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The Girl Who Lied: The bestselling psychological drama
Sue Fortin
The USA Today Bestseller!'Gripping…I was desperate to turn the pages' – Amanda JenningsSometimes the perfect friend tells the perfect lies…Erin and Roisin were once friends until a fatal accident ruined both their lives. Now, Roisin has discovered a secret—one Erin has kept for over a decade—and she’s determined to make Erin pay for her lies.When Roisin suddenly disappears, suspicion soon lands on Erin. She would do anything to protect her family, but just how far is she willing to go when time is running out…?A must read for fans of CL Taylor and BA Paris.What people are saying about The Girl Who Lied:‘Slowly but inexorably draws you in until you can hardly wait to discover the fate of the characters…you'll love Sue Fortin’ – Sue Moorcroft‘A twisty romantic page-turner that will keep you guessing’ – Julie Cohen'Sue Fortin's gripping books always keep me turning the pages! Highly recommended for fans of grit-lit and suspense!' – Mandy Baggot‘The suspense, mystery and secrets to be revealed kept me turning the pages…nerve wracking and gripping’ – Rachel’s Random Reads‘Kept me intrigued right up until the end…a highly enjoyable read, filled with secrets’ – By the Letter Book Reviews



The Girl Who Lied
SUE FORTIN


A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2016
Copyright © Sue Fortin 2016
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Cover Design by Books Covered
Sue Fortin asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
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written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © April 2016 ISBN: 9780008194840
Version 2017-11-21
Table of Contents
Cover (#u0935a70e-99f8-541c-81c8-d08fe4ac18aa)
Title Page (#ubd19a551-315d-5c57-8f11-e1d65dde99de)
Copyright (#uc35cdc1f-f4aa-54da-b189-d0136bef3503)
Dedication (#u0718f80e-e9e6-50ea-841f-03c097ed52c4)
PART 1 (#u1ed17b11-20d9-54ce-8383-150589e0934a)
Chapter 1 (#ud424b838-d298-59da-9ffc-87d6956b3e62)
Chapter 2 (#ubf97eecf-c57f-57de-ae6a-3199622168e4)
Chapter 3 (#ua9490ed1-8f36-57b3-9b3a-1e6059011c3c)
Chapter 4 (#ue4b93723-feca-542f-8864-d90574e73cd7)
Chapter 5 (#uc73c9399-f39d-5a50-a8ba-827f40c737ac)

Chapter 6 (#u896253f8-606a-5a41-90c4-565f8025b51a)

Chapter 7 (#u05bf533b-33fe-54b6-bafb-6115acf80e8e)

Chapter 8 (#ud792a726-64e5-5c7a-9f8b-b1117c6da91d)

Chapter 9 (#u55b35c6e-c02a-5c94-8602-b0ca481898ab)

Chapter 10 (#uefcad8e0-69a5-586b-aeb3-d9295e529f35)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

PART 2 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)

PART 3 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Author Note (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Book Club Questions (#litres_trial_promo)

A Q&A with Sue Fortin (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Sue Fortin (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
For my mum and my daughters, with my eternal love.

PART 1 (#u0819dc8b-8dc0-584b-bc80-9d07a6f93455)
‘I can’t go back to yesterday – I was a different person then.’
Lewis Carroll

Chapter 1 (#u0819dc8b-8dc0-584b-bc80-9d07a6f93455)
London, England
This is the moment I’ve been dreading. It’s time for me to go back. I play with the Triskelion pendant around my neck, my finger rubbing each of the three edges in turn. Father. Mother. Child. I read the email once again.
From: Roisin Marshall
To: Erin Hurley
Subject: Meeting Up
Hello Erin
You can’t keep ignoring me. I’m sure you never really thought you could walk away from everyone and everything.
I have something that might interest you.
Call me.
Roisin
My finger hovers over the reply key. For a fleeting moment I consider deleting the message. If I ignore it, she may go away. She may give up. I sit back in my chair and let out a long, slow breath. The anxiety that has lain dormant for all this time, having now been stirred, stretches its hand, grips tightly and twists my stomach. No matter how many times I have anticipated this moment, prepared myself to confront my past, right now, it’s insufficient.
‘Aha! Caught you.’ A voice from behind startles me. Somehow I manage to click on the inbox icon, clearing the screen of the email. I plaster on a smile and spin round in my chair to face Ed.
‘You made me jump,’ I say, noting that I sound overly cheerful. ‘How long have you been there?’ My mind replays the last few minutes. How long had I been staring at the email? How long was it visible on the screen? Could Ed have read it from where he was standing?
Ed gives a small laugh. ‘What are you trying to hide?’
I know he’s only joking but he has no idea how true his words are.
‘Now, it wouldn’t do for a girl to tell her boss and her boyfriend all her secrets, would it?’ My turn to laugh. It sounds forced. Ed cocks his head to one side, weighing me up.
The phone on my desk rings and I offer a silent prayer of thanks that I am saved from having to continue the conversation.
‘Good afternoon, Hamilton’s Health and Beauty Spa.’ I glance back up at Ed, who winks before returning to his office.
The immediate danger has passed, but the ever-present fear remains, which only serves to convince me I must do something about it. I cannot afford to let chance or luck, bad luck even, take control. I can afford even less to let my old school friend be in charge.
I turn my attention to the call and quickly deal with booking an appointment for a back massage. Replacing the phone in its cradle, I peek back through to Ed’s office.
He’s busy looking at his computer screen. I return to mine, calling up Roisin’s email again. Instead of replying, I forward it onto my own private email address. One I will have to sacrifice giving to her. I don’t want her trying to contact me at work again. I check my phone and see the email has been received. Next job is to delete the email coming in and going out of the work computer. I know there will be some sort of cyber-footprint, but no one will be looking for that.
It takes less than a minute to carry out, just in time as my next client arrives for her full leg wax. ‘I won’t be a moment,’ I tell her as I double-check that all traces of the email have been eradicated.
For the rest of the day, try as I might, I can’t put the email and Roisin out of my mind. Up until now, I’ve been pretty good at ignoring her. Naively, knowing Roisin, I had hoped she would go away if I didn’t reply. That she would give up. Her first email had been unthreatening. The sort you’d send to someone you hadn’t been in contact with for a long time. The second, thinking back, had a more insistent tone. And now the third, well, she’s certainly not going away and the bait she’s dangling, the something that might interest me, how can I ignore that? Not after what I’ve done.
The day slowly comes to a close and as I’m tidying up and checking the diary for tomorrow’s clients, the telephone rings. I let out a sigh, hoping it’s a straightforward query.
‘Good afternoon, Hamilton’s Health and Beauty Spa,’ I reel off automatically. ‘How can I help you?’ There’s silence, but I know someone is there. I can hear their breath. ‘Hello,’ I repeat. ‘Can I help you?’ A bead of sweat pricks the skin at the back of my neck and my mouth dries. I know who it is before they speak.
‘Hello, Erin,’ she says. ‘It’s me. Roisin.’ The soft roll of her country accent seeps out of the receiver, winding itself into my ear.
I haven’t much of my Irish accent left any more. Ten years has seen it dwindle and I’ve never had any particular desire to hang onto it. In the early days of our relationship, Ed used to mock it, which just served as another reason to leave it behind. Another connection with my past that I don’t want. I adopt my best English accent as I reply.
‘No. Sorry. You have the wrong number.’ I can’t speak to her. Not now. Not at work.
‘Oh, I don’t think I have,’ she replies. I can hear amusement in her voice. It’s the same patronising voice I remember from when we were at school. ‘And before you hang up, you might want to listen to what I have to say.’
I look up towards Ed’s door. It’s closed. The frosted glass blurs his outline, but I can see him there, sitting at his desk.
‘What do you want?’ My voice is low, almost a whisper. I hope she can’t detect the undercurrent of fear.
‘We need to talk,’ says Roisin. ‘Oh, and you can drop the accent.’
‘What do you want?’ I repeat, ignoring the snipe.
‘If you hadn’t ignored my emails, you would know.’ She’s enjoying this, I can just tell. It reminds me of when we were kids. She loved being in control then, whether it was as five-year-olds in the playground, twelve-year-olds listening to music or teenagers deciding what to wear for a party. It always had to be on Roisin’s terms. And I’d let her. She was pretty, she was popular, she was rich, she was all the things I wasn’t. She used to tease me then and she’s doing it now. Except, I’m not the same person as I was then. A little flicker of defiance ignites within me.
‘Look, Roisin,’ I say. Perhaps if I stand up to her now, like I should have done all those times before, I can call her bluff. ‘Whatever it is you want to talk about, spit it out. I haven’t got all day. I’m about to go home.’
‘Don’t go getting yourself all worked up now, Erin,’ says Roisin. ‘I’ve found something of yours.’
‘What’s that, then?’ I can’t for one minute think what it is and for that reason the unease shifts up a gear.
‘A photograph.’ She pauses for effect. It works. Then she continues. ‘A photograph of you and Niall.’
‘Roisin, can you get to the point,’ I say, noticing through the glass that Ed is standing up, getting ready to leave.
‘I tell you what, I’ll scan it and email it over to you.’
I hold in the sigh of exasperation. I don’t want her to know I’m riled. I can see Ed putting on his jacket. Any minute now he’ll be out of the office and waiting to take me for a drink. Neither of us has work tomorrow, so we had planned an evening out, which usually meant my staying over at his place.
I need to get Roisin off the phone. ‘Don’t email my work. Send it to my private email.’ I quickly rattle off the address.
‘Make sure you get back to me,’ says Roisin. ‘We need that talk.’
I put the phone down without answering just as Ed walks out of his office, his sports holdall in one hand and car keys jangling in the other.
‘All set, then?’ he says.
‘Erm, I’m not feeling too well,’ I say, not quite able to meet his eyes. ‘I feel a bit sick.’ That’s not actually a lie. I feel queasy at the thought of what Roisin is sending me.
‘That’s not like you,’ says Ed. ‘We can go straight to mine, if you like. Skip dinner.’
I smile at him. ‘To be honest, I think I’d better go home.’ Again that’s no lie. ‘I don’t think I’d be much company tonight.’ I pick up my bag and take my coat from the peg. ‘Sorry.’
‘Hey, that’s okay,’ says Ed. ‘Are you going to be okay to drive or do you want me to drop you home?’
‘I’ll drive. I’ll be fine.’
‘Text me when you’re home,’ he says. He gives me a hug and drops a kiss on top of my head. ‘I’ll give Ralph a call and see if he fancies a pint. Now, drive carefully and don’t forget to text.’ He’s scrolling through his contacts list and calling up Ralph before he’s even out the door. ‘Ralph, mate! What you up to tonight?’ And then he’s disappearing out of the door.
When I get back to the house, where I rent two rooms on the top floor, I call out a quick hello in the hallway and then head straight up. I hear Stacey, one of the house-sharers, call out a greeting. She rents the room at the front of the house. We’re friendly, but not friends. Same for the guy who rents the middle floor. I’m not even sure what he does, but he keeps himself to himself. We each do our own thing. I like it that way. Everyone at arm’s length.
I unlock the door at the top of the second staircase and step into my own bastion of safety. I make myself a cup of green tea and sit down in front of the laptop. I notice my hand shakes slightly as I move the mouse around on the pad and access my emails.
Roisin didn’t waste any time. Her email is sitting there in the inbox. The paperclip icon indicating an attachment.
I take a deep breath and open the email.
Call me by six o’clock this evening or you’ll be sorry. Last chance.
Her mobile number is typed below. I move the cursor to the attachment. It’s a jpeg. I double-click and wait for the image to download.
It takes only a matter of seconds.
My stomach lurches and for a second I think I’m going to be sick.
‘Oh God, no.’ I drag at my face with my hands, rubbing my eyes as if I can rub away what I’ve just seen. But I can’t.
There in front of me, filling the screen, is a picture of myself and Niall Marshall. Any other picture and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid, but this one… Where the hell did she find it? I had totally forgotten about it.
Somewhere in the distance I hear the doorbell ring, followed by footsteps taking the stairs two at a time. I don’t fully register this or my name being called until there is a rapping of knuckles on the door.
I jump in my seat, knocking the cup of green tea flying. The earthy-coloured liquid performs a jump only physics could explain and cascades across the keyboard of my laptop.
‘Erin? Erin? You there?’ Ed is knocking on the door.
For a moment I’m paralysed as I stare at the door and then back at the laptop. ‘Erin!’ He’s more insistent and there’s a note of agitation in his voice. ‘Are you okay?’ He bangs harder on the door.
Adrenalin kicks in and I grab the laptop, turning it upside down, hoping the tea hasn’t reached the vital components. ‘Won’t be a minute!’ I call out. I rush through to the bedroom and into the small en suite. Grabbing a towel, I wipe at the keyboard.
‘Erin!’ He’s definitely gone past the agitated stage now.
I stand the laptop upside down, like a tent and hope it’s enough to save it from permanent damage. ‘I’m coming!’ As I bustle past the table, I upright the offending cup and throw a tea towel on the table to soak up the remains of the tea. Unfortunately, most of it seems to have gone on the laptop.
When I open the door, Ed is standing there, his face taking on a pink tinge. His mouth is set in a firm line and there’s the familiar crease between his eyebrows he gets when he’s annoyed.
‘I was just about the break the door down,’ he says.
‘Sorry, I was in the bathroom.’ I step back so he can come in. ‘I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you were going out with Ralph.’
‘Yeah, well, Ralph is busy,’ he says. ‘I wanted to check on you anyway. Come back to mine if you’re not well. It’s much nicer than here.’ He waves his hand around with disdain. Ed has never made any secret of what he thinks of my living accommodation. It couldn’t be more different from his plush bachelor pad on the fourteenth floor with views of the Thames.
‘I’m okay here,’ I reply. I think of the laptop in the bathroom and check my watch. Thirty minutes until Roisin’s deadline.
‘Don’t be daft,’ says Ed. ‘I insist. Come back to mine.’
‘I just want to go to bed.’
‘Perfect. You can go to bed in much more comfortable surroundings than this.’
‘No, I mean here. I just want to go to bed here.’
‘Really, Erin, you’re so stubborn at times.’ The note of irritation is back. He picks up my jacket and handbag. ‘And silly. Now come on.’
I feel like a child as he ushers me out of the door. ‘My stuff,’ I say in a final act of protest.
‘Your overnight bag is still in my car. You put it in there this morning. Remember?’
He’s right. I did put it in the boot of his car earlier. I could kick myself. I glance at the clock. Twenty-five minutes to the deadline. Even if we get through the rush-hour traffic and to Ed’s apartment by six, there’s no way I can make a phone call to Roisin. Not with Ed there. I’ll have to nip to the loo and text her that I’ll call tomorrow. Hopefully that will hold her off from whatever it is she has planned.
County Cork, Ireland
Kerry wiped the petrol tank of the Yamaha with the polishing cloth. It looked good. His latest commission was to spray-paint an image of the human rib cage down the centre of the black tank and pop in a few mini skulls sitting on the rib bones. Unusual, but effective. He liked the less-than-ordinary private jobs he got in. Bike mechanics might be his trade but spray-paint artwork was his passion. A bike tattooist, if you like.
Draping a soft cloth over the tank to protect it, Kerry checked his watch. It was after six. He should call it a day soon. His cousin, Joe, had already finished and Max, Joe’s dad and owner of the workshop, wasn’t in today. That had given Kerry time to get the paint job finished.
Locking up behind him, Kerry left by the rear of the workshop. He only lived in the flat above but he wanted a quick smoke before he went up. Despite it being the middle of May, the day had been a particularly wet and dreary one. Kerry gave a little shiver, the sea breeze drifting in from the Irish Sea chilling his arms. He rolled a cigarette and, standing on the path, he looked across the High Street and to the service road opposite, which ran behind the parade of shops.
He saw something. At first he thought it was a pile of black bin bags that hadn’t been put in the commercial wheelie bins, but as he took a draw on his roll-up and looked closer, he realised it was someone kneeling down, bent over something. Or rather someone.
The person kneeling raised their head and flicked their hand towards the end of the service road. Then, as if sensing they were being watched, turned to look over their shoulder at Kerry.
‘What the…?’ said Kerry, instantly recognising Marie Hurley, not least because of her distinctive bobbed auburn hair.
She jumped to her feet and began running towards him. ‘Kerry! Kerry!’ she shouted. ‘Help me. Please.’
Kerry chucked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and dived across the road. He caught Marie as she bundled into him in a blind panic.
‘It’s okay, Mrs Hurley,’ said Kerry, holding onto the tops of her arms. ‘Mrs Hurley. What’s wrong?’
She looked up at him. Her face was paler than normal, if that was possible. Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘It’s Jim,’ she said. ‘He’s had a fall or something.’ She pulled away from Kerry and then, taking hold of his forearm, started dragging him back down the service road. ‘He’s bleeding. Come quickly.’
Jim Hurley was indeed bleeding, badly. A dark crimson pool of blood was leaking out from under the back of his head. One of his arms was twisted underneath his body, which was sprawled flat out on the tarmac.
Kerry snatched his mobile from his pocket and dialled the emergency services.
‘Get a blanket and some towels,’ he instructed Marie, while he waited for his call to connect. He reached over and tried to locate a pulse in the man’s neck. It was there. Weak, but there.
The operator answered the call and after a few minutes’ exchanging information and advising on basic first aid, she assured Kerry the ambulance was on its way. Marie reappeared with a blanket.
‘Is he going to be okay?’ she asked as Kerry draped the pink candlewick bedspread over Jim’s body.
‘The ambulance will be here soon,’ said Kerry. He had no idea if Jim was going to be all right. He bundled the towel up and placed it at the side of Jim’s head.
‘If you can’t see where the wound is, then don’t move him,’ the operator instructed. ‘He might have spinal-cord injuries. Wait for the medics. Keep the towels either side of his head to stabilise him.’
‘I think I can see part of the wound,’ said Kerry. ‘It’s right at the back of his head. It looks pretty deep.’
‘Just leave the towel there. Don’t apply pressure. You could end up causing more damage.’
Kerry was no doctor but the trickle of blood from Jim’s ear that appeared didn’t look good to him. Marie was standing over her husband, looking down on him in a trance-like state. She was probably in shock.
‘It’s okay, Mrs Hurley. Come and kneel down. Hold his hand,’ said Kerry. Marie glanced around. ‘The ambulance will be here very soon. Come on, now.’ Marie nodded and, kneeling down, she took Jim’s hand, making soothing noises and offering reassuring words. Kerry suspected this was as much for her own benefit as for her husband’s.
Jim’s breathing was becoming shallower with each beat of his heart. Kerry willed the ambulance to get a move on. Rossway village was a bit out of the way, ten miles south from Cork itself on the Irish coast and the roads were twisty and narrow. Not exactly the easiest of routes to be throwing an ambulance around.
The sound of an empty bottle being knocked and rolling across the road made Kerry look up. He thought he saw something move in the shadows of the evening sun. A cat jumped out from behind one of the wheelie bins, trotted across the road and then sprang up onto the fence before disappearing into the grounds of the doctor’s surgery.
A thought broke into Kerry’s consciousness. The doctor’s surgery. Why didn’t he think of that before? He looked at the building. It was in darkness. He dismissed the small beacon of hope with his next thought. Half an hour earlier and one of the doctors might still have been there. Now, though, they would all have gone home. As far as he was aware, neither of the GPs lived in Rossway. It wasn’t as if he could get one of them here to help. There was, of course, Diana Marshall. She used to be the local GP, but he dismissed the idea pretty much straight away as well. She lived on the edge of the village. It would take over ten minutes to get there and back. The ambulance would be here by then. Besides, he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t have been drinking tonight. From what Roisin had told him in the past, her mother more than liked her sherry.
Eventually, there came the reassuring sound of an engine turning at speed and blue lights bouncing off the walls of the High Street. Kerry ran out to the main road and flagged the ambulance down, pointing to the service road.
With an assured confidence and professionalism, the paramedics examined Jim, wrapped his head with a temporary dressing and manoeuvred him from the ground to the back of the emergency vehicle. It took less than five minutes.
Kerry stood with his arm around Marie’s shoulder as they watched.
‘Is he going to be all right?’ Marie asked.
The paramedic pushed the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. ‘We need to get him to hospital straight away,’ he said. ‘Are you coming with us?’
‘Oh, but I haven’t locked up,’ said Marie, looking anxiously back up the steps to her flat.
‘Don’t be worrying about that now, Mrs Hurley,’ said Kerry. ‘Give me the keys. I’ll do it for you.’ He was aware of the undercurrent of urgency and had registered that the paramedic had offered no comment to Marie’s question of Jim’s prognosis.
Marie grappled in her coat pocket and pulled out a set of keys. ‘The flat and café keys are all on there.’
Kerry took the bunch. ‘Off you go, now,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to contact Fiona?’
‘Yes please. Tell her to phone Erin too.’

Chapter 2 (#u0819dc8b-8dc0-584b-bc80-9d07a6f93455)
London, England
When the call comes, it strikes me numb with fear. I don’t know what to think or what to feel. Thoughts and emotions are crashing around in my head like bumper cars, bouncing and rebounding, stopping and starting. Confusion reigns.
‘How bad is he?’ A thread of compassion laces Ed’s voice. ‘What exactly did your sister say?’
‘Fiona said it’s serious. He’s in intensive care. Apparently, Dad fell down the steps to the flat and hit his head,’ I reply with a hint of impatience. I was uptight enough that I hadn’t been able to phone Roisin earlier. This is only adding to my agitation. ‘Fiona was in a bit of a fluster when she rang.’ I hit the print button on Ed’s laptop and the image of the document on the screen is sent to the printer.
‘Have you booked a return flight?’ Ed moves behind me as I loom over the printer. He squeezes my shoulders in a reassuring gesture.
‘No, I’ll see how things are first. I need to go and make sure Mum’s all right, really.’ Then more because I feel I ought to, I add, ‘And see how Dad is, of course.’ I silence the voice that also wants to add the need to face Roisin.
‘Okay, I’ll sort out some cover at work.’
‘I’m sure Amber will do my shifts, she’s always saying she needs more hours.’ I take the sheet of paper as it glides out of the printer.
‘Keep me in the loop, though, won’t you? You know what it’s like organising the staff rota.’
Whilst it’s nice being the boss’s girlfriend, it sometimes irritates me that Hamilton’s Health and Beauty Spa always comes first with Ed.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I say. ‘I’ll have a better idea once I’m there and can speak to the doctors myself.’
There’s a small silence before Ed speaks again.
‘Will you be okay on your own? Do you want me to come with you?’ I can detect an apprehension in his voice. ‘It will be a bit tricky with work, but I could manage a couple of days away, I should think.’
I withhold the sigh that threatens to escape. I know Ed better than he realises. His priority is work and the offer to accompany me is more out of duty than concern. I take care to respond in a conciliatory manner, not wishing to get into an argument.
‘No, it’s okay. Probably best if I go alone.’
‘Are you sure you’re up to it? You were feeling sick earlier.’
‘It was nothing. I’m fine now and I’ll be all right on my own. Thank you, anyway.’
‘Sure? Okay. Look, I’ll organise you a cab home so you can pack and I’ll book another to take you to the airport.’ This time the relief in his voice is very much apparent. ‘I would take you myself but you know what it’s like at work…really busy…I’ve got meetings …’ His voice trails off.
‘Thank you. And don’t worry. I know what it’s like.’ I ignore the fact that Ed actually has the day off tomorrow.
As I climb into the cab, this time I release the sigh unrestricted. Ireland definitely isn’t a place I want to be going. Since moving to England, my visits home have been few and far between. Far too many unhappy memories linger around the coastal village where I grew up. And now I’m being forced to face them. The unease begins to transform into fear.
Once the cab turns the corner, leaving Ed and his apartment behind, I take my phone from my pocket and find the email Roisin sent me. Her number is highlighted blue and I double-tap. After a few seconds the call is connected and I hear the sound of the phone ringing.
The phone goes to voicemail.
‘It’s me…’ I hesitate. I need to be careful what I say. I’m not paranoid, merely cautious. Maybe overly, but it has stood me in good stead all this time and I’m not about to get caught out now. ‘I’m coming over. I’ll ring you again when I’m in Rossway.’
County Cork, Ireland
Looking at my father lying in his hospital bed, crisp white linen and a cellular blanket surrounding him, his face seems to have taken on a grey tinge. He looks older, frailer and smaller, somehow, as if he has suddenly aged without me noticing. His chest rises and falls as he lies motionless in a medically induced coma. He’s hooked up to a ventilator, which wheezes up and down, helping him to breathe as the heart monitor bleeps a steady beat.
‘How is he?’ I ask Mum who, having embraced me, is now settling herself back into the plastic bedside chair.
She puts her forefinger to her lips and whispers, ‘They’re going to give him a brain scan in the morning. They want to see if the swelling will go down first.’ She gives me half a smile, which I suspect is supposed to be reassuring. ‘It’s all right. Your dad’s a fighter. Don’t go getting yourself upset now.’
I turn my gaze away from the ashen look on her face. The guilt weighs me down. Guilt I feel because I cannot summon as much sympathy for my father as I know I should.
Our relationship has always been a strained one, with any feelings of compassion finally quashed ten years ago. I swallow down the anger that always accompanies the memory. This time I am able to meet Mum’s eyes.
‘What exactly happened?’ I fiddle with my necklace. I need to keep my hands busy. Nerves are making them shake.
‘I came out of the café and found your father at the bottom of the steps,’ says Mum. ‘That’s it, really.’ She sniffs and when I look up, she’s fumbling with her sleeve and finally produces a tissue. She dabs her eyes and wipes her nose.
‘Do you want anything, Mum? Have you eaten?’ I change the subject, not wanting to upset her.
‘No, I’m grand,’ she replies quietly, a fleeting smile of gratitude dashes across her face. She stuffs the tissue back up her sleeve. ‘The nurses have been looking after me, so they have.’
I’m not convinced Mum looks grand at all. She looks tired and strained. ‘I’ll make you a fresh cup of tea,’ I say. ‘I could do with one myself. Back in a minute.’
One of the nurses kindly shows me to the community kitchen, where all the tea and coffee making paraphernalia is housed. While I wait for the kettle to boil I can’t help feeling more concern for Mum than for Dad. I don’t like the dark circles under her eyes or the depth of the hollows below her cheekbones. She looks exhausted. No doubt she has been working herself hard at the café. Now, with Dad incapacitated and set for a long recovery, I wonder how on earth she will manage to look after him and run the business on her own.
The next thought snakes its way from the back of my mind, where it has been lurking, waiting to strike. What if he doesn’t pull through? How do I feel about that? I don’t trust myself to examine the notion too closely. I’m not quite sure I’ll like what I might find. Instead, I focus on producing an acceptable-looking cup of tea for Mum and venture back to collect her. We’re not allowed to take food or drink into ICU so we sit in the small family room at the end of the corridor.
‘You just missed your sister,’ says Mum, resting her cup on her knees. ‘She had to get back for the kids. Sean’s on duty this evening. You know he’s a sergeant now?’
‘Yes, Fiona said. He deserves it. He’s a good police officer.’ It seems a bit surreal talking about normal, everyday things when this situation is anything but normal.
After drinking the tea, we venture back to my father’s bedside. It’s very quiet, apart from the rhythmic bleep of the monitor and the sighing of the breathing apparatus as it wheezes air down the tube. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
‘Time’s getting on. There’s no point in you hanging around with me,’ says Mum, breaking the silence that has settled. ‘You go on back and stay with Fiona tonight, she’s expecting you.’
‘What about you? I don’t want to leave you,’ I reply frowning. ‘You can’t stay all night, surely.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ My mother pats my knee. ‘Please, go to Fiona’s. Get some rest and then come back in the morning. I’ll ring if there’s any change. Besides, they won’t let you stay here on the ward.’
I’m not entirely convinced, but deciphering her subtly placed eyebrows, I determine she isn’t going to take no for an answer.
‘Okay, only if you’re sure,’ I relent.
‘I’m positive. In the morning go over to Wright’s motorcycle shop and get the keys for the flat and the café. You can nip up to the flat and bring my wash bag and some clean clothes.’
Mum stands up. I take this as a signal it’s time for me to leave. I walk round and give her a kiss.
‘It will be okay, Mum. I’ll see you in the morning,’ I say, hoping to sound positive before I beat the retreat. ‘Do I need to ask for anyone in particular at the bike shop?’
‘Er, yes…Kerry,’ replies Mum distractedly as a nurse approaches us.
‘I’m just doing some routine observations,’ the nurse explains.
‘I’ll get out the way,’ I say, giving Mum a reassuring smile. ‘Bye, Mum.’
‘What about your Dad?’ says Mum. ‘You should say goodbye to him too.’
‘We like to encourage family to still communicate with the patient,’ explains the nurse. ‘Sometimes, it can help with their recovery.’
I hesitate. ‘What should I say?’
‘Just speak to your father as if he’s awake,’ says the nurse. ‘It seems a little odd at first but once you’ve done it a few times, it becomes much easier.’
I go over to the bed and reach out to touch his hand. ‘Bye, Dad,’ I say, feeling terribly self-conscious. The nurse smiles encouragingly and I feel I need to say something else. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
It’s awkward and it’s not without relief that I escape the hospital and head over to Fiona’s.
*
Mini lights and precision-planted marigolds line the brick path to Fiona’s front door. The outside light bathes the garden, highlighting the alternating dark-and-light-green stripes running up and down the lawn. Tidy to the point of being manicured. The black gloss of the door with shiny chrome furniture is smart and exact. Fiona, my older sister by eight years, opens the door before I reach the end of the path.
Meeting me on the doorstep, she draws me into an embrace. The familiar smell of Fiona’s perfume clings to me in the same way I cling to her. A feeling of relief seeps out. Fiona has always been able to do that. To take away my troubles. To fix whatever needs fixing.
‘Hi-ya, hun,’ she says, giving me a squeeze. ‘How are you? How’s everything at the hospital? No change, I expect.’
‘I’m fine. It’s lovely to see you. Dad’s still sedated and Mum is happy to be there by herself.’ I give a little shiver in the night air. ‘I didn’t want to leave her, but she insisted.’
‘I know, but there’s nothing we can do. Anyway, come on in out of the cold. The kids are fast asleep, so we’ll go quietly.’
Sitting in Fiona’s immaculate kitchen, I hold my hands around the fine-bone-china cup. The heat from the cup warms my fingers. On the fridge door there is a family snapshot of the Keanes: Fiona, Sean, Sophie and Molly. It looks like it was taken last year on their holiday to Spain. Sean is giving Sophie a piggy-back. Fiona and Molly are looking up at them and everyone is beaming with happiness. Sean is a tall man and none too skinny either. He must look very imposing in his Guard’s uniform. In this picture, though, he reminds me of Roald Dahl’s BFG and I think how aptly named their daughter, Sophie, is.
‘How’s Sean?’ I ask, as Fiona sits down beside me.
‘He’s fine. Well, that’s not entirely true. He’s exhausted, if I’m honest. We both are. His mum needs a lot of looking after. We’re thinking about moving her in with us.’
‘Is she getting to that stage where she needs a lot of care?’ I ask.
‘She can’t cook properly, she’s a danger to herself.’ Fiona gives a weary sigh. ‘Not so long ago, she left the frying pan on the stove and burnt right through it, setting off the fire alarms. There was smoke everywhere. The fire brigade turned up, it was chaos. Since then, I’ve been cooking for her. She’s lovely, though, so I wouldn’t mind her moving in. After all, she is the reason we came home.’
I nod, remembering the day well when Fiona and Sean packed up their little family in London and headed back home to care for his recently widowed mother. I had managed to hold back my tears until the car and removal lorry disappeared around the corner.
Funny how Fiona regards it as coming home, whereas I look on her return as leaving home. To me, home means a place of love and fond memories, a feeling of being safe and cared for. Coming to Ireland is not coming home for me.
My thoughts turn to Roisin’s email again and my stomach lurches as the fear that has pitched up and taken residency gives another kick. I had thought I’d tell Fiona about it but now I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I can get this sorted without her knowing. She has a lot on her plate at the moment, what with Dad and Sean’s mother. I’ll tell her only if I have to. I’m sure I can handle this. At least, I hope I can.
Fiona’s mobile phone cuts through my thoughts. From this side of the conversation, I guess it’s Sean. I busy myself with making another cup of tea while she wanders off into the living room for more privacy.
She returns a few minutes later.
‘Sean’s going to call by the hospital at some point in the night to check on Mum and Dad.’
‘What exactly happened? How did Dad end up falling down the steps?’ I ask.
‘I’m still not entirely sure. Apparently, Mum was in the café tidying up at the end of the day and Dad went upstairs with the day’s takings to put them in the safe for the night. When he didn’t come back down, Mum went out to look for him and found him at the foot of the stairs.’
‘Was there anyone else there? Did they see anything?’
‘No, just Kerry from the bike shop across the way.’
‘What time did all this happen?’
‘Soon after six,’ says Fiona after a moment’s thought. ‘That’s what time he always puts the takings in the safe. Of course, we’ve no way of knowing if that’s what he did.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mum can’t find the key for the safe, so we can’t check to see if Dad fell before or after he went upstairs. There was no bag beside him.’
‘You don’t think he was robbed, do you?’
‘We just don’t know,’ says Fiona. ‘It’s all a bit worrying.’
‘Doesn’t Mum know where the key is so we can check?’
‘No. She can’t remember,’ says Fiona. ‘I tried to ask but she was so distracted with Dad, I didn’t like to push it.’
‘I don’t suppose you know where the key would be or even if there’s a spare one?’ I ask half-heartedly.
Fiona gives a wry smile. ‘You know what Dad’s like. Top-secret information that is.’
‘I’ll have a look round when I’m at the flat,’ I say. Much as my feelings towards my father are stifled, the thought that someone mugged him is not nice.
‘To be honest, that’s the least of our worries at the moment,’ says Fiona.
‘Yes, you’re right.’ I force myself to conjure up the compassion I know should be there. I change the subject to divert this uncomfortable acknowledgement. ‘How are Molly and Sophie?’
‘The kids are grand,’ says Fiona. A smile spreads across her face at their mention. ‘Molly is coming up to the last term of nursery. She goes off to school in September. She’ll be in junior infants, and Sophie will be going into fifth year of senior infants.’
‘So, two more years and then secondary school.’
‘I know, I can’t believe how the time has flown,’ says Fiona. ‘Remember when Sophie was born, she was such a scrap of a thing. All that red hair against her lily-white skin.’
‘She looked like an alien,’ I say, thinking back. A lump makes a bid to establish itself in my throat. I feel Fiona’s hand cover my own and hear her soft words.
‘It’s okay,’ she says. ‘It’s been a long day. Don’t go upsetting yourself, now. You can’t change anything. It will all be fine. I promise.’
When I go up to bed shortly afterwards, I stop and peep in the open door of Molly’s bedroom. The five-year-old is fast asleep, her fair curls fan the pillow like a golden starburst. Molly has been lucky to inherit her mother’s colouring, but not so lucky with the curse of the Hurley curls.
I can’t resist looking in on Sophie, who is snuggled down under the duvet. Admittedly she doesn’t have the Hurley curls, but she most definitely has the ginger colouring, or auburn, as Mum likes to call it.
I touch my own hair, the colour I have grown to love, a dark-orangey brown, the curls haven’t quite won the same affection and, every day, I’m grateful to whoever brought hair-straighteners to the mass market. I can remember the absolute relief I felt on my fourteenth birthday when Fiona gave me a set as a present so I would no longer have to use the household iron in an attempt to banish the unruly curls. The ironing effect didn’t quite have the staying power and by lunchtime my hair had usually sprung back up into its familiar coils, much to the amusement of my classmates.
Fiona has always made things better. Right from making cakes when I felt fed up, taking me to the cinema to see the latest film, walking me to and from school when no one would walk with me because I’d fallen out with Roisin, to helping me fill in an application form for college and helping me find student digs.
Muffled footsteps on the carpeted landing bring me from my thoughts. Fiona appears at my side.
‘I was just looking at them. Fast asleep. Oblivious,’ I whisper.
‘Oblivious to everything,’ she says, putting her arm around my shoulder. ‘Is everything all right? Apart from the obvious…Dad.’
I feel my resolve weaken. I want to tell her about Roisin. Fiona will know what to do. She always has and before I can check myself the words are out.
‘Fiona, there’s something I need to tell you.’
‘Aha, and what’s that?’ says Fiona, unhooking her arm and pulling the bedroom door closed. She stifles a yawn.
Fiona looks tired. Even her hug had the air of exhaustion around it. Now isn’t the time to burden her with news of the email.
‘I’m glad I came back,’ I say quickly.
She gives a smile. ‘I’m glad as well. So is Mum. And Dad will be too.’
I don’t challenge this. It’s my turn to give out the hugs now.

Chapter 3 (#u0819dc8b-8dc0-584b-bc80-9d07a6f93455)
I walk round on to Beach Road and the familiar parade of shops greets me on one side and the Irish Sea on the other. The fishing boats are tied up on the shore and the tidal waters of the estuary slop back and forth.
Seahorse Café is on the end of the parade of shops. The buildings that make up the parade are stone-built to echo the traditional style of the area, as are the small-paned windows and wooden doors. Above the shops is the living accommodation. My parents’ flat, my childhood home, stretches over four shop premises. Along the parade is a paper shop, hairdresser’s, a charity shop and Seahorse Café, my father’s pride and joy. The village road runs adjacent to the shops and on the other side is ‘Wright’s Motorbike Servicing & Repairs’.
My dad’s car is parked in the bays outside the café. I have the keys, so I can use it while I’m here. Sean is sorting out the insurance for me. I’m not sure what my dad would say if he knew. He’d probably be horrified. The car is old, but you wouldn’t think so. My dad has cared for that car like it was his own flesh and blood. I give a small laugh at the expression and correct myself. He cares for the car more than his own flesh and blood.
Crossing the road to the bike garage, I take a deep breath before entering. I have no desire whatsoever to come here, but Fiona is taking the children to nursery and school so it’s down to me to collect the keys to Mum’s flat. I’ve yet to call Roisin, but I’ll do that once I have the keys, then I can let myself into the flat and phone her in private.
I hope it will be only Kerry there and I won’t have to see Jody Wright, his cousin. With any luck Kerry won’t even remember me, our paths had only crossed a couple of times in our teenage years. However, I’m sure Jody won’t have forgotten me, after all, we had been at school together.
Another feeling of disquiet settles over me. School days bring no comfort or feeling of nostalgia to me. I breathe deeply and exhale slowly, blowing away the dark memories from my mind.
A bell tinkles above the doorway as I open and close the door. It’s a small reception area with a coffee machine in one corner that has seen better days. Either side are two chairs and a small table with a selection of bike and motoring magazines, all looking well-thumbed and dog-eared. The sound of a radio filters through into the reception area from the open doorway behind the counter, accompanied by the sporadic sound of some sort of power tool and the clanking of metal against metal. Obviously, the workshop. I stand at the counter patiently, hoping Kerry will appear.
After a minute or two I call out a ‘Hello!’ trying to time it with a lull in the noise. It appears an unsuccessful tactic, so I decide to go round the rear of the building to the workshop entrance.
Picking my way through a couple of oily patches in the courtyard, to avoid any stains on my white trainers, I head towards the open double garage doors.
‘Hello,’ I call out as I enter the building. The smell of oil and petrol, mixed with a dirty, greasy sort of smell, hits me, catching in the back of my throat. There are a number of bikes in the workshop, all in various states of repair. One looks like it has been stripped right down to the frame; there are bits of motorbike lying alongside. I assume they are bits of motorbike. To me it’s a mass of metal and plastic.
To my right a curtain of thick industrial plastic strips separates one side of the workshop. A blond head pokes through, the face obscured by a white mask and a pair of thick protective goggles. Pulling the mask from his face, he speaks.
‘All right?’ he says looking over at me. ‘Can I help you?’
I swallow hard. I recognise the voice instantly. It’s Jody Wright. He doesn’t appear to recognise me. Perhaps I can get away with this.
‘Hi. I’m after Kerry.’ I turn my face from view, looking around the workshop as if trying to locate Kerry.
‘He’s upstairs in the stock room. I’ll get him.’ I can hear Jody’s footsteps come further into the workshop. ‘Oi! Kerry! You’ve got a visitor!’ His voice bellows out, followed by a shrill whistle.
A moment later, I hear the door at the top of the stairs open.
‘All right?’ comes another voice.
‘Someone to see you,’ says Jody.
I have no choice but to turn around this time. I look up at the figure standing at the top of the steps.
‘Hi…I’ve come to get the keys for Marie Hurley.’
Before Kerry can answer, Jody interrupts. ‘Hey, wait a minute! I know you.’ I turn and watch him take a few strides across the workshop, coming to a halt in front of me, whereupon he whisks his goggles from his face. ‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t Curly Hurley!’ I stand there in silence as I come face to face with my nemesis of those wretched childhood days. ‘It’s me…Joe. Jody Wright!’ He grins at me, raking his fingers through his mop of longish blond hair. ‘We were in the same class at Rossway School. Mr Capper’s class, or Mr Crapper, as we used to call him. I sat behind you and Roisin Marshall. Come on, you must remember me.’
Despite feeling myself flinch, I remain composed. I’m older now. I’m in control. I can handle this.
Straightening up, giving him the benefit of my five-feet-eight-inches’ height, I look at him unsmiling. ‘How could I forget?’
‘Nearly didn’t recognise you without your curls,’ Joe says, nodding towards my poker-straight hair, which hangs loose over my shoulders. ‘Do you remember my cousin, Kerry? He used to come and stay sometimes during the summer.’
I give a shrug. ‘A bit.’
Kerry is watching me. He has blond hair, not dissimilar to Jody’s, actually, casually parting in the middle with longish layers giving a sort of dishevelled look. He wears a pair of blue overalls, which hang from his waist and bear the scars of many a battle with a paintbrush. The black t-shirt has suffered a similar fate, together with a rip at the left sleeve, revealing some sort of tribal-pattern tattoo around his bicep. He smiles at me and descends the steps.
‘I thought you looked familiar, I was just trying to place you,’ he says. ‘You were at Shane’s eighteenth birthday party, weren’t you?’
I nod, impressed with his recall. Shane is one of Joe’s older brothers. ‘That’s right. There was a big group of us.’ I shift on my feet. The desire to take a trip down memory lane is furthest from my mind.
Joe gives a laugh and carries on energetically. ‘There are quite a few of us Wrights. Kerry probably just blended in. One summer he came to stay and never went home, I don’t suppose me mam even noticed an extra person at the dinner table.’ I nod this time. He carries on enthusiastically. ‘What you up to these days? It must be about ten years. You disappeared without a trace.’
‘Working in London,’ I reply, really having no wish to get into this conversation. ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude but what with my dad and everything…’ I wave my hand airily, hoping I don’t need to explain. I’m relieved when Kerry speaks, ending Joe’s desire to revisit our childhood days.
‘Yes, of course, you’ve got more important things to do than reminisce about the good old days. You’ll have to excuse my cousin’s enthusiasm,’ says Kerry, giving Joe a playful whack on the arm with back of his hand. Kerry ferrets around in the large side pocket of his trousers and after a moment produces a set of keys. He holds them out to me. ‘How is your dad?’
‘Not good. He’s stable, but they’re waiting for the swelling to go down before they can assess him further. He’s taken a nasty bang to his head. Thanks for asking.’ I take the keys from Kerry, his rough hands with grubby fingernails briefly brush my own well-moisturised and manicured fingers. ‘Mum said you helped her yesterday evening?’
‘It was nothing,’ replies Kerry shrugging. ‘I just happened to be out the back there. I called the ambulance and then locked up the flat. As I said, nothing really.’
‘Thank you, anyway. Mum really appreciates it. We all do.’
‘You should come down the pub one night and meet up with some of the old gang,’ says Joe.
Looking at him for a moment before I speak, I can’t think of anything less I want to do. ‘I’m only here for a few days, so probably won’t have time. And besides, if I wanted to catch up with everyone, I could have done that by now on Facebook.’ I give a little laugh, which I so don’t mean and then, turning my back on Joe, direct a slight nod at Kerry before heading out of the dirty workshop. I’m just congratulating myself on getting one over my old enemy when I hear him call after me.
‘See ya, Bunny!’
For a split second I’m transported back to my school days. Bunny is the nickname Joe used for me. A loose connection between the colour of my hair and carrots, which still appears to amuse him. I force myself to walk on and not acknowledge his parting shot.
*
Roisin’s heart pumped an extra beat. There was Erin Hurley walking across the green, heading straight to where Roisin and her mam had parked their car. Roisin had got Erin’s voicemail but it had come too late. She hadn’t been sure Erin would come but fate had intervened and made it impossible for her not to. The incident with Jim Hurley, unfortunate as it was for Erin, was fortunate for Roisin.
Suddenly, Roisin thought of her mam and how she would react. She looked across the roof of the car as they got out. Her mam, Diana, was having a good day today. She was calm. She was talking clearly. Thinking rationally. She had even been smiling a lot. Roisin was under no illusion that it was all about to end in a matter of seconds.
‘Mam,’ she called across to her. Diana looked up and smiled. Roisin didn’t return it. She flicked her eyes towards Erin. Her mother followed suit. Roisin watched the recognition spread across Diana’s face like a snow flurry. Her mother’s hand grappled for the car, resting on the front wing for support.
The athletic figure of Erin Hurley walked purposefully towards them. The curls might have gone, but the distinctive red hair was unmistakable as it reflected back the sun, almost challenging it to be brighter.
This was not how Roisin had wanted the meeting with Erin to happen. It was supposed to be just the two of them. Alone. On Roisin’s terms. Somewhere private. Not here in the middle of the village when she was caught by surprise.
Erin was only a few metres away and as she looked up, the recognition in her eyes was instant. The defiant look came a second later. She slowed her pace and came to a stop in front of their car. She fiddled with the bunch of keys she was holding.
‘Hello, Erin,’ said Roisin. She wanted to glance over at her mam to see if she was okay, but she didn’t want to break eye contact with Erin. Roisin had nothing to be ashamed about. She wasn’t the one who had done something so wrong. Roisin hadn’t caused her family this never-ending pain.
‘Hello, Roisin.’ Erin held Roisin’s gaze for a moment and then looked over at Diana. ‘Mrs Marshall.’
‘How is your father?’ Diana spoke with a removed tone to her voice. Roisin wasn’t sure her mam was really that concerned about Jim Hurley, but she asked as that was the polite thing to do.
‘Not too good at all,’ replied Erin.
‘I hope he makes a good recovery,’ said Diana. Her own recovery now in full swing. ‘Please pass on our best wishes to your mother.’
‘Thank you. I will.’
‘I take it you’ll be around for a few days?’ said Roisin, sensing this reunion was coming to a close.
‘That’s right, yes. Until I know he’s better and Mum is okay.’ The reply was stiff and cold.
‘We must catch up,’ said Roisin. ‘We have lots to talk about.’
‘If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know,’ said Diana, straightening her navy tailored jacket and dropping the car keys into her handbag.
‘We’re fine. Thank you.’ A terse response from Erin, which irritated Roisin more than it probably should. A flutter of anger made itself known in her stomach at Erin’s lack of gratitude. Old feelings of hostility broke free. Shame on you, Erin Hurley, for what you did.
‘Is something wrong?’ asked Erin, making her way round to the driver’s door of the car parked next to Diana’s. Roisin recognised it as Jim and Marie Hurley’s car. An old estate car they used for their weekly trip to the trade discount supplier.
Roisin was perfectly aware of the lack of concern in Erin’s voice. If anything, there was almost a mocking, challenging tone as she continued. ‘Don’t worry, I know we have things to catch up on.’ She made quotation marks in the air. Roisin got the subtext.
‘Good. I’ll look forward to it,’ said Roisin.
Without so much as looking their way, Erin reversed out of the parking bay and drove off up Beach Road. It was only once the silver estate car had turned the corner Roisin allowed herself to succumb to the tremors that rippled from the inside to the outside. She looked down at her hand. It was shaking. Adrenalin-fueled.
She took a deep breath. Slowly she exhaled. The feeling of control came back. She had to admit, she hadn’t expected Erin to have that effect on her.
She looked over to her mam. Roisin could tell Diana was fighting with her emotions.
‘You okay, Mam?’
Her mam turned to her. ‘I need to get a few bits from the shop. Why don’t you get what you need from the chemist and I’ll meet you back here in, say, fifteen minutes?’ She totally ignored Roisin’s question. Roisin knew the subject of Erin Hurley was off-limits.
She also knew her mam wanted her out of the way so she could stock up with sherry. Then the subject would have no limits.
Once again, Roisin cursed Erin Hurley for what she’d done to the Marshall family.
*
Diana turned the car into the drive, the gravel scrunching under the tyres. The Manor House looked down on them, casting its shadow across the drive. Roisin looked up at the home she had lived in all her life. It used to be filled with happiness, now it was empty and devoid of any warmth. She ignored the sound of the bottles clanking together as her mam came to an abrupt halt. The wheels ground into the stones. Diana cut the engine and, holding on to the top of the steering wheel, rested her head on her hands.
‘I suppose I should have expected her to turn up,’ said Diana, sitting back in the seat. Her fingers unfurled from the steering wheel. ‘It’s just she’s so brazen. Full of attitude. No shame.’
‘Come on, let’s go inside,’ said Roisin, opening the door. She wanted to distract her mam, to stop her going into a full rant. Roisin knew the routine. Anger followed by despair as the pain was numbed by alcohol. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea and some lunch.’
As Roisin took the shopping into the kitchen, she noted Diana peel off into the drawing room, the bag with the bottles chinking in time with her step.
Roisin made a pot of tea and hurriedly put together two ham sandwiches. It was probably futile. Diana would be well into the sherry by now, but she had to try. She couldn’t give up on her mam. All Roisin ever wanted to do was to save Diana from herself. For her to be the mam she used to be. And since Roisin had found that photograph, she thought she knew how. She could make things right. Roisin could make her mam happy again.
Diana was standing at the fireplace, in one hand a sherry glass, in the other a photograph of Niall. It was taken when he was sixteen. They were on a family skiing holiday.
Roisin placed the tray on the coffee table and, going over to her mam, she took the photograph and replaced it on the mantelpiece. Niall’s deep-blue eyes looked back at her, his ski goggles were strapped around the top of his ski helmet. Mam always insisted they wear helmets. She never took any chances. From when they were a very young age she had instilled in both of them the need to be safe. As a doctor who spent several years working in A and E, she had seen the result of many an accident where the injuries sustained could so easily have been avoided had the victim being wearing or using the correct safety equipment.
Roisin absently ran her finger across Niall’s face. It was as if touching his photo would bring a small crumb of comfort. She wished, like she had every day since the accident, that he had held the same regard for his safety as their mam had.
Roisin guided her mam to the wing-backed armchair beside the fireplace.
‘Here, sit down.’
The lid of the walnut art-deco drinks cabinet was down. The freshly opened bottle of sherry stood on the glass shelf, the lid beside it. Roisin replaced the lid.
‘I’ve not finished,’ Diana said, without turning to look at her daughter.
‘At least have a sandwich,’ said Roisin, putting the lid down and offering the plate to her. Diana took it, but her attention was caught by something else and she rested the plate on the arm of the chair.
‘What’s that sticking out of the sideboard?’ she asked, nodding to the other side of the room.
Roisin swore silently to herself. That was her fault. She had been rummaging through the box of photos the other day. She thought she had put them all back neat and tidy, just as her mam liked it. Roisin was certain Diana had developed OCD over the years. She never used to be this particular about things; it had only been since the accident.
Roisin jumped up quickly and went to put the errant photograph away.
‘Pass it here.’ Diana held out her hand.
Obediently Roisin delivered it to her mam. It was a photograph of Roisin and Niall when they were about five and seven. A school photo. They were both smiling brightly at the camera. Diana drank in the image before her.
She placed the photograph on her lap. As she did, her elbow caught the plate balanced on the arm of the chair. It fell to the floor, the sandwich hitting the parquet tiles, quickly followed by the plate, which broke into two pieces.
Diana didn’t give the plate a glance. Roisin knelt down and picked up the two halves. It reminded her of their hearts. Broken.
‘I’ll make you a fresh sandwich,’ said Roisin, standing up.
‘Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.’
As Roisin left the drawing room and closed the door gently behind her she could hear her mam sob. A guttural noise from deep within. A sound Roisin was all too familiar with.
Roisin took the crockery and sandwich out to the kitchen, choosing not to return to the drawing room. She was not sure she could deal with this today. After the sobs would come the blame. Her mam would say how she held Roisin partly responsible for what had happened. How Roisin should have said something sooner. How Roisin had let her down.
She slipped off her shoes at the bottom of the stairs and trod softly as she ascended the oak staircase, seeking solace in her room.
Her mam went through phases. Sometimes she barely drank at all and, during those dry times, she was easier to live with. However, when she befriended the sherry bottle, she became an emotional wreck. The sadness that emitted from her was so heavy Roisin felt she was drowning in it simply by being in the same room.
Roisin reached the top of the stairs and headed to the back of the house, where her bedroom was situated. Her mam’s sobs were now, thankfully, out of ear shot. She closed the bedroom door behind her and slumped onto her bed.
She needed a few minutes’ peace and quiet to work out what to do next. She needed to up her game. If she was to give her mam something to cling to so she could climb out of the pit of depression she had fallen into, then Roisin needed to make things happen.

Chapter 4 (#u0819dc8b-8dc0-584b-bc80-9d07a6f93455)
Teenage Kicks
Eight months before leaving
I hate my curly hair. I hate my red hair. I hate my curly, red hair. I hate that Jody Wright and his mates call me Curly Hurley at every opportunity. I walk out of the village-hall youth club away from them, my head held high. I should be used to it by now, but it still hurts.
‘Hey, it’s Erin, isn’t it?’
I stop dead in my tracks as in front of me Niall Marshall is sitting in his car, smoking a cigarette, the driver’s window is wound down and a plume of smoke floats out. He looks pretty cool. I throw a glance over to the passenger seat. His mate, Shane Wright, is sitting with him. They are listening to some drum-and-base music. Shane flicks his cigarette out of the window and nods in acknowledgement of me.
I realise Niall is waiting for an answer. I must try to play it cool. Niall Marshall is a bit of a catch in the quiet backwaters of Rossway. Nearly all the girls in my year have a crush on him. I swallow hard and, resting my hand on my hip, I stick it out to one side and place one foot slightly in front of the other.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I say.
‘You not staying at the youth club, then?’ he asks.
I shake my head. ‘It’s boring.’
‘Full of kids, right?’ Niall looks over at Shane and they both laugh.
‘There’s nothing else to do in this village,’ I say, as justification for being there.
‘Is that right?’ muses Niall. He leans over and mumbles something to Shane that I can’t make out. I’m not sure whether I should stay where I am or carry on home. Back to where life is even duller. I can’t wait to leave school and get out of this place.
I feel a bit of an idiot standing there and the pose is making my leg hurt.
Shane gets out of the car, saying his goodbyes to Niall. He holds the door open and gestures for me to come over.
‘Aren’t you going to get in, then?’ asks Niall.
‘Am I?’
‘Come on, I’ll take you for a ride. It won’t be boring, I promise.’
I look back at the youth club door, the sounds of some club mix blares out. I look beyond Niall’s car at the road leading to the flat, where I live with my mum and dad. There’s no contest.
I’m sitting beside Niall. I want to squeal with delight and excitement, but I keep it in. He’s two years older than me and the coolest thing since I don’t know what. He flicks the control on his iPod, which is plugged into his stereo and ‘Teenage Kicks’ by The Undertones blasts out from the speakers. I grin to myself and, as I fasten my seat belt, Niall blips the throttle and does whatever you do with the pedals to make the wheels spin for a few seconds, before we lurch forward and Niall floors it. We speed down the High Street. I’m with Niall Marshall! Woohoo!
We drive around the village for a while. As usual, it’s pretty quiet. There’s not much going on in Rossway. There never is.
‘So, where do you want to go?’ he asks.
‘I thought you were going to take me somewhere exciting,’ I say. To be truthful, I don’t mind where we go. If I’m with Niall, I really don’t care. I wonder briefly what Roisin would say if she knew I was out with her older brother. I don’t know if she would be happy. Anyway, she’s with Jody and his crowd. I don’t know why I feel any loyalty towards her, it’s not as if she ever sticks up for me when they start taking the mickey.
‘I know, let’s go out to The Spit,’ says Niall. ‘We can get burger and chips from the takeaway and eat it there.’ The Spit looks out onto the Irish Sea, jutting out from the coastline for about half a mile.
I smile at him. ‘That sounds great,’ I say, even though I’m not really hungry. Mum always makes sure I have some tea at the café before they close at the end of the day. I had a burger tonight, but I’m sure a burger with Niall will taste better than one from the café.
It’s peaceful out at The Spit. We come to a stop in the car park and look out across the dark water, the clouds cross the path of the moon, allowing snatches of light to peak out for only a minute or two.
I eat my burger and I was right. It does taste better.
‘Why were you leaving the youth club early?’ Niall asks.
‘I was actually a bit bored,’ I reply.
‘I think everyone grows out of it after a while. You’re what, sixteen now?’ says Niall through a mouthful of burger.
‘That’s right.’ I feel grown up that I’m sixteen, it sounds so much better than being the fifteen I was a month ago. I like being one of the oldest in the school year.
‘I can’t wait to get away from here,’ says Niall as he screws up the burger wrapper and drops it into the brown-paper takeaway bag. ‘Only one more year in the sixth form and then I’m off to university.’
‘Where are you going?’ I ask, ignoring the little flicker of disappointment that he will only be about for another year.
‘Dublin. If I get my grades, that is,’ he says. ‘I’m going to study law.’
‘Wow! You want to be a lawyer? You must be clever.’
Niall laughs. ‘A little. My mam’s got high hopes for me. She wants me to go into company law – where the money is.’
He imitates his mother’s voice and I laugh.
‘But what about you? Is that what you want to do?’ I ask.
‘I want to represent people who can’t afford a proper solicitor. I want to make a stand for the underdog. Mam doesn’t get that at all. She’s all right, really,’ he says with a smile. ‘She says she just wants what’s best for me. She’s a bit of a control freak at times.’
‘Sounds like my dad. It’s his way or no way. My dad isn’t ambitious for me, though. He’d be happy for me to work in the café when I leave school.’
‘Do you want to?’
‘No way. It’s bad enough having to work in there at the weekends and during school holidays. When I leave school I want to go to college and do a beautician’s course.’
‘What like, make-up and leg wax, that sort of thing?’
‘Yes. I want to have my own salon one day. Be my own boss.’
‘And will your dad let you?’
‘He doesn’t think I’ll stick at it. I’d like to live with my sister, Fiona.’ I fold up the last bit of burger in the wrapper. ‘She lives in London with her husband.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Twenty-four. We get on really well despite the big age gap. I’d be lost without her sometimes.’
‘I’ve only got Roisin,’ says Niall. He pulls a face, which makes me laugh again. ‘I know she’s your friend and all that, but as a sister she’s a feckin’ pain at times. She’s another control freak. I think she must get it from Mam. My poor dad is going to be spending even more time hiding from them at work once I leave home. He says he going to get a huge man-shed in the garden and take up model train-making.’
A small silence settles between us as we contemplate our families.
‘Let’s make a pact,’ he says suddenly. He turns in his seat to look at me. ‘We promise each other we’ll follow our dreams and not let our parents stand in the way. You promise you’ll go to college and become a beautician and I promise I’ll qualify as a solicitor and defend criminal cases. Is it a deal?’
He holds out his hand. I put mine in his. Just touching him makes me feel like a child at Christmas who has opened the best present ever. ‘It’s a deal,’ I manage to say, trying to stay calm and cool.
Niall leans over and kisses me briefly on the mouth. Oh, my God! I’ve had my Christmas and birthday presents all in one go.
We sit for a little longer looking up at the stars, talking about what the future holds for us. What we’re going to call our businesses. We fantasise about the sort of clients we will have. I will work on a cruise ship and travel to faraway places like the Caribbean and Mediterranean. Niall will defend high-profile celebrities and businessmen so he can make enough money to work for free, defending those who can’t afford a solicitor. He sees it as a modern-day Robin Hood sort of figure.
We promise again we’ll follow our dreams.
*
Seven months before leaving
‘When exactly were you going to tell me?’ demands Roisin.
‘Tell you what?’ I try to act all innocent.
We’re sitting next to each other at registration. I know exactly what she means. She means me and Niall becoming a proper item. Proper boyfriend and girlfriend. I hadn’t told her before as I didn’t want her to tell the others. Jody Wright will no doubt find something funny about it.
‘Come on, Erin. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m on about.’
Fortunately, Miss Martin, our form teacher, begins to call the register and I avoid answering Roisin. It gives me time to come up with a reasonable excuse.
As soon as registration is over and Miss Martin tells us to read in silence until the bell goes for first period, Roisin is hissing in my ear.
‘So?’ she demands. ‘When were you going to tell me you were going out with my brother? Why did you keep it a secret? I thought I was your best friend. Best friends are supposed to tell each other everything.’
I resist the urge to say what else best friends are supposed to do, like stick up for each other. Instead I say, ‘I was going to tell you eventually, but I was waiting until it was all official. We’ve only been out a few times.’ I hope she doesn’t press me to define ‘a few times’. I’ve actually seen Niall eight times in the last three weeks. Last night, he said we were officially boyfriend and girlfriend. I think Shane, Jody Wright’s brother, knows as he saw us together last night. He seems cool about it, though. He just said hello and carried on talking to Niall about what he was doing to his car. I suppose it is inevitable now that word will get around. After all, Rossway is only a small village.
I ask Roisin how she found out.
‘You didn’t come to the youth club again last night, so I went round to your house to see why.’
I gulp. ‘Did you speak to my mum? What did you say?’
‘Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. She said she thought you were at the youth club. That’s where you told her you were going.’ Roisin’s eyes narrow. ‘Your dad called out, wanting to know what you were up to.’
This time I can’t gulp. There’s a golf-ball-sized lump in my throat. I don’t want my dad to know I’ve been lying about what I’ve been doing. Roisin continues, a small look of amusement on her face. She knows what my dad is like.
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t give you away. I just said I remembered I was supposed to be meeting you there.’
‘Thank you.’ I look up over my book as I sense Miss Martin’s eyes trained upon us. We wait a few minutes before we start up again, making sure Miss Martin is preoccupied with trying to get the new interactive whiteboard working for her next class.
‘When I was walking back to the youth club, I saw Shane. He stopped to give me a lift. He said he’d seen you with Niall.’
‘Ah, Shane,’ I say. He would have just said it in conversation, I know. He’s not like his brother, Jody. I like Shane.
‘I had to act like I knew, of course,’ says Roisin.
‘I’m sorry. Like I said, I was going to tell you.’
The bell goes for first period and as I pack my book away in my bag, I feel a nudge on the shoulder. I turn round and Jody Wright is grinning, from his seat in the row behind.
‘Hey, Roisin,’ he says. ‘I saw your brother in the shop this morning.’ Roisin and Joe exchange a smirk. ‘He was buying carrots.’
I groan inwardly. I know what this is all about. Hastily I zip my bag shut and stand up, my chair bashes into the table behind me. It doesn’t distract Jody.
‘Carrots?’ questions Roisin.
‘Yeah, a whole load of them. He said they were for his bunny.’ He nudges me in the back again as I try to squeeze between Roisin and the tables. ‘You like carrots, don’t you, Bunny?’
‘Get lost,’ I say as I manage to execute my escape. I hear them laughing as I leave.
Niall tells me to take no notice of them. He’s had a word with Roisin and Shane. He’s sure the message will get through. He says he doesn’t care what they say anyway, that Jody’s a prick. I agree on that point. I say I agree on the not-caring point too, but really I do care. I wish Jody would let up. I don’t know why he and his cronies find me so bloody amusing.
We drive out to The Spit that night. It’s dark and cold. Niall has brought a blanket with him. We climb into the back seat and huddle together under the cover. We kiss each other. Up until now we haven’t actually had sex. We haven’t done anything yet. In fact, I haven’t done anything with anyone. However, all that changes in the next hour. It’s a bit of a fumble, not least because there’s no room and we can’t really see what we’re doing. Had I known, I might have worn my skirt.
Niall told me he loved me tonight. I’m not stupid enough to fall for that: only having sex with him because he loves me, although that did help. No, I wanted to do it with him. I love him and he loves me, it seems right – the next stage of our relationship. Afterwards, he holds me and tells me he loves me. I know he means it. So do I.
I feel different when I go into school the next day. Grown up. I see Niall at school and when we pass each other in the corridor he pulls me out of the line. I see the other girls look, with a sense of envy. They wish Niall Marshall had eyes for them. He asks me if I’m okay after last night. Of course I’m okay. I’m in love. He kisses me and tells me he loves me before running down the corridor to catch up with his class. I float in the other direction. I feel grown up. I feel loved.

Chapter 5 (#u0819dc8b-8dc0-584b-bc80-9d07a6f93455)
I take the plate away from Mum, the pork chop barely touched and the vegetables only picked at.
‘Would you prefer a light sandwich?’ I ask.
Mum shakes her head. ‘Maybe later. A cup of tea would be nice, though. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘No, you sit there, I’ll do it,’ I say as I flip the lid to the bin and tilt the plate to let the food slide off. Mum hates wasting food and takes it personally if anyone leaves so much as a morsel on the plate, so for her to leave pretty much all her dinner isn’t a good sign.
‘Erin, did you remember to get the café keys?’ says Mum.
‘Yeah, they’re in my bag.’ I try to suppress a frown as I recall my encounter with Messrs Wright.
‘I was so glad Kerry was there the other night,’ says Mum. For a moment she looks lost in her thoughts, then giving herself a little shake, she’s back with us. ‘Nice lad, he is.’
‘I remember him from when we were teenagers,’ I say. ‘He used to come down in the summer holidays.’
‘He’s been living here for quite a few years now. He works there with Max’s son, Joe,’ Mum explains, albeit needlessly, since I’ve established this myself.
‘Didn’t Max take him in because he was in some sort of trouble?’ asks Fiona, as she takes on tea-making duty. ‘I can’t remember the details, but wasn’t Kerry kicked out by his mum?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Mum looks thoughtful again. ‘Apparently, when Max’s brother died, that was Kerry’s father, the lad went off the rails a bit. Got into trouble with the Guards, I believe. The final straw was when his mum got a new husband. A clash of personalities, you could say. Lots of arguments. That type of thing. Anyway, Max felt he owed it to his brother to look after Kerry.’
We sit in silence for a few moments and I mull over the conversation. Kerry comes across as laid-back and I have a vague idea of him being pretty chilled out when we were teenagers. From what I saw today, I’d say he’s not changed much. It sounds like he had a troubled home life. I can relate to that.
‘So…,’ begins Fiona bringing over a cup of tea for each of us. ‘What’s happening tomorrow with the café?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. I need to open up,’ says Mum. ‘It was closed all day yesterday and today; we can’t afford to lose another day’s takings or have our regulars find somewhere else. Your father won’t be happy if we stay closed.’
‘You should try and rest,’ says Fiona. ‘Anyway, aren’t you going to be at the hospital tomorrow?’
‘Of course I am, but I thought I’d go in the afternoon so I can open up the café first thing.’
‘No you won’t,’ I say. ‘I will.’
‘You will?’ The surprise in Fiona’s voice is evident.
I take a sip of my tea to stall for time. I haven’t actually thought it through properly, but I know Mum needs a break. She looks tired and drawn and I’m not entirely convinced that is just from the shock of Dad’s accident. It looks a deep-rooted tiredness, one that has been weighing her down for a long time. I can feel Fiona’s eyes on me, waiting for a response.
‘I can open up and do the breakfast rush – I assume the menu is the same: bacon, sausages, eggs, beans, that type of thing. I’m quite capable of cooking that and when you’ve dropped the children to nursery and school you can come and help me get ready for the lunchtime rush.’ I smile at Fiona, pleased with myself for making it sound so easy.
‘Ah sure, there’s no need for that,’ says Mum, looking at us both. ‘I can manage, honestly.’
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘There’s every need. Now, please don’t argue. We want to help. Don’t we, Fiona?’
‘Yes, of course we do.’ Fiona squeezes Mum’s hand.
After we’ve finished our tea, Mum goes upstairs to the bathroom and I make a start on rinsing the plates and loading the dishwasher.
‘That’s good of you to offer to open up the café,’ says Fiona. ‘I seem to remember you saying something along the lines of never wanting to step foot in that greasy spoon again.’ There is no malice in Fiona’s words and we exchange a wry smile.
‘I’m only doing it for Mum. One less thing for her to worry about.’ I scrub at the saucepan to remove some of the mashed potato that has already hardened around the edges
‘When do you have to go back to London?’ asks Fiona.
‘I’m not sure. Ed has shuffled the staff rota around, but I don’t know how long he can do that for. I don’t want to stay here longer than necessary.’
‘It’s not that bad here,’ says Fiona, cleaning the work surfaces with anti-bacterial wipes. ‘I came back and, if I’m totally honest, I’m glad I did.’
I pause from rinsing the saucepan. ‘It was different for you, though,’ I say eventually. ‘You liked it here. You had lots of friends. You had Sean and Sophie. And since then, Molly. I have nothing and no one to come back for. You came back to happiness, I’ll come back to misery.’
‘That’s not strictly true,’ says Fiona. ‘You have your family to come back to.’
‘It’s not that easy.’
‘Things do change. People change.’ Fiona drops the used wipe into the bin. She comes and stands beside me and brushes a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. ‘We miss you.’
‘I know. I miss you and the kids too. And Mum.’ I study the bottom of the pan as I tamp down the unchecked emotion churning in my stomach. Confident I have it under control, I look up at Fiona. ‘Just meeting Jody Wright again and the mention of the Marshalls is bad enough. And then I bumped straight into them.’
‘Oh no, did you?’ Fiona’s face creases into a wince. ‘Did you speak to them?’
‘Didn’t have much choice. They were parked right next to me. I just explained about Dad.’
‘Are you okay?’ There’s real concern in Fiona’s voice.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, as much to convince myself as my sister.
‘There’s something you’re not telling me,’ says Fiona.
I should have known it wouldn’t be easy to hide anything from her. She has always had this uncanny knack of being able to read my moods, my body language, or whatever it was.
‘Erin! Erin, your phone’s ringing!’ Mum’s voice comes from the hallway.
‘It’s okay,’ I call back, about to add that I’ll leave it to go to voicemail, when Mum appears in the kitchen carrying my handbag. I dry my hands and take the bag, but by the time I’ve fished around for the phone, it has stopped ringing. I check the screen. ‘It was only Ed. I’ll phone him later.’
‘Are you ready, Fiona?’ asks Mum. ‘I want to get back up to the hospital before it gets too late.’
‘Sure,’ says Fiona. ‘Have you got your coat?’ She turns to me. ‘We’ll chat tomorrow. It will be okay, whatever it is. Trust me, I’m your big sister.’ She gives me a brief hug before ushering Mum out to the hall to find their coats.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t hesitate to believe her. She’s never let me down in the past, but this…this thing with Roisin, well, it’s bigger than anything either of us have had to face before. Certainly since I left Rossway as a teenager. For the first time in my life, I have doubts about Fiona’s ability to make things right.

Chapter 6 (#ulink_c7faa47d-c86b-5882-8ccc-2dcda23ca10f)
Normally at six in the morning, I would be going for my morning run or sweating it out in the gym. Today, however, I’m standing inside the doorway of Seahorse Café wondering if I’ve stepped back in time. Nothing has changed since I walked away as a sixteen-year-old.
The easy-wipe Formica tables with their padded bench seats are lined up and down the café in three uniform rows of four. Each table is set the same as it has always been. I remember cleaning the tables every night and arranging the red and brown sauce bottles to stand behind the salt and pepper with the plastic menu slotted between to keep it upright.
The counter at the rear of the café looks the same too. A cold cabinet for cakes to one side and the cutlery and napkins to the other, next to a small selection of crisps and biscuits. Behind the counter is the tea and coffee making machine, together with a fridge for the milk and cold drinks. Through the serving hatch where the orders are pushed, I can see the stainless-steel kitchen equipment, all exactly as I remember.
Before I can do anything, I need to move the four silver bistro tables and their chairs from inside the café, where they have been stacked overnight, and take them outside. They aren’t so much heavy as awkward and once accomplished I can tick that task off the list Mum gave to me last night.
Consulting the list, I continue to prepare the café for opening.
In the kitchen, I am just tying my apron when I hear the little bell above the door jangle to announce the arrival of the first customer.
‘Right, here we go,’ I say, as I tuck the order pad and pen into the front pocket of the apron. However, my breezy morning smile slips as I see who my first two customers are.
Kerry and Joe Wright.
‘Morning, Bunny,’ calls Joe as I make my way round the counter and walk down towards them. He grins broadly at me.
‘Morning. How’s your dad?’ says Kerry. They sit down at a table.
‘About the same,’ I reply. I take the order pad and pen from my pocket, not wanting to get into small talk. Not with Joe, anyway. Kerry’s okay. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Two house breakfasts, one tea and one coffee, please,’ replies Kerry.
I head straight back to the kitchen and I’m just putting the bacon on to cook when I hear the bell jangle above the door. Peeking through the serving hatch, I see two more customers arrive. Painters, judging by their overalls, followed by another chap, who is probably some sort of tradesman too if his work clothes are anything to go by.
Three more breakfast orders later, I’m back in the kitchen hurriedly putting more sausages and bacon in the frying pan, whilst stirring the beans in one pot and cracking eggs in a pan for the first order.
Taking out the two breakfasts for Kerry and Joe, I’m greeted by yet another customer. I didn’t realise the café was so busy this time in the morning.
I spend the next twenty minutes rushing round like a whirling dervish but, despite my best efforts, I manage to burn one of the orders. The scrambled eggs have stuck to the bottom of the pan.
‘Sod it,’ I say out loud as black bits begin churning up into the yellow egg. I try to pick out some of the bits and wonder whether I can get away with serving it. In all honesty, not: it looks like the scrambled eggs have freckles. Dumping the pan down into the sink, the clatter resonates around the kitchen. I grab some more eggs and break them into a clean pan. Glancing through the hatch again, I sigh inwardly as I see Joe standing there.
‘Just want to pay,’ he calls through to me. ‘Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run…’
‘You should do them in the microwave. A lot quicker and less chance of burning.’ A voice behind me makes me jump and I swing round. I watch, lost for words, as Kerry casually strolls over to the hob, turns the heat off completely then washes his hands in the small sink next to the fridge.
‘Don’t worry, all nice and clean,’ he says as he dries them on a paper towel. ‘I’ll send Joe on his way. I’ll settle up the bill.’
‘Right, thanks.’ I watch as he motions to Joe through the hatch then begins to rummage around in the cupboard. Surely he doesn’t think he is going to help out in the kitchen. He takes out a plastic bowl and puts it on the counter.
‘Yep, this will do,’ he says. ‘Pass the eggs and milk.’
‘I’m not sure my dad would approve,’ I say, as I open a fresh box of eggs.
‘We won’t tell him, then,’ whispers Kerry conspiratorially in my ear. ‘It will be our secret. Why don’t you get on with the drinks? I’ll keep an eye on this lot here.’ He picks up the order slips, arranging them on the work surface and then, turning to me, the amused look still on his face, he waves the whisk in the direction of the doorway. ‘Go on.’ He has an air of authority yet calmness about him and I find myself obediently following his instructions.
Within ten minutes, all the customers are tucking into their food without complaint and Kerry is having a much-deserved cup of tea.
‘Thanks for that,’ I say gratefully. ‘I’m a bit out of practice.’
‘I gathered.’ Kerry grins over the rim of his mug. Then, more seriously. ‘Look, about Joe.’ Immediately I feel myself tense. I don’t say anything as I wait for him to continue. ‘Don’t take any notice of his teasing. He doesn’t mean anything by it.’
‘Oh, I’m not bothered about Jody, I mean, Joe,’ I lie, forcing a laugh. ‘Although it is a bit boring after all these years. You kind of think when you’re in your mid-twenties you’ve grown out of all that stupid nickname business. Obviously, Joe has still got a bit of growing up to do.’ I can hear the tone in my voice changing involuntarily as I speak, not quite able to suppress the irritation I feel. I turn my attention to rinsing out my cup.
‘So, how come you and Joe have never crossed paths in all this time? You must have been back to visit your family and I certainly don’t remember seeing you either,’ Kerry asks.
I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other as I concentrate on cleaning an imaginary mark from my cup. ‘I usually pop over for a brief visit. It’s very busy at work. I’m a beautician at a health-and-fitness spa so I don’t always work regular hours. It’s not easy.’
‘Don’t you keep in touch with any of your old school friends?’
‘No, not really.’ Christ, wasn’t it time he went to work rather than ask all these awkward questions?
‘What was the appeal of London?’
‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’ I’m not making a very good job of keeping my tone light-hearted. I put the cup on the draining board. ‘Why have you ended up here in Rossway?’
Kerry shrugs. ‘Needed a change, I suppose.’
I look at him, holding his gaze for a moment before speaking. ‘So did I.’ There, hopefully that would be the end of that conversation. I’m not the only one who has a past that needs to stay in the past.
Kerry doesn’t blink as he looks back at me, the silvery flecks in his eyes for a moment don’t seem so glittery. He nods his head slightly as if understanding something.
‘Right, I suppose I’d better get over to the workshop and get on with my real job,’ he says, breaking the mini deadlock.
‘You won’t get into trouble, will you? Being here when you’re supposed to be working,’ I say, trying to regain some equanimity.
‘I can make the time up later – work through my break. It’s no big deal.’ Kerry puts his cup in the sink and heads for the door. ‘Are you on your own for the rest of the day?’
‘No, my sister’s coming in later for a while to help with the lunchtime rush. I’ll just have to close up on my own.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you later.’
I call after him through the serving hatch. ‘If you’re in for breakfast in the morning, it’s on the house, by way of a thank you.’
Kerry turns and, with what I can only describe as a cheeky grin, followed by an even cheekier wink, calls back to me, ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement!’
*
Kerry wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his overalls. It was a hot day for May and working inside the poorly insulated workshop wasn’t pleasant. The air was still and the humidity high.
‘Wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a storm coming,’ said Kerry.
‘You want a cuppa?’ asked Joe, putting down the spanner he had been using.
‘Got anything colder?’
Joe went over to the fridge in the corner of the workshop and opened the door.
‘Beer, water or can of Coke?’
‘A Coke will do,’ said Kerry. He stepped forward and caught the can that Joe chucked his way. ‘I’m going to sit outside for five minutes. You coming?’
Joe followed him out. Kerry plonked himself down on the back seat from an old car, which had long since been separated from the vehicle and abandoned in the far corner of the yard. Joe grabbed a wooden crate to perch on. Skip, Kerry’s little terrier dog, came trotting out of the workshop and jumped up onto the seat beside his owner.
As Kerry leaned back, grateful for the shade of the workshop, he glanced over at the service road, which ran along the back of Seahorse Café. His attention was caught by the sight of the willowy figure of Erin bringing out a bag of rubbish and lifting the big industrial lid of the wheelie bin to sling in the bag. Her chestnut hair, although tied back in a ponytail, seemed to shimmer down her back in the sunlight.
‘Aha! Caught you!’ At Joe’s jibe, Kerry snapped his head back to look at his cousin. Joe nodded in the direction of the café. ‘Admiring the scenery, were you?’
‘What’s that?’ said Max, coming out of the workshop and wandering over to them.
‘Kerry here, ogling the new waitress at the café. I think he’s got the hots for her.’
Very rarely did Kerry ever feel like punching his cousin. Today, however, was one of those occasions. Annoyed that he had, indeed, been caught looking at Erin, Kerry didn’t want to let on, otherwise he’d never hear the last of it. Instead, he made a great effort to keep his voice nonchalant as he replied. ‘What? Oh, Jim Hurley’s daughter.’
Joe laughed and mimicked Kerry. ‘Oh, Jim Hurley’s daughter.’ He turned to his dad. ‘Like he doesn’t know what her name is after hanging around the café for half an hour this morning, getting all hot and steamy in the kitchen.’
Max grinned at Kerry and raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that so? You been rattling her pots and pans?’ Father and son laughed.
Standing up and squashing his cigarette under his foot, Kerry gave Joe a shove on the shoulder, sending him sprawling backwards off the upturned wooden crate. ‘That mouth of yours will get you in trouble one day.’
This seemed to fuel Joe’s laughter even more. He picked himself up and, righting his makeshift seat, settled himself back on it. ‘Touch a nerve, did I?’
Later Kerry was relieved to hear Joe down tools and announce he was finished for the day. Max had already gone and Kerry was left to lock up. He needed to get the bike he was working on ready for the customer to pick up in the morning.
Kerry wheeled the bike out into the rear yard and started the engine. Leaning over it, he revved the throttle several times, listening carefully to make sure the engine was firing properly. Then he left it to tick over for a few minutes, again listening for any stuttering in the rhythm of the rumble. At tick-over it chugged at a nice steady pace; no hesitation, no lumpiness.
After a few minutes he was satisfied everything was okay and, cutting the engine, took the bike back inside.
As he locked up the workshop doors, he glanced over to the café and suddenly fancied a coffee. Of course, he could simply go up to his flat and make a cup of instant, but that wasn’t the same as a freshly made Americano. What the heck? It was only a coffee.
Kerry gave his hands a quick look and determined them presentable enough, having managed to get most of the grease off and dirt out from under his nails.
‘Come on, Skip,’ he called to the little terrier. ‘Let’s get a coffee.’ He headed round to the front of the café. He had just taken hold of the handle when the door swung open and out bustled a very tired-looking Erin. She gave a little yelp of surprise.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you,’ said Kerry, feeling a broad smile spread across his face. A few tendrils of hair had escaped from Erin’s ponytail and had curled slightly.
‘That’s all right,’ she replied, touching her hair, as if checking it was in place. ‘I was just about to close up. Did you want something? Please say no.’ She clasped her hands together as if in prayer.
‘In that case then, no?’ replied Kerry.
‘Is the right answer,’ Erin laughed, then added, ‘For God’s sake don’t tell my dad I’m turning away customers. He’ll have a fit.’ She moved round him and began stacking the outside seating.
‘Here, I’ll do that,’ said Kerry, taking hold of the chair Erin now had in her hands.
‘Tell you what, I’ll do the chairs and you do the tables.’ Erin gave the chair a little tug and then a much stronger one as Kerry realised he was still holding onto it. She raised her eyebrows slightly, a small smile turning the corners of her mouth upwards.
Kerry shook himself mentally and, letting go of the chair, turned to focus on the bistro table instead.
‘So, how was your first day?’ he asked, carrying a table in behind Erin.
‘Not so bad in the end. It’s been really quiet this afternoon. Not sure if it’s always like this, but it was hardly worth being open.’ They put the furniture to one side.
‘It will probably pick up more in the summer, though,’ said Kerry, holding the door open so they could go back out and collect some more tables and chairs.
‘I suppose so. If it’s like this tomorrow, I might close early.’
‘When do you think you’ll go back to London?’ Kerry hoped he sounded only mildly interested.
‘I need to see how things go with my dad first,’ she said. ‘There’s still no change in his condition. The doctors were having a consultation amongst themselves today to decide the best way forward.’
‘Is that good or bad?’ asked Kerry, although he acknowledged it didn’t sound good.
She shrugged and looked as if she was struggling to find the right words for a moment. He watched her swallow hard and then look up at him. ‘I really couldn’t say.’
Kerry placed another table inside the café. He felt he should comfort her with a hug or soothing words, but he got the distinct impression Erin didn’t want a fuss made. He decided best to leave it. As he turned to get the last of the tables, he saw a familiar figure heading towards the café, their eyes fixed firmly on the back of Erin as she stacked the last few chairs
She wasn’t hard to track down. She was going to be one of three places. At the hospital. At her sister’s or here, at the café. It wasn’t like she had loads of friends to catch up with.
Roisin neared the café, her thoughts solely on Erin. It wouldn’t be so bad, but after what happened, Erin had no right to disappear and start a new life, washing her hands of her old one, just because it didn’t work out the way she wanted it. Got herself a rich boyfriend in London and thought she was the bee’s knees. Sure, she had barely been back here. What sort of daughter was she?
But, hey, look at her now, waiting on tables. Serves her right. Roisin was so looking forward to wiping that smug look off her face and making Erin admit to what she really did.
‘How the mighty fall.’
Kerry looked from her to Erin and back again. His eyes were wary. He clearly wasn’t sure how things stood between the two of them.
Erin put the chair down and turned to face Roisin. ‘Hello, Roisin. I’m sorry but the café’s closed now.’
Sure, she wasn’t sorry at all. Erin knew Roisin wasn’t here for a cosy catch-up over a one-shot-skinny-latte, or whatever it was she drank. Probably some detox green-leaf crap, knowing her.
‘I’m not here for a coffee,’ said Roisin. ‘I didn’t get a chance to speak to you before, not with me mam there.’
‘I’m a bit busy right now,’ said Erin, glancing back at Kerry.
‘You got yourself a new job?’ Roisin asked, looking at Kerry.
‘Just being neighbourly,’ said Kerry.
‘Clearly. So, in the spirit of being neighbourly, has Erin been telling you all our secrets?’
‘That sounds dangerous,’ said Kerry.
The trouble with Kerry, Roisin could never read him. He could be so deadpan at times. She didn’t care; it gave her another opportunity for a dig at Erin. Roisin quite liked the way Erin had that look of uncertainty in her eyes. She had no clue as to what Roisin might say next.
‘Secrets are always dangerous,’ said Roisin. ‘Aren’t they, Erin?’
‘I need to get on,’ said Erin, ignoring the comment.
‘Yes, I’m sure you do,’ said Roisin. ‘Oh, meant to say, I got your text message…in the end.’
Erin looked up at her. ‘Good.’
‘It was too late, though,’ said Roisin, enjoying the doubt on Erin’s face. ‘Maybe we can catch up another time? There’s so much we need to talk about. Not least, why you did a disappearing act.’
‘It wasn’t a disappearing act.’ There was a snap in Erin’s voice and Roisin was rather pleased with herself. She had got the conversation to a place where she wanted it. A place Erin wasn’t happy to be: talking about her past. Erin turned her back on Roisin and picked up the last of the bistro tables. ‘I need to get finished here and go up to the hospital to see my dad.’
Before Roisin could reply, Kerry spoke. ‘Sorry, we must be holding you up. We’ll let you get on. Come on, Roisin, let’s go for a drink at The Smugglers.’ He whistled for Skip to follow.
Roisin went to protest, but Kerry took her elbow and whisked her away.
‘Sometimes, Kerry, you’re a proper gentleman,’ said Roisin, as she fell into step with him. ‘A drink is nice, although I’m not sure for whose benefit the offer is.’ She looked back over her shoulder and called out before Erin disappeared inside. ‘Don’t worry, Erin, there will be plenty of time for us to catch up. I’ll be in touch. Very soon.’

Chapter 7 (#ulink_480aaf30-e98d-5cac-b8d5-29350e10a7c5)
Kerry always enjoyed spending time at Apple Tree Cottage. Joe and Bex always made him feel at home. No one stood on ceremony. Their home definitely had a lived-in feel, but one that was warm and welcoming; just as Kerry thought a home should be.
Kerry was in the garden with Joe, watching him fiddle around with the lawn mower. Skip was laid flat out on the grass, basking in the warm May sunshine.
‘Aren’t you fed up that you keep having to fix that old thing?’ said Kerry as Joe made yet another attempt to start the petrol mower. ‘Why don’t you admit defeat and buy a new one?’
‘No, there’s plenty of life left in it yet,’ said Joe. He knelt down and took the cover off the engine.
Kerry leaned against the shed and surveyed the garden at Apple Tree Cottage. Laid to lawn mostly, there were deep flowerbeds either side in which Bex, Joe’s wife, had randomly planted traditional cottage-garden plants. There was a semi wildness about it, much like Joe and Bex themselves, thought Kerry. The rear of the garden was fenced off, a small gate leading to the vegetable plot. Bex embraced the whole home-grown, organic ethos and could often be found tending to the many varieties of vegetables and fruits. Even with the recent birth of their second child, Bex was still a dedicated gardener.
The other side of their garden was home to free-range hens, which Bex had rescued from a battery farm. Only last week, Kerry had helped Joe make another hen house to accommodate the recent additions to Bex’s poultry sanctuary.
‘You’re wasting your breath trying to persuade him to buy a new one,’ said Bex, coming out into the garden. ‘I’ve been telling him for the past two years, but he likes a challenge.’ She smiled as she spoke.
‘I was thinking maybe we should go for the meadow look,’ said Joe, as he picked up a spanner from the ground and began tightening a nut. ‘Is Breeze asleep?’
‘Yes, I’ve just fed her,’ said Bex. ‘She’s gone straight off. It’s hard to believe she’s only a month old, she’s such a dream.’
At that moment, their three-year-old son came tearing out into the garden, dressed in a Superman outfit.
‘Watch out,’ said Kerry, sidestepping the youngster. ‘Superman Storm’s arrived. Hey, buddy, who are you saving the world from today?’
‘Marshmallow Man!’ called back Storm as he raced around the garden, stopping by the path to have an imaginary fight with his adversary. Skip raised his head to see what all the fuss was about, but the warmth of the sun was a more tempting option and he rested his head back down.
Bex turned back to Joe. ‘Why don’t you borrow your dad’s mower?’ she said. ‘We can’t go for the meadow look, we’ve got the barbecue soon and then a couple of weeks after that it’s Breeze’s naming ceremony.’
‘I’m…not…giving up,’ muttered Joe and then cursed as the spanner slipped from the bolt and clattered to the floor.
‘Want me to take a look?’ said Kerry. He pushed himself away from the side of the shed.
‘Nope. It’s not going to win,’ said Joe. Picking up his spanner again and issuing a series of threats to the machine, he set back to work.
‘I’ll take that as my cue to leave,’ said Kerry. He turned to Bex. ‘Shall I take Superman out for an hour for you? I’ll get him an ice-cream or something.’
‘Oh, would you?’ said Bex. ‘That would be great. I’ve got a load of nappies to wash out.’
‘Definitely my cue to leave,’ said Kerry.
‘You can leave Skip here,’ said Bex. ‘He’s no trouble. Won’t be much fun for him sat outside the café.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ said Kerry. ‘Hey! Superman! Do you want to recharge your powers with a bowl of ice-cream?’
‘Ice-cream! Ice-cream! Yes. Ice-cream!’ Storm ran over to Kerry and danced around his feet.
‘That’s a yes, then.’ Kerry gave Bex a peck on the cheek and Joe a pat on the shoulder. ‘Catch you later, cuz.’ As he headed out of the garden, holding Storm’s hand, he called back over his shoulder. ‘You may want to turn the fuel supply on!’
He laughed out loud as he heard Joe curse at him. By the time Kerry stepped out onto Corkscrew Lane, he heard the mower’s engine rumble into life.
Erin placed the bowl of ice-cream, vanilla with strawberry sauce, on the table in front of Storm. ‘So, Storm and Breeze,’ she said. ‘They’re unusual names. A bit like yours and Joe’s.’
‘Blame our mums for that. They collaborated,’ said Kerry with a smile. ‘As for this generation of Wrights, Bex says she named them after her pregnancies. A difficult first pregnancy and an easy second one. Plus the fact Bex is into all that being-at-one-with-nature business.’
‘I remember she was a bit hippy looking when we were younger.’
‘She’s very environmentally friendly, loves nature, makes her own bread and keeps chickens. Very bohemian. You get the picture.’
‘Hugs trees? Protests against urban development and smokes roll-ups?’ suggested Erin.
‘Something like that,’ replied Kerry, smiling.
‘She was a year below me at school,’ said Erin. ‘She’s married to Joe? Neither of them left the village, then.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with that. I like living here, actually. There’s a real sense of community. Everyone’s really friendly.’
‘Hmm, nosey, you mean.’
‘You’re really not a fan of Rossway, are you?’ said Kerry, aiming a spoon of ice-cream in the direction of Storm’s open mouth. It reminded him of the wildlife programmes where the birds came back with little grubs to give to the eager, open-mouthed chicks. ‘Why don’t you like it?’
Erin shrugged. ‘Just don’t. Anyway, I’d better get on. Do you want anything else?’
‘No, I’m good for now. I’ll have something later.’ He held her gaze for a moment, the little smile now a broad grin. He didn’t miss the small flush of colour to her cheeks before she turned away.
‘What you doing two weeks Sunday?’ The question brought Erin to a halt.
She turned to face him. ‘Why?’
‘Bex and Joe are having a barbecue. Didn’t know if you fancied coming. You could catch up with Bex, maybe. It’s all very casual and low key.’
‘I’ll be busy. I’ve got something on.’
Kerry raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? You’ve got something to do in Rossway.’ He could tell she was being evasive. It intrigued him. ‘Come on, you never know, you might enjoy yourself. Or is it that you don’t want to associate with the locals?’ He gave a wink to show he wasn’t being totally serious.
‘It’s not that.’
‘So…,’ prompted Kerry. ‘You going to enlighten me?’
‘I hardly know you, for a start.’
Kerry let out a small burst of laughter. She dipped her head but he could see the smile on her face.
‘Okay. I’m twenty-six. My star sign is Aries. My favourite food is Indian. I like rock music and ride a motorbike. I love the sea and hate the gym.’ He rattled the facts off like a machine gun in rapid-fire mode. ‘Oh, and I was kicked out of the Scouts for setting fire to a tent…by accident, of course. What more do you need to know? Come on, say yes.’
‘Normally, I would say yes,’ said Erin.
‘Just say it, then,’ said Kerry. ‘It’s not hard. Y. E. S. Yes. Go on, give it a try.’
‘I have a visitor coming. From England,’ said Erin. The smile slipped from her face. ‘My boyfriend.’
Kerry hadn’t been expecting that, but then he wasn’t entirely surprised. Why wouldn’t she have a boyfriend? ‘Bring him too,’ he said. Not because he especially revelled in the idea, but a certain morbid curiosity had swept over him. He’d like to see what sort of fella had won Erin’s affections.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Erin. ‘I haven’t seen Bex since I left Rossway all those years ago. She might not even want me gate-crashing.’
‘Bex won’t mind. She’s the most laid-back person I know.’ Kerry lifted the bowl to scrape the last of the ice-cream for Storm.
‘I’ll have a think about it.’
The bell tinkled above the door as two customers arrived. Erin smiled at Kerry, before going off to greet them. Kerry turned his attention to his coffee.
‘All done?’ said Erin coming over to them some ten minutes later. She took the bowl and coffee cup from the table.
‘If you do decide to come to the barbecue,’ said Kerry ensuring a casual tone to his voice, ‘it’s Apple Tree Cottage, Corkscrew Lane, but I’ll see you before then anyway.’ He wiped Storm’s mouth with a napkin and lifted him down from the chair. He pulled out a note from his wallet and gave it to Storm. ‘Here you go, Superman, give the money to the lady and say bye.’
As Storm went to pass the note to Erin, he let go of it too soon and it fluttered to the floor. Erin stooped down and picked up the money, handing it back to Storm. ‘My treat.’
‘Say thank you to the lovely lady,’ prompted Kerry, giving Storm a gentle nudge forwards.
Without warning Storm planted a rather sloppy kiss on Erin’s cheek. ‘Thank you, lovely lady,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Storm. You’re welcome.’ Erin stood up.
Kerry grinned and then, on impulse, he too gave Erin a surprise kiss on the other cheek. ‘Thank you, lovely lady,’ he said.
‘What was that for?’
‘Just being friendly,’ said Kerry, feigning innocence.
Kerry left the café without so much as a backward glance, feeling very pleased with himself. He ignored the small voice of warning in his head. Erin Hurley was complicated, secretive and she had a boyfriend. He should be staying well clear, but never one to walk on the safe side, the intrigue was drawing him in.
Joe’s parents, Max and Louise, were at Apple Tree Cottage when Kerry arrived back with Storm. While Louise cooed over the baby and made a fuss of her grandson, Max took Kerry to one side.
‘You got a minute, Kerry?’
Kerry followed his uncle into the garden and lighting a cigarette each, they wandered towards the far end of the lawn, where the hedge and picket gate segregated the vegetable patch.
Kerry had no idea what Max wanted to talk about, although the troubled look on his face gave him a good indication he wouldn’t like what was coming next. Max pushed his hand into the back pocket of his trousers and pulled out an envelope. He proffered it to Kerry. ‘It’s a letter from your mother. Go on, take it.’ He waved the letter in his hand. Kerry could see his name written in his mother’s hand-writing, no address, no stamp. ‘It came in another envelope with a card for your aunt’s birthday,’ explained Max, as if reading Kerry’s thoughts.
Reluctantly, Kerry took the letter, but made no attempt to open it. ‘Thanks,’ he said, folding it in half and slipping into the back pocket of his jeans.
‘You ought to speak to your mother,’ said Max, not unkindly. ‘It’s been a long time, Kerry. Time’s a great healer and mellower of people.’
‘I haven’t got anything to say to her, and besides, if he’s still about I’m certainly not having anything to do with either of them.’
‘It’s not Tom’s fault your dad died.’ Max absentmindedly stroked his goatee beard, a habit Kerry recognised whenever his uncle was concerned about something. It obviously still pained Max to think about his own brother’s death, even though it was twelve years ago now. ‘You can’t blame him or your mother for it.’
‘I’m not blaming him. I just don’t like him. He’s a tosser, that’s all.’
Not wishing to hang around any longer than necessary, not least in case his aunt should start trying to convince him to contact his mother, Kerry made his excuses and left.
Once he was back in his flat, Kerry placed the envelope on the coffee table in front of him. For a long time he sat there looking at it. Should he open it, if only to see what she had to say? Would she be apologising or would she be berating him?
Kerry knew his uncle meant well, trying to encourage him to patch things up, but after all this time, Kerry still didn’t feel ready to speak to her. He wondered whether he ever would. He exhaled deeply before getting up and going along the hallway to his bedroom. He knelt down at the side of his bed and slid out a shoebox. In it were nine other white envelopes. Each with his name and the same handwriting. His mother’s.
He slipped the envelope into the box, alongside the others, and pushed the box back under the bed. The pain of her last words to him was branded on his heart.

Chapter 8 (#ulink_71c9ce74-c9fd-57d0-8028-319ab13fdc28)
Seahorse Café has been steady all week and after being here for over two weeks, I feel I’m getting into my stride. I can definitely manage the early-morning breakfast rush now. Kerry and Joe don’t come in every morning, but when they do, I can’t deny it makes the morning much more pleasant. The only fly in the ointment is Roisin.
I debate whether I should, in fact, just leave matters. Should I start poking the hornets’ nest? Or should I leave it? Maybe she’ll grow bored and go away? However, my next thought is that I know Roisin too well. She won’t let matters drop, especially as she has that photograph. She must be biding her time for a particular reason.
I decide I need to take the initiative rather than wait to dance to Roisin’s tune.
With the mid-afternoon lull now upon me, I idly wipe down the counter and rearrange the contents of the chiller cabinet, moving the colder bottles to the front of the refrigerator and the more recent additions to the rear. I wonder what she’s planning. She can’t possibly know the significance of that photograph. It may give her a clue, but it’s only half the story. And even if she did suspect the truth, she has absolutely no way of proving it. I hold onto this last thought.
The door to the café opens, breaking my thoughts.
‘Hello, Erin! Remember me?’
I smile hesitantly as another ghost from my past resurrects itself. This ghost, however, is probably a more pleasant apparition. Perhaps because Bex is a year younger, she had never got involved with the teasing and tormenting I endured. As teenagers we had been friendly rather than friends, the crossover of groups unavoidable in a small place like Rossway.
‘Hi, Rebecca, how are you?’ I say, trying to assimilate the old memory of Rebecca the teenager with the up-to-date version: Bex the adult, wife and mum.
Bex certainly is rather boho, as Kerry had said. I take in the long, sinuous dark hair with streaks of indigo running through, matched by an equally flowing skirt that nearly reaches the ground. Bex’s purple Dr Martens boots kick out from under the fabric as she walks and she appears to be carrying some sort of multi-coloured cloth bundle in front of her. I realise this bundle is, in fact, tied round Bex and snugly tucked inside is the baby.
‘Kerry said you were here, so I thought I’d come and see you.’ She smiles warmly at me. ‘And no one calls me Rebecca these days, not even my mum. It’s Bex.’
‘Sorry, I’m a bit out of touch with everything. Although, I do know about your little one. Congratulations. How’s everything?’
‘Really good, thanks. Come on, Storm, you sit here.’ She pulls out a chair for her son and then, adjusting the baby bundle slightly, seats herself on the opposite side of the table. ‘There, she’s fast asleep now. The fresh air obviously did the trick.’
I nod and give a courteous look at baby Breeze nestled peacefully in her fabric cocoon. Immediately, the familiar feeling, something akin to fear and regret, flits through me as I admire the tiny features of the baby and see the tender look Bex gives her daughter.
‘She’s lovely,’ I say, then standing back, take out my order pad and pen. ‘Now, what can I get you?’
‘Black coffee for me, please, and a vanilla milkshake for Storm.’ Bex looks at the menu. ‘Think I’ll treat myself to a toasted teacake and Storm can have a cookie.’
I jot the order down on my pad. ‘Okay, I’ll get that sorted.’
‘How’s your dad?’ asks Bex. ‘I heard what happened.’
‘No change,’ I say, touched that she has asked. ‘He’s being kept in a medically induced coma. They’re waiting for the swelling on his brain to go down. They’ve given him a scan, but can’t tell from the results. They said he needs to rest and this is the best way. Also, his breathing is affected. They’re using a ventilator to give him a hand. They don’t think he can manage on his own.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ says Bex. ‘It is nice to see you, though, despite the circumstances.’
I smile. I’m taking to Bex already. ‘Thanks.’
‘What did you do when you left here? I heard you went to London?’ asks Bex.
I’m grateful for the change in subject.
‘Yes. I went to live my sister, Fiona. Went to college and did a beautician’s course, worked in a couple of places before ending up where I am now, at a health and fitness spa.’
‘This is a bit of a change for you.’ Bex grins as she indicates the café with a slight nod of the head.
‘You could say that. I’m only helping out while my dad’s not well. I’ve been given some time off from work, but I’m not sure how long they’ll be so understanding.’
‘You don’t fancy moving back for good?’
There’s something about Bex’s easy manner that doesn’t seem to challenge my departure from the village. It’s a nice change from the usual reaction I’ve been getting from customers once they realise who I am. It’s almost like an accusation when they refer to my leaving.
‘Moving back? Not really.’ That’s an understatement. ‘I don’t think village life, well Rossway life, is for me.’
Bex nods, as if understanding. ‘No, it can be a bit claustrophobic at times, I must admit.’
‘Not enough that it ever drove you away, then?’
‘For a bit, but only as far as Cork. You can’t really call that a life-changing move.’ Bex chuckles as she takes the salt and pepper pots away from Storm, who looks like he’s about to attempt to lick them. ‘Once myself and Joe became serious there really wasn’t any debate about where we would live. He’s very close to his family and, of course, working for his dad.’
‘Have you been with Joe a long time?’ I ask. I don’t know why this idea surprises me. I hadn’t pictured Joe as the childhood-sweetheart type.
‘Oh yeah, since I was eighteen and he was nineteen.’
‘Good for you,’ I say.
‘It’s not always been easy, don’t go thinking that,’ says Bex. ‘We’ve had our ups and downs. We called off the wedding once and I went away with my sister. Thought it was all over. But it was all sorted out in the end and that was a long time ago. We don’t count it. Not when you look at the big picture. We’re love’s young dream.’ Bex grins and although she’s laughing at herself, I can tell she is obviously very happy, courtesy of Joe. Maybe he does have some redeeming features after all.
‘Look, I’d better get your order before the baby wakes up,’ I say, although I actually think Storm needs distracting by way of his milkshake as he now seems intent on squeezing tomato sauce out of the plastic bottle and onto the table.
When I come back, Bex is in the middle of what looks like a game of chess. As she moves one item away from Storm he reaches over to grab another.
‘There you go, Storm,’ I say cheerily. ‘Lovely vanilla milkshake and a biscuit.’
‘What do you say?’ prompts Bex.
‘Thank you, lovely lady,’ pipes up Storm.
Bex laughs out loud. ‘Oooh, cheeky! Where did that come from?’
‘Don’t worry. Kerry taught him that.’
Bex raises her eyebrows. ‘Did he now? Actually, he did tell me he had invited you to the barbecue we’re having at the weekend.’
I nod. ‘That’s right. I’m sorry, though, but my boyfriend is coming over from the UK.’
‘Bring your man along too,’ says Bex. ‘We’d love to see you there. I’ll make sure Joe behaves himself, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
I try to smile confidently. I’m not quite sure how Bex is so perceptive. In a strange way, I find it reassuring. Maybe it would be a nice thing to do. ‘Okay, I’ll see how it goes,’ I say.
After Bex leaves, I find myself clock-watching. I’ve decided to confront Roisin and sort this business out once and for all. I don’t want it hanging over me any longer. I close up the café at four-thirty and spend the next half hour clearing things away and setting up for the next day.
Locking the door, I hurry round to the doctors’ surgery. The car park is virtually empty, except for a handful of cars, which I presume are staff vehicles. I spot a black Mini and something tells me it’s Roisin’s car. I wander over to it.
I don’t have to wait long before I see her emerge from around the corner. She has her head down, looking in her handbag. She pulls out a bunch of keys and looks up towards the Mini. I was right, it is her car.
Her step slows as she sees me. I remain leaning back against the car.
‘I hope you haven’t damaged the paintwork,’ she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and picking up her stride again. ‘Wouldn’t want to have to get Kerry to send you the bill for a respray.’
I wait until she reaches the car before I move off. ‘I thought I’d have heard from you by now,’ I say, ensuring there is no concern attached to the words.
‘Getting jittery, are you?’
‘Jittery? No. Not at all. More like bored.’
Roisin gives laugh. ‘Well, you should be,’ she says. ‘Getting jittery, that is.’
‘Over a photograph. I don’t think so.’ I’m holding my nerve so far in this game of brinkmanship.
‘Yes, but this isn’t any old photograph, is it? No, this is a very special photograph. One that my brother hid away because if anyone saw it and read what was on the back, then your sordid little secret would be out.’
The word ‘sordid’ is the trigger.
‘There was nothing sordid about me and Niall.’ I’m crowding her space, but she doesn’t flinch. ‘We loved each other.’
‘Oh, please. Do me a favour…and yourself.’ She takes a step closer. We are inches apart. ‘You were a couple of young teenagers. It was puppy love. Do you really think my brother was going to stay with you once he had gone off to university?’ Her smile, full of derision, turns to a sneer. ‘Did you really think getting pregnant on purpose was going to keep him?’
‘You’ve no idea what you’re talking about. What do you want, Roisin?’
The smile returns and her shoulders relax. She side-steps round to her car, blipping the remote to unlock the car. ‘Ah, now we’re getting to the point.’ Opening the door, she drops her bag onto the passenger seat, closes the door and turns to face me. ‘I want to know the truth about what happened to that baby.’
I wonder how much she knows and how much she is fishing for. I study her while I decide how to answer this.
‘There was no baby,’ I say, after a few seconds.
‘Well, you see, Erin, I don’t believe that. And I’m going to make it my business to prove it.’ She opens the door and slips into her seat, pausing with her hand on the handle. ‘By the way, I hope your dad recovers soon from his accident.’ She slams the door shut and starts the engine before I can react.
I bang on the glass. ‘What do you mean by that?’ She smiles, but says nothing, before driving off.
I’m left standing there, watching the car disappear out of the car park, leaving behind a foreboding, which settles around me like a shroud.
The next morning I’m up early and out for a run. I need to burn off the nervous energy that has been building inside me since I came back to Rossway. After the spat with Roisin last night, the reassurance that she can’t do anything to cause trouble evades me.
I breathe deeply as I jog onto the estuary footpath, towards the village, the fresh sea air fills my lungs, the saltiness of it settles on my lips. This is perhaps one of my happier memories of living in Rossway: the freshness, together with the seagulls squawking in the sky and the sound of the tidal river churning in and out of the estuary.
As I near the bike shop, I find myself looking up towards Kerry’s flat. I squint against the glare of the morning sun, realising someone is at the window. It’s Kerry.
He has obviously seen me as he puts his hand up. I jog on the spot, not quite sure whether he is trying to get my attention or just waving. Kerry opens the window and leans out.
‘Haven’t you got anything better to do?’ he calls. ‘Like staying in bed?’
‘You clearly haven’t,’ I call back, feeling myself smile broadly. ‘Anyway, lie-ins are for wimps.’
‘You saying I’m a wimp?’
‘You’re the one who looks like they’ve just got up. Me, on the other hand, I’ve been up for a couple of hours and now I’m out exercising.’
‘Hmm, a bit of jogging around the village and you call that exercise?’
‘It’s more than a bit of jogging, I’ll have you know.’
‘Pah, anyone can jog!’
‘Oh really? Get your backside down here and let’s see what you’re made of!’ I can’t help giggling. I’m enjoying the banter.
‘I tell you what, you get your backside up here and then I’ll show you what I’m made of.’
I laugh and look away for a moment while I try to think of a suitable reply. ‘I asked first,’ I call back, thinking what a crap response that was. I hope my face is red from running to disguise the blush that I feel race up my neck. Time to go. I look back up at him. ‘Anyway, would love to stop and chat, but I’m a busy lady.’ With that I sprint off, ignoring the cries of ‘chicken’ that follow me.
A pang of guilt shoots through me as I think of Ed. I increase my stride as if increasing the distance between myself and the bike shop will also push thoughts of Kerry away. I cross the road and run parallel with the estuary wall. The water looks calm today, the early-morning sun beginning to stretch its sparkly fingers across the sea with promises of a nice day ahead. A good day for friends, wine and lunches in pub gardens.
Unchecked, my thoughts return to Kerry and the invite to the barbecue tomorrow. Bex had been so easy to talk to the other day it really is a tempting offer. Bex is refreshingly unchallenging and we ended up having a long chat, catching up on the last ten years of both our lives and those of the Rossway folk. It’s nice having a good old girly chat, I’ve been left thinking a few hours in the company of the Wright family might not be such a bad thing after all.
As I consider the prospect, I leave the footpath and head for the woods that cup the edge of Rossway. They aren’t natural woods, but a man-made windbreak, about fifty metres deep, stretching the length of the village. Within ten minutes I’ve reached the end of the trees and, hopping over the stile, I realise I’m now in Corkscrew Lane.
I make my way up the lane past a variety of bungalows and houses scattered along the way. About halfway along, I notice the crystals and lanterns hanging from an apple tree in one of the front gardens. ‘That has got to be Apple Tree Cottage,’ I puff to myself. What had Kerry said? Bohemian? Was this boho chic? That, together with the two motorbikes, an orange-and-white VW Campervan and a battered old blue Fiesta parked in the driveway, means I don’t need to read the sign hanging from the gate to confirm it’s where Joe and Bex live.
Pushing myself harder, I manage to negotiate the uneven gravel track and am thankful to reach the end of Corkscrew Lane, a winding road that curls round the back of the village and into the High Street. I check my watch. I have enough time to have a quick shower before opening the café up at nine.
I have spoken to both Mum and Fiona about the opening times, suggesting that opening later and closing earlier at weekends wouldn’t do the business any harm. The early-morning rush is a weekday occurrence, usually tradesmen on their way to work. None of them came in over the weekend. Neither had protested at my suggestion.
‘Ah, sure, close the café early,’ Mum had said. ‘You need a rest, Erin, and especially if Ed’s coming over to see you.’
I sigh as my thoughts come full circle back to Ed. I really should be excited he’s coming over, but I’m having a hard time convincing myself so. Truth be told, the prospect of seeing Kerry and spending time with the Wrights is rather more appealing.

Chapter 9 (#ulink_04737847-4def-56d0-859d-2acf4ec4e300)
Teenage Kicks
Four months before leaving
I sit in front of the mirror in my bedroom and tease the straighteners through the waves of my hair. It takes forever and I am grateful, once again, for my sister buying these. I used the conditioner she got for me from a hair salon in London. Rita’s hairdressers, along from the café, doesn’t sell anything as nice as this, plus Rita charges a fortune for cheap stuff.
Finally, I’m happy with my hair and can begin to do my make-up. I glance at my watch. Niall is coming to pick me up in half an hour. We are going to a party. It’s Shane Wright’s eighteenth and his parents have hired the function room at the back of The Smugglers. To be honest, I’m not keen on going as, of course, Jody Wright and all the crowd will be there. Obviously that includes Roisin. We’re not so close any more since I’ve been seeing Niall. I don’t know what it is. I get the feeling she’s disappointed. Disappointed that Niall hasn’t got an uber-cool girlfriend that she can show off, rather than just me: plain old Erin Hurley from the café. I’m not exactly exotic. Anyway, Niall said not to worry about Jody, he will be on his best behaviour, after all, it is his brother’s party and even Jody wouldn’t do anything to ruin that. I hope Niall is right.
I apply my foundation, mascara and blusher. I stop short of using the red lipstick I have as I know Dad won’t approve. For some reason he hates me wearing lipstick. I heard him mutter something to Mum about me looking like a tramp. Mum told him off and said it was a sign I was growing up and he should simply accept it. He did a bit more muttering after that. Still, I won’t wear it in front of him if it upsets him. I don’t want to cause problems between him and Mum.
I wriggle into the black stretchy dress, with really pretty lace sleeves, I bought. I’m sure Dad won’t be keen on that either, so to keep the peace I put on my long maxi skirt over the top. I’ll slip it off when I get into Niall’s car. Just have to remember to put it back on when I come home later.
Mum taps on the door and comes in as I’m stepping into my Amish get-up. She raises her eyebrows but says nothing. I continue with my disguise.
Mum stands next to me and we look at ourselves in the full-length mirror. Our hair colouring is identical. She hasn’t got the curls, though; I have Dad to thank for those. Mum and I both have the same lily-white skin, although mine is a shade darker due to the foundation I’m wearing.
‘You look pretty,’ says Mum. She gives me a hug and we smile at each other’s reflection.
‘Thank you.’ I want to say she looks tired and is working too hard but I don’t. Instead, I tell her she’s pretty herself and I must take after her. Her green eyes crinkle as she smiles at me and lets out a little laugh.
‘Now, you will be back by midnight, won’t you?’ she says, a more serious look settling on her face.
‘Do I have to? Can’t I stay out a bit longer? One?’
She looks at me for a long moment before finally speaking. ‘Okay, one o’clock, but no later.’
I give her a big hug and plant a kiss on her cheek. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘Don’t mention it to your dad. I’ll sort it out once you’ve gone.’
I keep a look out from my window for Niall. I’ve told him to park over near the road leading to The Spit. It’s easier that way. I don’t want Dad questioning him about what time I’m coming home.
‘I wish Dad wasn’t so strict and uptight about everything,’ I say.
Mum sits on the bed and smoothes out imaginary creases in my duvet cover. ‘Your dad is not that bad,’ she says. ‘He’s just a bit over-protective, that’s all.’
‘Controlling,’ I respond.
‘It’s out of concern for your well-being. He’s got your best interests at heart and he does love you.’
‘He has a funny way of showing it. I wish he wasn’t so stressy all the time. If he could relax and not be so uptight about everything, it would be so much better, but he wants to control everything I do.’ I drop myself down on the bed next to her. ‘It’s his way or no way. That’s why Fiona left.’ I register the look of pain on Mum’s face. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘I know what you mean about Fiona,’ says Mum. ‘And I don’t want the same thing to happen with you. That’s why I’m trying to help. So things are different this time. He does know he needs to give you more freedom and choice in matters. It’s hard for him to change, that’s all.’
With silent mutual consent we leave the conversation there. I take another glance out of the window. I can see Niall’s car under the streetlight.
Mum follows me out of the bedroom and down the hallway. I pass the living room and casually call out a goodbye to Dad.
‘Okay, have a nice time and don’t be late,’ he calls back.
I don’t respond, but hastily close the door, leaving Mum to break the news to him.
Like most parties, Shane’s birthday bash takes a while to get going. As Niall is one of Shane’s closest friends, we arrive early, when it’s mostly just the family there. Shane comes from a big family and they are all very close.
Niall’s parents have been invited: Diana and Pat. Out of politeness, explains Niall.
‘My parents and Shane’s parents are very different,’ he says. ‘You know what my mam’s like at times.’
‘I didn’t realise they were friends,’ I say.
‘They’re not really. They know each other from living in the village so long and because Shane and I have been friends since we were kids.’
My dad says Diana and Pat Marshall like to think they are very middle class, with their money, fancy cars and expensive holidays. Diana is a GP at the local surgery in the village and Jeff works from home. Niall says he does something in IT. He doesn’t really know what, but it means his dad has to go up to the Dublin office regularly.
Shane and Joe’s parents are very down to earth. They go to the pub a lot and are into their motorbikes. Shane’s dad, Max, has the bike shop he’s just opened across the road from the café. Dad keeps moaning about the motorbikes and the noise they make.
Diana and Shane’s mum, Louise, are chatting when we arrive. Diana has that funny look on her face, like she has something really nasty stuck underneath her nose. Louise has an empty wine glass in her hand and is doing most of the talking, by the look of it.
Diana spots us first, then says something to Louise and the two women come over to greet us.
‘Hello, darling,’ says Diana to Niall. ‘I thought you were going to wear a jacket and tie?’
‘No, Mam, I told you, it’s not a formal do. I’m not going to a wedding or something. It’s just smart-casual.’
‘I think you look lovely,’ I say.
Diana turns to me. I hate the look she gives. ‘Hello, Erin.’ I watch her eyes take in the black mini dress I’m wearing. She has that same disapproving look I’ve seen in Dad’s eyes. Before she can say anything else, Louise is hugging us and thanking us for coming.
As more guests arrive and the adults return to their conversation, we make our way over to rescue Shane, who has been cornered by an elderly relative.
‘Thanks, man,’ he says as we bundle him away. ‘I hope the others get here soon. Much as I love the olds, I can’t do any more small talk.’
Within an hour The Smugglers’ function room is filling up and the party gets going. The DJ starts off with some rather more party-like songs that get some of the older guests up dancing. I have to say, Louise and Max Wright are pretty cool on the dance floor. They are having an absolute whale of a time. Everyone is watching them.
Someone nudges my shoulder. I turn and inwardly groan. It’s Jody Wright.
‘All right, Bunny?’ he shouts in my ear above the noise of the music. He peers around me and nods at Niall. ‘Want to come outside, for a bit of, you know, fresh air?’
‘Okay,’ says Niall and takes my hand. ‘Come on. Don’t want to leave you alone. You might get dragged onto the dance floor with Max.’ He grins as Max and Louise are now literally in the throes of a very energetic jive. At least, that’s want I think it is.
The night air cuts through the lace sleeves of my dress, sending little goosebumps along my arms. Shane, Roisin and Rebecca, a girl in the year below us at school, are already there. We huddle round the corner, away from prying eyes. There’s also a blond boy there who I don’t recognise. He’s laughing with Shane about something as they share a cigarette. I wonder for a minute if it’s one of Jody’s brothers, but I think they’re older than Shane and this one looks about the same sort of age. He looks over and nods at us but doesn’t break his conversation.
As we stand there, I’m very aware everyone is smoking except for me. This is Jody’s idea of fresh air.
‘Do you want some?’ Roisin holds out her half-smoked cigarette in my direction.
‘No, I’m good, thanks,’ I reply. I really don’t want to smoke. I don’t care if others do; it’s something that has never appealed to me.
‘Goody Two Shoes,’ Roisin says. She masks the remark with a smile. ‘What about a drink?’ she adds, as she rummages in her bag. She pulls out a large plastic bottle.
‘Cola?’ I ask and then immediately regret it as Roisin and Jody snigger.
‘Yeah, cola,’ says Roisin, ‘and vodka. Jesus, Erin, I wonder at you sometimes.’
‘I thought it was just cola too,’ says Rebecca. She tosses her long black hair with pink-tinted ends behind her shoulder. ‘Easy mistake to make.’
She looks over and smiles at me. I return the smile.
The bottle is passed around and this time I do participate.
The boy talking to Shane pulls a tobacco pouch from his pocket. ‘Anyone want a proper smoke now?’
To the encouraging agreement from the others, he unfolds the pouch and, crouching down, begins to roll a cigarette. It’s at this point I realise it’s not a normal cigarette, not with those large papers and the extra sprinkling of green he mixes with the tobacco.
He stands up, lights the joint and takes a draw, long and slow. He puts his head back and closes his eyes. After a moment he lets the smoke drift out of his mouth. He blinks a couple of times, refocuses and looks appreciatively at the roll-up between his fingers. ‘That’s good,’ he says. He offers the joint around.
‘Cheers, Kerry,’ says Jody, before taking an equally long draw. ‘Now that’s why I love my cousin. He gets seriously good gear.’ He gives Kerry a friendly punch on the upper arm.
So the boy is Jody and Shane’s cousin. That would explain the blond hair and ease with each other. Looking at the three of them, I can see the family likeness now.
The joint finds its way to me. I debate whether to take a drag, just to pacify them, as I’m sure there will be some comment if I don’t.
‘No big deal if you don’t want to,’ says Kerry. ‘It’s cool.’ He sends a look in Jody and Roisin’s direction and then the decision is taken away from me as Kerry reaches over and, taking the joint from my fingers, passes it on to Niall.
Kerry smiles at me briefly and I am thankful the moment has passed.
Niall, on the other hand, has clearly done this before. I don’t know whether I’m shocked or not. I suppose I am a little bit. I know he smokes, but he’s never mentioned weed before. I’m not sure how I feel about this as his eyes glaze over.
The vodka and coke is following the joint round our little group. I take a larger gulp than before, conscious the others are getting merrily stoned and drunk while I’m not feeling the effects of anything. I don’t want to be the only one sober; it makes the night less fun. Nothing is quite so funny when you’ve not had a drink but everyone else has.
Suddenly the sound of door to the function room can be heard as it clatters open. The dull beat of the music is now sharper as the sound escapes into the night air but not so loud that we don’t hear footsteps crunch purposefully across the gritted car park. Roisin pops her head around the corner and almost chokes on the vodka and coke she has just swigged. She dives back.
‘Feck! It’s Mam,’ she hisses and thrusts the bottle into my hands. There’s a flurry of activity as Niall drops his cigarette and crunches it underneath his foot.
I’m left holding the bottle of alcohol. I turn, looking for somewhere to hide it, but there’s nowhere.
‘Oh God, what shall I do with the bottle? Niall?’
He shakes his head. The bottle is then snatched from my hands just as Diana appears. I look over at Kerry, who now has it. Diana isn’t stupid. She scans our faces. Her eyes rest on the bottle and then flick to me. I’m sure she saw Kerry take it.
‘I hope that’s just coke in there,’ she says, her eyes still trained on me. ‘And I can smell cigarettes.’ This time Roisin is under scrutiny.
‘That will be me,’ says Kerry, holding up his cigarette, which fortunately is a normal one. I have no idea where the joint has gone.
I don’t think Diana believes him but she can’t prove otherwise. ‘Shane, your mother was wondering where you were. She wants you back in. Now.’
‘Right you are,’ says Shane. He turns to us. ‘Come on, we’d better go in. Don’t want to upset me mam.’
‘I’ll say,’ says Kerry.
We make a move and head back into the hall. Diana is at the helm. I link my arm through Niall’s, but behind me I can hear a barrage of whispered swear words and scuffling. I glance back over my shoulder as Kerry extracts the joint from his pocket and is frantically flapping at his jacket with the palm of his hand.
Jody is smothering a laugh. ‘He hid it in his pocket,’ he whispers with a grin. ‘It didn’t go out, though.’
We are quite a gaggle staggering our way back into the party, all with varying degrees of success. Diana holds the door open and practically counts us in. I let go of Niall’s arm so we can single-file in through the door. As I pass Diana she puts her hand on my shoulder.
‘I’m watching you,’ she says. ‘I know that bottle was yours and there’s more than just coke in it.’
I go to protest but decide against it. Grassing up Roisin is not on my agenda and, besides, I don’t think Diana would believe me anyway.

Chapter 10 (#ulink_4b05c5cf-a12e-5f2b-90a5-c88b12616651)
Kerry couldn’t help glancing up the garden of Apple Tree Cottage every few minutes. The barbecue was in full swing and still no sign of Erin. He really thought she would turn up, especially after Bex’s chat with her.
‘Another beer?’ said Joe, coming over with a cold bottle he had hooked out of a barrel of ice.
Kerry accepted the beer and, using the bottle opener Joe passed his way, flicked off the top and took a long slug.
‘You been stood up?’ said Joe.
‘She’s bringing her boyfriend,’ said Kerry. ‘Hardly call it stood up.’
‘Maybe she got a better offer.’ Joe gave his cousin a gentle punch on the arm.
Kerry resisted the urge to tell Joe where to go. He refused to rise to the bait. Besides, he was pissed off at himself for even thinking Erin would want to come to the barbecue, least of all because he was there.
He watched Storm and the other children race around the garden, squirting each other with water pistols. Skip was scampering after them, clearly enjoying all the excitement. As Storm tore past Kerry and Joe, screaming with laughter, one of the older kids grabbed the hosepipe and turning it on, pressed his thumb over the opening. The resultant jet of water sprayed both Kerry and Joe.
‘Hey!’ shouted Kerry, jumping back out of the way.
‘Little shit,’ muttered Joe, but he was laughing all the same.
‘Right, that does it,’ said Kerry good-humouredly. He thrust his beer bottle at Joe and strode across the grass. The lad screamed and, dropping the hosepipe, fled round the corner of the house.
Kerry picked up the hose and waited for the boy to come back into the garden. A movement caught Kerry’s eye and he squirted the hosepipe at the lad.
There was a scream and a curse.
A cheer went up from the guests in the garden.
‘Shit.’ Kerry dropped the hosepipe.
Standing in front of him wasn’t the lad, but Erin. Her clothes clung to her like she had entered a wet t-shirt competition. Water dripped from her hair. ‘Jesus, Erin. I’m so sorry,’ he said. He could hear Joe chortling in the background.
‘What the hell was that for?’ The man with Erin said.
Kerry noticed him for the first time. From the man’s accent, Kerry assumed that it was Erin’s English boyfriend. He wasn’t quite so wet, unfortunately. It seemed Erin had caught the full brunt of it.

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