The Liar's Daughter

by Claire Allan

  I don’t understand why she can’t see that I simply cannot and will not let that happen.

  I shake my head and it’s me who is taking a step backwards now, taking her child further away from her.

  ‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘At least wait until Alex is here and then maybe he can talk some sense into you.’

  ‘Please! She’s my baby.’

  I can see the anguish on her face as she longs to hold her daughter. I don’t want to be cruel.

  ‘I’ll give her to you,’ I say, ‘only if you stay. You have to promise me you’ll stay.’

  She shakes her head but I can see she is wavering. Her desire to have Lily back in her arms outweighs anything else.

  She concedes. I hand Lily to her and then I make sure that the front door is locked and she can’t leave even if she changes her mind. She has to realise that I’m doing this for her own good. It will be much worse for her if she doesn’t come clean.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Heidi

  Then

  The night Joe died, something felt out of sorts. There was a strange energy in the house, which at the time I put down to the growing tension that came from putting five people who didn’t really like each other, together in a relatively small space under stressful conditions.

  I had a headache, one that I couldn’t shift. I’d taken some paracetamol, which is all I was allowed to take given that I was breastfeeding Lily, but what I really wanted was to take something more hardcore to knock me out for a few hours. Since that wasn’t going to be possible, I wished instead for a cool cloth over my eyes. A lie-down in a darkened room. Preferably my own darkened room in my own house away from all of this.

  Joe had been in bad form all day. Worse form than normal. Maudlin. Philosophical. Cranky. He didn’t want to be left alone for any length of time and unfortunately for him no one, with the possible exception of Kathleen, seemed minded to want to spend any time with him.

  He hadn’t even tried to be pleasant when I’d arrived at around ten thirty that morning – griping that he’d had to wait for his breakfast and was hungry. It hadn’t been my fault I’d been late. Lily had been fussy – teething, I think. She’d thrown up everywhere just as we were getting ready to leave the house and I’d not only had to change her clothes, but bathe her as well. Then it had been time for her feed and well, yes, maybe I had taken some time to myself. But I deserved it. I needed it. I didn’t think, even in his weakened state, coming downstairs and making a slice of toast was beyond him.

  Joe punished me for my tardiness by being extra demanding. He knew he could play on my guilt, that I was a soft touch, so he did. He rang that stupid bell so many times that I’d barely had five minutes to myself to run a vacuum round or grab a cup of tea or feed my baby in peace. I’d muttered that I wanted to shove that stupid bell where the sun doesn’t shine at one stage, a feeling of being completely overwhelmed washing over me.

  Alex had been at work, Ciara and Stella, too. None of them had the ‘luxury’ of maternity leave to keep them away from their respective jobs. Kathleen had popped in during the afternoon, but then said she had to leave again. Pauline was taking her out for a coffee. Pauline was worried about the strain she was under. I’d forced a smile, but I’m sure Kathleen knew it was far from genuine.

  They’d all arrived en masse at teatime and of course I’d felt obliged to make something to eat for everyone – opting for the easy option of a spaghetti bolognese. Using a jar of sauce, of course, because I didn’t have the time to whizz one up from scratch. I barely had the time to bless myself, never mind press garlic.

  Kathleen had turned her nose up at my food, said she didn’t feel like she’d eaten a proper dinner unless it had potatoes in it. She’d set about preparing something for herself, and for Joe too, saying he had always been a plain eater and it was more important than ever that he ate well now.

  She’d been lucky not to get a pot of spaghetti sauce tipped over her. I bit my lip. I wanted to tell her he was lucky to be getting anything. They all were. I definitely had better or nicer things that I could have been doing than looking after Joe McKee and feeding the five thousand.

  I should have been spending time with my daughter – time I wouldn’t get back once I was back in the workforce, helping to keep the inner workings of the local technical college ticking over. This should be time spent sitting on the floor with her, playing with her, marvelling at her tiny, perfectly formed fingers. Kissing her feet. Singing to her. Learning how to be a mother without having a mother to teach me.

  It was no wonder I was on my last nerve by the time dinner was over. Angry and put out and tired. And my head still hurt. At least, I thought, at least Stella was courteous enough to stack the dishwasher while Alex took Lily for a walk to settle her. That left Kathleen, Ciara and I to discuss the way forward, which was not a comfortable conversation to have and one I could easily have done without after the day I’d had.

  Still, we knew it was necessary, so I made us all a cup of tea and we sat around the kitchen table. We were just about to plan a rota of sorts, when Joe’s damned bell rang again.

  ‘I’ll go if you want,’ Stella said, popping her head around the kitchen door.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ I’d said, grateful to give my tired legs a break from running up and down the stairs.

  She’d smiled, more in Ciara’s direction than anything else, then had set off up the stairs, only to come back down again less than a minute later.

  ‘He wants you, Heidi,’ she said, her face a little flushed.

  Both Ciara and Kathleen shifted uncomfortably in their seats. As if they were put out by it all. As if they wanted him to have asked for them instead. Neither of them knew that I’d be more than happy to let either of them take my place. Permanently.

  I nodded, sighed and got to my feet, then trudged up the stairs.

  Joe was sitting up in bed. His glasses perched at the end of his nose. He put down the pen he was holding and closed over the book he had been writing in, in slow, deliberate moves. He looked up, regarding me over the top of his glasses as if I were some sort of scientific specimen. Goose bumps, very much the unpleasant kind, prickled on my skin.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said.

  It was an order, not a request. I knew his tone of voice well.

  I pulled the chair from beside his bed just a little further away from him before doing what he’d asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know why you always have to be so cold with me, Heidi,’ he said sadly.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet. Fidgeting uncomfortably on the chair. I willed Lily to let out a cry so I would have an excuse to bolt. It shocked me how quickly he could make me feel as if he was in control again.

  He sighed again. ‘You’re talking about me, aren’t you? All of you. Downstairs.’

  He sounded worried. But he always was a good actor, good at eliciting sympathy when he deserved none. I’d no doubt he was going to start laying down the law about what standard of care he expected. Joe McKee was nothing if not particular.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We are. We’re talking about how best to support you.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘And that’s all?’ he said, one bushy, overgrown grey eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

  I wasn’t sure if I imagined it or not, but thinking back, now I’m sure that it was a flash of worry that I saw on his face as he spoke. We’d never spoken of what had happened all those years ago. Joe had been a master of sweeping uncomfortable things under carpets and I’d been content to let all those secrets fester out of sight.

  ‘What else would we be talking about?’ I asked him, keeping my face as neutral as my voice.

  ‘All sorts of things come up when someone is dying,’ he said. ‘Emotions. Unresolved issues.’

  ‘Sure, what unresolved issues would we have, Joe?’ I asked.

  I knew I was goading him, but I wanted to know how far I could push him before he would crack. If, that wa
s, he would crack at all.

  ‘Well, I don’t know, but I suppose what I’m saying is that there’s no need to go upsetting yourself, or anyone else for that matter, by going over old ground.’

  He made it sound like he was trying to do me a favour. Like he was trying to look after me. All that did was anger me more.

  ‘What old ground would that be, Joe?’ I asked as I struggled to retain my composure.

  Would he actually have the balls to come out and say it? I wondered. Would he have the guts to say that he wanted to make sure his sick and sordid past didn’t become the thing people remembered him for most of all?

  He paused, blinked. ‘Things weren’t always easy,’ he said. He swallowed, looked down then up and that time I knew what I saw. I knew I was looking at the face of a worried and scared old man. ‘I did my best, you know. You were such a damaged child. With your mother’s death. You were so difficult to manage at times, and I know you believed things to be true that maybe didn’t happen like you remember them. Then of course the passage of time erodes memories, doesn’t it? Fills in gaps in stories. Traumas mix together, don’t they, so it’s hard to remember what is real and what isn’t. Especially when you were on so many medications.’

  ‘So tell me, what was real? Those things that maybe didn’t really happen? Or that my memory has embellished for me over the years? Why don’t you tell me what of it really did happen? Just so I know.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t think there’s any need to drag things up,’ he said. ‘The past is the past and I hold no hard feelings …’

  ‘You? You hold no hard feelings?’ It was incredulous, what he was saying.

  ‘None,’ he said. ‘You didn’t know what you were saying. Your mind was in a very dark place. Everyone knew it. But you’ll always be my special girl. You know I did so much for you, and I don’t regret it for a second. I walked away from my own daughter for you, and your mother. To make sure you were taken care of. Even when it was tough. Even when you hated me, because I’ve always seen you as my daughter too, you know. All those years of providing for you. Caring for you. Loving you. They must count for something? Tell me they count for something.’

  This man. This man who had terrified and traumatised me. He was now – weak, pathetic – trying to manipulate me again. Trying to make me think I was losing my mind again. Trying to tell me he’d done me a favour? Christ Almighty, I’d rather have been left to roam the streets on my own than endure what he did to me.

  He reached out. His creepy bony hand, already showing signs of the weight he had lost during his illness. I saw his fingernails, just a little too long. I remembered his touch. How his nails would scrape at my skin. His clammy hands. His rank breath.

  He had convinced himself, perhaps, of his own innocence, but I knew what had happened. I had no doubts. None at all. As his hand moved closer to me, I flinched. I would not let him touch me. Never again. Not for any reason.

  I batted his hand away, using more force than I anticipated. His arm, not as strong as it was, swung backwards, his hand bashing against the bedside locker. I can still hear the thud it made now when I think about it. He swore under his breath, but I didn’t care. I stood up, scraping the chair back as I stood.

  ‘Go to hell, Joe,’ I said as calmly, but as menacingly, as I could, turning on my heel, ignoring his yelping about his injured hand or his attempts to call me back.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Heidi,’ I hear him say as I closed the door and headed back down the stairs just in time to see Alex arrive back with Lily.

  That was the last time I spoke to Joe McKee.

  Chapter Sixty

  Heidi

  Now

  My breath is catching in my chest. I feel as if someone has wrapped their arms around me and is squeezing too tight. Ciara is standing defiantly at the door. She won’t listen to reason. She won’t listen at all.

  At least, I think, at least Alex shouldn’t take long to get here. He only works fifteen minutes away. If the traffic isn’t heavy, that is. And it shouldn’t be. Although with the snow on the ground now, things could take longer than usual. I could be trapped here for longer. I start to spiral.

  ‘I’m going upstairs,’ I tell Ciara. I can’t stand to be under her gaze for a moment longer.

  ‘Where?’ she asks.

  ‘My room. I just want to settle Lily,’ I lie. ‘She’s overdue her nap and she’s upset and I want to make sure she’s okay.’

  Ciara looks as if she is weighing up her options. What does she think I’ll do up there anyway?

  ‘Okay,’ she says with a degree of reluctance. ‘Just for Lily.’

  I nod. I won’t thank her. She doesn’t deserve any thanks for letting me leave her sight.

  I climb the stairs, my legs still shaky from my fainting episode. I hold on tight to Lily, terrified to let her go. I don’t want to let her go ever again. Ciara is pacing the hall, muttering to herself. Manic.

  How will Alex feel when he knows what happened to me? Will Ciara be able to convince him that I’m responsible? Will she tell him I’m unhinged? Will she use the strange things that happened to prove it to him? Will she tell him all about how sick I was as a teenager? The scratching? The fire?

  When he finds out how damaged I am, will he ever be able to trust me, to love me, again?

  Or maybe that’s been Ciara’s intention all along. Maybe, despite our shared trauma, she hates me so much that she wants to see my life implode.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Ciara

  Then

  On the night Joe died things had been tense in the house. Well, things were always tense in that house, but they were more tense that night. The great ‘I’m going to sell this house as soon as he’s gone’ announcement of the night before had wound us all up.

  I veered between not giving a damn what Heidi Lewis did with her godforsaken house and being so angry that she could look at it all so coldly.

  I suppose I was angry because her coldness simply mirrored my own.

  I wanted him dead. I hoped that he was right when he whined about maybe only having weeks and not the months the doctors said were possible. I couldn’t stand the thought of spending months of my life in his presence. Spending months of my life in that poky bedroom, where the air was stale and there was little in the way of natural light no matter what the time of day.

  I couldn’t stand the thought of having to play nice. I didn’t want to play nice. Seeing him had cemented that in my mind. I just wanted him to admit to what he’d done and say sorry. But it seemed that was too much to ask.

  So that night, after we had eaten the begrudgingly prepared dinner Heidi had thrown together, sitting around the table in silence while Kathleen grilled a couple of pork chops for my father and had cut them up as if he were some feeble infant, my frustration had grown.

  All this fussing around for a man who didn’t deserve a moment of it.

  It seemed like such a waste of everyone’s energy.

  He seemed like a waste of everyone’s energy.

  It was around nine when Kathleen presented me with a cup of tea and a plate holding three custard cream biscuits and asked me to bring my father up his supper. A man of plain tastes, custard creams were his favourite biscuit and Kathleen told us all that she’d gone and bought them especially. ‘But good ones, mind, not those value pack ones that taste of nothing.’

  I’d trudged up the stairs to find my father sitting on the edge of his bed, his feet in his slippers on the floor. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

  ‘Kathleen asked me to bring you some supper,’ I said in a voice that contained no trace of the warmth Kathleen had shown him.

  ‘She’s good to me,’ he said, ‘she always was.’

  I crossed the room to put the cup and the plate on the bedside locker. I was just turning to leave, when he grabbed me by the wrist. For a man who was supposedly so weak he held a firm enough grasp on my wrist to make me wince.

  ‘Ciara, love
,’ he said.

  I felt my blood run cold just at the tone of his voice.

  I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on tighter, pulling me closer.

  ‘Ciara,’ he said again. ‘Can you help me? I need your help to get to the bathroom. My legs are feeling a bit weak.’

  ‘I should get Alex to help you,’ I said.

  I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, never mind take him to the bathroom.

  ‘Sure you’re here, you can help me, can’t you?’

  He looked up at me, the expression on his face painted as weak and vulnerable, but the grasp of his hand, the friction burn I felt starting on my wrist, told a different story.

  I felt my own legs weaken, but I vowed to be strong. If he wanted help to get to the bathroom, I’d do it. He wouldn’t upset me. That’s what he wanted, I think, to set me on edge and upset me. To remind me that the balance of power would always fall on his side.

  ‘Let’s go then,’ I said, stepping back.

  He let go of my wrist, took my hand instead. I closed my eyes for just a second, just enough to steady myself.

  I helped him to stand and we walked, him holding on to my arm, towards the bathroom.

  ‘You were always such a good girl, Ciara,’ he said. ‘Such a great daughter. We were so close once, weren’t we?’

  I didn’t answer, and we reached the bathroom in silence.

  ‘There you go,’ I said, not wanting to get drawn into his discussion about good girls and how close we were.

  He stopped and looked at me. The way he always did. The way that stripped away all my layers, emotional and physical.

  ‘Will you wait there ’til I’m done?’ he asked. ‘I’m not sure I can walk back myself.’

  ‘Yes,’ I muttered. I’d say as little as I could to get through this ordeal as quickly as I could.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said again and I felt another layer slip away.

  Good girl. He used to say that then, too.