The Truth Will Out Page 22

  ‘What the hell does he want?’ she repeated.

  ‘I don’t know. And tell Harri to call me when she gets back. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me what she was up to – although I was in one of my moods last night.’

  ‘I noticed, and will do.’

  Aidan hung up the phone and sighed to himself. How the fuck am I supposed to meet Andrew when I’ve at least a week’s worth of cleaning to do?

  By the time Susan had finished looking at furniture in Bray, and by the time they had driven to Wicklow town and stopped for something to eat, it was a little after four. The town was narrow to drive through, bustling with people, and a maze to find parking in. There was nothing by the pier or on the street behind it and the main street was far too busy. Eventually they found a space by the old jail.

  ‘Oh, look, they do night tours!’ Susan said, as they headed back to the car.

  ‘Great.’ Harri sighed.

  ‘It’s not going like you planned, is it?’ Susan asked.

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘I’m getting in the way.’

  Harri felt sorry for her friend. She’d been bedraggled since she’d walked out of her own home and, God love her, she couldn’t seem to find her way back to normal. If Harri was lost, Susan was even more so, and the builder was a symptom of that.

  ‘It’s okay. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe we should take the night tour of Wicklow jail and go home.’ She deactivated the car alarm and they sat in.

  Susan turned to her friend. ‘Look, why don’t I check out all that Wicklow town has to offer while you head to the graveyard? You don’t want me there.’

  Harri smiled. ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘No. It looks like there are some half-decent shops around here.’ Susan grabbed her bag, pulled her friend to her and kissed her forehead. ‘Good luck, Harri. I hope you find what you’re looking for.’

  ‘Knowing what I’m looking for would be enough,’ Harri admitted, with a slight smile.

  Susan got out and waved her off down the street in search of the graveyard.

  Brendan completed his afternoon surgery at four on the dot. Despite a rampant vomiting epidemic, all was well with the Wicklow folk and he intended to make good use of the rest of his day. First he would grab a takeaway coffee in Donnali’s, then he’d head on over to the graveyard and later he’d take in eighteen holes of golf. The coffee shop was busy with tourists and locals alike.

  ‘There you are, Dr McCabe. I was saying to Sarah we haven’t seen you in an age.’

  ‘Keeping the head down, Martina.’

  ‘That vomiting bug is desperate.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s knocking people for six.’

  ‘My Malachy is in bits with it – at least, that’s what he pretends.’

  ‘Bed rest, Martina. Bed rest and liquids.’

  ‘Unfortunately, Doctor, you’ve just described his entire life.’

  He was on his way out of the door, coffee in hand, when he nearly walked into Sheila Doyle.

  ‘Dr McCabe.’

  ‘Sheila.’

  ‘Are you well?’

  ‘Fine, just heading up to visit Liv.’

  Sheila’s face fell. The eleventh! ‘I forgot,’ she admitted, embarrassed.

  ‘It’s been a long time,’ Brendan said, smiling at her.

  ‘I was her best friend. I should have remembered.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Sheila, you’ve a houseful of kids, a business to run and an insulin-dependent husband with a stubborn streak a mile long.’

  ‘You remembered,’ she said quietly.

  ‘The benefit of living alone. How’s Patrick, anyway?’

  ‘Good. He’s driving me mad but good.’

  Brendan squeezed Sheila’s shoulder. ‘I hope I didn’t upset you,’ he said.

  ‘No – and thanks for reminding me.’ I can’t believe I forgot you. Jesus, Liv, I’m sorry.

  Susan busied herself in the local boutiques, finding a particularly tasteful silk top within three minutes flat. I believe my Visa will take some battering today.

  She and Harri had not discussed her attending George’s opening with Keith – in fact, they had carefully avoided that conversation. Susan didn’t really know what she was doing. The consequences of her actions had only dawned on her when Aidan had explained that her husband and daughter could arrive at any moment. She had all but collapsed, and even after they had left the premises and were heading into the Front Lounge, a bar her husband would never have frequented, she couldn’t rid herself of the bitter taste of fear or failure – or something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She looked at Keith, who was clearly uncomfortable in a gay bar. What the hell am I doing? He was uncomfortable with the whole evening, if truth be told. He had never signed up to be a boyfriend and going to a wine-tasting was the remit of a boyfriend, not a casual lover. Susan had pretty much tricked him into it and he hadn’t been happy. Neither had she. And it was impossible without serious therapy to even attempt to contemplate why she had done such a thing. Keith had left the bar after one drink.

  Aidan had been with some of his friends from the scene. Susan knew one or two but they were on a buzz and didn’t have too much time to spend talking to a middle-aged woman with a sad face. Aidan tried to cheer her up with a Sambuca and it was then that she had hailed a taxi back to Harri’s.

  Alone on the pull-out bed in Harri’s sitting room, Susan had tried to make sense of her new life.

  Beth wouldn’t take her calls. Her husband might as well have relocated to the moon and the married man she was having casual sex with had no interest in leaving his wife or being her boyfriend. She was free but Keith was still married. And even if he wasn’t, would she really want him in her life? He’s holding me back. It was at that moment that Susan Shannon made a pledge to herself that she would not see her married builder friend again. And not because of guilt about the woman whose husband she was shagging, and not because her friends were silently judging her even if they pretended they weren’t, and not because she was afraid that her daughter would find out. And just because she wasn’t considering a stranger’s marriage didn’t make her a bad person – a little selfish maybe, but not bad. Susan decided that she was a good person who had just walked out of a dead marriage because she had wanted more, and the married builder Keith was never going to be more.

  She lay awake for a long time that night reliving her marriage, the good as well as the bad, remembering her daughter’s milestones. She cried and even laughed a little as she said goodbye to her old life and in her mind she let go.

  Today was a new day, a new beginning for both Susan and her business partner, Harri. To celebrate she would shop until there was nothing left in Wicklow to buy. Jesus, I’d love to get my hands on a decent spiral mixer or a hand-painted wooden spoon.

  Harri made her way slowly through the graveyard, as she had no idea where to start. It was only natural to begin at the beginning. I’m never going to be that lucky. She was on her knees trying to make out a name and cursing herself for not bringing her glasses when a man passed and she thought about asking him but then reconsidered. It would be rude to assume that everyone in Wicklow knew everyone else, dead or alive, and so she allowed him to pass without a word while coveting his takeaway coffee. I’m gasping. She managed to cut herself on a bramble and bruised her knee when she tripped over a stray pot. This is stupid. I’m never going to find her. There was an office at the entrance but it was closed and there was no such thing as a map of plots. Harri was tired and emotional and sick of hurting herself. If I bang into one more bloody gravestone! But still she walked on, reading each one she passed.

  Brendan made himself comfortable on the grass. ‘Hi there, Trouble!’ he said, looking at Liv’s name printed in black. ‘Thirty years and I swear it seems like yesterday. I wish you’d written that book. I would have loved to read it. I bet yo
u it would have been a bestseller. It’s all about time – you were just out of it, Trouble, and none of us saw it coming. I promise I would have saved you if I could have. But you know that. I had a fling in San Francisco, you’ll be delighted to hear. He was forty, so I suppose you could say I’m a cradle-snatcher. He works in design. We didn’t do much talking about design, though. You would have liked him. He’s the kind of gay man you always wanted me to be. Self-assured, proud and happy. And I am. I’m a different man from the one you knew back then, a lifetime ago. I think you’d be happy with the way I turned out – at least, I hope so. I do miss you, Trouble.’

  He was silent, sipping his coffee, when he saw a woman making her way from gravestone to gravestone. As she got closer she became more familiar. Her hair, her bone structure, her mouth and particularly the look that crossed her face when her ankle gave way on gravel. Brendan stood up. ‘You’re looking for Liv,’ he said.

  She stopped dead in front of him. She nodded.

  ‘She’s here,’ he said.

  She made her way over to where he was standing, looked at the name on the stone and the date.

  ‘Happy birthday, Harri,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  ‘My name is Brendan McCabe.’

  ‘The doctor,’ she managed.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m not ready for this,’ she said, and her legs went from under her.

  2 September 1975 – Tuesday

  Today I said goodbye to Matthew. I cried until I felt so sick that all I could do was lie in my bed. He cried too. Henry took us to the station because his stupid dad has gone to France. Matthew had enough cases to suggest he’d be gone for ever. I can’t stand it. The summer is over and he is gone. Everything in me is aching from my head to my toes and inside I’m screaming. Henry waited for a while and then he said his goodbyes and ruffled Matthew’s hair and told him he’d miss him and promised to take good care of Nero. I was already crying because Henry was saying all the things that Matthew’s dad should have been there to say and then Henry was gone and we were alone and I was still crying and he was trying to be strong.

  On Saturday night Matthew and his dad had the biggest fight. I was there. It started because Matthew asked if he could come home every weekend. Loads of the other boys in his school get to go home every weekend, but his dad said no. Matthew argued with him and said it wasn’t as if his dad would notice whether or not he was home. His dad lost it and the things he said were so hurtful and they weren’t true either.

  Matthew could be anything he wanted to be. He isn’t a fool or a waste of time. He could never be a disappointment. The hurt in Matthew’s eyes when his dad said those things will stay with me for ever, and later, when he cried, it was like being knifed. I mean it. It felt like a knife slicing through my insides. That has never happened before and I really, really hope it doesn’t happen again because it is highly unpleasant. When his dad said he was glad Matthew’s mother was dead so she didn’t have to see what a loser her son was, Matthew was going to punch him. He raised his arm and made a run at his dad and I held him back by his jumper. I don’t know why. It was instinct. Mathew shouted at me afterwards. He said I shouldn’t have interfered. He was right. I should have let him punch his dad. I feel really bad about that. I need to learn to mind my own business. Matthew was angry with me for a while and it hurt me almost as much as seeing him cry.

  Matthew’s dad is so mean. You can see it in his eyes. He’s cold through and through. He always seems angry and he likes to hurt people. He was enjoying himself. I think he’s a very sad man and I wonder how Matthew and I got so unlucky. If his mam and my dad had lived, our lives could have been so much better.

  The train pulled in and nearly took my legs from under me. People were boarding and it seemed like for ever we were standing there looking at each other, desperate. He’s off to a cold boarding-school where he doesn’t talk to anyone from one week to the next and I’m back in my room with the door locked and eleven long months ahead until we leave here for ever. Sometimes life is too hard. Today I cried so loudly that I actually heard myself as though I was standing outside my own body and witness to its breakdown. I’m worried for him. I’m worried he won’t make it another year now he knows what it’s like to be loved and to have friends.

  Last night Sheila, Dave, Matthew and I went to Keoghs’ farm. It was Dave’s idea. He wanted to send Matthew off in style. As usual Sheila and Dave started the night with an argument. She maintained that her granny always warned her never to cross the glen after dark. As Keoghs’ farm was past the glen, and Dave thought Sheila’s granny was full of shit, he stormed off, leaving Matthew, Sheila and me standing there. Eventually he came back and talked Sheila around, especially as he’d gone to a good deal of trouble to leave a picnic basket with snacks and beer at the farm. I’d never been to Keoghs’ farm before and I have to admit I wasn’t that keen on spending my last night with Matthew by a haunted farmhouse. I mean, what if Sheila’s granny was right?

  Anyway we went up there and it really did feel weird. The fact that the old farmhouse is big, imposing and derelict doesn’t help and there is an eerie vibe to the place, but the weirdest thing is the dead orchard. Every tree is standing there stone dead. It’s like something from a film. Dave and Matthew went inside but there was no way I was going in there and Sheila was white in the face and so nervous she kept running behind a dead tree to pee. She says nervous bladders run in the family on her mother’s side. We had the picnic in the dead orchard. Dave had gone to a lot of trouble with snacks and beer and cheese sandwiches he had made himself. He even had candles and a flashlight and one of his dad’s golf clubs in case of a spiritual encounter. I don’t know what he thought a golf club would do in the face of a restless spirit but, to be fair, he said he wasn’t sure himself. Matthew said he’d read somewhere that you just tell a ghost you’ll pray for it and it’ll vanish. I really hoped he was right because my hair was standing on end.

  Nothing happened. There was not a ghost to be seen and it was nice. We told ghost stories, drank beers and talked about the good times we’d had at the carnival, by the castle and on the strand. Dave apologized to Matthew for thinking he was a stuck-up posh git when he’d first met him, and Matthew took it well. When we had left them, Matthew said it was the first time in his life he’d had friends.

  Poor Matthew, he breaks my heart. He’s in that place now and he’s alone. I wonder if I close my eyes and concentrate really hard can I communicate with him?

  No.

  Shit.

  HE’s home. I can hear him shouting. He’s drunk and Mam is crying.

  I wish I had Dave’s golf club.

  He’s gone now. When I got into the kitchen she was cowering by the sink and he was standing over her, getting ready to pounce. He’s lucky his stupid gap-toothed friend called because if he hadn’t he would have got a dinner plate over his head. I’m so tired of this. I miss Matthew. Matthew, please come home.

  19. One day at a time

  Aidan was early. Aidan was always early. He had brought a newspaper and was reading an article on conservation in the Appalachians while munching a plain chicken sandwich. He was having a beer when Andrew appeared. He sat in the comfortable chair opposite and began by shaking Aidan’s hand and thanking him for turning up. Within seconds the waitress was beside them. She took Andrew’s order.

  ‘So,’ Aidan said.

  ‘So,’ Andrew repeated.

  ‘Why am I here?’ Aidan asked. After all, he was Susan’s friend, not Andrew’s. They were polite to one another and had spent some time together at various events but they didn’t know one another, not really.

  ‘I have a problem,’ Andrew heard himself say.

  The waitress returned with Andrew’s drink and both men fell silent.

  When she was gone Andrew continued, ‘You’re probably wondering why I’m talking to you.
’ He laughed. ‘It’s because I don’t know who else to talk to.’

  Aidan was getting nervous. What the hell …

  ‘Three years ago I started having problems. I ignored them. They didn’t go away. Two years ago the problem got worse. I kept ignoring it, and while I was busy pretending nothing was wrong, my wife had an affair.’

  ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ Aidan asked.

  ‘I can’t have sex,’ Andrew said, his head lowered. ‘There, it only took three years to admit it.’

  ‘Why are you telling me?’

  ‘I don’t know. Because I couldn’t tell anyone else and you’re so open and free and –’

  ‘And gay.’

  ‘And gay.’

  ‘Being gay doesn’t make me an expert on dicks, you know.’

  ‘I know. I just thought maybe you’d come across it or heard something about the problem,’ Andrew said, rubbing his face. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I thought maybe gay men talk about things.’

  ‘You’ve tried Viagra?’

  ‘Makes me dizzy – and those other brands too. Nothing works.’

  ‘There’s a clinic in James’s Street. I’ll come with you.’

  ‘I’d really appreciate that.’

  ‘Andrew?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How could you not tell her?’

  Andrew shook his head. ‘I suppose I’ll have the rest of my life to work that one out,’ he said sadly.

  ‘She thought you didn’t want her.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It nearly destroyed her.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Jesus, Andrew, people like you belong to another time.’

  Andrew and Aidan separated on Grafton Street. Andrew promised he’d call Aidan with the details of his appointment. Aidan had tried to talk him into speaking to his wife but Andrew was adamant that he didn’t want her involved.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because.’