Sue Fortin - The Girl Who Lied

‘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.