Fragile Lies (6 page)

“The house where you live, it’s lonely, yes? A woman on her own, now that, I know, is definitely not a good idea.” Sophie’s laugh rolled across the garden. “You must come to dinner soon. I have many handsome friends who would love to meet you.”

“Dinner, yes. But no friends, handsome or otherwise.” She smiled, spread her hands as if to brush away an unwelcome idea. “I’m not ready for anything like that, Sophie.”

“How do you know? Stuck down in that lane.” She touched Lorraine’s hair, smiled. “Don’t let the fire die, girl.”

The fire is well and truly quenched, Lorraine thought, preparing for bed that night. She stood naked before the mirror and stared at her reflection. Outwardly there was nothing to suggest she had become a dried up prune. It should show on her face but, apart from the dullness in her eyes, she looked refreshingly healthy. Her hair, still tossed from a late-night walk along the beach, glowed red under the bedroom light and her skin was tanned from the sea breeze. Divorce proceedings had to begin. If she was to move on with her life she must make decisions instead of living in limbo-land. But she was unable to comprehend the reality of no longer being a wife. Would it be like losing an arm or a leg? Would she be limbless and free, suffer phantom sensations, imagining Adrian beside her in the morning when she awoke, hearing his key in the door, his music on the stereo, his body above her and she below him, sinking into the familiar rhythm of passion? And memories, what happened to them when they no longer had a structure to keep them intact? Did they, like love, dry up and die?

As Máirtín had predicted, Emily was making friends: a boy with bleached hair called Ian, Sophie’s son, Ibrahim, and a willowy young person called Fran, whose gender still remained a mystery to Lorraine. Máirtín’s goth twins completed the group. They cycled down Stile Lane and descended on her house to devour great quantities of popcorn, toasted cheese sandwiches and pizzas. They were noisy, untidy and unfailingly polite to Lorraine. Their tolerance for loud music would, she suspected, leave them with significant hearing loss by the time they were twenty.

“Can I ask you a fabulously fantastic favour?” Emily asked one evening after her new friends had departed. “It’s to do with my birthday.”

“Ask away.”

“Will you and Daddy make up?” She spoke too quickly, nervously curling her fist against her chin, but her tone was so determined that it stalled Lorraine’s instinctive rebuttal. “I know you’re not going back to him but I want the three of us to have a meal together, the way we always did on the night of my birthday.”

“Emily, please don’t ask me to do that –”

“Please …
please!
Can’t we be a family again? Just for one night? He wants to come to Trabawn and stay in O’Callaghan’s Hotel. If he books a meal in the restaurant will you come with us?”

“I don’t need this discussion, Emily. It’s not as if I’ve prevented you from seeing your father as often as you wish, but you’ve made no effort to stay in touch with him. Except for that one time –”

“It’ll be different if he comes here.” Emily flushed deeply. Her mouth puckered. “Just one night, that’s all I want for my birthday and you can’t even give me that.”

“If it means so much to you, then that’s what we’ll do. But I don’t want him in the house. Do you understand?”

Her daughter nodded. “Do you think you’ll ever get back together again? Not now but maybe in a year’s time – two years’?”

“Darling, that kind of talk gets us nowhere. Your father and I have made our decisions. Nothing’s going to change. But time will make things easier, you’ll see. After all, we did one wonderful thing together. We had you. You’ll always keep us in touch.”

Noble words, she thought, after Emily had gone to bed. She took a bottle of wine from the fridge and fiercely twisted the corkscrew in the bottle.

Her daughter had one last favour to ask. Could she bring Ibrahim O’Doherty to the restaurant? She blushed, tried to look casual when Lorraine agreed.

On the evening of Emily’s birthday Lorraine collected Ibrahim from Sophie’s house and drove to O’Callaghan’s restaurant, where Adrian was waiting for them. Emily approached him cautiously. He held out his arms. She ran forward with a muffled sob and sank against him. His eyes were moist when he looked towards Lorraine. Stiffly, refusing to hold his gaze, she walked to the table that had been reserved for them.

Emily sat close to her father throughout the meal. Ibrahim sat opposite her. He was respectful to Adrian, was charming to Lorraine and fastened his black flirtatious eyes on Emily. He was the lightning rod upon whom they directed their attention. The waitress, whose name-tag spelled “Angie”, took Adrian’s camera and ordered them to smile, to look happy, to share Emily’s excitement.
Click
,
click
,
click
, smiling, always smiling.

B
rahms Ward
, 8 p.m.

I
’ve had a hectic day
, Killian. Don’t pay attention if I snooze off after a while. I met my script editor this morning. Remember Roz O’Hara? Jangling bracelets, chain smoker, pink highlights? It was a terse meeting, to say the least. Not that I blame her for being annoyed. Despite a hefty advance, she’s yet to read a single page of my promised draft. She reminded me that I’d other responsibilities besides family ones but she relented before I left and asked how you are.

“While there’s life there’s hope.” She sounded apologetic, a woman who abhors clichés – but your deep sleep has left people bereft of meaningful comment. I’ve promised her the rough outline two weeks from now but Roz O’Hara can jangle her bracelets all she likes. I’m a dry stone, no blood. All I want to do is write about you. Perhaps it will help, writing it down, a cathartic cleansing. Perhaps not. Either way it passes the night when sleep is impossible.

You must remember
Nowhere Lodge
? Your favourite programme? My path to fame? Of course you remember. What a dab hand you were at making suggestions, my trusty barometer, bringing me on-the-spot reviews from school friends, thumbs down or up – I could always rely on you for an honest opinion. Fairy tales with an edge, that’s what I write.

I never realised the vein I was opening when I cut into the teenage psyche. I knew the issues, the language of the street: ganga, shit, weed, barbs, downers, rock, wash, Charlie, disco burgers, doves, junk, skag, horse. You brought Lorcan Sheraton to meet me. Can you remember that weekend? You were twelve years old and ready to make your own decisions. I knew that when you introduced me as your
real
father. Such pride in your voice. It was the only recognition that mattered. Your mother was not pleased but that’s another story, another era.

She’s lost weight since the accident. These days she seldom visits her office and her diary only has one entry. But she’s also needed at home. Duncan’s being a bit of a problem. Sibling rivalry. Not that I’m an expert on the subject but, apparently, it can be quite an issue in families. We’re working out a rota for visitors. Your friends want to be involved, Lorcan in particular, also Marianne. She rang last night and sent you her love. She’s still working on the film. Remember? Street people, drug culture? For a while I thought the two of you might … but what does that matter now?

We’re going to bring you back to us, Killian. Music, words, massage, prayers, whatever it takes. Your mother has faith, such sublime faith. Jesus walks beside her. Her eyes glow when she speaks his name. I envy her, Killian. If only I could believe so fervently that prayer triggers the attention of a benign Christ with inexhaustible energy, an ear to the ground and eyes that see everything.

Y
ellow eyes
… blind eyes … blind mice … hickory dickory dock … tick tock … mouse ran … ran … whirr-whirr-whirr … yellow eyes … blind eyes … blinded … eyes … headlights!

“
I
’ve fallen hopelessly
in love,” Emily announced one evening, stamping mud from Donaldson’s farm on the back doorstep. “It’s incurable, indestructible, indescribable –”

“Just give me the facts, Emily. Obviously his name begins with I.”

“Do you mean Ibrahim O’Doherty?” She blew coyly up towards her fringe and laughed loudly. “Don’t be ridiculous. My true love is a
she
. Her name is Antoinette and she has four legs.”

“Come again, Emily?”

“She’s my horse.”

Lorraine set a dish of lasagne on the table and sectioned it onto their plates. “Are we talking rocking horses or the ones who eat oats and live on Donaldsons’ farm?”

“Ha, ha.
Very
funny. Want to see me riding her?”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

After they finished their evening meal they walked to the end of the lane and entered the farmyard.

“Shut up, Hobbs,” Emily ordered the dog and hunkered to fondle his ears, a gesture that caused Hobbs to pant devotedly and press his head against her knees. Before Lorraine could stop her, she lifted the latch on the back door and walked into the farmhouse. Noeleen, reading a newspaper at the kitchen table, greeted her so casually it was obvious she was used to Emily’s unannounced entry. She noticed Lorraine hovering in the open doorway and gestured. “Come in, come on in yourself. I’m just about to wet the tea.”

Emily joined the brothers in the room adjoining the kitchen where they were watching a soccer match on television.

“You’re settling into the old house all right then?” Noeleen pulled out a chair from the table and invited Lorraine to sit down.

“More or less.”

“It must seem strange after the city. It did to me when I first came here.”

“I remember that time. Celia called you a townie.”

“Sure you must have been only a tot then.” Noeleen moved around the kitchen with quick, light steps, setting mugs and plates on the table.

“It doesn’t seem all that long ago. You were originally from Tralee, if I remember rightly.”

“Born and bred. But I went to London when I was fifteen and lived there until my mother became ill. I came home to nurse her. She didn’t live long afterwards, God rest her, and I met Frank at a dance in the town about a year later. The quietness really got to me in the beginning but I’d Frank to warm my bed which helped settle me down.” She stopped, suddenly flustered, and busied herself pouring tea. “Not that a warm bed is everything. Many’s the woman managed on her own and made a far better fist of rearing her kids than if she had a man hanging out of her apron strings. Emily’s coming on grand, despite everything. She told me about the art classes you’re going to start in September. We’ve had some grand night classes altogether here. Computers, pottery and salsa dancing. I loved the salsa. But no painting until now. When do we start enrolling? I can guarantee you at least four other women who’d be delighted to get out of their houses at night.”

“Noeleen, I don’t know what Emily’s been saying but she seems to have given the wrong impression to people. I didn’t agree to do the classes. I’m too busy –”

“The furthest I’ve ever got to painting is dipping a brush into a bucket of whitewash.” Noeleen swept her excuses aside. “I’d like to tackle something like portraits. I’ve no interest whatsoever in landscapes. God knows I spend enough time looking at the scenery around here.”

“But I
haven’t
agreed to do the classes.”

Noeleen sighed, tilted her head to one side and surveyed Lorraine. “I’m sorry to hear that. You think you’ve all the time in the world to do the things you want but then you suddenly realise the clock’s running ahead of you. Suppose I’ll never get to paint a portrait of Frank now.”

Despite her exasperation, Lorraine smiled. “Noeleen, are you trying to manipulate me?”

“Why would I want to do a thing like that?”

“That’s what I’m asking you?”

“You need to mix with people again, Lorraine. You’re here nearly six months now and you’ve hardly moved outside the house except to walk the beach. Emily worries about you.”

“Does she talk about what happened between myself and her father?”

“She doesn’t have to. I see it in her face. But yes, she did tell me. I wasn’t trying to pry.”

“I know. And I appreciate your concern.”

“You’ll do the classes then?”

“I’ll think about it,” Lorraine promised.

“Keep yourself busy,” Noeleen advised. “I usually find it’s as good a reason as any for rising in the morning.”

Voices came from the dining-room, where a heated discussion had broken out. Emily laughed at a remark made by one of the brothers who had loudly expressed his opinion on the mental state of the referee.

“It’s great having a girl around the place again,” said Noeleen. “I’ve two daughters in the States and one in London. I miss them something terrible.” She sat in silence for a while, a half-smile playing across her lips. Her kitchen had a comfortable feel, despite the modern built-in units which her sons had installed. A dusty St Brigid’s cross hung above the door and she had kept the old-fashioned range in preference to a modern oven.

“It’s a relief to hear Emily laughing again.” Lorraine stirred her tea and wondered what it would be like to wave goodbye to children as they boarded a plane to begin a new life elsewhere. She listened to Noeleen talking about her daughters, relaxed in the company of this friendly woman who had been the first to welcome her to Trabawn.

When the match ended, Lorraine accompanied the brothers and Emily to the stables. Con led an old mare forward and stood back, observing Emily as she saddled the horse. Sitting gingerly on the saddle she rode Antoinette in a wide, slow circle around a fenced-off sand arena, waving excitedly at her mother when she passed her by. Con spoke in a low voice, obviously encouraging her to relax, and her posture settled. Her smile grew more confident as the mare responded to her commands. To Lorraine, watching from the sidelines, it was obvious that the love affair was well underway.

“Of course, Antoinette’s very old,” Emily explained when they returned to the house. “But Con says I can practise on her until I get a proper pony. Do you think there’s any chance of that happening? If I’m going to be a culchie I might as well have the trappings.”

“We’ll see what’s possible down the road. For the moment, though, it’s out of the question. All this is costing an arm and a leg.” Lorraine pointed towards the central-heating pipes which had been delivered that afternoon. She needed to start earning again. With the sale of the house and her
Painting Dreams
collection, she was financially secure for the time being but the costs of repairing her new home and setting up the studio were making serious inroads into her savings. “We’re going to Dublin for a few days,” she said. “You’ll have a chance to see your friends again … and your father, if you want to?”

“I’ll meet him in McDonald’s. Isn’t that where all the Saturday dads hang out?”

“You can meet him anywhere you like.”

“Seeing as how you refuse to let him set foot in this house, McDonald’s will do fine.”

Lorraine moved to the window and stared out into the gathering dusk.

“Bat watch time again, is it?” Her daughter yanked open the fridge door and removed a plate of left-over lasagne. “I’m going to feed Antoinette. She may be old and bony but at least I can rely on her not to wreck my head.”

It was dark when she returned from the farm. “I’m sorry.” She came straight over to Lorraine and hugged her. “I can’t get used to it. I just
can’t
.”

“It will get easier.” Lorraine brushed her daughter’s hair back from her forehead and kissed her. “I don’t know when … or how. But I know it will.”

On Wednesday evening, Emily flung herself into the car and waved out the window at the Donaldson brothers who intended painting the bathroom Bravado Blue while they were away.

Brendan stopped singing “If Tomorrow Never Comes” and closed the gate behind them.

Back in familiar childhood surroundings, witnessing the pleasure with which her parents greeted them, Lorraine felt guilty over her long absence. After dinner, when Emily had persuaded her grandfather to drive her to her friend’s house, Donna had an opportunity to speak alone to her daughter.

“Teenagers are resilient.” She cleared dishes from the table and stacked the dishwasher. “Emily looks well and she appears to be settling down. I’m glad she’s decided to meet Adrian again. Her birthday must have been difficult for you.”

“I got through it. There’ll be other occasions. It’s something I have to accept.”

“Have you been able to make any decisions about –” Donna’s voice quavered then strengthened again. “Are you going to look for a divorce?”

“As soon as it can be arranged.” Saying the words gave authenticity to her decision but the words had a dream-like quality, as if some other person, someone cold and empty of emotion, were uttering them. Later, trying to sleep, she forced herself to think about tomorrow’s meeting with the Sheratons. Her distracted thoughts were not helped by the sounds of road-works on the pavement outside her parents’ house. The road was an artery into the city, busy during peak hour, and an emergency had arisen that meant the work had to be carried out during the night. The interminable trench was cordoned off by red and white striped plastic barriers, and leaflets delivered to each house on the crescent had apologised in advance for the inconvenience. She covered her head with a pillow but the noise penetrated. She had no idea who was responsible; electricity, gas, telephones, they all seemed to operate independently. At last she slept but her dreams were disturbed by crashing sounds, thuds and the relentless thump of heavy machinery.