by Jackie Walsh
I looked up at the sky, at the bright winter sun beaming down on us and I closed my eyes for a minute. I pictured Mam sitting there, her eyes gleaming above her smile and I felt a warmth pass over me. Then the car door opened and I was thankful it wasn’t the coldest day of the year. Amy rushed to help me out of the big fancy Rolls Royce. We took our positions in the church doorway and waited for the music to start. The arch of white roses in the centre of the aisle made way for an abundance of coloured flowers on the altar and it was stunning.
Amy and Emily were first to walk up the aisle ahead of me and I could feel a lump in my throat when my father took my hand. I wanted to cry but I remembered Amy’s words from earlier on when I got a bit emotional in the house.
‘Whatever you do Tara, don’t cry. It will ruin your make-up.’
I swallowed hard and squeezed my father’s hand. We walked up the aisle to the sound of the organ playing ‘Here Comes the Bride.’ Everyone turned to look, smiling, their good wishes following me up the aisle to where Lucas was standing.
When I saw him, I could see no one else. Just Lucas. His eyes opened wide when he looked at me. His smile was electric, charging me. I inhaled the moment and let go of my father’s hand.
The priest was young and light-hearted, cracking jokes and making the whole event less formal than I thought it would be. He had been told about the incident that had unfolded on Wednesday with Andriu and when he took my hand he squeezed it, then looked at Lucas and said, ‘You have a very brave woman here.’ I wouldn’t have described myself as brave. Faye was brave. But I did put up a good fight.
Lucas took every opportunity to squeeze my hand or smile at me throughout the ceremony, relaxing me and helping me enjoy myself. After the register was signed and the photographs taken, I walked down the aisle to the cheers and congratulations of all the beautiful guests. It was when I got to the bottom of the aisle that I saw her in the corner standing with her mam. Faye smiled at me. Then she lifted her foot up behind her and rested it against the wall. I laughed.
‘Just a minute,’ I said to Lucas, taking his hand from my arm. Faye was pale and thinner than I ever remembered her being. I walked over to her.
‘You look as beautiful as I expected,’ she said and suddenly I didn’t care about my make-up. Tears could fall wherever they liked. I pulled her tightly to me and hugged her.
‘You have to take care of yourself, Faye,’ I whispered.
‘I will Tara, I promise.’
I walked away from Faye, knowing it might be the last time I’d see her. Maybe we’ll get close again, maybe we won’t. Maybe she’ll come visit me in Australia or maybe she won’t. None of it matters. Faye was always there when I needed her. I will never forget that. But I’m starting a new life now without the crutches of my past holding me up. And so is Faye. There is nothing I don’t wish for her. But mostly, I wish her peace.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
One Year Later
A golden-brown cocker spaniel comes over to where I’m sitting on the bench. His fluffy head pushes up against my leg as he shakes his tail. I bend down to rub his head and he licks my hand. His tongue feels warm against my cold fingers. A moment later, his owner calls out to him and the dog runs away.
The trees are all bare this time of year, their leaves a soggy carpet below the feet of the joggers running on the track that meanders through the forest behind me.
The park is full of people walking, some by themselves, others in couples or with dogs. Across the way, a team of footballers are training and beside them, a group of cricketers are practising throwing the ball.
I’m sitting here reading a book, embracing the peace that I find every time I come to this park. The big oak tree standing for years in the one spot reminds me to be happy. To accept what I have, to stay still and enjoy it.
I haven’t returned to my job as a doctor. Not yet, anyway. At the moment I’m getting great pleasure in helping out at the old folks’ home near my parents’ house. I don’t live with Mam and Dad anymore. I have my own apartment, living my own life, learning responsibility again. I see them every weekend, though. Mam is still making my favourite dinners and Dad checks with me that my bills are paid. It’s not their fault. They know me as one thing: Faye, the one who needs all the help she can get.
I managed to salvage a friendship with my sister, though it doesn’t really satisfy me. Being friends with Tara has spoiled me and keeps my standards high. I’m beginning to think every relationship I ever have will be measured by that one. I get the odd message from Tara which is nice. She’s loving her life in Australia and is expecting her first baby next year. I called in to see her dad once, just to say hello. He wasn’t there, though.
There will be no investigation into our connection to the ‘Cabhrui’ site. Sean the solicitor assured us the evidence was too weak. Tara’s mam had done enough to make it look like she ended her pain without anyone else’s help.
It took a lot of time, but I’ve learned to forgive myself for being so stupid. For not seeing the signs that are so obvious now. How Andriu manipulated me from the start. How he tried to tear me and Tara apart.
Talking to Fionn has helped me see that I hadn’t the tools to deal with such a nasty person. Sometimes experience is the only tool that works, he says.
Andriu is in jail now. I don’t have the finer details because I don’t care about him or what becomes of him. I do think of Avril Ryan, though. How she saved me from him. A woman that I have never even met. If Tara and I hadn’t given Andriu our phones on the night of Electric Picnic, Avril Ryan would still be alive. If Andriu hadn’t given Tara a lift to pick up the Nembutal for her mother, Avril Ryan would never have seen him. She would still be alive.
I often think of her arriving at Huntley Lodge thinking she was coming to meet me. How brave she was being, helping someone she didn’t even know. I shudder to think what went through her head when Andriu Fitzpatrick opened the door.
The sky is darkening by the minute. I can no longer see the writing on the pages in front of me, so I close the book. She’ll be here shortly.
The smell of coffee is tempting but I’ll wait, we’ll have one together. After a few minutes, another dog arrives at my side. This one is big and fluffy with a black coat and white paws that make him look like he’s wearing socks. I rub his head and cuddle him as he nuzzles into me.
‘Hi Ben, who’s a good doggie?’ I say, lifting my head to greet his owner. ‘Hi Aoife… fancy a coffee?’
A letter from Jackie
Dear Reader,
Sincere thanks for reading my fourth novel, Her White Lie. I’m grateful to you for sharing your precious time with Tara and Faye.
If you enjoyed the story, I would love to hear your thoughts via a review. Knowing what you think of the novel is important to me.
This story is not true and all the characters are fictional.
To those of you who have already read my first three books, Familiar Strangers, The Secrets He Kept and Five Little Words, I thank you for your support and reviews.
You are welcome to contact me anytime with any questions or comments. I’m available on Facebook and Twitter.
Best Wishes
Jackie Walsh
https://twitter.com/JackieWalsh_ie
https://www.facebook.com/jackiewalsh.ie/
First published in the United Kingdom in 2021 by Hera
Hera Books
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London, E5 8NS
United Kingdom
Copyright © Jackie Walsh, 2021
The moral right of Jackie Walsh to be identified as the creator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalo
gue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Ebook ISBN 9781912973644
Print ISBN 9781800326088
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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