Three Little Truths

by Eithne Shortall

  ‘I didn’t know,’ said Martha, as Sinead headed for her brother and Martha followed, trying to make out who he was talking to. A woman, with long, dark, wavy hair. ‘Is that—’

  But before Martha could say ‘Robin Dwyer’, someone else was calling for the same young woman, albeit using a different name.

  ‘Mammy! Mammy!’ shouted Jack, running across the road towards Robin and Ellis and tripping over a shopping bag almost as long as him. ‘I got shoes with four laces and a zillion million colours and they have lights! Mammy, want to see? Want to see, Mammy?’

  *** Pine Road Poker ***

  Bernie:

  Dear all. Guards called to our house this afternoon. Nothing to worry about – and nothing that will affect house prices. It concerned the dog that bit Sylvie. All fine. Thank you for the concern. Regards, Bernie Watters-Reilly

  THIRTY-ONE

  ‘Mammy, want to see? Want to see, Mammy!’

  Robin honestly could not remember her son saying ‘Mammy’ so many times. Even when he first learned the word, he used it sparingly, doling it out like a treat for when she did something right, like giving him another mini box of raisins.

  ‘Mammy, Mammy! Look, Mammy!’

  All right, Jack. We get it. You own me.

  Robin watched her four-year-old run across Pine Road, almost taking himself down with the shopping bag he was carrying. His new runners must be in there; he would have insisted Granddad let him carry it. Jack’s latest obsession was with his ever-increasing maturity. It started when she informed him he was now four and three-quarters. Every morning he asked her if he was more yet. He called quarters ‘waters’ and took them very seriously.

  Jack came to a stop inches from her knees and she stared down at his little panting face. He had Eddy’s nose, but everything else was hers. What would happen if she denied him? If she turned to Cormac and said: ‘Nope. Never seen this child before in my life.’

  ‘Hey, Jacko,’ she said, bending down to help her son with the paper bag that was already turning his pudgy cheeks red as he tried in vain to tear it apart. ‘We’ll just take the box out, all right?’

  Down on her hunkers, she saw Cormac’s legs shift. She couldn’t bring herself to look up.

  ‘I was about to tell you,’ Robin began but then her out-of-breath father caught up – ‘That boy is putting me to shame. His nose runs faster than I do’ – and someone was calling Cormac, or rather Ellis, from the other direction.

  She looked up at her father: ‘You’re early.’

  ‘I am not,’ he said indignantly. ‘One shop, two pairs of shoes, home. It’s your mother who thinks a basic cash-for-goods transaction should take an eternity, not me.’

  ‘Ellis!’ The girl she recognised as Sinead Costello was throwing her arms around Cormac. ‘What are you doing here?’ Sinead smiled down at Jack. ‘Hello. I’m Sinead. What’s your name?’

  Momentarily frozen under the pressure, Jack looked to his mother, and Robin, being the grown-up in the situation, knew she would have to be the one to look the girl in the eye. ‘This is Jack,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘And I’m Robin, his mother.’ She continued to avoid Cormac’s gaze. ‘I live here.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Sinead, still hanging on to her brother. She smiled at Jack and Robin watched her son thaw. Once he acclimatised, Jack basked in the attention of adults. ‘I like your shoes.’

  Jack nodded kindly – as if to say ‘Well, obviously’ – and twisted himself slowly from side to side. ‘I’m four and three waters.’ He fluttered his eyelashes at the girl. ‘Very soon I’ll be more.’

  Give him five minutes and he’d be tap dancing.

  ‘Ellis. Hello, my love.’ Martha Rigby had reached them now and was kissing her son on the side of his face not blocked by Sinead’s arm. ‘What a lovely surprise.’ Robin watched genuine affection flood Cormac’s face. She hoped she and Jack would be like that one day.

  ‘Hi, Robin.’ Martha’s gaze moved among the various members of the Dwyer family. Her expression was ostensibly friendly but there was a wariness to her tone. ‘Do you all know each other?’

  ‘This is Jack,’ said Robin, eyes on the boy instead of Martha.

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen him riding his tractor up and down the road . . .’

  ‘I have two tractors!’

  ‘And this is my dad, Mick.’

  ‘Hello, Mick. I’m Martha, we’re in number eight.’

  ‘Ah right, yeah. Carmel mentioned. How’re you getting on with that back garden? Find any cats in there yet? No skeleton claws sticking up out of the soil? No? Ha?’ Mick gave a loud, lonely laugh. ‘Right, well, I’ll head in.’ And he hurried off up the path, into his house.

  ‘Mammy!’ shouted Jack, who was wrestling with one of his new shoes.

  Cormac looked down at him as if he’d never seen a child before and Robin went to help her son but Sinead was already on the pavement, undoing the Velcro and laces.

  ‘Do you . . .?’ Martha waved a hand between Cormac and Robin.

  ‘This is Robin,’ said Cormac, dragging his eyes away from Jack.

  ‘I know this is Robin, Ellis. I live across the road from her.’

  ‘This is the girl I was telling you about, the girl I was seeing.’

  ‘The girl . . .’ Martha trailed off, tilted her head slightly.

  ‘We just found out you live across the road from each other,’ said Cormac. ‘I guess you know each other, a bit? Robin said . . .’ Robin said she knows all about what happened in Limerick. What she didn’t say is that she also knows who did it. ‘She said you’ve met a few times.’

  Robin’s eyes flickered from this new neighbour to Cormac. She didn’t want to be here. She watched Sinead help her son put on his new shoes and felt a sucker punch of guilt.

  Martha searched Robin’s face and she offered a watery, apologetic smile in return.

  ‘And this is the man you were seeing. The hipster . . .’ She let the sentence peter out.

  Was Martha remembering how she’d swooned at the idea of Robin’s dark, handsome, tall-ish stranger that was in fact her son? Robin wanted to disappear. Why didn’t the parking fiascos ever happen when you needed them?

  And wait. Had Cormac said ‘was seeing’? The girl he ‘was seeing’ – as in, not any more?

  ‘I didn’t realise it was the same person,’ said Robin, pointlessly.

  Cormac broke into that stupid adorable half-smile, half-frown. ‘Do you think I’m a hipster?’

  ‘I didn’t actually say that, it—’

  ‘It’s the moustache,’ came Sinead’s voice from below. ‘It’s post-ironic.’

  The teenager was pulling the tissue from Jack’s second shoe. She was what Carmel would call a great girl. Robin, meanwhile, was a fraud.

  ‘Hipster journalist, you said,’ questioned Martha.

  ‘It was actually Edie who used that term; I never—’

  ‘But Ellis isn’t a journalist.’ Martha’s searching glance shifting to her son. ‘You’re not a journalist.’

  ‘Just in case you didn’t know, Ellis,’ said Sinead, doing up Jack’s laces. The shoes really were very colourful.

  ‘No, but Ellis is a waiter,’ said Martha. ‘You’re talking about going back to college but you work in a wine bar.’

  ‘All right, we get it,’ said Cormac, his face reddening. ‘I know where I work.’

  ‘In the wine bar we went to? Where they know your name?’

  ‘That’s what I was going to tell you.’

  The staff had been so friendly that night, and Cormac said he went there for work. How had he put it exactly? But they’d gone to the opening night of the theatre, where nobody paid for tickets so he must have gotten them somehow, and then Cormac had known that C-list celebrity at the bar, the guy with the wig. Cormac knew what he was going to order – Oh. Of course.

  ‘I am doing journalism too,’ he said. ‘I’m doing reviews and some interviews for a couple of websites. I’m building up a portfolio. I’m just
in the wine bar until I can make that pay.’

  ‘I thought you were going back to college,’ said Martha.

  But Cormac kept talking to Robin: ‘I was reviewing that play we went to . . .’

  Jack clung to Robin’s legs as he pulled himself up.

  ‘I’m sorry. I was going to say.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to hide it . . .’

  And then, in case they’d all lost sight of who had actually hidden the bigger secret, Jack was on his feet and jumping as hard as he could on the pavement.

  ‘Mammy, look! Look at all the colours!’

  Except Jack wasn’t even the biggest secret, was he? He was small fry compared to what Robin was keeping from this whole family.

  Cormac grinned down at the child – ‘That’s great, Jack!’ – then back up at her. ‘He’s great.’

  The wave of shame that hit Robin then could have knocked her to the ground. Two flashbacks in rapid succession: her laughing at Eddy laughing at someone else, and her turning the music up when the neighbours below had politely complained. They were nothing memories – they were so much less than what was right in front of her – but her whole body was alight with shame.

  She wasn’t just keeping secrets, she was pretending to be a different person. She wasn’t like Cormac. She was pretending to be good and decent, when she wasn’t. Even when she thought she had stopped, she was still always acting.

  Jack found a crack in the pavement and was jumping from one side of it to the other, the heels of his runners lighting up every time he landed. ‘I’m!’ Jump. ‘Four!’ Jump. ‘And!’ Jump. ‘Three!’ Jump. ‘Waters!’

  Robin bent down slightly and put her hands on his shoulders. Jack didn’t need her interference, but she needed his. She couldn’t look at any of them.

  ‘Okay, Jacko, calm down,’ she said, using her child the way she used to use rolling cigarettes: something to do with her hands when she couldn’t think of what to say.

  Sinead clambered to her feet. ‘Is this your girlfriend?’ She was trying to slag her brother but she was the one blushing. Robin remembered how difficult it was to talk about that stuff when you were sixteen.

  Cormac smiled at Robin, dimple on his left cheek showing, nose crinkling slightly. The shame churned inside her. He could never have kept a proper secret. His face would never have allowed it.

  Jack started tugging at Sinead’s hand and she let him lead her into his grandparents’ garden.

  ‘Watch,’ he instructed the teenager, as he climbed on to the low step at the front door and jumped back on to the path. ‘Watch!’ And he did it again.

  ‘Wow,’ said Sinead. ‘That’s really cool.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Jack. ‘I’m very good at it, amn’t I?’

  The teenager looked back from where she was dutifully applauding the lights on Jack’s runners and smiled at Robin. Imagine being sixteen and having five men in balaclavas break into your house. She must have been terrified. And then she was on that horrible list at the school too. It wasn’t fair.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve said something I shouldn’t have—’ began Martha.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Robin interrupted, not wanting to hear this woman apologise to her.

  Until recently, Robin hadn’t felt shame in years. She thought she’d left that emotion behind. But she hadn’t lost it, she’d just been storing it up, and it came crashing back like a rogue river bursting through a temporary dam.

  ‘Wow! Jack! That was a big one.’

  She couldn’t do this.

  She looked straight at Cormac, the culpability oozing from her. Surely, he could see it.

  ‘I should take him in.’

  ‘I thought maybe we’d still go for a walk . . .’

  ‘I can’t. Sorry.’ Robin started gathering up the shopping bag and tissue and shoebox. ‘He probably hasn’t eaten.’

  ‘Robin . . .’ Cormac looked from his mother to her and opened his mouth to show all the things he couldn’t say. ‘I . . .’

  ‘I’ll talk to you later, okay?’ She bundled the shoe packaging in her arms and stepped around Martha. ‘Sorry.’

  She pushed the front door open and threw the packaging inside, then returned for her son. ‘Okay, Jack, come on.’ She caught him post-jump and dragged him inside, leaving Sinead still kneeling on their garden path and closing the door before Jack started irately informing her of his age.

  ONE MONTH LATER

  *** Pine Road Poker ***

  Ellen:

  Okay, ladies. The wait is over. Clear your diaries and clear the road! The PINE ROAD STREET PARTY is THIS COMING SATURDAY!

  We’ll need as many cars as possible PARKED ELSEWHERE. I’ve spoken to Oak who will be expecting a few extra vehicles. I have yet to hear back from Elm – which won’t surprise anyone.

  I’ve also negotiated a one-day armistice with Shay Morrissey RE: the Occupied Territory. SO PLEASE USE THAT AREA FOR PARKING!

  Everyone is down to bring something. DO NOT FORGET YOUR DISH. Rita Ann is back on board, supplying her popular walnut cake, so @EdieRice, we no longer need your dessert.

  I want this year to be our BIGGEST and BEST Pine Road PRE-EASTER STREET PARTY so I’m thinking we crack it up a bit. And yes, that is a pun. Because I have decided to design ... AN EASTER EGG TREASURE HUNT!

  I will be doing the clues and the ‘chocolate’ eggs that serve as the treasure at the end of the trail will, of course, be low-sugar. I’ll need several of you to volunteer your HOMES and GARDENS for use as hiding places for the clues. PLEASE LET ME KNOW THIS WEEK.

  I AM ALSO STILL LOOKING FOR A GENERAL VOLUNTEER.

  Ruby:

  WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING AT US, ELLEN?

  Ellen:

  Is that a joke? Because I really do not have time for your jokes this week, Ruby. T MINUS FIVE DAYS.

  Fiona:

  Rita-Ann’s Walnut Cake? YASSS KWEEEENNN! XXX

  Rita Ann:

  I told you before not to call me that, Fiona. I had relatives who died in the War of Independence and I find any reference to the monarchy deeply offensive.

  I will not be volunteering my house for any hump

  *hunt

  Ruby:

  How come you’re back in, Rita Ann? Did you catch the newspaper bandit?

  Rita Ann:

  It has been dealt with. That’s all I’ll be saying on the matter.

  Ruby:

  Settled out of court? Non-disclosure agreement? Good for you, Rita Ann.

  Edie:

  No biggie at all on scrapping my dessert, Ellen! I’ve had three practice rounds at that vegan cheesecake you suggested and still can’t get it right, so probably for the best. I’ll find another use for the boiled dried seaweed!

  What can I bring instead?

  x

  Ellen:

  You could source the eggs for the treasure hunt.

  Edie:

  Absolutely. No problem at all!

  Ellen:

  They need to be dairy-free, low-sugar (no sugar if possible), circumference of 11mm x 17mm, wrapped in biodegradable foil. 70 should do it, four different colours for wrapping, avoid gender-specific shades. I need them Friday evening at v latest.

  Also, Rita Ann: could you make the walnut cake without walnuts? We want to be sensitive to nut allergies.

  I’ll be calling to homes tomorrow looking for volunteers, and for homes and gardens where we can hide the clues. I’m thinking rhyming riddles.

  Ruby:

  What was that noise?

  Ellen:

  What?

  On the street?

  I don’t hear anything.

  Ruby:

  Thought I heard a chorus of doors being double-bolted and keys thrown away. My mistake. Never mind!

  THIRTY-TWO

  ‘The short answer, Doctor, sorry, Lorna, is that I’m here because my husband wanted me to come. We could probably spend the whole hour talking about that statement within itself given that up u
ntil a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have done anything because my husband wanted me to; more likely, I’d have tried to do the opposite.

  ‘I bought this ludicrously expensive mattress two months ago, the softest thing you’ve ever felt. I would never have paid that much for a mattress except I knew how much he wanted a hard one. Four thousand euro, just to spite him. At that time, if it meant giving him an eternity of awful sleeps, it seemed like a bargain. Only the joke’s on me now, because I hate the thing. It’s like lying on marshmallows. I wake up feeling sticky.

  ‘It’s a long story. But the short version: our family home, in Limerick, was subject to a tiger raid last year, the day after Halloween, and it was awful, obviously. Robert, my husband, works in a bank so that’s why they targeted us. They made him go to work to get the money, and they kept me and my two girls tied up in the house. Sometimes it feels like it happened yesterday and other times it’s like it happened in another lifetime, another dimension, to another person – or not another person, but another version of me. Does that sound crazy? Because I think that a lot. The Martha Before and the Martha After. Don’t read too much into that. I’m actually a very rational person.

  ‘So yes, it was awful. And we moved to Dublin afterwards because, well, because I couldn’t sleep in the house any more. Who could? It wouldn’t have been good for the girls to stay there either. So Robert got transferred to Dublin and we came up here. He got promoted, actually. And he got this medal from Limerick City, for bravery. You see, he didn’t follow the thugs’ instructions; he didn’t go to the bank, get the money and come back like he was supposed to, like he told me he was going to – he went rogue. And it paid off. Well, it paid off for him, and for the bank. He raised the alarm and the guards came and the men scarpered without a penny. All hail Robert.

  ‘Everyone thought he was a hero, except for me. I hated him. I’m sure you get wives saying that about their husbands all the time in here, but it’s not an exaggeration. I absolutely hated him. And it’s mad, because I loved him the day before it all happened. As quick as flicking a switch. On, off. Here, gone. Love, hate.