Three Little Truths

by Eithne Shortall

‘I didn’t hate him because the men came to our house; I don’t blame him for that, I don’t even really blame them. It wasn’t personal. We could have been anyone, so long as one of us worked in a bank. I’ll tell you how I think of it. You know when you’re younger – or maybe it still happens to you, Doctor, Lorna – and lads are driving by in a car – never one lad, always several of them – and they roll down the window and shout something at you. Like “hey, sexy” or “nice legs” or “show us your tits” or whatever. Well, it’s kind of like that. Those lads in the car don’t see you. It doesn’t actually matter if you’re sexy or have nice legs, you might not even have tits at all. If you stood in front of them later that same day, they wouldn’t recognise you. Because they don’t see you. You’re not real. You’re not a person. It’s not personal. In the moment where they roll down the window and shout at you, you’re not a human being. You’re an object that exists solely for their amusement; a reflective surface off which to bounce their own good time.

  ‘Sorry. Wandering. I haven’t talked this much since . . . Maybe since I went hillwalking back in Limerick. You can’t beat a walk-and-talk. Sorry, can I . . .? Is that water for me?

  ‘I didn’t hate Robert because they came to our house. That wasn’t his fault. I hated him because he abandoned us. He looked me in the eye and said he was coming back. And then when it all started to go wrong and he didn’t turn up, I was convinced he was dead. It was the worst moment of my life. Even though now, obviously, I know he was fine. In that moment, I was convinced. I thought: The only reason he could possibly not be with us is because he’s dead. It was like my insides dropped from my body into a pit of fire, but all the nerve endings were still attached. My daughter wet herself, for Christ’s sake.

  ‘I never used to get angry, but there you are. Or well, here I am. Anyway, that’s all a bit beside the point because I’m not so angry with him now. It’s hard to explain, though no doubt you’ll make me, but there was other stuff with my daughter more recently and it made me realise that maybe some of my anger was misplaced. And then – oh yes, and this is probably the nub of why I’m here – I saw one of the men who’d carried out the tiger raid. I saw him on our new road, in Dublin, a few weeks ago.

  ‘Although now I say that out loud, I start to doubt it. Maybe I didn’t see him at all. I don’t know. I told Robert about it. Not straight away – I hadn’t told him I saw one of their faces in the first place – but I started to get paranoid that maybe the police were involved, or that Robert was in on it, all this mad stuff that made no sense, so eventually I just told him. I had to. And it was the strangest thing because suddenly I felt less angry at him. We had a common enemy again, you know? It was like I reached the peak of hating him and then it sort of . . . evaporated. And talking to him made me question if I really did see the man at all, or if it might be a coincidence, and I guess I’m here because I want to either accept that I didn’t see him or accept that I did and move on. Because that was several weeks ago now and nothing has happened. No rocks through our windows or death threats in the letterbox. And I like our new home so I’d like to be able to stay.

  ‘The girls have settled down now, I think, and we’re talking more, which is great, and important. Sinead, my eldest, is seeing a counsellor, which was when Robert suggested I might go too. That I considered his suggestion was progress, never mind that I followed it. I have an older son who lives in Dublin, and I love being near him. We live on a nice road – although some of the neighbours are a bit intense and in ways it’s a lot gossipier than living in a small town, which surprised me, I have to say. There’s a street party coming up and every day someone, usually the same woman, is knocking on my door about it. It’s like she’s organising the Met Gala, only with a stricter timetable. But I’ve made friends and I like some of them. There was an awkward situation a few weeks ago with my son and one of the women on the road. They’d been seeing each other and I’d heard both of them talk about the other but didn’t realise they were the same people. It doesn’t matter now, because it all sort of fell apart. I’m still not entirely sure what happened. But I know Ellis has been calling and texting, or whatever people in their twenties do, and she’s not replying.

  ‘To be completely honest, I’m relieved. I like the girl, but she’s not right for Ellis. She has a child, for one thing. And Ellis is too young for that. By the sounds of it she also has a fairly dodgy exboyfriend, so a lot of drama. There’s something else about her too . . . I got this feeling like maybe she doesn’t think Ellis is good enough. She’s pretty, no question, but Ellis is beautiful. Maybe it’s because he’s a waiter, or she doesn’t think our family is good enough – that we’re damaged? I’m not sure. But I mean, she’s the single mother. I don’t even think she has a job. Anyway, I don’t want to be catty because I do like her, I just don’t want it to be awkward, you know? I’m sure it won’t. He’ll move on. He’s probably already moving on.

  ‘And I want the same thing, for myself. To get back to your original question, Lorna. I need acceptance, some closure. I guess I’m here because I want to move on.’

  THIRTY-THREE

  ‘Do I write it down, or how does it work?

  ‘Okay. I’ll speak slowly then. It won’t take long, right? I don’t have much to say. Eddy Dunne, my ex-boyfriend, told me the guards would be looking for me to give a statement in order to confirm his whereabouts last October thirty-first into the first of November. He wanted me to tell you guys that he was with me and our son that night and the next day. I got a missed phone call yesterday from this station. I thought I’d just come down myself.

  ‘Eddy wasn’t with me that night. I was at a fancy-dress party with friends, and Eddy was supposed to be at home minding our son. When I got back to the flat, at about four a.m., neither of them was there. He came home around lunchtime the next afternoon, the first of November. I was out of my head with worry. He wasn’t answering his phone and I didn’t know if Jack was okay. He was fine. And there’s zero point you guys asking him anything. He’s four. And three quarters. He doesn’t remember what he did yesterday, never mind five months ago.

  ‘I could have called the guards, sure. But let’s just say, with Eddy, the police didn’t seem like a viable option.

  ‘I don’t know where he was. I have no idea. He never told me. I couldn’t even guess. Seriously. Why would I lie? I’ve no idea where they were. All I know is he wasn’t with me.

  ‘So, is that it? Can I go? My son’s at home . . .

  ‘No, we don’t live there any more. Like I said, we broke up months ago. Me and Jack are living with my parents at the moment. Nine Pine Road, Drumcondra, Dublin Nine. But hopefully we won’t be there too much longer.

  ‘No, there’s nothing wrong with it – my parents are great – just I got a job.

  ‘Just office work. Is that . . . is it relevant? Covering someone’s maternity leave. Not very exciting, but it’s nine months, at least, and the pay is decent. It’ll probably take a while to find somewhere to rent – it’s like The Hunger Games out there at the moment – but yeah, I’ll let you know if it changes. Jack’s starting school in September.

  ‘Sorry? No, I’m not. Not that it’s got anything to do with anything. I’m single. I was seeing someone but whatever, it didn’t work out. It’s fine. He’s better off. I mean, we’re both better off. I’m concentrating on Jack and getting my shit together.

  ‘So that’s it, yeah? Good. Signature and date. There you go.’

  THIRTY-FOUR

  ‘Iwould not ask you if it wasn’t a matter of life and death. I respect opening hours more than anything – not literally more than anything, but like a lot. I’m a working woman too, public-facing job, although I have to say I don’t have the same natural aptitude for it as you do. Has anyone ever said you look French? ’Cause you do. And that’s not just because this shop makes me think of Chocolat. Usually I only really go in for crime and mysteries and stuff but, gosh, I love that film. So romantic. I love Juliette Binoche
. You actually look a lot like her. I think it’s the hair. You’ve got great hair. Now that I see it, I just can’t un-see it. You’re actually the image of her. You are! Except younger.

  ‘I work over in the Shelbourne hotel, if you’re ever passing. Or if you want to come in for a few drinks some night? I would absolutely look after you, no problem. I’m not bribing you, by the way. I’m just saying how much I’d appreciate it if you could just get this one little order done by Friday. I’ll pay more for the eggs. You could practically name your price and I’d pay it. Not that I’m rich or anything, because I’m not. But I live on a sort of rich road and I really don’t want to turn up with the wrong kind of eggs. I mean the requirements are pretty specific and you were the only specialist chocolatier – I mean, gosh, not the only, but like the only one that everyone raved about! And I can’t give my neighbours anything but the best. Do you know Bernie Watters-Reilly? Yeah, that’s her; that lunchbox article was actually very popular. Well, she lives on my road. We’re friends. Well, kind of. She knows my name. I think. I’m actually a bit scared of her.

  ‘Wait! You don’t know her, know her, do you? Okay. Good. Phew.

  ‘To be totally honest with you, Betty, can I call you—Oh no, right. Mrs Kearney. What? Oh, sorry. Miss Kearney. To be totally honest with you, Miss Kearney, I’ve been having a bit of a difficult time recently. I mean, everything’s fine – it’s absolutely fine. Great, even. Work was just tough for my husband and then there was this whole thing where he was looking after a dog and the dog bit a girl – you definitely don’t know-know Bernie, right? – and he felt really guilty about it, even though the girl was fine, it didn’t even break the skin. But anyway, we were meant to be trying to get pregnant and he started worrying he wasn’t responsible enough – because of what happened with the girl – and it was all a bit stressful. You know?

  ‘That’s not me spinning you a sob story, by the way. It’s fine now. Like, it’s much better. We’re back trying! But apparently the police are looking into the biting incident. I’m a bit worried about that, to tell you the truth. I don’t want my child to be visiting their dad in the big house. Would you go to jail for something like that, do you think? Anyway, I don’t want to tell Da—my husband about the police investigating because I don’t want him to start worrying again. I haven’t even told him that I know about the bite and about him leaving the scene. And so, yeah, sorry. That’s all a bit confusing. You just have such a kind face. I bet people open up to you all the time. No? Really? I’m surprised.

  ‘What I’m basically saying is that I’ve been a bit up the walls recently and it would really, really, really help if I could get these eggs.

  ‘We’re having a big pre-Easter street party and I’m in charge of the eggs and if I mess it up I feel like I’ll have messed up the whole party and I, I’ve actually made some pretty good friends on the road, Mrs – Miss Kearney – and that wasn’t easy. It kind of, it took a while and I really don’t want to mess it up and, oh gosh, I’m so embarrassed. I don’t usually cry in front of strangers, or not people who are working so damn hard to bring something as good as chocolate into the world but, yeah, I’ve been trying to practise daily gratitude but this party just matters a lot to me and—

  ‘What? Oh my gosh, yes. Thank you! Fifty per cent more expensive, that is absolutely fine, brilliant in fact, and I will absolutely stop talking. Right this second, yes. Thank you, thank you! I’ll unzip my purse and zip my mouth.

  ‘Okay. Right now. Zipped!

  ‘And sorry, sorry. One last thing. Your foil doesn’t happen to be biodegradable, does it?’

  *** Pine Road Poker ***

  Ruby:

  Wait, I’ve got it!

  Rita Ann – Did they catch your newspaper thief READ handed??

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Robin came home to find her mother and Edie Rice sitting at their kitchen table with two large baskets of colourful ovals between them. Her mother was wearing one of Robin’s berets and gripping a paintbrush, while Edie held one of the objects out to her, as if offering the most precious of gifts.

  ‘Hold still, Edie,’ warned Carmel, her tongue poking out the right-hand side of her mouth as she concentrated on whatever it was she was doing. ‘You . . .’ she said dramatically, ‘are my easel.’

  Edie cupped the shiny oval between her hands and carefully inched it closer to Carmel’s brush.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘A little hoodwinkery, Robin, my dear,’ said Carmel slowly, her eyes narrowing over her task. ‘We are . . . perfecting . . . the art of . . . deception. There.’ She snapped her head back up, removing the brush. ‘Next!’

  Edie placed the object in one basket and rummaged around in the other. Carmel dipped her brush lavishly in a pot of Crayola paint.

  ‘Is that Jack’s art set?’

  ‘Myself and Edie are pulling off the greatest con job Pine Road has ever seen,’ said Carmel, ignoring her daughter’s question and catching her hat as it threatened to tremble off her head. ‘Another egg, Edie dear. Come on, come on. We’ve a lot to get through.’

  ‘Are they . . . are they chocolate eggs?’

  Carmel looked up at Robin with a toothy smile of pure, unabashed cunning. Edie’s face, meanwhile, was all eyes, and they were filled with the guilt of a woman who’d committed a thousand murders.

  ‘It was your mam’s idea . . .’

  ‘Ah now, Edie! Don’t go hanging me out to dry already. I am merely volunteering my artistic skills, which have heretofore been shamefully wasted.’ Tongue back out, Carmel drew whatever she was drawing on the second egg. ‘Next!’

  Robin kicked off her shoes and sat down at the other side of the table. ‘So what are they for?’ she said, peering into the baskets.

  ‘They’re for tomorrow’s treasure hunt,’ said Edie, still shamefaced. ‘I was in charge of getting the eggs, which was more difficult than it sounds because Ellen was very specific about what type of eggs she wanted—’

  ‘The woman’s a pox,’ declared Carmel. ‘Bernie’s a dose, but Ellen, it turns out, is the real egomaniac. My pre-Easter street party is going to be the biggest and the best pre-Easter street party. I would not be surprised if she turns up tomorrow with a crown and sceptre and demands a coronation.’

  ‘I managed to get the eggs she wanted,’ said Edie, ‘after a lot of running around town, buttering up people who did not want to be buttered. The chocolate world is a cold one, I can tell you. It’s not like Chocolat at all. But I got them: low-sugar, dairy-free, no pink or blue foil. But the one thing Ellen requested—’

  ‘Demanded,’ corrected Carmel, tongue back out as she marked another egg.

  ‘—that I could not get was that the foil wrapping be biodegradable.’

  ‘Is biodegradable foil even a thing?’ asked Robin, to the interest of nobody.

  ‘So,’ said Carmel, straightening up from the egg with a flourish of her paintbrush, ‘we’re giving all the wrappings a little letter “B”. B for biodegradable.’

  ‘But they’re not biodegradable?’

  ‘Who’s to say, Robin? What does biodegradable even mean?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No,’ answered Edie. ‘They’re not.’

  ‘Right. And is “B” normally the symbol for biodegradable?’

  ‘Jesus, Robin, what am I, an encyclopaedia?’ said Carmel, exasperated. ‘But you can be sure if we don’t know, then Ellen Two Names doesn’t know either. The woman’s as thick as my thighs. At poker last month Ruby mentioned how her sister, who is a musician, had spent six weeks living on the road and Ellen wanted to know if the council had moved her on.’

  Robin looked at the two baskets. ‘Is it still a big deal, the Easter Street Party?’

  Carmel and Edie exchanged a look.

  ‘Eh, yes, dear. It is.’

  Another egg carefully placed in the ‘marked’ basket.

  ‘It all kicks off at eleven tomorrow. Clear your diary and clear the road!’ Then Edie frown
ed. ‘I have to get these to Ellen by seven. I took the afternoon off work.’

  ‘We’ll get there, Edie, don’t fret. The artist is at work!’ Carmel dipped her brush again. ‘Jack’s very excited for the Easter egg treasure hunt.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Is, em, is Bernie taking part?’ asked Edie, shifting in her seat as Carmel reached out and snapped the woman’s hands firmly in position. ‘I haven’t heard much from her since the police called to her about that dog biting incident.’

  Carmel was deep in concentration, muttering to herself. ‘You shall be my greatest creation.’

  ‘Have you heard any more about that police investigation into the dog? Carmel? Any leads? Any suspects, even?’

  ‘You all right, Edie?’ asked Robin.

  ‘Yes fine,’ retorted Edie defensively. ‘Why?’

  ‘Nothing. You just sound strange. Your voice has gone sort of . . . high.’

  ‘I’m just wondering if anyone has heard anything about the dog investigation. I’m just taking a neighbourly interest. Nothing more. I don’t see anything strange about that.’

  Before she entered this house, Robin had been preoccupied by thoughts of what Eddy might do if he found out she’d contradicted his alibi. She was feeling sorry for herself over the whole Cormac debacle – she hadn’t spoken to him since that day outside her house with Jack and Martha – and was generally worrying about what she was going to do with the rest of her life. But now she was here, Robin found it difficult to reconcile the world outside with the things that seemed to matter within these four walls; mainly, Pine Road itself.

  ‘Did you not hear about that?’ said Carmel, finally coming up for air. ‘Where have you been, Edie?’

  ‘I’ve been running around the city trying to find eggs.’

  ‘Well, it’s been the big news on Pine Road all week. The police weren’t calling to Bernie that day about the dog at all. She was fibbing about that. Careful, Edie!’