot shower, feeling the heat permeating my skin. I thought of David and our argument, which was still unresolved. We had lain in bed alongside each other, not speaking. Some time after midnight, I had heard the front door open and close, Zoë’s light footfall on the stairs. I know he heard it too. The end of May, I thought, mentally tallying the weeks and months that would lead to that date, to a time we could finally be rid of her.

  After my shower, I felt better. Wrapping my hair in a towel, I went downstairs in my bathrobe to make tea.

  Zoë was in the kitchen, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She stood perfectly still, looking straight at me. My phone was in her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It beeped and I thought it was mine.’

  It was true that our phones were similar, and that we had the same text alert, but still I was annoyed. I moved forward, and she handed it to me. Her bag and coat were on the counter and she picked them up, then said a stiff goodbye.

  The door closed, I looked down at the screen and saw the text message that had come through. It was from Aidan and it was open. I read it quickly with a growing sense of alarm: When I said I missed your laughter, I should have said that I missed your lips, your lovely mouth, you. You’re in my head again, Caroline.

  ‘Shit,’ I said out loud.

  The front door was open when I stepped into the hall and said her name. She was pulling on her jacket and made no sign of having heard me.

  ‘Zoë,’ I said again, and grabbed her arm.

  She wrenched it away, tripped on the step and steadied herself against the wall of the porch.

  She hurried away from me, her ponytail swinging as she went down the path. Weak sunlight came from overhead, filtered through a canopy of fresh spring leaves. I held my robe closed with one hand and called again, but she didn’t look back, her step quickening now as she pulled her jacket tight around her. I thought about her reading that text and something loosened within me. Gazing after her helplessly, I watched as, armed with that new knowledge, she hurried away from me, rounded the corner and was gone.

  16. David

  It was late that night when she came home. I was sitting at the writing desk in the living room, darkness pressing against the window, the only light thrown by the anglepoise lamp on to the notes spread in front of me. The rest of the household was sleeping when I heard the crunch of her feet on the gravel outside.

  I could have stayed where I was, working out my thoughts for the radio interview I was scheduled to give early the next morning. All week, I had been meaning to prepare for it, but what with my trip to Belfast, the time had got away from me, and despite my good intentions, here I was on the eve of the interview with very little done. In hindsight, I often come back to this moment, and wonder had I chosen to remain at my desk, not got up from my chair and gone out into the hall, would things have turned out differently. So much of what went wrong in the ensuing days and weeks seemed to stem from that night’s events. But hindsight is not my friend. It never will be.

  The argument we’d had in the kitchen the night before had been on my mind all day. There was a bad taste in my mouth from how we had left things, and I suppose it was for that reason – a desire to smooth things over – that I went out into the hall to see her. She was hanging her coat on the newel post, her back to me, when I said her name and she turned around.

  ‘Christ,’ I exclaimed.

  The left side of her face, from eye-socket to cheekbone, was badly bruised, swollen and grazed, with a dull purple stain of dried blood. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, letting her hair fall over her face.

  ‘Let me see.’ I stepped towards her.

  I reached out to touch her chin, and she allowed her face to be angled towards me, her eyes bright and large in the light’s glare.

  ‘I fell. It’s not serious.’

  ‘That cut is close to your eye. We should get it checked out.’

  ‘It looks worse than it is.’

  ‘Who did this to you?’ I asked, shocked by the livid wound.

  ‘I told you, I fell …’

  ‘I know you didn’t.’

  Her eyes moved quickly towards the top of the stairs. ‘Can we not talk about it here?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want the others to hear.’

  ‘Come into the kitchen, then.’

  Meekly, she followed me and watched as I drew open a freezer drawer, emptying ice-cubes from the tray on to a towel.

  ‘Here,’ I said, gathering it all together. ‘Put this against your face. It will help bring the swelling down.’

  She did as I asked, wincing as the cold compress touched her cheek.

  ‘What happened, Zoë?’ I said, my voice softer now that I was getting over my shock.

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ she answered, and then she began to cry.

  Gently, I moved her towards the kitchen table, and sat next to her, taking her hand in mine, trying to appear calm in the face of her obvious distress. ‘Please tell me, Zoë. Let me help you.’

  ‘If I tell you, she might get angry with me again.’

  ‘Caroline?’ I said, reading between the lines. ‘Are you saying she did this to you?’ I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice.

  Zoë said nothing, just stared down
at the table-top, holding the compress to her face.

  While it was no secret that Caroline wasn’t happy about Zoë’s presence, there was no way she would ever physically attack her. I knew my wife. I understood her boundaries. I couldn’t help but think this was some ham-fisted attempt on Zoë’s part to get back at Caroline for the things she had said the night before.

  ‘I’m sorry, Zoë, but I find that very hard to accept.’

  She took the compress away, stared down at the towel, soaked through now, then said in a small voice: ‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘Keep that against your face,’ I instructed, partly because I felt a little queasy – the violence of the wound, the swollen flesh, the seeping cuts – and partly because I was annoyed at being drawn into another of her dramas. The whole thing was exhausting.

  ‘It was my fault,’ she said, in that same quiet voice.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She didn’t mean to do it. She wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t …’

  The sentence was left to drift. Just spit it out, I thought irritably. My notes, abandoned in the other room, would probably remain unread now. I’d just have to wing it during the radio interview in the morning.

  I asked her to tell me exactly what had happened.

  ‘I mistook her phone for my own, you see,’ she began. ‘I read one of her text messages by accident. It was private. That was what she said. I tried to tell her it was a mistake. That I wasn’t spying on her or anything like that. But she didn’t believe me.’

  ‘Go on,’ I said, listening now.

  ‘Some guy had sent her a text,’ she said again. ‘I probably shouldn’t tell you –’

  ‘Saying what?’

  She hesitated, putting the compress to one side, a little crease of a frown appearing between her eyebrows. Her reluctance was apparent, but I was curious now.

  ‘It’s okay, Zoë. You can tell me.’