The Truth Will Out Read online

  ‘Dad?’ said Harri.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I said tell me I didn’t mean every detail.’

  ‘Well, I’m telling the story – I should be able to tell it the way I want to.’

  ‘Right, then. I’m sorry I didn’t bring a flask.’ She sighed and her dad smiled to himself. She’s still my girl.

  The clock on the wall had told him it was after one a.m., the man on the phone was his brother and he was verging on hysteria, which was disconcerting.

  ‘I need you,’ Father Ryan had said. ‘I need you in Wicklow tonight.’

  Duncan asked why, and was told that a girl had given birth in the woods and died. ‘There’s more to it,’ Father Ryan had warned. ‘Don’t tell anyone and come alone.’

  Duncan didn’t waste time arguing. He knew that arguing wouldn’t get either of them anywhere so he got into his car and just under an hour later he was in a Wicklow wood by his brother’s side, standing over a dead girl covered with a priest’s black coat. He stood there silently while his brother finished a prayer.

  ‘Dad?’ Harri interrupted.

  ‘Yes, love,’ he said, again returning to the present.

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Olivia,’ he said, ‘but she was known as Liv.’

  ‘Liv?’ Harri repeated, contemplating the irony.

  Duncan resumed his tale. ‘We left her there,’ he said.

  Father Ryan had insisted on taking him back to the GP’s house where the GP waited with the baby.

  ‘Me,’ she clarified, as though there was some need to do so.

  ‘You,’ he confirmed.

  He remembered how distraught the GP was and that his name was Brendan something – but, of course, all that information was in the file. The three men sat together at the doctor’s kitchen table and the doctor outlined the reasons why he wanted the child to be kept away from the girl’s mother’s house and out of the system. Father Ryan had agreed that it was best for the baby to disappear; he said he would deal with the girl’s mother and stepfather, and the boy.

  ‘Her brother?’

  ‘No. The father of … the baby.’

  Harri stayed silent.

  ‘The doctor knew him well,’ Duncan went on. ‘In fact, he lived on the boy’s father’s land. She was trying to make her way to the doctor’s house – at least, that’s what we believe.’

  ‘And the boy?’ Harri’s heart began to race – any minute a vein would pop in her neck.

  ‘Staying with his grandparents in Meath.’

  ‘What was his name?’ she asked, holding her neck to keep any rogue veins in check.

  ‘Matthew Delamere.’

  Silence.

  ‘They were both only kids.’

  Silence.

  ‘But when I met him I could tell he really loved her. He was devastated, broken. And, trust me, right about then I understood broken.’

  Silence.

  ‘Harri?’

  ‘He knew?’ she asked, and for some reason she was filling up as though a kid she didn’t know had betrayed her and the mother who hadn’t made it past her teens. ‘He let you take me?’

  Duncan nodded. ‘He did, love.’

  So, while the girl was cold and the boy was blissfully unaware, asleep in his grandmother’s spare room less than two hours away, the priest, the young doctor and the detective had sat up in the doctor’s kitchen drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, and there in the wee hours they had devised a plan. Duncan and Father Ryan would return to the place where the girl was and remove any evidence that she had been found. Duncan would then take the baby girl home. At first light the young doctor would put on his sports kit and go for a run before he’d make a call to the local police station about the girl he’d found dead in the woods. Father Ryan would be summoned and he would insist on his brother, a senior ranking detective, being involved. He’d get his way because the local sergeant not only owed him a favour, he was afraid of him. Besides, he was well and truly out of his depth. Duncan would return and take over the investigation. The young doctor would sign the death cert and the priest would break the news to the girl’s mother.

  ‘But how?’ Harri asked in something approaching a strangled whisper. ‘How did that plan work with no baby?’

  ‘There was a baby,’ he said.

  And if Harri didn’t have heart failure right then and there she was never going to. Holy fuck!

  ‘George wasn’t the only twin.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You were barely breathing on your mother’s belly. Your sister was dead on the ground.’

  Harri’s hands covered her mouth and she was certain she would throw up. She didn’t.

  ‘Take deep breaths,’ he ordered.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replied wearily, eyes watering.

  ‘You have that look,’ he said, ‘the one that frightens people.’

  ‘I’m fine, Dad.’

  ‘Harri, you’ve gone very pale.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Again they sat in silence.

  ‘But why?’ she asked, after ten long minutes.

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why would Uncle Thomas and the doctor be so desperate to make sure that I didn’t go to my grandmother?’

  ‘There were problems. Your real grandfather was dead and she’d married again. He was a drunk, violent, and your mother was desperate to get away from him. She had some sort of hold over the young doctor – she wasn’t just a patient. I think in some ways he loved her.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not like that, Harri, and besides he was little more than a kid himself – twenty-six maybe. Anyway, in those days the boy, Matthew, wouldn’t have had a look in even if he thought he could manage. His family would never have supported him for fear that the scandal would destroy their reputation. His grandfather was a man to be reckoned with – the death was all over the news, and even though the whole town knew Matthew was going out with the girl, his name never made it into the papers. And, well, your grandmother was a weak and unwell woman. Besides, the minute I saw you I fell in love. You were so small, so fragile and still a fighter. You looked at me so fiercely it made me laugh. It was the first time I’d laughed in ages. I knew in my heart that you were for me and I was for you so I took you home. You were never a replacement, not in our hearts.’

  Harri was crying, her nose running like a tap. The tissue she had located up her sleeve was sodden. ‘What about the boy?’ she sobbed.

  ‘Poor kid.’ Her father went on to explain that he took Matthew’s statement in the young doctor’s house. Matthew had told them that he and Liv were planning to run away, that he had money saved and tickets bought and it was only two weeks away. Duncan remembered that the boy had seemed fixated on that fact. ‘Only two weeks away.’ Matthew had repeated it over and over to himself while gnawing at his knuckles. They had planned to take the boat because of the pregnancy and they would land in Wales. After the baby was born they’d find their way to the States. At least, that was the plan. ‘Only two weeks away.’ He was confused because the baby wasn’t due for at least another month. And he refused to accept that sometimes babies came early. He had constantly looked at the doctor – as though, with words, he could bring her back. ‘It was HIM,’ was the only other thing he repeated. ‘HE did something.’

  The boy was right. The stepfather had done something two nights before. He had attacked her just as Father Ryan arrived to visit. He came between them but not before she received a black eye. It was then that the young doctor spoke to the boy about the baby who had lived, and explained that he, Father Ryan and the kind man in front of them wanted to help. At first Matthew had been speechless, but the doctor had talked and talked and talked, and by the end the boy had had only one request.

  ‘What?’ Harri asked, as breath
less as an asthmatic after a ten-kilometre run.

  ‘He just wanted to meet you once and get a picture. So, one week later, just after midnight, I took you to the pier in Wicklow and we sat on a bench, and on the wall behind was a painting of a Greek ship called the Eliana. He held you and kissed you and whispered stories about your mother, and you slept the whole time. Two weeks after that he was gone. The death was ruled accidental and, thanks to the young man’s powerful father, his identity was never revealed.’

  ‘Case closed,’ Harri said.

  ‘Case closed,’ Duncan repeated.

  They sat in silence, Duncan recovering from his draining recollection and Harri still absorbing a new and disturbing reality.

  ‘You didn’t have to tell him,’ she said, after a while.

  ‘I know,’ he replied.

  ‘That was really brave of you,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And really stupid. It all could have blown up in your face.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But right.’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘And he’s never called or written or anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yes, love?’

  ‘Have you any pictures in there of Liv when she was alive?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Maybe you could give me one of those. I don’t want to see anything else.’

  ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘Tell you what, you go downstairs to your mum and George and I’ll fish one out.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, getting up. She kissed her old dad on the forehead. He said nothing but she could feel his relief because she was relieved too.

  George was tipsy on Italian wine and was waltzing his mother around the kitchen as though the past weeks had been a collective figment of the Ryan family’s imagination. Gloria was playing along, happy to have her two children under her roof. George was good at pretence. He had decided and agreed upon forgiveness so there was nothing more to be said. He didn’t want details of the twin who had died or reasons for his parents’ actions. He had a twin in Harri, he had parents, a boyfriend and a new business, and that was enough to be dealing with. His sulk had reached its conclusion and he was ready to move on. Time to go through the motions of forgiving and forgetting.

  Gloria, like her son, was happy to sidestep anything approaching discomfort in favour of equilibrium.

  Harri’s mother and brother, dancing around the kitchen, told Harri in no uncertain terms that the time for mourning, reflection or introspection had well and truly passed. In the words of a much-loved drunken homo: build a bridge and get over it.

  7 July 1975 – Monday

  Yesterday on the cliffs I thought about dying but only for a split second. I left them, walked home and locked my bedroom door. While I was lying on my bed, writing in my diary, a boy two years younger than me from my school fell from the same cliffs. I can’t believe it. It’s so weird and so awful and he didn’t want to die. He was with friends and they were trying to rob the eggs from the gull’s nest right on the ledge. They do it all the time and it’s madness. I don’t think they’ll be doing it again. His name was Shane McCafferty, he was a footballer and he had a girlfriend called Jackie. I don’t know her – she’s from Rathnew. The boys with him were taken to the local police station to make a statement. Sheila’s dad said they were all wailing. Shane’s mother was taken to hospital because she went into shock and she suffers with her blood pressure. The coast guard went looking for him and they were trying to be hopeful about finding him but Sheila’s dad said that if falling from the cliff hadn’t killed him, the rocks would have, and if they hadn’t he’d have drowned. Sheila’s dad can be very negative. All the same, this time he was probably right. They haven’t found the body yet and it’s been over twenty-four hours so at this stage they know he’s gone. It’s so sad I can’t stop thinking about it. The poor boy, I wonder where he is now. Is he happy? Is he glad he died or is he sick with himself for risking his life and future over a stupid seagull egg?

  Matthew and I called to Dr B. He made tea and told us the search was ongoing and mentioned something about the body surfacing in nine days. I didn’t know what he was talking about. He mentioned something about the expulsion of body gases and I switched off – it’s just so disgusting. Shane’s mam is in a terrible way. It made me feel bad about not considering my own mam when I sat up on those cliffs but, then, she doesn’t deserve it. Dr B asked after her. I said she was fine but I was lying. She’s acting strange again. She was fine for a while and now she just sits at the table in the kitchen and stares at the wall. She still goes to Mass and she still watches Coronation Street, so that’s something. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Maybe she’s scared too. Maybe that’s what being scared does to you. HE hasn’t come home. I don’t think she even notices.

  They can’t hold a funeral for the boy until they find his body. It’s so sad. I wish I could do something to help. Maybe when they find him and he’s buried I could ask my mam to bake an apple pie and I’ll take it to Shane’s mam. I don’t think apple pie upsets blood pressure. I’ll check with Dr B.

  14. I’m Melissa and I Google

  In the days following Harri’s trip to her father’s attic, she made a sincere effort to keep to herself. She just needed a few days to reflect. Of course, that was never going to happen. She was hounded by her friends until eventually she agreed to a meal during which she would discuss the matter once and once only. The whole nightmare would then be laid to rest and she could get back to normal – or, at least, whatever normal would be now that she was single, empty and living alone. Maybe I’ll get a rabbit.

  ‘You wanker!’ Melissa roared at her husband, then slammed the front door behind her. Gerry stood mouth agape, holding his infant daughter Carrie with his son Jacob pulling at his trouser leg.

  ‘What’s a wanker, Dad?’

  Five minutes earlier Gerry had arrived home to find his wife pacing around the house in one high heel with a considerable dollop of baby food running down the front of her top and a look on her face that suggested he was a dead man walking. He’d been happy enough up to that point, having had a good day at work followed by a pleasant game of squash before partaking in a nice creamy pint or two. Or three. His good humour was destined not to last long.

  ‘What time do you call this?’ she had greeted him, in a manner approaching sinister.

  ‘It’s a little after eight,’ he replied airily, having taken a moment to examine his watch.

  ‘I was supposed to meet Susan and Harri at seven thirty!’ she screamed, with the kind of frustration that was nearing the Land of Hysteria.

  ‘Ah, you won’t be too late,’ he said in a calm voice, hoping it would inspire calm in her.

  It did not. She stopped searching under furniture and behind cushions for the other shoe and turned on him, one leg shorter than the other. ‘You promised,’ she said, seething. ‘You promised to be home by seven so that I could go and have a meal with my friends.’

  ‘And you can,’ he said, hands in the air. ‘You’ll only be an hour late.’

  If Melissa had a gun she might have used it. ‘An hour!’ she roared. ‘An hour!’ She was limping towards him as he backed away from her. ‘My top is ruined, Jacob has forgotten where he’s hidden my shoe and it’s at least forty minutes from here to the restaurant.’

  ‘So sort yourself out, get in the car and go!’ He was laughing at her. Maybe it was because he had indulged in three pints rather than the one he’d admit to or because he had vented his own everyday frustration in the squash court – or maybe he really didn’t have a clue as to how much he was taking for granted, but Gerry laughed in the face of her fury.

  Carrie was on the floor, crying, and Jacob was jumping up and down in the one spot counting to ten.

  Melissa stopped to absorb her husband’s ill-considered mirth. Men
tal note: buy a gun. Ten seconds after that thought she picked up her baby, shoved her into her husband’s arms and stormed out of the house, wearing one shoe, no makeup and with half of that baby’s dinner down her front.

  Aidan, Susan and Harri were waiting for Melissa while indulging in a bottle of wine accompanied by a basket of breadsticks.

  ‘So, missus, what’s going on?’ Aidan asked Harri, as if he didn’t know.

  ‘Apart from the dissolution of my relationship with the love of my life, the discovery that I’m the living twin baby of a dead teenage stranger and swapped for another dead baby, not much, thanks for asking.’

  Aidan grinned. ‘How about you, Susan, any chance you can beat that?’

  ‘Well, my marriage is in the toilet but that’s not news, and Beth is in exam frenzy. She’s in such a bloody mood that it’s like living with Barbra Streisand.’

  ‘I’d love to live with Barbra Streisand,’ Aidan said, winking at a smiling Harri. Nice to see you smile.

  ‘Homo.’ Susan sighed.

  ‘Breeder!’ Aidan responded, holding his smile at Harri.

  ‘And two nights ago I bumped into Keith,’ Susan said, pretending nonchalance while perusing an upside-down menu.

  ‘Keith the builder?’ Harri said.

  ‘Keith the builder,’ Susan confirmed. ‘He was in Tesco with his wife.’

  ‘Oh,’ Harri said.

  Aidan was too rapt to talk.

  ‘What did you do?’ Harri queried.

  ‘I smiled and walked past them.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Harri said.

  Aidan knew there was more. Come on, you dirty bitch, tell us something filthy.

  ‘Five minutes later he called me, asked if I’d meet him. I did. We had sex in his car. It was great. I’ve no plans to see him again.’

  Aidan made a kind of yelping sound. Harri’s mouth fell open.

  ‘I thought I’d feel terrible, but aside from slight backache, I actually feel good,’ Susan said. ‘My husband hates me, so why not?’

  ‘Why not indeed?’ Aidan agreed, raising his glass. ‘I’m so glad I’m not the only one going to hell! I’ll save you a seat.’ He patted the empty chair beside him. Harri laughed, which reminded him that if she didn’t commit some sort of Vatican-certified Hell-bound sin soon, she might end up in the clouds alone. ‘We’ve got two homos, an adulterer and, let’s face it, sooner or later Melissa will be a murderer so what about you, Har? What can you do to hitch a ride on the highway to hell?’