‘Is that a shopping trolley?’ whispered Ruby, reaching into the middle of the mess before thinking better of it and snapping her hand back.
‘Mind!’ warned Trish as the gin and tonic sloshed towards the brim of her glass.
Ruby arched her eyebrows. ‘I hardly think a spillage is going to make a difference.’
‘No wonder she couldn’t find her newspapers,’ Trish muttered, spying a set of gardening tools at the top of one large pile.
‘Oh no,’ said Ruby. ‘Did you not hear about that? She never lost the newspapers at all; they never came. She forgot to renew her subscription.’
The girls giggled in the room to their left.
Trish surveyed the mess further. The stacks continued down into the kitchen and each of the steps up to the first floor was occupied by some sort of clutter. She picked up a packet of tea towels only to find they were stuck to a half-opened tube of flypaper. She quickly put them back. ‘Presumably she misplaced her renewal form.’
‘Forget renewing her newspaper subscription,’ said Ruby, sipping her gin, ‘she’d be better off renewing her bin collection.’
Trish didn’t really want to go any farther – the thought of Rita Ann living in this place gave her a horrible sad feeling; no wonder she never hosted poker or invited anyone in for tea – but neither did she want this hunt to go on for ever. She looked at Ruby who nudged her on.
‘You better get those girls out before they need a tetanus shot.’
They rounded the corner into the living room where there was a bit more space, enough to see from the couch – which was only half covered, mainly in filled plastic bags – to the television. Most of the rubbish was stacked around the doorway, teetering towers of magazines and newspapers and reams and reams of paper.
‘She’s kept all her bills,’ said Ruby, agog, as she tried to read some of the letters without touching them. ‘This one’s from nineteen eighty!’
‘Girls,’ said Trish again, feeling a little ill and stressed and not at all like she was on a day off. ‘What are you doing? There’s no clue in here.’
‘Who knows what’s in here?’ murmured Ruby.
Then from outside, Trish heard Ellen shouting her name. She winced. She just wanted to go home.
Ruby grabbed her arm. ‘Ellen is such a neat freak. She will die when she sees this place.’ She made no effort to hide her delight.
FORTY-NINE
Robin was through Edie’s front door, Martha just ahead of her, Cormac right behind. There were several people in Edie’s hallway, running up and down the stairs, pushing into one other and throwing things around. In their yellow treasure hunt singlets, they reminded her of the protesters who’d progressed to rioting in France.
Martha turned into the front room and Robin went to follow when she spotted Jack and Eddy on the stairs. Her son’s face was covered in chocolate and her ex-boyfriend was looking at his phone.
‘What is he eating? Is that chocolate?’ she demanded, reaching her hand out to cover Eddy’s screen.
‘Relax, babe.’
‘Chocolate eggs, Mammy,’ said Jack, giving her a big toothy, chocolatey grin.
She looked around at the other treasure hunters, all mid-pursuit. ‘Did youse finish the treasure trail already?’
‘It’s very long, and I don’t know what any of the clues mean,’ said Eddy, finishing whatever he was typing and shoving the phone into his pocket. ‘But there were eggs along the way. He found that one in the wardrobe upstairs.’
‘You found—’ Robin looked at her ex-boyfriend, this man she had been besotted with for so long. ‘They’re not for you, Eddy! They belong to the people who live here!’
‘It’s an Easter egg hunt.’
‘No, it’s not! It’s an Easter egg treasure hunt!’
‘I’m going into Mum,’ said Cormac, who Robin had momentarily forgotten was there. ‘You okay here?’
‘Ah, would you look? It’s your new fella. Cornelius, was it?’
‘Cormac,’ said Cormac, only realising as he answered that he shouldn’t have bothered.
‘I like the moustache. Kiddie-fiddler chic. You go on into your mammy. Robin will be fine with me.’ Eddy winked. ‘She has been for years.’
‘Ignore him,’ she said. ‘I have been for years.’
Cormac slipped into the front room and Robin went to follow him just as Jack started pounding back upstairs, counting imaginary eggs.
‘Jack! I’ll be down here if you need me!’
‘Hang on,’ said Eddy, following after her. ‘We still need to talk about you screwing me over.’ He shadowed her down the hall and into the front room.
What was the TV room in the Dwyer house had been turned into an office by Edie and Daniel. There was an armchair by the window, where a wan and clammy-looking Daniel was getting to his feet, and a computer desk in the corner where Edie sat, her skin also pale and her big eyes ready to roll right out of her head. Without the usual accompanying enthusiasm, her expression looked eerily hollow. Martha stood towards the centre of the room, with Cormac at her back. Robin couldn’t see their faces but she heard Martha’s steady, rhythmic breathing and watched her shoulders rise and fall. It was the room’s only decipherable movement.
‘What the fuck is this?’ Eddy half-whispered, having followed her right into the room. ‘Musical statues?’
On the ground between them were several copies of the article Edie had brought to the pub a couple of months before: the article about Martha and her family and, Robin processed, also about Daniel.
She looked at the burly man with the kind smile and dark eyes. Soulful eyes. That was what Martha had called them.
‘Someone really needs to press play.’
Robin ignored Eddy. As did everyone.
‘You live here?’ said Daniel eventually, his pale, desperate face moving between Martha and his wife. ‘I didn’t know. Edie, she lives here.’
But Edie didn’t speak.
‘The man on the road I was talking to earlier, at the party, I thought he was familiar. Is that your . . .? Was that . . .?’ Daniel couldn’t stop staring at Martha. ‘I didn’t know,’ he said again. ‘I swear, I didn’t know.’
‘Mum,’ said Cormac, an edge to his voice. He reached an arm towards Martha’s shirt but she pulled herself away.
Robin stretched out and pulled Cormac, without resistance, closer to her. Eddy made an ‘Aww’ sound from her other side. She continued to ignore him. Cormac shot him a deathly look.
‘The police have been called,’ said Martha. ‘My husband is calling them right now. They’ll be on their way.’
Daniel nodded, as if this was exactly what he’d expected her to say. Edie’s face shot up in alarm. Robin thought she heard her give a low moan.
‘Okay,’ said Daniel, still nodding. There was a beat. Robin could see him considering his next words. ‘Are your daughters okay?’
Beside her, Cormac bristled. Robin tightened her grip.
Something on Martha’s face must have hardened because Daniel was straight in babbling, clarifying, words pouring from his mouth like they’d been clogged for months.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.’ He brought a hand to his forehead. ‘I’ve been thinking about them for months, couldn’t stop – Jesus, not like that, not like . . . I’m not like those men. I shouldn’t have left them there. I know I shouldn’t. I regret it, so much. Were they . . . were they okay?’
But Martha didn’t want to discuss that. She was here for a different conversation. ‘All the time we’ve been here, you lived here too, right up the road. I’ve been in your house!’ She glanced at Edie, who was still staring into the middle distance as if the drama was actually unfolding in the space between Martha and Daniel.
Martha paused. ‘I saw you that day, in Limerick. I felt sorry for you.’
‘I know,’ said Daniel quietly.
How could he know? thought Robin. How could he know what she’d been thinking?
&
nbsp; ‘I thought you saw me,’ Martha added. ‘But after, I thought I’d imagined it. It was so far away.’
‘I saw you,’ said Daniel. ‘I keep seeing you. Not really, I mean, not until now, but in my head and at night and when I try to get to sleep and every time I go to do something I might enjoy, I see you and I remember and I stop.’
Edie looked at her husband, as if only now realising he was there, but still she didn’t speak.
‘Mum?’ said Cormac, whose shifting was getting louder. ‘Is this one of the men from Limerick?’
No response.
His voice heavier now, Cormac turned to Daniel. ‘Are you one of the men from Limerick?’
‘What has your boyfriend got against Limerick?’
Cormac whipped his head towards Eddy. ‘Why are you even here?’
‘Do you realise what you did to us?’ said Martha, ignoring her son, ignoring everyone but Daniel. ‘Do you know what you did to my girls? Why would you do that? Why would anyone do that?’
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what it would be. I was told you wouldn’t be there, that the rest of the family would be gone. I was desperate. I was told it would only be him, your husband.’ Daniel’s head wouldn’t stop shaking. ‘You’re the new friend; Martha Rigby, always the full name. Edie told me about you. But I didn’t know. The articles said Costello. Never Rigby. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.’
‘Is this him?’ Cormac freed himself from Robin’s grip and continued to shift his weight, more erratically now, psyching himself up. ‘Is this one of the men who came into your house? Did he tie Sinead and Orla to the radiator? Did he?’
‘No,’ interrupted Daniel. ‘No. Jesus, no. I was driving the car. I never went into the house. I would never . . . I’d never done anything like that. Ever. I was desperate. I was worried, I wanted — Edie — We wanted to have kids. I thought I’d have to close the business. Everything was failing.’
Cormac took a step towards Daniel, his foot landing on the printouts.
‘Everything’s ruined,’ said Edie, so faintly only Robin heard.
Outside, an alarm started to blare.
‘Is that the ballbuster with the foghorn again?’ said Eddy, losing interest in the immediate drama and peering out the window.
Robin followed his gaze. A house alarm across the street was blazing red and two treasure hunters in high-vis jackets were running away from it, back down the garden path.
‘I’ve been tearing myself apart. I felt so guilty. I’m so sorry. And to you, Edie. You got us this house and Dad gave me the garage and I could provide nothing. But I’m glad you’re here, Martha. I am. I deserve it. Call the police. I deserve—’
Cormac lunged for him. Robin reached out, grasping the back of his shirt just long enough for Eddy to move forward and come between the two men. Not that Cormac would have done much damage; Daniel was the size of him and Eddy combined.
‘Easy now,’ said Eddy, placing a hand on Cormac’s chest. Cormac’s face started to burn up as he made half-hearted efforts to get to Daniel. Eddy grinned. ‘I’d say the only place you’re doing much fighting is on the chessboard, am I right, Cornelius?’
It wasn’t much of a swing, because he wasn’t much of a fighter, but Cormac gave it his best shot. He brought his right arm up from his side and managed, by fluke as much as by design, to clip Eddy’s cheek.
FIFTY
On the pavement outside Rita Ann’s house, Ellen was rebuking Fiona who, to give her fair dues, was managing to look defiant.
‘Number ten was caught cheating,’ announced Ellen.
‘My name’s Fiona, as you well know, Ellen, and I was not cheating. It was an oversight.’
‘The clue that should have been in Martha’s back garden was in fact in number ten’s pocket!’
Fiona blushed faintly. ‘It was an innocent mistake. My partner abandoned me. I was thinking for two.’
‘Well, you don’t need to think for anyone any more.’ Ellen pulled out her pen and drew a line on her clipboard so heavy Trish could hear the paper rip. ‘You’re disqualified!’
‘You can’t do that!’
‘You’ve thrown the entire hunt off, number ten.’
‘Stop calling me that!’
‘I don’t know if we’ll be able to come back from this.’ Ellen turned on Trish now. ‘What were you doing in number twelve? There’s no clue in there. I told you to guard the home base.’
If Ellen really was petitioning to get Bernie off the Parents’ Association, Trish hoped to God she didn’t get elected in her place. She had thought dealing with Bernie was bad, but that would teach her; better the devil you know.
‘Fiona’s twins ran in to Rita Ann’s,’ said Trish, nodding to the girls’ mother. ‘I was telling them to get out.’
‘So, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ said Ellen, tucking the clipboard back under her arm. ‘What did I tell you, number twenty?’ Trish realised she was referring to her. ‘It’s contagious.’
‘What’s contagious?’ demanded Fiona. ‘Is Ellen insulting me? Is she insulting my children?’
‘Hey! Judas!’
The women turned to see Bernie storming out of her house, down her path and out on to the road. Sylvie was trailing behind her. The former Pine Road ruler had dressed since Trish last saw her and was looking more like her put-together self, but she seemed to have retained the rage.
‘Judas! I’m talking to you!’
A flash of terror crossed Ellen’s face.
‘Ellen Russell-O’Toole, don’t you turn your back on me!’ Bernie had reached them now and she was right up in her former apostle’s face. ‘I saw the clue that leads to our gate. I never gave you permission to hide something at our gate!’
Ellen pushed her shoulders back, though Trish could see the tremor in her hands. ‘Well, technically, it’s just outside your property so . . .’
Bernie yanked a card from her daughter’s hand.
‘Hey! You have to put that back. Other hunters need to find it. You’re destroying the treasure hunt!’
Bernie ignored her former friend and read: ‘A son who’s been suspended, a daughter whose accusations are outrageous; stop at the gate’ – she looked up – ‘because this bad parenting is contagious.’ Bernie flung the card back down by her side and glared at the poison-penned poet. ‘You’ve always been jealous of me.’
‘I have not!’
‘Yes, you have. And now you’re trying to destroy my good name and remove me from the Parents’ Association. You were no one until you met me, with your mousy hair and your plain children and your one, pitiful surname! I gave you that double barrel, and I can take it away just as easily. And let me tell you, Ellen O’Toole—’
The woman gasped.
‘—you can start all the petitions you like and take over all the street parties, but at the end of the day your wood floors will still be laminate and your original Victorian crown mouldings are still stuck on with superglue!’
Most of Ellen’s body was shaking now, but she gathered herself and spoke into her former idol’s face. ‘You’re a has-been.’
‘And you’re a never-been.’
‘Ladies . . .’ began Trish, as a shriek of laughter went up from Rita Ann’s house.
‘Get that clue off her,’ said Ellen, who looked like she’d been struck. She’d given them all a detailed tour of her downstairs mouldings when she hosted poker back in September. ‘I’m going to get the junior Kray twins out of Rita Ann’s house.’
‘Are you talking about my daughters?’ Fiona demanded, but Ellen had already left. ‘Is she talking about my daughters?’
Trish gave the small group of disgruntled women her most reassuring principal-like smile, as Ruby slurped on the end of her drink. Get it over with, and get home. Trish tightened her smile. ‘I’d better help Ellen.’
But as she turned up Rita Ann’s garden path, the rest of them followed: Fiona, Ruby and Bernie, all marching after her.
‘Oh my
God,’ said Bernie, as they crossed into the hoarder’s house.
Fiona gasped.
‘Ellen?’
The organiser of the first Pine Road treasure hunt, which was currently in the process of becoming the last Pine Road treasure hunt, was standing in the doorway between Rita Ann’s cluttered hall and her cluttered living room.
‘Ellen,’ said Trish, more gently this time. She pushed past Ruby, almost sending the hallway mound of junk sliding.
Fiona’s girls were running around the front room, one of them wearing a lampshade as a hat and the other using two boxes, full of files, for shoes. Ellen was very pale. Her own house, right next door, was never anything but immaculate.
‘It’s . . .’
‘I know,’ said Trish soothingly, rubbing her arm. ‘Girls, come on! Out!’
‘Don’t talk to my daughters like that!’ came Fiona’s voice from behind.
Then, suddenly, the girls did stop.
‘What’s that?’ said the one whose face was masked by a lampshade.
‘It’s not me,’ said the one with her feet in the boxes.
‘What is it?’ called Bernie, making her way to the front. ‘Let me see.’
‘Hey,’ said Ellen as her former icon pushed past. ‘I’m in charge here, this is my—’
‘Shh!’
Ellen, in spite of herself, did as Bernie said.
Then they all heard it. A rustling from the side of Rita Ann’s living room.
‘There,’ said the twin with the cardboard shoes. ‘It’s—’
Before she could finish the sentence, two rodents emerged from the side of Rita Ann’s sofa and zig-zagged their way around the mess and across the carpet to the fireplace.
The two girls began to scream, the first one trying desperately to wrestle the lampshade from her head, as they started hopping wildly. Most of the adults weren’t far behind.
‘What? What is it?’ called Fiona, freaking out from the back of the hallway. ‘I can’t see.’
‘Rats!’ shouted Bernie, looking around wildly – for what exactly Trish couldn’t be sure.
Three Little Truths Page 30
