by Jackie Walsh
‘Well, there’s more.’
‘What more?’ Lucas’s tone is a little darker now.
‘They said I was the last person the dead woman rang before she went missing.’
Lucas takes a deep breath through his nose, once, twice. I can’t imagine how he’s feeling, trying to hold his body together and his fiancée together at the same time.
‘She rang you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you speak to her?’
‘No.’
‘Did you ever speak to her?’
‘No Lucas.’ I pull away from his grip. ‘I told you, I never, ever met that woman.’
‘Okay, okay, sorry, I’m dying here, babe.’
‘What will I do?’
‘You’re getting married, Tara, don’t let those guys inside your head. You’ve done nothing wrong. They can’t prove you did. Forget about them.’ He turns around and I find myself staring at the back of his head as he turns on the tap.
I wish I could find the courage to tell him the truth.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Faye
I’ll just have the one to take the edge off. What it’s taking the edge off, I don’t know. But it makes me feel better, so I’ll have one.
I’m sitting waiting for her. She’ll arrive in a fanfare of sparkle and laughter, no doubt, surrounded by all those people she calls friends.
I’ve seen some of them on her Facebook page. All happy and shiny and successful. Living the perfect life, according to Facebook. I used to do it, too. I had a Facebook page and if anyone looked at it they would think my life was perfect. There were no clues. Nothing to reveal that every day I wished I was dead, or that I was someone else, or someplace else. Anything but me, here, alive.
The barman lowers the light and increases the volume on the music. Dizzee Rascal is now dancing in my ears. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to sit waiting. I thought they’d be here by now.
Pouring the Coke into the vodka, I pray that I didn’t get it wrong. The Event page set up by her friend, Amy, definitely said Coppers night club. Unless there’s been a change of plan. I take a large gulp from the glass, letting the gas fizz around my mouth before swallowing. Then I open my phone and check the page again – ‘Tara’s Last Night of Freedom.’
You would think she was important getting all that attention and her own event page for a stupid hen party.
The place is beginning to fill up now. The music is getting louder, the lights dimmer. I can barely see the entrance anymore so I pull my stool down to the corner of the bar to get a better view. A few feet away, a guy seems to think I’m moving closer to him. He smiles. I smile back but I shouldn’t have because now he’s walking over.
‘Hi,’ he says in a nice, soft voice. He’s got a handsome face, dark eyes. The guy is so well groomed – his hair, his clothes, his skin. He looks like his mammy spent hours getting him ready. I’ve never really been a fan of the polished boys. I prefer the ones a bit rough-looking. The ones who don’t bother to shave, or gel their hair, or iron their T-shirt.
‘Craig,’ he says, holding out his hand. He’s gripping a bottle of beer in the other one. I don’t want to be rude but he’s blocking my view. Refusing his hand, I lift my glass and nod. Craig sees this as the not interested gesture that it is and steps back to where he came from.
There’s a crowd of girls arriving through the door now, waving their arms in the air like they think we’re all waiting on them. Some of them are wearing sashes over their shoulders. I can tell it’s a hen party but where is she? Where is Tara? My heart starts to race. I take another gulp from my glass and scrutinise the pack.
All lipstick and frills but no Tara. Then I notice one of the girls is wearing a different coloured sash to the others and when she turns, I spot the ‘Bride-To-Be’ printed on it. My heart relaxes. This is not my party.
It’s half past eleven now and they still haven’t arrived. I’m thinking I won’t be able to wait much longer when I see her. Tara Moore, walking through the door, surrounded by her flock. My heart leaps and my hand shakes as I knock back the rest of the vodka. Tara looks – well, a bit tired but that’s probably the drink she would have had earlier. She hasn’t changed much. Her hair is still cut in a casual bob. She’s still refusing to wear high-heeled shoes, preferring a pair of Dr Martens with her dress. Emily appears to have put on a few pounds. She was so skinny back then, always dressed in black clothes with a white dusting of powder at the end of her nose. I wonder if she still dabbles in it or if she finally quit when Rose found out and caused murder, accusing Tara of leading her darling, little, innocent Emily astray. That made me laugh… It made Tara cry.
For a moment I feel sad I’m not with her. That I’m not the one who set up her hen party Event page. But the feeling doesn’t last long.
The pack is moving this way and as Tara gets closer I see a line of worry shadowing her bravado. I could always tell when something was bothering her. The way she only half lifted her smile, the stillness in her eyes. Tara could read me too. She’d know if I was in a bad mood or if I was hiding something. Back then, I didn’t mind being read.
Tara won’t recognise me. Not with the fake glasses and curled hair that’s hiding half of my face. I’m cleverly hidden behind this disguise. When she walks a few feet by me, my heart almost bursts with excitement. I turn to face the bar but I can sense her standing close to me, smiling and laughing, keeping her crowd happy.
I must make sure she doesn’t see me. Tara can’t know that I’m following her. She’ll think I’m mad. I think I’m mad.
When she returned my call the first time I rang her she caught me off guard. I wasn’t prepared to talk to her, having just come from an upsetting consultation at the clinic.
I answered the phone and changed my voice, pretending to be my secretary. ‘Dr Faye Connolly is doing her rounds at the moment.’ I was laughing inside.
When we did get to talk, it was as if nothing had happened, like we just drifted apart even though I was the one who instigated the separation. There were times I wanted to answer her phone calls. Especially over the first couple of weeks. I’d look at her name light up the screen and allow my finger to hover over the accept button. I pictured Tara at the far end of the call and imagined how apologetic she would be if I answered. It made me sad at first, to be cutting her calls. Sometimes I cried but I stayed strong knowing it would get easier over time. I didn’t expect her to move on so successfully, though, like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter. I was quite shocked to hear she was getting married. I was jealous. How fucking dare she?
Abba, now they’re playing Abba. My second least favourite band in the world. I know what will happen next. Every female – and some of the males – in the building, will jump onto the dance floor thinking they are in fact, the ‘Dancing Queen’. I turn to watch the ructions unfold and true to form, the floor is jammed. It’s so easy to predict the masses. It’s the ones sitting on their own at the bar you have to watch out for.
My eyes search Tara out. I can see her, dancing in the middle of the group. All hail Tara Moore… bitch.
I look to my right and catch Craig’s attention with my eyes. I stare at him and smile. He pushes through the crowd and arrives at my side. He’s really broad. I hadn’t noticed that the first time he came over. Craig reaches his arm across my back and lifts my glass.
‘What’s this?’ he says, putting his hand in the air to get the barman’s attention.
I know I shouldn’t, but it will take the edge off things.
‘Vodka and Coke,’ I say.
I’ll just have the one.
Craig orders the drink and I stare at Tara Moore. The first time I met her we were in the schoolyard. I was eight. My name was Faith back then but I changed it when I was fourteen. It was too spiritual a name, too Goody Two-Shoes. I didn’t want to be Goody Two-Shoes.
I remember resting against the back wall of the school yard when she came over, all
shy and freckly. She clearly had no friends. At the time I didn’t want to mix with other kids. They were all so loud and knew everything, or had everything, or were getting everything. Tara smiled and I could see her two front teeth were missing. Tara didn’t have everything. We became the best of friends and now look at her. Dancing with all those other girls. I bet they have everything, or they’re getting everything.
It hurts, sitting here in the audience when I should be part of the play. This is not the way it should be. Why am I the one getting punished? Why have I no one to dance with? I wish I was someone else. Someone with friends who didn’t destroy my life. Someone who had people to go partying with. To plan my wedding with. My head throbs. I need to be that someone, just for a moment, just to ease this boiling anger churning in my stomach. Turning away from the source of my pain, I consider the man standing beside me.
‘Do you want to fuck?’ I look at Craig who has just put a vodka in front of me. He’s about to swallow from his own beer bottle and almost chokes.
‘What… what did you say?’ Craig thinks he heard me wrong because of the loud music. I lean up towards his ear.
‘Do you want to fuck?’
He’s nodding and shaking and presumably thinking, well, that didn’t cost much. ‘Erm…’
‘We’ll have to do it outside. There’s a laneway a few blocks down the road with good shelter.’
If he’s wondering how I know this, he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t care that I’ve been down that laneway before.
Chapter Twenty-Four
If I hadn’t shagged Craig, I would have made the last bus home. Now I have to get a taxi. Howth is a good twenty-five euros from Harcourt Street. But he was worth it. For ten whole minutes someone wanted me.
Craig didn’t know what to do when we had finished. He pulled his jeans up and politely asked me if I wanted to go back in for a drink. Such a mannerly boy.
I told him it was okay. That he should go back to his mates. I was heading home. Craig didn’t offer to put me in a taxi or even wait until one arrived. This one was on me. He jumped up the steps of the club to the entrance door and disappeared in behind the bouncers.
It took almost fifteen minutes before I got a taxi. I had to walk down the road to a crossroads. There were so many people hanging around, jumping in and out of taxis, having fun. As far as I could tell, I was the only person on their own.
When the taxi pulls up outside my parents’ house I see the curtain moving in the front bedroom where my father and mother sleep. They can rest peacefully now. Faye is home.
I never thought I’d end up living back here, what with all the money I was going to make and the rich man I was going to marry. But here I am, for now, not forever.
I might do what Tara Moore is doing. Move to Australia. They’re always looking for doctors over there. Or I could find myself an eligible bachelor and convince him that I love him. I won’t tell him that I’m just looking for a way out of here.
When I think about it, I don’t believe I will actually love again. Not the way I loved Andriu. He was perfect. When Tara said she was meeting him next week, I almost threw up on the spot. I thought he was gone, vanished into thin air. But no, she kept in touch. Tara said Andriu contacted her but I’m not so sure. If he was going to contact anyone it would have been me. She must have contacted him. Tara seems to be telling a lot of lies lately. What is she hiding? I don’t trust her anymore, not after what she did when she was supposed to be my best friend. I was definitely her best friend. I have the scars.
And why is Andriu going to her wedding? It sounds to me like they’re more than just casual Facebook friends. Maybe they continued their dalliance when I left Huntley Lodge. Tara went home to her dad’s house for a while but they could have been meeting up. I wonder if she ever went to London to visit him. My stomach hurts when I think about it. How could I have been such a fool?
Sometimes I lay awake at night wondering if I had imagined it all. Did Andriu really exist? Was he really my boyfriend? But he was. I’ve a punctured heart to prove it.
But why her? Why not me? He could have reached me somehow. Tara said he contacted her through Messenger. Maybe he did try to contact me. I shouldn’t have deleted my account. I wonder if he asked her about me. Is it me he’s really hoping to meet when he returns to Dublin next week?
* * *
The house is eerily quiet when I open the door. I creep up the stairs, hoping not to make any noise. This is my life now. Creeping around, trying not to get noticed.
The cover on my bed is turned down, waiting for me. That will be my mother. She keeps fixing everything around me. Making my stay here as comfortable as possible. My favourite dinners. Favourite bread. She washes my clothes, irons my clothes, makes my bed.
My father is less impressed that I’ve needed to fall back on them. I’m sure he expected me to be married by now. To be bringing my children to his yacht club to show them off and brag about their IQs. Just like he did with me.
I strip off my clothes and realise I stink. It’s probably not healthy for me to go to bed without washing the stranger off me. But I can’t switch on the shower now because it’s far too noisy. I grab a packet of face wipes from the dressing table. I wipe and wipe until I feel cleaner… on the outside. I don’t feel cleaner on the inside. Then I get into bed, pull the duvet up tightly around my neck and I cry.
* * *
The following morning, I wake with a knot in my stomach. I think it’s excitement because I don’t feel sad right now. But what have I got to be excited about? Then it hits me. Andriu. But how will I meet him?
Tara will probably be back on the phone wondering if those detectives were questioning me. I don’t blame her for being nervous. I’m nervous too. If she does call, I’ll ask her where Andriu is staying while he’s here. I hope he’s staying in a hotel, then I can follow him and accidentally bump into him. Or maybe I should just come straight out and suggest we meet for a coffee. I’ll figure it out.
The rain is pelting down outside and this gives me another reason to be cheerful. I won’t be expected to go on one of those boring Sunday morning walks along the cliff with my father and mother. It drives me mad, both of them continuously counting their blessings that they live by the sea. Having me as their daughter never seems to shove the number of blessings up.
I’m just about to open my laptop when I hear a knock on my bedroom door. It’s a soft knock so that will be my mother. She’s very timid. Unlike my father, who’s forthright enough for both of them.
‘Can I come in?’ she whispers. My mother whispers a lot. Either she’s afraid to break me or she’s telling me secrets all the time. Whatever it is, it can be quite annoying.
‘Come in,’ I say loudly.
‘Your father wants to know if you’d like to go to the yacht club with him this afternoon. There’s some event on. You might meet some of your old friends.’
‘Mam, I don’t want to meet any of my old friends. I’m fine. Don’t be worrying about me.’
Her pale face looks to the ground as she pulls back out the door.
‘Mam,’ I say, waiting for her to stick her head in again. I wish I could make her happier. ‘Are you going?’
‘If you like.’
‘Well, if you’re going. I’ll go.’
Her face lights up, then she closes the door.
I hate that she worries about me so much. It wasn’t exactly the plan, landing back here but I wish they’d stop making such a big deal of it. Constantly trying to fix things. Things they don’t even know are broken. Only I can fix things. Only I know what’s broken.
I lift the lid of my laptop. My portal into everyone else’s world. With my fingers on the keyboard, I continue my quest and type the name of the person who broke me. Tara Moore.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Yesterday was boring. I didn’t meet any old friends at the yacht club like Mam had hoped, because there never were any old friends. Tara was my only real friend. Mam seems to
forget that. I think she’s getting me mixed up with my sister, or else she’s decided to re-write history. Which wouldn’t be the first time.
With my bag packed, I go downstairs and listen to the whispers behind the big white door. Mam will be making a lunch for me, a few snacks, just in case. My father will be sitting at the table, flicking through the pages of The Irish Times, telling her she shouldn’t bother; that I won’t appreciate it. It’s crazy to think a thirty-year-old doctor is still being treated like a teenager in school.
I’m about to push open the door when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I’m eager to hear from Tara because I need to know where Andriu will be staying. I need to set in motion a plan to bump into him. Grabbing the phone from my pocket, I’m slightly disappointed to notice a withheld number instead of Tara’s but I answer it anyway.
‘Dr Faye Connolly?’
‘Speaking.’
‘This is Detective Siobhan Lee from the Pearse Street station. I was wondering if we could have a word.’
My heart is racing. I knew she would eventually make contact with me but it doesn’t soften the anxiety that hearing her actual voice sparks.
‘Can I ask what this is about?’ I know exactly what it’s about but I don’t want her to know that.
‘It’s nothing for you to worry about. We want to ask you some questions about the time you lived at Huntley Lodge.’
‘Huntley Lodge. Gosh, that seems like a lifetime ago.’ I sound great. Totally in control. It’s like I’ve nothing to hide.
‘Would you be able to come to the station or would you rather I called in to you?’
I’m expected at the clinic in an hour so I won’t have time to stop off at some station miles from here to chat. And there’s no way I’m letting them call here. My father would never be able to let go of that embarrassment. It’s going to have to be the clinic.
‘Would you mind meeting at the clinic? I won’t be able to talk to you until this evening, around five. I’ll make sure I’m free then. Is this going to take long?’