Liz Nugent - Lying in Wait

The new flower bed in the back garden initially unsettled me. Naturally it brought up memories of my sister. But I find you can get used to anything eventually.

Shortly before Christmas, Andrew and I went out to dinner together. I very rarely went on nights out, and they had been even less affordable since Paddy Carey, but I thought he needed a little treat. We had been through so much. Besides, I wanted to talk to him in a public place where he would not be able to overreact. I made sure the maître d’ found us a corner table where we could not be overheard.

I waited until the main course before I broached the subject.

‘You love Laurence and me, don’t you, darling?’

‘What… yes… why are you asking me that? Of course I do.’

‘It’s just that… if anything should happen… if anything were to be discovered—’

‘Christ, Lydia.’ He dropped his cutlery.

‘I mean, it’s all fine, I’m sure we’re safe now. The fuss has died down. Nobody is looking for her any more, but just if… ’

‘What?’

‘Well, I hope that you would think of Laurence.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘If they caught you, if , for some reason, they found evidence and could arrest you, and there was no way out of it, well, you could say you did it on your own.’

He looked at me, open-mouthed, and I was glad I had chosen this quiet restaurant, because I knew that if we had been at home he would have shouted and thrown things around. I have always known how to manage my husband’s temper.

‘You see, darling, if Laurence lost both of us, in such awful circumstances, his life would be ruined. But if they got you, you could say that it was just a transaction gone wrong. A lovers’ tiff. You could tell them that she was trying to blackmail you, and that would be true! But I could say I didn’t know anything about it, and Laurence and I could go on afterwards and rebuild our lives. Isn’t that what you would want for us, darling?’

His lower jaw quivered, and when he eventually spoke he sounded, ironically, as if he were being strangled.

‘I was a fool to go along with your crazy plan. I did it because I loved you. I will do whatever you want. You get your own way, yet again. You always do. But don’t pretend you are doing this for Laurence.’

Andrew never understood the strength of a mother’s love.

I hated the way they said ‘disappeared’, as if Annie Doyle had vanished into thin air when clearly something had happened to her, something bad. The idea of my father being involved in a woman’s ‘disappearance’ would have been absolutely preposterous before that day. He was a respectable guy and, reading between the lines of the Sunday World , she had been a junkie and a prostitute. He had never even had an affair – not that I was aware of, anyway. But he knew something about it. I was sure of that.

First, he lied to the guard about having been home that night, and then he tried to tell me that he’d been in bed when I knew he was out, because his car wasn’t there when I got home. Mum went to bed early with one of her migraines and he must have sneaked out afterwards. That was suspicious enough, but when I read about the silver-plated identity bracelet in the newspaper, I was really alarmed. The report detailed things that Annie Doyle had been wearing when she disappeared.

Two days before that, my mother had asked me to replace the hoover bag. She hated dirty work and it was always my father or I that did this chore. When I had removed the bag, something shiny was poking a tiny hole through it. I pulled it and a filthy, dust-covered string came out. When I blew off the dust, I could see a thin metallic chain attached to a narrow bar. The bar was inscribed with the name ‘Marnie’. The clasp was stained a deep red. There were no links at the other end of the bar – half of a bracelet, I guessed. I casually wondered who Marnie was, and put it in a kitchen drawer, assuming it belonged to my mother. I thought it might have been hoovered up by mistake, but I forgot to mention it to her.

Now, having read the latest on Annie Doyle, I understood its significance and realized that Mum would never have worn such a bracelet. Mum wore only gold antique jewellery. A silver-plated bracelet would have been too modern and cheap for her. When I got Dad on his own in the kitchen, I showed him the bracelet that I’d found.

‘I found this in the hoover. It’s not Mum’s, is it?’

‘Give it to me.’ It was an order. ‘It’s just some rubbish.’

He threw it into the bin and promptly left the room without any explanation. I fished it out of the potato peelings and the pieces of fat cut from the previous night’s meat. When I had rinsed it under the tap, I wrapped it in tissue and put it in my pocket. I didn’t know what I was going to do with it, but I knew it was evidence of something. I dreaded to think what, but it seemed important that I should hang on to it.

And then, a few days later, I was coming home from school when I noticed a squad car pull up outside our gate. I almost started to hyperventilate. Were they here to arrest Dad or was it just one of their routine visits? A heavyset guy got out just as I turned into the driveway. I recognized him from the television news. It was the man in charge of the missing person investigation. Another man sat in the back seat and a uniformed guard was the driver.

‘How’r’ye, son. I’m Detective Sergeant Declan O’Toole, and that there’ – he nodded towards the back seat – ‘is Detective James Mooney. Do you live in there?’ He pointed towards our house.

‘Yeah.’

Detective Mooney got out of the car and stood behind O’Toole. ‘And what’s your name?’

‘Laurence Fitzsimons.’

‘And is your father home?’

‘I don’t think so. He doesn’t normally get home until after six.’

Detective Mooney nodded and walked back towards the car, but O’Toole told him to hold on. He had a sly smirk on his face. I didn’t like him.

‘So you’re the son of Judge Fitzsimons, are you?’

‘Yeah.’ I wanted to run away up the driveway, but the guard put his hand on my shoulder to keep me there.

‘Well, aren’t you a fine big lad.’ He was trying to be my friend. I said nothing. ‘Tell me something, Laurence, do you remember the weekend of the 14th of November, two weeks ago now.’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘Were you home that weekend yourself?’

I wondered if I should ask to have a lawyer present, but the detective was keeping it all very casual. He wasn’t writing anything down. But I was terrified.

‘I was in my girlfriend’s house that Friday night. You can check with her.’

‘Ah here, no need to be defensive, sonny. I’m not accusing you of anything at all, it’s just a routine thing I’m doing here, y’know?’ He was much more confident than Mooney, who I had heard questioning my dad. He was… jolly.

‘Why are you asking me about that weekend?’

He ignored my question. ‘And tell me now, was it a late night like, that Friday? What time did you get home to your own bed? Or did you?’ He nudged and winked at me as if we were a comic double act.

‘I had a midnight curfew. But I was home just after eleven.’

‘A curfew, eh? And were your mam and dad waiting up for you to get a full report?’ He winked again.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘You’re sure now? Both of them?’

‘Yes.’ I kept my voice as still as possible, though I could not control the flush in my cheeks. The lie came so easily, it surprised even me.

‘And did your dad go out again that weekend at all?’

‘No. We all stayed in.’

‘Don’t you have a great memory?’