The Liar's Daughter

by Claire Allan

  ‘Oh yes,’ she says, ‘because you were prying in it. I remember now.’

  I blush. I want to say something back to her but I’m aware we have an audience and none of that audience would naturally fall on my side.

  Father Brennan’s head turns between the two us, as if he’s watching a tennis match and it’s Ciara’s turn to serve.

  He interjects, ‘Sure, never worry,’ clearing his throat. ‘I knew Joe well. We can still make his requiem Mass a fitting one. I know these must be very difficult times. Very difficult, indeed,’ he says with a shake of his head. ‘But we do owe it to Joe to try to remain civil to each other and I must say, to you all now, that if anyone feels they wish to chat to me, privately, the sanctity of the confessional is as good a place as anywhere to get something off your chest.

  ‘We know that something very disturbing happened, perhaps, as it has been suggested, with some good intention behind it. A merciful release from the suffering that may have awaited Joe, but that suffering has to go somewhere. And it will eat at the heart of us all, not least the person responsible. God is good, He is forgiving, even of the most serious of sins. But you must repent.’

  I don’t dare speak. I am holding so much inside that I’m afraid to.

  It seems I’m not the only one. We descend into silence, only disturbed by Lily waking and starting to fuss. She needs her nappy changed and I lift her bag.

  ‘Where can I change this little one?’ I ask Marie, grateful for the reprieve.

  Ciara is on her feet. ‘I can take her and change her for you,’ she says. ‘You can sit here and talk to Father Brennan about the Mass, since you knew my father better than anyone. I’m sure this wee dote won’t mind her auntie Ciara changing her. Won’t you not?’ she says, cooing at my daughter as if she has been a permanent fixture in her life.

  She seems terribly eager to get out from under the glare of Father Brennan’s eyes.

  I want to tell her to leave my baby alone. Not to touch her. But I’m aware I’m already walking on eggshells and causing an even bigger scene could be disastrous.

  ‘Ah now,’ Ciara soothes as Lily wriggles in her arms. ‘There’s no need for that! I’ll just get you a fresh nappy on,’ she adds, reaching for the baby bag.

  I don’t want her taking it – it has my phone, my purse, other random items from my life inside.

  ‘I’ll get you a nappy and wipes,’ I say, trying to take the bag from her.

  ‘Now, Heidi, I’m sure I can figure out what is what myself,’ Ciara says, turning and walking upstairs with my baby and my worldly belongings.

  I am frozen to the spot, unsure of how to react to this ambush but aware that four sets of eyes are looking at me and waiting for my reaction, including Alex, who I need to believe in more than anything. I try to settle myself, turn and nod towards Father Brennan and Marie before taking a seat beside them.

  Father Brennan clears his throat, a guttural sound that has a hint of phlegm about it. I feel mildly queasy.

  ‘I know how difficult this must be,’ Father Brennan says. ‘But, Heidi, maybe you might know what his favourite readings were, or maybe his favourite hymns. I’ve a soloist from the choir who is available to do some singing if you want?’

  I try to focus on what he is saying but I’m distracted listening for the sound of crying from upstairs.

  ‘Heidi …’ I hear Marie speak my name.

  ‘Sorry … I, no. I can’t think. He always, I suppose, he liked that hymn ‘Be Not Afraid’. He used to sing that, after my mother died. I remember that.’

  As soon as I say it I want to take it back. I don’t want any memories from then. From that time after she was gone and things just became worse.

  ‘That’s a grand one,’ Father Brennan says and Marie nods.

  ‘But don’t feel you have to use it,’ I say as I hear a squeal from my baby echo through the hall. ‘I mean, Marie, maybe you would know more.’

  Lily is quiet again. I’m still incredibly uncomfortable. I feel as if all my nerve endings are fizzing.

  ‘Father, you’ll know, no offence, I’m not a big churchgoer, so I’m fine with whatever you choose,’ I say.

  I wonder, could I make my excuses and escape for some fresh air? I don’t care that the sleet has now turned to snow. I just need to breathe.

  I make to stand up.

  ‘Now, have you thought about the Prayers of the Faithful at all?’ he says, stopping me. ‘Would you want to say them, or are there any friends or relations who might? I know some people even like to write them themselves, within reason, though. This is a Mass, after all.’

  I shake my head. I don’t want to say them or write them. I’d be happy to drop him off at the cemetery gates and be done with the whole thing.

  ‘I can sort that out, Father,’ Marie says, her voice solemn.

  ‘Now, can I check family names? You know I’ll be wanting to mention you all in the homily – and I’d hate to leave anyone out. So there’s yourself, Heidi and Ciara, of course. Marie, you were his wife.’

  ‘They were divorced,’ I say. ‘More than twenty years ago. He was with my mother, until she died. Natalie. Her name was Natalie.’

  I’m shocked to feel tears spring to my eyes at the mention of her name. Then my stomach lurches. He won’t be buried in the same plot as her? Oh Christ, I don’t want him there. I don’t want him near her. I feel a panic build in me. I should’ve said to the undertakers. But surely Ciara wouldn’t want to give any legitimacy at all to Joe’s relationship with my mother? She wouldn’t want them buried together. But I should check anyway. To be sure.

  I hear a wail from Lily again and I have to close my eyes and force myself to sit on my hands not to run directly to her and pull her from Ciara’s arms.

  Marie pales, looks at me like I’m quite mad. I hear Marie say something, which I can’t catch because there’s a buzzing in my ears, and I blink to try to bring myself back into focus.

  ‘Sorry?’ I ask. ‘What was that?’

  I see Father Brennan has turned a funny shade of puce.

  ‘I don’t know how you don’t know this, Heidi. But Joe and I were never divorced. We were separated yes, but legally and in the eyes of the Church, we were still very much married.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Heidi

  Now

  Still married? After all these years? I don’t understand. My brain doesn’t process what Marie is saying.

  ‘I suppose we just never got round to it, and there didn’t seem so much of a reason after …’ Her voice trails off.

  I know what she means to say. That there didn’t seem to be much of reason after my mother died. Marie’s replacement was gone – no longer a threat.

  Joe didn’t ever have another serious relationship after that. There was no one who wanted to usurp her role as Joe’s wife and clearly she was happy to retain the title.

  ‘The notion of divorce never really rested easy with Joe,’ she says and I truly wonder if I am going mad.

  This man who left his wife, his daughter, and inveigled his way into my family, into my mother’s bed – wasn’t really comfortable with the idea of divorce? He’d a funny way of showing it.

  ‘Yes, well, he was a religious man, a good man,’ Father Brennan says, and I can no longer sit and listen to these platitudes or resist the urge to run to my daughter.

  I get up without speaking, because I don’t trust myself not to say something that will be used against me in the future.

  I am furious like I have never been furious before. I can feel the anger surge in me as if it is running through my very veins. I’m angry not only on my behalf, but also on behalf of my mother – who loved him. Who trusted him. Who sat down and wrote in her will that this man she had known just over a year could stay in the house she owned until he remarried or passed away. This man who had no intention of ever remarrying. Or unmarrying anyone.

  I wonder, did my mother, my beautiful, trusting, kind-hearted mother know that he ha
d never divorced Marie? That he found the idea of divorce uncomfortable. That he was a hypocrite of the highest order – knelt at the altar rails every morning and prayed while he betrayed, lied to and hurt everyone he came into contact with. How could Marie be so calm? How could she be so forgiving of him? After all he had done?

  Maybe she liked that she always had some sort of a connection to him – one more than sharing a child together, which was clearly not enough for her – but to be his wife? To have had, all these years, one up on the woman he left her for? My hands are curled into fists and I know I’m stomping up the stairs to find my daughter in this unfamiliar house, and I know I have to calm down before I reach Lily because she will feel the tension radiating off me in massive waves.

  I reach an open door at the top of the stairs where Ciara is cooing at my daughter and for a second I feel myself relax, but then I notice the small, navy leather-bound book at her side. Joe’s prayer book, tatty and well thumbed. Prayer cards and Mass cards poking out. A thick elastic band holding it all together.

  ‘Where …’ I start as her eyes dart to mine. ‘Where was that?’

  ‘Like you don’t know, Heidi. I don’t know what games you’re playing or why you’d pick now of all times to play them, but this is hard enough without you making it harder.’

  Confused, I look at her. She is angry. I see that. I see the same anger that I’m feeling in my veins reflected in her. I see the almost imperceptible shake of her hands, hear the slight but definite tremor in her voice.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say, struggling to control the tremor in my own voice.

  ‘It was here, Heidi. In your bag. In that bloody baby bag. Right there, where I couldn’t miss it when I went to change Lily.’

  ‘No,’ I shake my head. ‘It wasn’t. I didn’t have it. I haven’t seen it for days.’

  Lily starts to whimper again. Clearly, she can feel the tension growing anyway, even if I’m not holding her. This room feels like all the air is being sucked out of it. Ciara stands up and I’m a scared child again, looking up at her and trying to understand her, but not being able to break through the walls she has thrown up.

  ‘You’re mad!’ she spits. ‘Fucking mad! Just like your mother before you. She had to wreck things and here you are messing with our heads now. Making accusations. Hiding things. Jesus Christ, Heidi! How far will you go? How far have you gone? You complete fucking loony bin. Why the police haven’t carted you off long before now is beyond me. It’s beyond anyone.’

  Before I know it, before I even have the chance to think about it, my hand is raised and moving, and I have to use every ounce of strength in me to stop myself.

  ‘Fuck you,’ I hiss, my hand tingling with the unspent force of a slap directly across her face.

  Ciara just glares at me. Anger radiating from her.

  ‘I’ll take this with me,’ she says in short staccato beats, lifting the prayer book from the bed. ‘And thanks for giving me one more thing to tell the police about,’ she adds, sidestepping me and leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  My breath comes rushing out of my body as I crumple onto the bed beside my daughter and try to soothe her, and at the same time try to soothe myself.

  Chapter Forty

  Heidi

  Then

  I was given my first mobile phone for my fifteenth birthday. My grandparents, who I knew had very little, had saved up and bought me a Nokia. They might as well have given me a million pounds.

  I felt spoiled. And so grown up as I plugged it in for the first time and charged it before spending half an hour tapping in the details of the few friends I had from school, as well as my grandparents’ landline number.

  It rarely rang, of course, because calls cost so much money we were almost afraid to use the phones. Text messages were a little less expensive, so I exchanged those with my friends. Silly little things about homework, or who we had a crush on, or to arrange to meet at the bus depot on Foyle Street before wandering around the shops.

  This phone, basic as it was compared to the phones that exist now, was a lifeline. It meant that when I went home I was no longer confined to long nights with just Joe for company. I would escape to my room, close the door and engage with my friends. I’d asked Joe if we could get a computer, maybe even get the Internet at home. He’d refused. Said I could go to the library and use theirs. But the thought of spending more time under his eye was more than I could take.

  At least, at that stage, his night-time visits had stopped. Not that it meant he treated me any better. In fact, there were times when he just seemed even angrier at me. Fed up with me. I suppose I didn’t serve him any purpose any more. I was just a drain on his resources at that time.

  God, it was so messed up. Because, of course, I was glad the abuse wasn’t happening any more. But I was fifteen years old and craved the affection of a father figure. I tried to make him like me. I cringe now when I think of it. Weep for the poor child I was.

  I never told my friends. I would die if they knew. When they talked about their first boyfriends, their clumsy first experiences of kissing and more, I stayed quiet. I had no interest in finding a boyfriend. I had no interest in kissing anyone, never mind having sex. It baffled me that some of them seemed to enjoy it so much.

  I was midway through a text chat with one of my friends about how she had let her boyfriend touch her boobs, under her clothes, when a new message buzzed its way into my inbox.

  For a moment I allowed this small feeling of smugness to wash over me. I was, sort of, popular. My phone was buzzing. With a sense of great anticipation I opened the new message to see it was from a number I didn’t recognise.

  You’re nothing but a mad little bitch. Everyone hates you.

  I recoiled from the phone as if it had actually burned me, tossing it to the end of my bed. Then I scrabbled to reach it again, to look at the number, which I wrote down on a piece of paper. I figured I’d ask around at school to see if anyone knew who the number belonged to, but then I realised they’d all ask questions. They’d all want to know why I needed to know and I’d be too embarrassed, too scared that they would tell me the message was the truth, to show it to them.

  I read it over and over again. My heart thumping. Was that why bad things happened to me? Because I was mad? Because I deserved to be punished? I covered my ears to try to drown out the voices in my head, which was about as successful as you would expect, and I curled myself into a ball on my bed and wondered if Ciara had been right all along. I should just kill myself and be done with it.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Heidi

  Now

  Alex walks into the bedroom moments after I hear Ciara stomp downstairs. I’m scarlet with rage and embarrassment. What will she be saying now to everyone? To Father Brennan?

  ‘Erm … what’s going on? Ciara’s very upset,’ he asks me. ‘She says you raised your hand to hit her.’

  There’s a look of disappointment about him. It actually emboldens me. Angers me further. That he isn’t automatically on my side. Why is no one ever automatically on my side?

  I’m ashamed that I raised my hand, but I’m not sorry. What she had said had been vile.

  ‘I didn’t actually hit her!’ I protest. ‘She deserved a slap across the face but I stopped myself.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Heidi! It’s her father’s wake. She’s down there bawling and giving out in front of everyone. What will they think of you? Is it not bad enough that our every move is being watched anyway?’

  ‘They can watch all they want, Alex,’ I spit back at him. ‘Something fucked up is going on in all this and I’ve had enough of trying to keep the waters smooth. She accused me of stealing Joe’s prayer book – of hiding it in Lily’s changing bag so they couldn’t see it to choose stuff for the funeral.

  ‘She called my mother mad. And me, too. She says I’m crazy. I’m not the crazy one or the one keeping secrets, Alex. Marie’s just told me that she and Joe
never even got divorced! After mum died, they just didn’t bother. How on earth am I supposed to react to that? Just sigh and accept it as not as messed up as it really is?

  ‘And I’m sure they are setting me up for this. They want everyone to think it was me. That I killed him. Everyone is looking at me as if I did it. Ciara more or less said it outright, that she believes it was me.’

  He sits down, his head in his hands. His long fingers brushing through his hair before he straightens himself and takes a deep breath.

  ‘You can’t hit someone over a prayer book, no matter how much you might want to. She’s grieving too, you know. Emotions are running high, but you have got to at least keep them in check. And, God, I know the news about the divorce must be a shock, but this is all so messed up. All of it. I don’t think anything would surprise me any more. And they can’t pin it on you if you didn’t do it,’ he says. ‘I’ll not let that happen.’

  I take his hand. ‘I don’t see how you can stop it, Alex. I’m not stupid. I know all the signs are pointing at me. This is how it goes, you know. Every time I think I have a chance at happiness …’

  I feel a tear slide down my cheek, which I brush away. It hurts; my skin is still so raw from all the tears I’ve cried over the last few days. I know I’m falling apart. Physically and mentally. And there’s nothing that can be done to fix it.

  I look at him. He looks as wretched as I do. I’m wracked with guilt for putting him through all this. He did not sign up for any of this. This exceeds the ‘better or worse’ clause of our marriage by miles.

  ‘There is so much going on here. I know it. Whispers and the doll … and the prayer book … and Ciara. She’s poison but she plays the game well. The police don’t even seem to have glanced in her direction.’

  ‘They’re watching us all, Heidi. Don’t you see that? We’re all going through this. I know you’re overwhelmed and they’ve told me, you know, how things can get tough for you when you feel under pressure. Are you sure you’re not just reading into things that aren’t there?’