Sue Fortin - The Girl Who Lied - The bestselling psychological drama

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.

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.