Lying in Wait (16 page)

Saturday started well. Mrs Gough piled my plate high with bacon and sausages for breakfast, but I quelled my appetite with two pints of water and didn’t gorge myself like I had the previous evening. Bridget chatted about her new friend Karen and showed her mother some of the photos she had taken of her.

‘Well, isn’t she just a smashing-looking girl? That’s good enough for a magazine, isn’t it, Maureen?’

Indeed it was. It hadn’t even been one of the posed shots, but it was the best of them. It was a close-up shot of Karen sitting on the blanket in Stephen’s Green, unscrewing the cap of the flask. She had been laughing at something I’d said. Her beautiful hair contrasted with the spring green of the trees behind her, and she looked entirely natural and without blemish. It had been just before the detective’s interruption. Bridget thought that she had lost one of the prints a week or two earlier. It was in a hole in the wall behind my writing desk at Avalon.

Mr Gough asked politely what our plans were for the day. Bridget said we were going to watch Josie play a camogie match and then visit her grandfather in a nursing home on the outskirts of town. I smiled broadly, as if there were nothing I would rather do. I could feel them all warming to me. It didn’t take much. They were inclined to be generous and forgiving, but I realized that I wouldn’t easily get a chance to run to a postbox on my own.

On the sidelines of a camogie pitch in the drizzle, I struggled to keep warm. The game was, as all sports are to me, unremarkable. Sweaty, red-faced, aggressive teenagers wielding sticks and running around in the mud. Afterwards, we took Josie to a café.

‘You were the best, wasn’t she, Laurence?’

‘You were,’ I agreed.

‘Are you going to eat that much again tonight, because Mam has to go to the shops again if you do?’

‘Josie!’

‘I’m only asking.’

‘No, I don’t know what happened to me last night. I have a metabolism disorder, I think.’

‘Meta … what?’

‘Josie, now please leave Laurence alone.’

I made up some semi-truthful story about my body being unable to process quantities, which meant that sometimes I was ravenously hungry, but assured her that it didn’t happen often.

‘God, you must be mortified that it happened on your first night here. Don’t worry, I’ll explain it to Mam later. She was just worried that the housekeeping money wouldn’t last the week.’

‘I really am sorry about that.’

Bridget was grateful.

Later, she and I walked half an hour out towards the Roscommon road to see her granddad, passing two postboxes on the way. I dared not stop. It was a grim place, a state-owned nursing home. Bridget’s grandfather sat in a high-backed chair among all the other shells who had once been people. Bridget took photos of the liver spots on his hand and of the adjacent tea trolley. Granddad didn’t know who Bridget was, but Bridget talked patiently to him, answering his endlessly repeated questions: ‘Are you Peter? Where’s Daddy? Are we going home now? Where’s Peter?’

Bridget introduced me. ‘Granddad, this is Laurence, my boyfriend.’

But Granddad never even turned his head to look at me until we were leaving and then, out of nowhere, he turned towards me, stared for a few seconds and then looked back at Bridget. ‘I don’t like him. There’s something wrong with him.’ A pause and then, ‘Where’s Peter? Are we going home now?’

Bridget laughed it off. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’ Actually, he did.

Afterwards, I suggested taking a short tour of the town
myself, but Bridget insisted that her dad was going to give me the tour next morning, and slipped her arm through mine. There was no getting away.

That evening, at tea, or dinner, I chatted cordially and was careful about how much I ate. Everybody tried hard to hide their relief. They were relaxed enough to start asking more personal questions.

‘Exactly how long have you been going out together?’ asked Maureen.

‘It’ll be two years in September.’ I was surprised when Bridget said that. Had it really been that long?

Josie started to hum ‘Here Comes the Bride’
.
This time, everyone ignored her. Mr Gough went to the pub for his two routine Saturday-night pints and a game of darts, and the rest of us settled down to watch television with tea and biscuits. I restrained myself once again.

The next morning, we were woken early to go to Mass. This was treated like a big occasion. The girls had been up early doing their hair, and Mrs Gough was polishing all the shoes, including mine. She tried to hide her disappointment that I hadn’t brought my suit, but I placated her by wearing one of Mr Gough’s nylon ties. According to tradition, we weren’t allowed to eat before Mass. By the time we got to church at 10.30 a.m., I was starving. And the journey to and from the church had been a group one. My mood deteriorated.

On the way home, the women of the family rushed off together and I was left with the taciturn Mr Gough, who offered to show me around the town. I could hardly refuse, but felt ambushed. We walked up and down the grey streets and across the Shannon while he pointed to things in between long silences. ‘That’s the library … that’s the castle.’ Mr Gough was not a natural conversationalist.

Having pointed out his local pub on the riverbank, he said, ‘Is there anything in particular you’d like to ask me?’

‘Sorry?’

He sighed heavily. ‘Is there anything you want to ask me about Bridget?’

With horror, the realization dawned on me that he was expecting me to ask for Bridget’s hand in marriage. They all were. I dissembled. ‘When did you say the barracks was built?’

He ignored my feigned ignorance. ‘Mrs Gough and I were married at your age.’

I never found out their first names. They consistently referred to each other as Mam and Dad or formally as Mr and Mrs.

‘But I’m only twenty-three.’

‘Still, if you find the right girl, you needn’t hang about.’

Unsure how to answer, I opted to say nothing. We were standing by the lock gate at the weir. He kicked at the ground with both shoes for no apparent reason, scuffing the toes. I recall thinking that Mrs Gough’s earnest shoe-polishing had been for nought.

‘Bridget is an unusual-looking girl, and she’s not the brightest, but she has a kind heart and a sweet nature. And she’s my daughter. If you don’t want to marry her, you should let her go, so she can find someone who will.’

He was surprisingly eloquent. I could feel his embarrassment as it stretched invisibly from his reddened face to my crimson one.

‘I don’t mean to hurt her, Mr Gough –’ but he strode ahead. He had said what he was primed to say, and the ‘chat’ and tour of the town were over. That would have been my opportunity to go off and post the letter, but I was so blindsided by what had just happened that I scurried after him.

The atmosphere at dinner was awful. It was obvious that the women had been primed for celebration on our return. An ashen-faced Bridget claimed a headache and went upstairs to lie down. She didn’t join us for food. Mr Gough was completely mute. I was starving and ate everything put in front of me. When Mrs Gough offered more, I took it, until there was nothing left. If nobody had been looking, I would have licked all of the plates.

‘There’s something wrong with his metasism,’ said Josie helpfully.

Mrs Gough kept up the banter. ‘Did you see Una Crawley at Mass? Wasn’t her hair lovely? Though I don’t like the way she goes up to the front pew. It’s far from the front pew she was reared, and she only married into that family six months. They always thought they were better than they were. She’ll want to be having a baby soon, the Farrells will be wanting a son to carry on the name in the town …’

Maureen interjected occasionally to point out how old-fashioned her mother’s attitudes were, and Josie stared at my plate, nudging her sister every time I reloaded it.

It was almost time to go to the bus station. Mrs Gough went up to see if Bridget was all right, and I went to gather my things from my bedroom. I could hear Bridget sobbing through the thin walls and her mother talking to her sternly.

I waited in the kitchen until Mrs Gough appeared to say that Bridget wasn’t feeling well and would stay at home for the time being. She apologized that she wouldn’t accompany me to the bus stop this time, as she had visiting to do. She shook my hand but did not meet my eye while I thanked her for her hospitality. Maureen waved from the top of the stairs. Mr Gough’s handshake was limp, but he mumbled a ‘Goodbye and good luck now’, relieved, I think, that his part in the drama was over.

Josie followed me out to the street. ‘You’re not good enough for her anyway!’ she said, and then burst into tears and ran inside.

I posted the letter beside the bus stop and boarded the bus, grateful that the ordeal had come to an end.

When I got home that afternoon, there was a car in the driveway that I didn’t recognize. I let myself into the house and saw Mum standing in the hall with a man.

‘Hello, you must be Laurence.’ Tall, late fifties, well dressed in a casual yacht-club style, he was debonair and confident.

Mum introduced him. She seemed upset. ‘Laurence, meet Malcolm.’

There was something vaguely familiar about him, but I couldn’t place him. I was courteous and polite, but it was awkward standing around in the hall. He left after five minutes’ conversation about the weather and the Anglo-Irish Agreement.

‘How was your weekend?’

‘How was yours?’

‘Fine, lovely, Malcolm and I went out to lunch.’

‘Out?’

‘Yes, well, it was very lonely here without you.’

‘And how do you know Malcolm?’

‘He … he’s a friend. I met him in … St John of God’s.’

‘What?’

‘He’s a psychiatrist. He was here in a personal capacity, as a friend.’

That’s why he looked familiar. I had met him once or twice when Mum was in the psychiatric hospital. I was reassured. She smiled one of her best fake smiles. She was clearly uncomfortable talking about him and diverted quickly.

‘Did you post the letter?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did anyone see you?’

‘No, it was fine.’

I went to the kitchen to turn on the kettle for tea and noticed the window blind was gone.

‘We can’t live in the dark for ever, darling. We must move on,’ said Mum, standing behind me. She ruffled my hair fondly, like she used to when I was a boy.

‘Your granny is coming for dinner. You should go and freshen up, darling. I can smell the turf fire on you. How primitive!’

The phone rang at about six o’clock. It was Bridget.

‘I’m still in Athlone. I’m too embarrassed to see you.’

‘Bridget, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were expecting –’

‘Please don’t say it, I feel bad enough.’

‘But we’re so young, marriage hadn’t even crossed my mind –’

‘Why did you want to meet my family? You must have known what that meant to me?’

‘I was …’

‘What?’

‘I don’t love you.’

I could imagine her bad eye rolling up into her head.

‘What do you mean?’ Her voice was very high-pitched.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What? Are you breaking up with me? I know things have been a little odd between us recently, you’ve been so busy helping Karen.’

‘That’s not it.’

‘I just think you’ve got a bit, you know, emotionally involved, but I can tell her you need a break. You don’t have to … we don’t have to get married yet, but that’s no reason –’

‘Bridget, I can’t –’

‘Please don’t dump me.’

‘I’m sorry, Bridget, I really am, but you deserve better than me.’

I hung up the phone gently and went to get myself a drink. I joined Mum in the kitchen. The evening was bright. The bird bath was smothered in swallows.

‘I just broke up with Bridget.’

‘Oh dear, is she very upset?’

‘Yes.’

‘Poor Bridget.’

Indeed. I felt relief, but was also worried that seeing Karen would be awkward at the very least. She and Bridget were confidantes, I knew. I waited to see what would happen when the letter landed in Pearse Street.

I
was absolutely raging with Annie. I couldn’t believe that she could be that cruel. For nearly six years, me and Ma and Da had been half worried to death over what could have happened to her. Our worst fears haunted us, and all this time she’d been sitting on her arse somewhere down the country, living a new secret life and not giving a toss about us. She’d left us to rot. She’d broken up her parents’ marriage and didn’t even know or care.

I knew the handwriting on the envelope when I saw it, and even though it was addressed to Ma, I screamed for Da to come downstairs. He nearly passed out when I explained it was from Annie. Da was no good with reading. ‘Open it,’ he said.

What a betrayal. No address, no contact details, and she was apparently living under a different name so that we wouldn’t find her. I knew that Annie could be wild and destructive, but I had never thought she could be that selfish.

Da cried and rang Ma. She arrived on the next train, tearful and delighted at the same time. ‘At least she’s OK!’ she kept saying, but I found it impossible to find any comfort in this. I turned it over and over in my mind and, yes, I think I would have preferred if she’d been dead. That probably makes me a horrible person, but I loved her and she had shat on all of us. I had never been rejected before, but my own sister didn’t want to know me.

We examined the envelope and the writing paper. They were unremarkable. The letter had been posted on Sunday
the 20th of July, from Athlone. We went through the letter, line by badly spelled line. At least that hadn’t changed. Da and me were devastated, but Ma felt justified. She said it proved that it was Da’s fault and not hers. I didn’t care about blame. I was hurt by the fact that I only got six words in the whole letter. It was like I was an afterthought. She had forgotten about me. We discussed whether we should take this to the guards, but Ma said no, because if she’d been in trouble with them before she left, there could still be charges pending against her.

‘What will we do?’ said Ma.

‘Nothing. Leave her alone. She doesn’t want us.’ Da put on his jacket and we didn’t have to guess where he was headed.

Ma stayed. I wondered if she and Da would reconcile now. I thought about ringing Dessie because I wanted someone to comfort me, but I knew he would feel smug and would point out that my search had been a wild goose chase. Ma slept in my room, in Annie’s bed, that night. We heard Da falling up the stairs in the small hours of the morning. The next day, I cancelled work for a few days. Yvonne wanted to know why, but I didn’t want to explain. The truth was too humiliating, and it made a fool out of her son. James had been wrong all along about the murder suspect. I claimed illness.

I rang Bridget at work, but she wasn’t there, so I tried Laurence. I told him what had happened. He was completely silent for a few moments. I suppose he was annoyed. He and Bridget had spent months tracking down death notices and old car registrations. I had wasted their time.

‘Do you want to meet later?’ he said.

‘Maybe. Where’s Bridget? I heard she wasn’t at work today.’

‘No, she’s … in … Athlone with her folks. I’ll see you in Kehoe’s? About five thirty? You can tell me everything.’

I had forgotten that Bridget was from Athlone. But hearing the place name made me angry again. How could you, Annie? I rang the bus company to check the timetable. I packed a small bag and told Ma I was meeting a friend in Kehoe’s and that I was going from there to get a bus to Athlone to find Annie.

‘Karen, I don’t know … she seemed certain … she doesn’t want to be found.’

‘And what about what we want? Don’t you want to see her?’

‘I do. Of course I do. But … maybe you’re right. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all go and visit her?’

‘Exactly. Well, I’m going to find her first.’ I had the silver-framed photo of Annie from the sitting room on top of my bag.

‘Be careful though, love. You don’t want to give anyone the impression that she’s in trouble. If she’s living a good life now, she won’t want to drag up her past.’

‘I’m going to say that I found the photo and just want to return it to its owner.’

I met Laurence. I apologized profusely for all the time he had wasted looking for my sister’s ‘murderer’.

‘Please, don’t. At least she’s alive. And happy.’

‘And cruel and selfish.’

‘But aren’t you glad she’s OK?’

The way he looked at me when he said it. I noticed again the kindness in his eyes. I tried not to cry and put my head down, but he put his arm gently around my neck and kissed the top of my head. I pulled away, reluctantly. I was momentarily confused, but before I had a chance to react, we were interrupted by Dessie. He caught me by the arm and physically pulled me off the stool, knocking it to the ground.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Laurence stood up and faced him. ‘I’m her friend. Let her go.’

‘Dessie, please, what are you doing here?’ I shook him off.

‘Your ma rang and told me what happened. She told me you’d be here with a
friend
. Is he why you left me?’

Everyone in the pub had stopped to stare.

‘I think you should leave,’ said Laurence.

‘She’s my wife.’

‘Not any more,’ I said.

‘I was right about Annie all along. She was nothing but trouble and she never gave a shit about you. I’ll wait for you outside.’

The barman was approaching to remove Dessie. He put his hands in the air to show he wanted no trouble and was escorted to the door.

‘I’m sorry, I have to go talk to him.’

‘Karen –’

‘Laurence, can you give me Bridget’s address in Athlone? I’m getting the seven o’clock bus.’

‘You … what?’

‘I have to find her. Is Bridget on holidays? Why is she in Athlone?’

‘Find Annie? But didn’t the letter say she wanted to be left alone?’

‘Yeah, but she’s not getting off the hook that easily. Can I have Bridget’s address?’

He wrote it into my notebook. ‘Karen, I’m so sorry.’

Outside, I confronted Dessie. I was livid. ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again. You are only embarrassing yourself. I am not your property. I left you, and now I know for sure I was right to do it. Laurence is a friend, a friend who understands about Annie. He has a girlfriend who also happens to
be a friend of mine. There’s nothing going on, and even if there was, it’s none of your business.’

‘It didn’t look innocent from where I was standing. Do all your friends kiss you?’

I was shaking with stress and anger, but I managed to walk away.

It was only later, on the bus to Athlone, that I thought about that strange kiss and the way he had said he was sorry. I thought that Laurence really was genuinely sorry that Annie had abandoned me. Or maybe he was sorry that he had kissed me, even though he had done it so innocently. I didn’t know what was meant by the kiss, if anything was meant at all, but I know I liked it. I liked the comfort of Laurence’s arms around me. I liked his kind eyes. I felt that he understood me, particularly about Annie. He had really gone out of his way. On weekends he had gone to garages down the country, and he had illegally pulled files from social welfare records to see how much money Annie had got when she was on the dole, and tried to reconcile it with amounts marked in that notebook of hers. Of course Bridget helped too, but I don’t think she was as interested. Laurence really cared. I felt bad for even thinking that way, betraying Bridget.

I got off the bus in Athlone late that Wednesday night and walked through the rain until I turned up at Bridget’s door. I should have looked up her parents’ phone number and called first. Her mother ushered me into the front room. She spoke in the exact same nervous, rushed way that Bridget did.

‘I recognize you from the photo! You’re Bridget’s friend Karen. Come in out of the rain! Did she ring you with the news? You’re very good to come. She’s devastated! Hang on there now till I call her down. You’ll have a cup of tea.’ And
then she disappeared and I heard her shouting up the stairs to Bridget.

I was utterly confused. What was she talking about? Why was Bridget devastated?

When Bridget appeared, her face was pale and her eyes were red-rimmed. She was very surprised to see me.

‘Karen, what are you doing … how did you know?’

We exchanged our news and I realized why Laurence had avoided answering any of my questions about Bridget. He had broken up with her three nights previously. I tried to put the kiss to the back of my mind and comfort my friend. I explained that we’d had a letter from Annie postmarked Athlone.

‘What? But I thought you said she was dead? We were looking for the guy who killed her.’

‘I was wrong. She’s here. Or somewhere nearby. I’m going to look for her tomorrow, but I should get going. I’ve booked a bed and breakfast place down the street.’

Mrs Gough bustled in with a tea tray. ‘Mam, Karen can stay here, can’t she? She’s booked a B’n’B, but she can stay?’

‘Of course you can. You’ll be more than welcome, more than welcome. You are so good to come. We can make the same arrangement as the weekend – Maureen and Josie can share.’

‘Oh no, please, I don’t want you to go to any trouble.’

‘Hush now, girl. Sure, it’s no trouble at all. Oh, Bridget, she’s even more beautiful in the flesh. And you’re a model? Well, that’s no surprise. Sure, we’ve never had a model in the house before. Are you hungry? You must be. I’ll make you up a sandwich now. Bridget, light the fire for our guest. It’s freezing in here. Sure, you wouldn’t think it was the middle of summer at all at all.’ And off she went, a whirlwind of nervous energy.

Bridget and I smiled at each other. I used the Goughs’ phone to cancel the bed and breakfast.

‘I never told my mam about Annie. She wouldn’t understand – you know, about the drugs and … that, so she thinks you’re here because Laurence dumped me.’

‘It’s OK, I understand. I won’t mention her.’

She apologized that she couldn’t help me look for Annie the next day, because the town was too small and her parents would find out and she didn’t want to have to explain to them that I was the sister of a … she couldn’t find a polite word. I felt more resentment towards Annie, and a little towards Bridget.

Bridget and me sat up late that night by the fire, talking about Annie initially, but the conversation kept coming back to Laurence. Bridget had booked a week off work because she wasn’t ready to face him in the office. I wondered why Laurence had never moved out of home. It was a bit weird, though of course I was back living with Da. But I’d been out of the house for years until I left Dessie. I tried to ask about Laurence casually.

‘Do you think Laurence has told
his
mum about Annie? His dad is dead, right? What’s she like, his mum?’

‘I’ve never met her. That should have been a sign, shouldn’t it? I mean, if he had really been interested in me, he would have introduced me to his mam. I’m such a fool.’

It was strange that Laurence had never brought Bridget to see his mother after nearly two years.

‘I think she has that disease – you know, the opposite of claustrophobia.’ I had never heard of claustrophobia. Bridget explained. Mrs Fitzsimons apparently never went out.

‘What? Never?’

‘Well, she goes out to the shops and things, but she never leaves the house overnight. Never goes away for a weekend.’

‘And what’s the house like?’

‘I’ve never been in it. That should have been a clue too, shouldn’t it? He must have thought I wasn’t good enough. But I was curious, so I walked past it once. I couldn’t even see it from the gate. There’s a big avenue leading up to it. I’d say it must be huge.’

‘Don’t be silly, he didn’t dump you because you’re not good enough!’

‘Well, he was acting weird for the last few months. Definitely. I mean, he’s always been a little bit odd.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When I first started dating him, he was really big – obese, you know? And then when he started losing weight, he got really fidgety. Even in the office, he’s kind of jumpy all the time. When he stayed over with me, he only slept about three hours a night. And over time he got more and more jumpy, but the last few months he’s just been …’

‘What?’

‘Hot and cold? And then he asked to come and meet my family. And I think after he met them, he thought that his mam would never approve.’

I had an uneasy feeling that Laurence may have dumped Bridget for an entirely different reason. I remembered the smell of his skin as he drew me in for that hug and the feeling of his lips on the crown of my head. I thought about all the times he had tagged along when Bridget and me were going to the cinema, or shopping. I’d felt like I was the gooseberry sometimes, but maybe it was Bridget who was the gooseberry.

Bridget burst into tears again. ‘What am I going to do?’ We talked it through. She didn’t think Laurence would reconsider their relationship. He had been very insistent there was no going back in their final phone call. She had to
be realistic, she said. She was going to apply for a transfer to a different office. She didn’t want to have to see him every day.

I wanted to tell her that I’d met him earlier that evening, but something stopped me. There had been no real reason to meet. We could have had our conversation over the phone. I knew that by not telling her I was betraying our friendship. I knew that it was the start of something for me. And for Laurence.

The next morning I met the rest of Bridget’s family. They were lovely. The youngest girl, Josie, asked for my autograph. ‘I’ve never met anyone who’s been in a magazine before,’ she said.

I thanked them for their hospitality and hugged Bridget, arranging to meet her before I got the bus back home. I set off on my quest to find Annie. I told the shopkeepers, pub and café owners that I had found this silver-framed photo at the bus station and wondered if they knew the girl in the photo. It was the only story I could think of. Because of the harelip, people might remember Annie. Her photo hadn’t featured in the press for more than a few days after the initial investigation. Other young women who had gone missing all over the country sparked annual appeals and renewed press coverage, but I guess that because of her background Annie’s case was never reopened.