Sisters and Lies

by Bernice Barrington

  ‘Yeah. It takes a bit of getting used to, all right.’

  We both took slurps of our coffee, then made gagging faces simultaneously.

  ‘Even worse than anticipated,’ Donnagh said.

  ‘Piss would probably taste better.’

  Donnagh held my gaze. ‘I want to apologize again for how I’ve acted, Rachel. I’m not usually so spineless.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I muttered, trying to play it down. ‘It’s the shock. It does weird things to people.’

  He nodded. ‘One minute everything’s going great, the next …’ He took another slurp of his coffee, winced.

  ‘Donnagh, you know what you were saying back there in the car, about being in love with Evie …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I know this is probably a stupid question, but do you think Evie felt the same way about you, despite your history?’

  For a while, he didn’t say anything. Then, ‘I don’t know, Rachel,’ he finally replied. ‘Of course I hoped the feeling was mutual. We certainly seemed to get on well. But then the crash happened, and I found out her real identity, and I didn’t know what to believe any more.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘It must be very confusing.’

  ‘I brought it on myself, I guess. The way I treated her as a teenager. The awful things I did …’

  We lapsed into silence again, me picking away the polystyrene from the edge of my cup.

  ‘I’m really sorry, but I’d better be going,’ he said, glancing at his watch. He reached for his jacket, then stalled, as if he was deciding whether to say something or not.

  ‘Donnagh, are you okay? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Yeah … No. I mean, everything’s fine. It’s probably nothing.’ He stopped, picked up his jacket.

  ‘Donnagh, tell me.’

  ‘Look, forget it, Rachel. I’m being ridiculous …’

  ‘Tell me,’ I said, my voice louder now, causing a couple of nurses to turn and look at us.

  ‘To be honest, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.’ Donnagh sat back in his seat, exhaling. ‘I fell hard for Eve. I already told you that. And for most of the two months we were together I thought she felt the same way. But there were times when she seemed distant. Not quite herself.’

  ‘Not quite herself?’

  ‘It all made sense when I found out she was hiding her past from me. That’s why I didn’t say anything before this, why it seemed irrelevant.’

  ‘What are you trying to say now, Donnagh?’

  He let out a low sigh. ‘I don’t really know, Rachel. It’s just I’ve had time to think. And even given that she was hiding her identity from me, some things still don’t add up.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Okay, it’s going to sound mad. So be prepared for that. But I think Eve might have been seeing someone else at the same time as me.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘You think she might have been having an affair?’

  ‘Is it even an affair if you’ve just been going out for a couple of months?’

  ‘Have you any proof?’

  ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Not really?’

  ‘The only thing I’m going on was this one night. She came back kind of flustered and there was this smell off her. Like a man’s aftershave or something. I could smell it on her hair.’

  ‘So maybe somebody stood too near her on the Tube. That proves nothing, Donnagh.’

  ‘I know. That’s why I didn’t say anything. It was stupid. Just something about it reminded me of my ex-wife.’

  ‘Your ex-wife?’

  ‘Remember I told you about her? Well, she cheated on me. And Eve’s behaviour brought it all back. But then again, it was just an instinct. A gut feeling.’

  ‘And do you find your gut lies to you much?’ I said, looking at Donnagh directly now, a prickling sensation breaking out across my skin.

  ‘Not really,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Didn’t think so,’ I said, getting up. Then I ran.

  36.

  I got to Evie’s apartment, not even sure what I was looking for. All I was going on was adrenalin, and a feeling that Donnagh was right. That Evie had been seeing somebody else. Perhaps he had sent the postcard. Perhaps he held the key to my sister’s crash … To her life.

  But how did you track down a person you didn’t even know existed?

  A name. I needed to find a name.

  I started in the living area, pulling open cupboards, ransacking drawers, looking for anything to suggest Evie was in a relationship with somebody else.

  I found no evidence of that, but what I did notice was how carefully Evie had concealed her identity from Donnagh. She’d hidden all of her books, paintings and letters – anything with the surname ‘Darcy’ on it. Even her favourite mug was missing, the one with ‘Eveline’ emblazoned in swirly pink letters across the front. I had to hand it to my sister: she’d been ruthless. She’d destroyed all traces of her real self.

  I understood why: she hadn’t wanted Donnagh to figure out who she was, not yet, at any rate. But where had she stashed those items? She couldn’t have just thrown them away. I walked into the hallway, my eyes scanning upwards for an attic. But there was no sign of one. And the airing cupboard didn’t hold any clues either – it just featured the usual stuff: towels and sheets, a few tattered old clothes.

  Now, much as it sickened me, I had no choice but to ransack Evie’s bedroom. It felt sordid and wrong, picking through my sister’s intimate space, like some kind of pervert. But I had no choice.

  I pushed open the door and just stood there, as if I was entering that room for the first time. True, I’d been sleeping there since I’d arrived – Donnagh had taken up residence in the spare room – but I’d been super-careful not to disturb anything, to respect Evie’s space.

  Not any more, though.

  I started with her wardrobe, digging deep into the back for any hidden boxes or files. I knew Evie kept a diary and that she was never without a photo of Mammy, so I figured they must be in there somewhere. But after ten minutes of searching, I had turned up nothing.

  The only noteworthy thing about Evie’s wardrobe was the sheer volume of clothes and shoes it housed, many of them high-end. I knew Evie made a pittance in her day job, so perhaps somebody else was bankrolling all this flash fashion. Donnagh? Or the mysterious other man?

  I moved towards the chest of drawers and pulled open the first drawer. Disappointingly, it was nothing but a jumble: mounds of underwear mixed up together, like an explosion in a knicker factory. I opened the second, expecting to find more of the same, but this one was a wholly different prospect: tiny wisps of fabric lay next to a packet of condoms, a pair of black suspenders, a bottle of lube … I slammed it shut.

  Evie’s sex drawer.

  Jesus Christ, did I really want to go there? Was I that desperate? But then I took a deep breath, recalling the payment to La Petite Mort. I needed to know about this side of Evie’s personality. This was the one place I must look.

  Slowly, I opened the drawer again, and began unpacking its contents. Most of it was lingerie. Carefully, I lifted out a pair of black-and-pink silk knickers and a matching bra. For a few seconds, I held them, staring at them in confusion. Were they trying to tell me something?

  The obvious answer was that Evie enjoyed a healthy sex life. But with whom? Donnagh or the mystery guy? And what about all those one-night stands Janet had told me about?

  I riffled through the drawer again, hoping to find something more helpful – a diary, a camera, a secret phone. But there was nothing. Nothing even remotely useful.

  I slumped on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in defeat. This apartment revealed nothing about Evie. Not the Evie I knew, anyway.

  My phone buzzed and I jumped. Could my father be getting back to me? Or maybe it was Donnagh, with more secrets to divulge. But it was nothing – just a text message from my service provider about roaming charges.


  I threw the phone onto the bed in disgust. My father was a useless waste of space. I knew that. And as for Donnagh – I still hadn’t made up my mind about him.

  But Evie? Her family – we’d been so important to her. Why had she removed every last trace of us?

  I understood that she didn’t want Donnagh to find out who she was. But that alone didn’t explain what was going on. And neither did a potential affair. It was almost as if Evie had been trying to wipe me and Mammy from her life. Just like our father. Extinguish us. As if we had never existed.

  37.

  Evie

  So, where were we? Ah, yes: me cowering in my apartment after having sex with Donnagh, unable to face the world. Although by Thursday I had managed to haul my arse back into work.

  When I got there, Nigel was standing at my desk, not looking like a happy camper. ‘Well, well, well! So you’ve deigned to grace us with your presence, have you?’ he said, arms folded across his chest. ‘I presume you have a doctor’s note?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whimpered, handing it to him. I’d gone to a dodgy guy in Peckham, who’d given me one, no questions asked, once I’d forked out a hundred quid.

  ‘This is the second time you’ve been off sick in three months,’ Nigel continued.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nigel. I’ve just been a bit unlucky with my health recently. I’m feeling much better now, though.’ I smiled as brightly as I could, but Nigel wasn’t even looking at me.

  ‘And what about those?’ he said, pointing at something I couldn’t see. I bent down, following the slant of Nigel’s finger, until my eyes fell on the offending items: three bunches of flowers, expensive, still sitting in their water-filled plastic bubbles.

  ‘They’ve been arriving every day since Monday morning,’ Nigel said, emitting an accusatory sneeze. ‘If you don’t get Donnagh Flood to stop sending them, I swear to God, Eve …’

  Donnagh was sending them? Sweet Jesus. Was there no end to the man’s persistence?

  ‘Ring him now and tell him to stop it.’

  ‘But, Nigel!’

  ‘Now, Eve. That’s if you want to keep your job.’

  Very reluctantly I opened my handbag and pulled out my mobile.

  ‘Fine, fine,’ I muttered. ‘I’m doing it.’ Then I stomped off to an empty corridor so that Nigel wouldn’t get the opportunity to eavesdrop.

  A few moments later I heard Donnagh’s voice answer at the other end of the line.

  ‘Hi, Donnagh,’ I said, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. ‘It’s Eve here.’

  ‘Hi, stranger,’ he said. ‘You’ve been keeping a low profile. Did you get my flowers?’

  ‘Look, that’s what I’m ringing to talk about. Nigel isn’t happy. He’s got chronic hay fever and the flowers are affecting his allergies.’

  ‘Ah, God love him,’ Donnagh said faux-sympathetically. ‘You did make it clear the flowers aren’t actually for him, though, right?’

  ‘Donnagh,’ I said, not wanting to make a joke out of this, ‘you’ve got to stop. Seriously. He’s going to fire me.’

  ‘No, he’s not.’ Donnagh laughed. ‘That would be illegal.’

  ‘Well, okay, maybe not fire. But he’s going to make my life a misery. Or even more of a misery …’

  ‘I suppose I’d better stop sending them, then.’

  ‘Yes, Donnagh,’ I said, sighing with relief. ‘That would be great.’

  ‘Fair enough, but only if you come on another date with me.’

  ‘What? No way,’ I spluttered.

  ‘Jesus, Eve, I’m not proposing marriage. I just want to take you out for dinner. I thought we had a good time the other night. In fact, I was under the impression you rather enjoyed yourself.’

  I forced myself to concentrate on my breathing. Stay calm, Eveline. Just stay calm.

  ‘Come on, one more time. Then, if you decide I’m not for you, that’s it. No more flowers, no more texts or emails. I promise I won’t contact you again.’

  For a second I wanted to scream at him. Why was he holding me over a barrel like this? But then I thought of Nigel and his face of thunder. The fact that my mortgage repayment was due at the end of the week.

  ‘Eve?’

  ‘Do you absolutely promise, Donnagh?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Scout’s honour. So how’s about we meet tomorrow? Say, half six in front of Covent Garden Tube station.’

  I paused for a second, barely able to breathe. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But you promise no more bouquets, right?’

  ‘Right,’ Donnagh said. ‘Can’t wait to see you.’ Then he hung up.

  ‘Christ on a bike, that took you long enough,’ Nigel said, when I eventually got back to my desk.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said blankly. ‘We got slightly side-tracked.’

  ‘Of course you did. Now kindly get to work. And keep those bloody weeds out of my face.’

  I watched him stalk off, feeling my heart go ninety to the dozen in my chest.

  Had I just agreed to meet Donnagh again? What the fuck had I done?

  38.

  I got ready to face Donnagh. As I dressed, I consoled myself with the fact that it would be the last time I ever had to see him. All thoughts of revenge had been thrown out the window. All I cared about was getting through tonight unscathed and drawing a line in the sand under this entire incident. Lesson learned: do not date the boy who bullied you as a kid. It will not end well.

  I pulled on an extremely boring shift dress and flats, not bothering with much make-up and rolling my hair into a bun. Who cared if Donnagh didn’t find me attractive? Who cared if he never found out who I really was? The most important thing was that I got away from him as soon as possible – with my sanity intact.

  ‘Hey, gorgeous,’ he said, as I arrived at our preordained meeting spot. ‘Loving the sexy librarian look.’

  I glanced up at him, and saw that he was smirking.

  ‘Am I allowed to pull your bun out later in the evening?’

  When I didn’t respond he caught my arm, and said, ‘Come on, I need to swing by a party briefly. I want to introduce you to some people.’

  ‘Party?’ I mumbled, my insides clenching. ‘You didn’t mention anything about a party.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing, just a leaving do for an employee.’

  ‘Donnagh, this wasn’t part of the deal.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, I should have mentioned it earlier, but I promise you it’ll take twenty minutes max. I just want to pop my head in and say hello, and, of course, show off my new girlfriend.’ He gave me a wink.

  ‘I am not your girlfriend.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ he said, kissing me suddenly on the mouth.

  I wanted to say that, yes, we would see. That there was no way I would ever go out with him, not if he was the last man on earth, etc., etc. But I didn’t say anything. Instead I followed him, like an obedient lamb, not shrugging him off when he took my hand in his.

  The party was in a bar in Covent Garden, and Donnagh squeezed my palm as we walked through the doors. ‘No need to be nervous,’ he whispered into my ear. ‘They’ll love you.’

  ‘Hmm.’ I was conscious that my hands were slippery with perspiration. In the back of my mind I had a vague plan about escaping through a toilet window. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that, but the plan was there in case of an emergency.

  ‘This is Eve,’ Donnagh said, introducing me around the room. I noticed that, unlike a few minutes ago, he didn’t use the term ‘girlfriend’ and felt a little disappointed.

  When Donnagh was in the loo Anja, the girl whose leaving party it was, took me to one side. ‘So, you guys been seeing each other long?’

  ‘God, no,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘We barely know each other.’

  Anja flicked her swishy blonde hair off her shoulder. ‘Well, word of advice, darling. Don’t push him too hard. I did, and that’s why I’m going back to Sweden single.’ She laughed heartily, a deep smoker’s laugh that made me warm to her. />
  ‘You and Donnagh were a couple?’

  ‘In so far as you can ever be in a couple with Donnagh, yes, we were.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, come on, you must know?’

  I shook my head.

  Anja placed a hand on my shoulder, and leaned in towards my ear. ‘Donnagh is used to possessing things. He loves the chase, he loves the woman to put up a fight, but then he gets bored and, well, he eventually sells her off at a profit.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Sorry, I was trying to make a property analogy but it didn’t quite work.’ She laughed her throaty laugh again. ‘Actually, don’t mind me. I’m completely pissed.’

  I watched as she reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.

  ‘You seem nice. What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Eve.’

  ‘Well, Eve, all I’m saying is have a good time, enjoy it for what it is, but don’t expect miracles.’ She drank a mouthful of champagne, squeezed my shoulder, then made off, her long, tanned legs wobbling unsteadily as she went.

  ‘Whatever she said, don’t listen to any of it.’ Donnagh was back at my side, grinning. ‘She’s mad as a box of frogs.’

  ‘To be honest, I have no idea what she was saying. I think it was something about you being a commitment-phobe but I can’t be sure.’

  ‘I’m just waiting for the right girl,’ Donnagh said, winking and grabbing my hand. ‘Come on, let me introduce you to some more people.’

  And off we went.

  We were chatting to a beautiful American couple, whom Donnagh knew from Chicago, when I spotted him out of the corner of my eye.

  Michael Flaherty.

  Or ‘Big Mick’, as he’d been known back in the day.

  Jesus Christ, what was he doing here? He’d been Donnagh’s right-hand man when we’d all been in secondary school together: the Laurel to his Hardy; the yin to his yang. A vivid memory came back to me, of Mick laughing as I’d stood at the side of the swimming-pool, my breasts hanging out.

  ‘Mick, come over here, my man. There’s someone I want to introduce you to.’