Three Little Truths

by Eithne Shortall

  When she’d gotten into bed beside him that night, having changed into her pyjamas and resolved to return the nightdress the next day, she’d felt his erection. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to have sex with her, he just hadn’t wanted to . . .

  No. She couldn’t go there.

  She pulled a strand from her ponytail and wound it too tightly around her little finger. ‘Well, I thought we could try again.’

  Her voice cracked slightly on ‘again’ and Daniel turned. A look of sympathy and something else: Guilt? Regret? Resignation?

  She sat, half holding her breath, waiting for him to rehash the old excuses of money and security and yada yada. But instead he took his hand off the steering wheel and placed it on her knee.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his own voice threatening to break.

  He meant it. She knew he meant it. She just wished she could understand it.

  ‘That’s okay.’ She placed her own hand over his and squeezed tightly, then she took a deep breath and put on her best, most Edielike smile. ‘At least we’re guaranteed a fun weekend.’

  FOUR

  ‘Hang on!’ shouted Edie, as they turned up Pine Road and the car came to a sudden stop. ‘Rat poison! I nearly forgot, again.’ She scrambled to undo her seat belt.

  ‘Rat poison?’ Daniel looked at her, alarmed. ‘Do we have rats?’

  ‘No. It’s just . . . It’s precautionary.’ Daniel had no interest in the goings-on of Pine Road. He wasn’t looking to make new pals, whereas Edie – whose friends had moved out of Dublin, had babies and lost her number – was attempting to build an entire social circle. Being invited into the Pine Road Poker Group had been a big moment. She wasn’t going to risk getting kicked out. ‘I’ll see you up at the house. Will you stick on the heating when you get in? Thank you!’

  She closed the car door so quickly she nearly clipped her scarf. She should have known not to wear this to Daniel’s parents’ house. But then there was barely an item of clothing that Mrs Carmody didn’t think ‘did nothing’ for Edie.

  She turned from the car and walked straight into a woman – tall, thin, in wide-legged burgundy slacks – also heading for Island Stores.

  ‘Sorry, sorry! Wasn’t looking where I was going.’

  The woman smiled – defined cheekbones lifting, brown eyes twinkling – and Edie felt her mouth open. She was in her forties, probably, with a long, dark bob that kinked slightly to the left. She wore a cashmere jumper with her statement trousers; very simple, very chic, very . . . French. Oh, and her purse! It was lovely! Just like something from Vogue. French Vogue. Edie ripped pictures of women like this from magazines every time she went clothes shopping, but then she got distracted by seasonal trends and came home with yet more prints and sparkle. All of which was to say, this was just the sort of woman whose acceptance Edie craved.

  ‘I like your trousers, they’re—’

  ‘Do you live here?’ the woman asked at the same time.

  Edie abandoned her statement – it was a social tic of hers, using compliments as icebreakers. A woman like this would never do something so needy. A woman like this would be aloof. Oh, how Edie yearned to be aloof.

  ‘On Pine Road? Yes. Just up near the top, there, in the corner.’ Edie squinted up the road to see Daniel getting out of his beloved BMW. He always angled the car so precisely. For all the parking animosity on Pine Road, nobody could ever accuse them of taking up two spaces.

  ‘We just moved in,’ said the woman. ‘Number eight.’

  ‘You—’

  Edie couldn’t believe it. She was never this lucky! This was the woman behind the mysteriously quick move, the one who’d gotten her kids into Saint Ornatín’s at the last minute, even though tons of local families couldn’t. Fiona at number ten never stopped talking about how her twins were still on the waitlist for next year despite living five doors down from the principal. Trish said she couldn’t interfere on behalf of neighbours but, at the last poker game, when Trish wasn’t there, Bernie told them someone had interfered on behalf of this woman, someone very senior, and that’s how they’d gotten into the school.

  Edie’s first thought had been international witness protection, naturally. She’d imagined a family of Russian spies moving in to Pine Road, dyeing their hair, wearing coloured contact lenses and distorting their faces with various prosthetics in an attempt to conceal their true identity. Now she met the woman, she was rethinking this. She didn’t appear to be wearing make-up, never mind prosthetics.

  The husband and daughters had been spotted several times, but Edie would be the first with a report on the mother! She started storing away details. Were those boots Kurt Geiger? She was almost sure they were.

  ‘Number eight! Oh gosh, yes, hi. Hello.’ Her fingers instinctively went to her hair, flattening fly-aways and tightening her ponytail. ‘I’m Edie Rice.’ She yanked her hands from her head and extended the right one towards her new neighbour. ‘We’re at number nineteen, we’ve barely been there a year, me and my husband, Daniel. Carmody. Different names, but we’re married.’ Edie always added this now, since Ellen Two Names had been so confused when they first moved in.

  The woman smiled. Good skin, no sign of Botox. Edie planned to look into fillers when she turned thirty, unless she was pregnant. Thinking about that stressed her out. She wanted to have two children by thirty.

  ‘I’m Martha Rigby.’ The woman took Edie’s hand. Her skin was lovely and smooth. She probably used hand creams. Edie had never seen the point of hand creams but she was open to reconsidering. ‘I kept my name when I married too,’ said Martha. ‘My husband and daughters are Costello.’ So much in common already! Maybe Edie was more sophisticated than she gave herself credit for. ‘And I’ve an older son, Ellis, from a previous relationship. Different surname again.’

  Edie’s eyes widened at this extra, intimate piece of information. Her new neighbour said it like it was nothing, but Edie would never be foolish enough to treat it as such. She took confidences very seriously. It was a big deal to be vulnerable with a stranger, and it deserved reciprocation.

  ‘We don’t have any children,’ said Edie eagerly. ‘But we’re hoping to have them soon. We’re trying, actually, at the moment – to get pregnant, I mean.’

  ‘That’s great, Edie,’ replied Martha, barely missing a beat.

  ‘Yes.’ Edie hoped there were no bits of beans stuck in her teeth. ‘We’re super excited about it. Martha.’

  She was delighted to have remembered her name. Edie was usually so busy concentrating on making a good first impression and getting her own name right that she entirely missed the part where the other person introduced themselves. Martha Rigby. A strong, sophisticated name. It suited her perfectly.

  Martha smiled. She seemed to be having a good time. Which was good. Unless of course she was laughing at Edie rather than with her . . .

  ‘Tell me, Edie . . .’ said Martha, in a way that settled Edie’s insides. She’d always found deep voices reassuring. ‘Where did you get such a gorgeous scarf?’

  Martha had been in danger of letting yet another day slip through her fingers. But after the third identical hourly news bulletin, she’d coaxed herself up from the kitchen table, put on her boots and headed down to the local shop to get weed killer and dogfood.

  Robert and the girls had gone to visit his parents, but she said she had things to do around the house. She didn’t want to be in that car with him and she didn’t want to go back to Limerick. Ellis had mentioned calling around, but it was well after lunchtime and there was no sign of her son.

  She had been about to turn into Island Stores when she stopped abruptly to check there was money in her purse and collided with a young woman in a loud scarf climbing out of a shiny black car. The woman immediately started apologising, though the collision had almost definitely been Martha’s fault. She found the young woman’s enthusiastic way of speaking rather adorable. It was as if with every sentence, she was beseeching you to see how interesti
ng life was.

  Martha told the excitable woman, Edie, where they’d moved from and what Robert did. She in turn told Martha about her procreation plans – Martha did her best not to look taken aback by the bluntness of this – and about how her husband was a mechanic and she worked as a receptionist at the Shelbourne hotel. ‘I’ve just been made receptionist-slash-supervisor,’ Edie added. She was disproportionately delighted when Martha congratulated her – although not as disproportionately delighted as when she complimented her scarf – but what Martha was really wondering was how a mechanic and receptionist-slash-supervisor could afford a home on Pine Road. And Edie had pointed to the top of the street, where the houses were slightly bigger.

  ‘What age are your girls?’

  ‘Twelve and just gone sixteen. Orla’s in first year, Sinead’s in fifth.’

  ‘Sixteen! Great!’

  Martha nearly laughed. Ageing: it’s just so damn exciting.

  ‘At Saint Ornatín’s, right? I went there. I met my husband there, actually. Are you all settling in okay?’

  ‘So far so good,’ she said. ‘There’s still a lot of unpacking to do, and we don’t have much storage. We need wardrobes and shelves, but also pillows and possibly a mattress . . .’ She was overcome by a sudden urge to go back to bed, but she smiled politely. ‘It’ll all get done eventually.’

  ‘Have you heard of Interiors World?’ asked Edie in a breathless half-whisper, as if she were asking whether Martha had heard of the secret to eternal youth. ‘It’s an amazing place on the Long Mile Road. It’s massive and it has everything. I spent half my life there last year. We were supposed to get work done to the house, a whole new bathroom, and I had all these lists of what we were going to get and, well, it didn’t work out but . . .’ The girl’s ears started to pink. ‘We’re going to do it another time. After the baby, maybe. No rush, like. But anyway, it’s the most amazing place. Although’ – she glanced up at Martha – ‘it might be a bit basic for you. You’re probably more into bespoke furniture and one-off pieces.’ The girl’s ears were fully red now.

  Martha grinned. She liked this woman. She made Martha feel like her old self: calm, collected and in charge.

  ‘Would you like to go, Edie?’

  ‘Oh.’ Edie looked around. ‘Sorry. I’ve kept you. I do that. I ask too many questions, and I—’

  ‘No, Edie. I mean would you like to go to Interiors World? With me? Someday next week, maybe?’

  ‘With—’ Edie looked around again and then back up at Martha. ‘Yes. Yes, great. That’d be great.’

  ‘Great,’ agreed Martha.

  ‘I work shifts but I’m free Thursday? Does Thursday suit you?’

  ‘Thursday morning,’ decided Martha. ‘Say nine thirty? I can drive.’

  It felt so natural, so familiar, to be the one making plans. This was who Martha Rigby was: a woman who made things happen, not a woman to whom things happened.

  ‘Should we ask some of the other women, do you think, from the road?’ The smallest frown line appeared between Edie’s coloured-in brows. ‘There’s a group of us, we have a WhatsApp group, you could probably join—’

  ‘I’d rather keep it small.’ Bit by bit. Wasn’t that what Dr Morten had said? We rebuild bit by bit.

  ‘Right, yes, absolutely . . .’ Edie looked up, already wincing apologetically. ‘I just wonder if we shouldn’t say it to Bernie?’

  ‘Who’s Bernie?’

  ‘Bernie Watters-Reilly. She’s sort of in charge. Well,’ Edie winced again, ‘not in charge. Although she is head of the Parents’ Association at Saint Ornatín’s and sometimes she’s on the telly talking about how to be a good parent. But no, she’s . . . Bernie likes to know what’s going on. Most stuff on the road goes through her. She’s . . . she’s sort of the Pine Road gatekeeper.’ Edie reddened. ‘At least, that’s how I think of her.’

  Martha laughed. ‘Surely she doesn’t have to sanction everything?’

  Edie’s blush deepened. ‘Oh, of course not, no.’ She paused. ‘But I wouldn’t recommend getting on her bad side. Or Ellen’s – Ellen is sort of her sidekick. They’re a bit . . .’ Edie looked around nervously, then spoke louder. ‘But they’re fine when you get to know them. Bernie just likes being the organiser. You know how some people are like that.’

  ‘I do,’ said Martha, who’d had enough dillydallying now and wanted to get in out of the cold. ‘I’m one of them. And I’m organising this trip to Interiors World. So if you want to come—’

  ‘Yes,’ yelped Edie, visibly weighing up her options, her loyalties, and coming to a rushed conclusion. ‘Yes, for sure. Absolutely. I’d love to go.’

  ‘Wonderful. I’ll see you Thursday so.’

  Then Martha turned and headed into the warmth of Island Stores while Edie, who had clearly been on her way into the shop too, stood awkwardly outside, pretending to read the noticeboard.

  *** Pine Road Poker ***

  Ellen:

  Number 8 alert! New woman spotted. I was cleaning my upstairs windows and I saw her leaving her house. No coat on her.

  Ruby:

  So she does exist.

  Fiona:

  OMG! Is this the first sighting? XXX

  Ellen:

  Yes, Fiona. Of course it is. I wouldn’t be telling you otherwise.

  Fiona:

  YASSS KWEEN!!! Well done, hun! XXX

  Carmel:

  Where was she going, I wonder? It’s freezing out.

  Ruby:

  Probably going to report the woman a few doors up pretending to clean her windows while she spies on her ...

  Ellen:

  She went to Island Stores. Must have been a leisurely trip because she returned approximately thirty minutes later. She was carrying two large bags of household products and I spotted Island Stores’ own-brand dogfood. (@BernieWattersReilly)

  Fiona:

  No flies on you, Ellen. (Or your windows!) XXX

  Rita Ann:

  She didn’t happen to have a newspaper tucked under her arm, did she? I find the timing of their arrival and this thievery suspicious, to say the least.

  Carmel:

  What did she look like?

  Ruby:

  I’d say she’s good-looking, if her husband is anything to go by.

  Fiona:

  And judging by the daughters, I’m thinking dark hair! XXX

  Ruby:

  Agreed.

  Ellen:

  As the only person who’s actually *seen* her ... She’s tall, pale, late forties, bit gaunt, not unattractive.

  Edie:

  Good spot, Ellen! I was actually chatting to her outside Island Stores. That’s probably what held her up – my fault. We were nattering away! Her name’s Martha Rigby, but the rest of the family are Costello. She’s a grown son with a different name again. Very modern! They moved here from Limerick. I thought she was gorgeous. Clothes are v glam!

  And I’d definitely say early forties. x

  Fiona:

  What age are her girls, Edie?

  Edie:

  12 and 16. First year and fifth.

  Fiona:

  And what does the husband do?

  Edie:

  Works in Bank of Ireland.

  Carmel:

  A report worthy of a Pine Road veteran.

  Ruby:

  I’m afraid she has you beat there, Ellen!

  Rita Ann:

  Did she mention anything about a newspaper?

  Fiona:

  Never mind, Ellen. You can’t win them all. XXX

  FIVE

  Robin stepped out into the night air and shut the back door gently so as not to wake Jack, who had finally fallen asleep, albeit in her bed.

  ‘Stop calling.’

  There was a crackle down the line and the sound of Eddy breathing. Deep, rhythmic breaths, the kind he released on to her skin when he woke in the night and reached for her, searching her body until she too was awake.

  ‘Hi, babe.’


  ‘Stop – stop calling. I mean it, Eddy. And don’t come around here trying to talk to me, or Jack. And if you ever intimidate my dad again, I’ll . . .’ She trailed off. She had no threat to make.

  ‘I didn’t intimidate your old man. I would never. Your family is my family. I just happened to bump into them.’

  ‘Yeah right.’

  ‘You don’t believe me? That hurts, babe.’

  Robin’s father had explained that he’d been supervising Jack from the park bench. He’d glanced at his phone for a minute, just to check the latest scores, and when he looked back up Jack was on the monkey bars and there was a man standing under him. When Mick got closer, he saw it was Eddy. He hadn’t said anything because he didn’t want to worry her. Although when Robin confronted him about it, he’d seemed relieved to be getting it off his chest. He’d seemed a little worried himself.

  ‘I miss you, Robin. I love you.’

  ‘Stop.’

  The rasp of his voice said he was sorry but he wasn’t going to say he was sorry because he was still the man she wanted him to be.

  ‘I miss your hips . . .’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And your ass.’

  ‘Don’t.’ Robin closed her eyes and she hated herself. Nobody else in the world would have described her as needy, but around Eddy she was.

  ‘I miss how your nipples grow hard in my mouth.’

  She felt that familiar ache. She thought of him and she craved him.

  ‘Come back, babe; we’ll sort it out. I’ll be done with all that stuff if you want me to be. I was only ever looking out for us, for our family. You, me and the little man.’

  Robin didn’t say anything. She couldn’t go back to him. She knew she couldn’t.

  ‘You never asked me to stop before – we never spoke about it. But if you do, I will. I’d do anything for you. I’m your man.’

  Robin opened her eyes. She turned to face the house she’d grown up in. She looked up towards her childhood bedroom and watched the shadows thrown on the blind by Jack’s nightlight. She thought of Jack.