‘And then she told me,’ said Robin, holding up a hand, instructing Edie to relax. ‘Well, she showed me the article. You must be proud of your husband.’
‘And Robin told me,’ added Carmel. ‘But I haven’t told anyone, except Mick. But he’s probably forgotten already. He was only half listening because a repeat of At Your Service was on TV. Jesus, but that man loves Francis Brennan.’
‘So does Robert,’ said Martha.
Carmel considered this. ‘What’s that about, I wonder?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So, you’re not mad?’ said Edie, eager for absolution. She was also eager for more details, but not at the risk of losing target friends and possible participants in future impromptu drinks.
‘No,’ said Martha. ‘Of course not. I might easily have done the same.’
‘I’d say it was terrible,’ sympathised Carmel. ‘We’d someone break into our place once. They stole all the DVDs except The Bridges of Madison County and I couldn’t be in the place alone for days.’
‘And they still haven’t caught anyone,’ said Edie, avoiding Robin’s quizzical look. She’d meant it to sound more like a musing than a statement. She’d only phoned the press office one more time. The guards still had nothing to report. It didn’t sound like they’d done a tap.
‘I actually phoned the inspecting officer yesterday, for the first time since we moved here, to see if he’d any update.’
‘And?’ asked Edie eagerly.
‘Nothing.’
They fell quiet for a moment, then Martha spoke again: ‘I saw one of them.’
‘You what?’
‘One of the men who came to the house, I saw his face. He was outside, in the car. I never told anyone.’
Edie gasped. ‘The article said they were wearing balaclavas.’
Carmel shuddered. ‘I wouldn’t like that now, at all at all.’
‘This man was supposed to follow Robert to the bank. He was sitting in the car and it was far enough away but he pulled up the balaclava just as he started the engine. I’m positive he saw me. For a second, we were just sitting there, looking at each other, and then he left.’
‘Why wouldn’t you tell anyone?’ Edie’s head was set to explode. There she was thinking it was a dead case, and now she had a piece of information even the guards didn’t have. She put her hand to her chest and instructed herself to calm down. All the mother-to-be message boards agreed that relaxed was the best state in which to conceive. ‘Not even Robert?’
Martha shook her head and emptied her glass.
‘I watched a true-crime documentary recently about a serial rapist in America and in the end, they caught him because one of his victims described him to the press and some woman was out on her lawn one morning, reading the newspaper, and she recognised the description as the guy who was cleaning her pool right at that very second, right in front of her!’
‘Nope.’ Carmel shook her head. ‘Would not like that, at all at all.’
‘I felt sorry for him.’ Martha ran her finger lightly along the hair that framed her face.
‘What?’
‘He looked worried. Probably because he was driving back roads, or because he thought he might get caught.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I can still see him, his face. It’s . . .’
Edie reached for a pen on the coffee table. But Martha’s eyes flew open again and she snapped out of it.
‘I don’t think I could describe him, not in any meaningful way. I have no idea of his build or how tall he was, and the balaclava was covering his hair.’
‘But if you had to?’ pressed Edie, eyeing her notebook lying on top of the television.
‘Soulful eyes?’ offered Martha eventually, covering her mouth as she spluttered out a sudden laugh. ‘I don’t know. White, Irishlooking, maybe stubble, sort of dangerous-looking. Although that might just have been the context. I don’t even know what colour his soulful eyes were.’
Edie couldn’t mask her disappointment. She didn’t bother with the notebook.
‘I know,’ said Martha. ‘It’s not a lot to go on.’
‘No,’ sympathised Carmel. ‘I wouldn’t say you’d be getting your day out in court with that description. I don’t get why you wouldn’t tell Robert, though. I treat Mick like my own personal worry doll; I lump him with everything that’s bothering me, and then I float off to sleep.’
Martha shifted a little, folding her legs in a manner that suggested she was done talking about it. ‘I think I just wanted to forget.’
Edie glanced at the clock on the television. ‘Oh gosh! I’m already late.’
She leapt from the armchair and the others got to their feet, gathering their things.
‘Sorry to be kicking you out!’ She carried the empty Prosecco bottle into the hall and grabbed the hairbrush from the table. She was wearing her hair in a high pony, just how Daniel liked it. She gathered their coats from under the stairs and started doling them out.
She marvelled at the cleanliness of Martha’s jacket. How did she wear wool without attracting any lint?
‘Thank you for coming,’ she enthused. ‘A lovely, spur-of-themoment get-together! We should—’
But before she could suggest consulting their diaries to find a good date for their next impromptu drinks, the doorbell went.
A silhouette appeared through the frosted glass of Edie’s front door. Robin, who was positioned nearest, leaned forward and pulled it open.
‘Oh, hello.’ Bernie Watters-Reilly was standing on the doorstep dressed, as she always was, impeccably. Edie wasn’t into skirt suits herself, but Bernie really pulled them off. ‘Sorry to disturb. I didn’t realise you were having a party.’
‘We’re not,’ called Edie quickly, standing on her tippy toes to be seen behind the others. ‘It was impromptu.’
‘We were just leaving actually,’ added Robin, making to slide past Bernie.
‘Here.’ The blonde woman pressed a sheet of paper into Robin’s hand and smiled widely. She reached into her bag. ‘I have one for everyone in the audience.’ She handed three more to Carmel.
‘What is it?’
Robin peered at the page. ‘Is it . . . a drawing of a dog?’
‘It’s an artist’s impression,’ corrected Bernie, smile still at full wattage. Edie ran her tongue self-consciously along her own teeth. ‘Of the dog that bit Sylvie outside Island Stores last month.’
Carmel, who was still hoarding all three printouts, snorted but when Bernie’s eyes shot in her direction, she pretended to be sneezing.
‘So you’re taking this quite seriously, then,’ said Edie, more tactfully.
‘Oh, we are. We’ve talked to the guards but, as usual, they’re doing nothing.’ Bernie pulled her jacket tighter. Edie wanted to invite the woman in out of the damp, but she really did have to go. ‘This new garda commissioner was supposed to be about reform,’ she hooted. ‘I’m not seeing a damn sign of it. It’s always the same: nothing they can do. Not about parking, not about that catastrophe up at the school, and not about mangy dogs roaming the streets, attacking innocent children.’
This time Carmel exhaled loudly and didn’t try to cover it up. ‘Still, at least you’ll get a column out of it.’
‘If it was your grandson, Carmel Dwyer, it’d be a different matter.’
‘My grandson doesn’t go sticking his hand in dogs’ mouths in the hope of a little attention.’
‘How dare you!’
‘I’m just saying, do you not think this is a bit much? I saw Sylvie out on the road lecturing Fiona’s twins on how to dance to Taylor Swift last night. She seemed grand.’
Bernie’s showbiz smile tightened. ‘She survived this attack, yes, but what about the next one? And what if this beast attacks someone else’s child? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.’
Edie tried to take one of the sheets from Carmel. She also thought it was a bit extreme to get an artist’s impression of a dog, but she wanted to stay on the good side o
f all her neighbours, especially the powerful ones. Also, she was intrigued by the possibility of identifying the animal. A mystery’s a mystery.
But Carmel folded them over, placed them on the hall table and moved the Waterford Crystal bowl on top, making it clear to Bernie that she would not be taking hers with her.
‘Thank you, Bernie,’ called Edie, back on her tippy toes. ‘I’ll take a good look at that and keep an eye out. I’m good with faces.’
‘Lick arse,’ mumbled Carmel.
Bernie surveyed the group. ‘The famous Martha Rigby, am I right?’ She flicked her blonde hair behind her shoulders and smiled. ‘I’ve just been to your house. Met your husband. Nice man. And I heard your daughter on the radio last Friday.’ She set her teeth to dazzle. ‘Very articulate.’
‘Right, well,’ declared Robin, ‘I’ve a play to get to.’ She skirted past Bernie and down the garden path. ‘Thanks for the drink, Edie.’
Bernie’s eyes flashed back to the trio still standing in the hallway. They narrowed slightly as they landed on the empty prosecco bottle on the hall table. Edie blushed. It had been impromptu!
‘Well,’ said Bernie slowly, sucking in her teeth. ‘Continue to have a nice weekend, ladies. And remember’ – she pointed inside, to the folded pages on the hall table – ‘stay vigilant.’
Then she turned and left.
The three women stood in silence until they heard the creak of the next garden gate being opened.
‘The artist’s impression is signed,’ whispered Carmel dramatically. ‘Is she planning to sell it afterwards? What is she like? Quarter to eight on a Friday night. Surely there’s a mirror somewhere she could be practising that big TV smile of hers in?’
‘Quarter to eight! Oh gosh. I am officially late. Okay, bye!’ said Edie, shimmying her coat up both arms and grabbing her keys from the hall table and her handbag from the floor. The other two women were already in the garden. She closed the door and hurried after them.
‘Bye.’ She waved manically as Martha sailed across the road.
God, she admired that woman’s ability to pull off a mid-length skirt.
‘See you, Carmel!’ She rubbed the older woman’s shoulders and hurried down the road ahead of her.
She didn’t want to be late for Daniel. She didn’t want to risk doing anything – and she meant, anything – that might interfere with their harmonious love nest for the next three days.
*** Pine Road Poker ***
Edie:
I talked to Martha. The Costello/Rigbys are a yes for the Pine Road pre-Easter street party!
Carmel:
Hang on a sec. I seem to have missed last week’s thread. Cheese-free fondue?? Is that a joke? The whole bloody thing is cheese!
Edie:
(Martha will make a Pavlova. X)
Carmel:
Cheese-free fondue would be a bowl of air. Is that what you’re looking for, Ellen? Cause no problem. I can bring a nice big empty bowl and Sylvie can dip bread in that to her heart’s content. One actual fondue for actual people, and one nonsense fondue for nonsense people. How about that? Would that work?
NINETEEN
‘Admit it. You brought me to that play to get me in the mood.’ Cormac snorted so the foam from his Guinness sprayed up on to his face. ‘You got me. I thought, “Detailed study of the repressed psyche of the Irish male? She’ll be putty in my hands.”’ He placed the pint on the low table between them. They were sitting in a pub across from the Abbey but given that the wine options had made Cormac opt for Guinness, she doubted it was big with the theatre crowd. ‘I thought you were going to unscrew the seat you were wriggling so much in the first act.’
‘It took forever for something to happen.’
‘It was pensive,’ he countered.
‘It was slower than Mass. The halftime break couldn’t come soon enough.’
He grinned. ‘It’s called an interval.’
‘Whatever.’ She smiled back.
So, okay. She hadn’t actually told Cormac about Jack, yet – but she hadn’t told Edie she had either. She’d kept her answer evasive and Edie had heard what she wanted to hear. She was going to tell him, tonight, just not yet.
‘I was impressed by the crowd,’ she said. ‘Lots of famous people.’
‘It was opening night. Nobody there paid for a ticket. It’s the great, the good and the critics.’
‘What do you call yer man with the wig from the telly? Your pal.’
‘I wouldn’t call him my pal . . .’
‘He greeted you by name, Cormac. And you knew what he was going to order!’ Robin waved away his modesty. ‘So you’re basically his best man.’
Cormac laughed into his pint. Robin leaned over and wiped the foam from above his lip.
‘Wait till I tell Dad I was sitting behind Bono,’ said Robin. ‘He’s going to love that.’
‘Is he a fan?’
‘Of Bono? God, no. Although it’s hard to know which he hates more, Bono or the sunglasses.’ Robin took a sip of her wine. ‘I don’t know how he saw a thing. The place was pitch black.’
‘Maybe he was snoozing?’
‘Wouldn’t blame him.’
Cormac flicked a beermat in her direction but she deflected it.
‘Well, I loved what it had to say about fatherhood, the way the briars started to unravel. I found that very affecting,’ said Cormac, his hand stopping halfway through his hair. ‘Why are you smiling?’ Though he was smiling too. She loved that. She loved that he didn’t mind potentially being the butt of a joke.
‘Nothing,’ she said, ‘I just like how earnest you are.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he scoffed.
‘I do, really.’
He blushed, then pointed at her empty gin glass. ‘Another?’
‘Go on,’ said Robin, pushing it towards him. ‘But then I have to go.’
‘Go . . . back to my flat?’
Cormac grinned and Robin grinned more.
‘No. Go home, to my own home.’ Now was the perfect time to tell him. Tell him you have to go home to your son, Robin admonished herself. Say: ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you . . .’ and be done with it. It’ll be fine. And if it’s not fine, it’s better to know.
But Robin wasn’t sure if she really believed that. She liked him. Like, feel-it-in-her-tummy amounts; butterflies before she met him, hollowness when she had to leave. What if she ruined it? What if fully embracing honesty left her with no man, no job, no qualifications, and little choice but to return to Eddy?
But before she could say anything, Cormac was leaning across the table, giving her a long, slow kiss that she was sure was drawing the eye of a few of the auld lads at the bar. She felt her body slump as he pulled away. ‘I’ll convince you when I get back.’
She hadn’t heard from Eddy in more than two weeks. Maybe he’d found someone else to provide an alibi? Would she be missing him more if she hadn’t met Cormac? Because she didn’t miss him, not any more. Eventually she’d arrange some way for Jack to see him but she’d wait for whatever this latest mess was to blow over.
‘A nightcap before we retire,’ said Cormac, placing the gin and tonic in front of her. Robin drank slimline when she ordered for herself, but she never stipulated that when the man went to the bar; he’d think she was obsessed by her weight. ‘And by retire, I mean get naked in my bed.’ He was clearly unused to talking suggestively and she enjoyed the awkward effort he made in spite of it.
‘I really have to go home to my own house. I’d invite you to come but, you see—’
‘You’re staying with your mother, I know,’ said Cormac, cutting her off. She took it as a sign from the gods to enjoy a few more deep kisses before breaking the news.
A group of young lads came in and took the table next to them. Robin inched her stool closer to Cormac, so they could squeeze past, then she moved it closer still.
‘Did you find the ending believable, when the medics arrived and immediately knew
there was nothing they could do?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Like, as a nurse,’ he said. ‘Would that really happen?’
‘Oh.’ Shit shit shit. She’d totally forgotten she’d told him she was a nurse. She needed to start writing down what lies she told and to whom. ‘Well,’ she tried to remember the final scene. ‘Well, in real life they probably wouldn’t have brought a surfboard. But I guess that’s artistic licence.’
‘I think that was a spinal board.’
‘Well, whatever. I don’t know the exact terms. I like my sports with balls.’
‘No, a spinal board, as in for carrying patients. Like in a hospital?’
‘Right. Yes.’
She winced.
Cormac’s forehead creased.
‘I’m not actually a nurse.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah.’
‘But you said . . .’
‘I know.’
‘So you’re a . . .?’
‘Unemployed.’ Un-qualified, un-skilled, un-desirable. ‘The last job I had, if you’d call it that, was working for my ex-boyfriend. We were going out for, like, five years. But it’s over now,’ she added. ‘He did bits and pieces, dodgy stuff mainly, and I helped out on the phones.’
‘The phones?’
‘Yeah.’ She swallowed the end of her gin and tonic. She should have drank it slower. ‘He was selling these knock-off boxes that allow you to get all the TV channels without subscribing to Sky or whatever.’
‘Dodgy boxes.’
‘Yeah. Except his were called Bye Bye TV Bills Dot Com.’ Robin caught Cormac’s eye and laughed. ‘I know. But it worked. People remembered the web address. They’d look it up, then ring us. Or, well, ring me. I took the orders.’
‘So you were in telephone sales.’
‘That’s what I say,’ she exclaimed, before dropping the smile. ‘It’s embarrassing. You’ve got this very impressive job and I’m just a . . . I never finished college.’ She considered this. ‘I never finish anything.’
Three Little Truths Page 15
