‘No, Liam, she’s not. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t completely rule out her driving over, barging in here, handcuffing me and taking me away against my will. I’m not sure I should stay.’
‘Look, Alex.’ He looked at the brown paper bags on the countertop. He wanted to hold her, pull her into his arms, but thought better of it in case the kids had walked in looking for their dinner. Besides, she could very well have pushed him away. ‘I owe you an explanation for many things, I know that, and I will give it to you, I promise.’ He winced, remembering Sarah Barry’s last words and hated that Alex had doubts about him, even though some of them might have been well-founded. He shifted his position and made his way towards the island to take out some plates. ‘But I expect Abbie and Josh will walk through that door any minute looking for their dinner and I know if we start a conversation now, we won’t have the peace of finishing it.’ He opened the drawers and took out four sets of cutlery without looking. ‘Could we get dinner sorted first?’ Reluctantly, Alex agreed.
7.
Abbie couldn’t sleep; it was already three in the morning, but her familiar anxieties had begun to mingle with new ones as she lay silently on top of her covers. The knowledge that she would forevermore be without a mother to help open the release valve on all her worries added an encumbrance to the already overflowing pressure pot in her head. She had tossed and turned for hours trying to make everything make sense. Everything that had happened was so bizarre, not least of which the steady stream of visitors that had come to the house. There were the visitors that were to be expected, like the neighbours bearing cakes or the priest offering prayers, but there were also the strange ones. The Garda forensic team had looked the strangest, with their white boiler suits, blue shoe covers with gloves to match and cameras hanging around their necks – standard practice, her dad had explained. Then there was her dad’s solicitor who stood in a cargo shorts and pink T-shirt with a brown leather briefcase in his hand. And the most surprising of all, Alex with a repentant expression, a dripping umbrella and brown paper bags from the deli around the corner – she had wanted to offer her condolences, her dad had clarified. They had all come and gone, except for Alex who was still downstairs when she had gone up to her room.
With a ball stuck at the back of her throat and a heartbeat that would have challenged even the most prolific drummer to replicate, Abbie stood behind her door, listening and waiting to hear if anyone else was awake. She hadn’t heard her dad come to bed and she hadn’t heard any noise downstairs either, so she wasn’t sure if Alex was still there.
She had passed the hours since she had gone to bed by scrolling endlessly through her phone waiting for responses to the photo she had posted on her private Snapchat story. It was a picture of half of her face, a tear sliding down her cheek, and the caption – don’t wear fake tan when your heart breaks! And she had spent the past hour answering the blue chats from the close friends who had swiped up on her private vlogs to console her. Then, when the conversations had dried up, her friends having finally gone to sleep, she posted an old photo on Instagram of her mum and dad in their pilot uniforms. She had taken it from the two-page Sunday Independent article that her mum had had mounted and framed and hung on the wall outside her bedroom on the landing. It featured her mum when she and her dad had both worked as pilots for Aer Lingus. Love is in the Air had been the feature title and the photograph was a picture of both of them sitting in the cockpit of a brand new Airbus 330 aircraft. The year was 2007. It had been a publicity stunt by the airline to show off some of the new fleet they had just acquired and, because it was February, they had hijacked the Valentine’s Day sentiment and ran a story about how two of their pilots had met and fallen in love in the skies. Her mum had known that it was just a stunt but she hadn’t really cared, she was proud of the fact that she had been asked and, because of that, Abbie was proud of the picture too. Her mum looked so beautiful with her auburn hair tied back from her face, her green eyes, her white blouse with three golden bars on her epaulettes and a smile that was so wide she wished she could reach inside the frame and touch it just one more time. It was hard to remember her mum like she used to be. It was hard sometimes to see past the illness that had changed her.
She checked the notifications on her phone again and took note of the likes and comments that had accumulated before she gently pulled back her door and hop-scotched across the landing dodging the familiar creaks. Normally on nights that she couldn’t sleep or times when the worries consumed her, she’d hover on the landing between her mum’s and Josh’s door to see if anyone was awake. It was then that Josh texted her.
What you doing awake?
Nothing, going to loo.
Can you not sleep?
Nope, you?
I was until I heard some weirdo creeping around the landing.
Ha! Do you think dad’s still downstairs?
Dunno, go into room and see.
No, that’d be weird, what if Alex is in there with him?
She won’t be… he wouldn’t dare.
I didn’t hear her go out.
Just come in to my room, weirdo!
No, I’m grand, I’ll go back to bed.
Come in to me, WEIRDO…
‘Did I really wake you or were you awake?’ she whispered as she creaked Josh’s door open. Josh squinted in the darkness as the faint light from the landing idled in behind her. It was the bathroom light. Not actually from the bathroom because the house’s only bathroom was downstairs, but a lamp that their dad had put on the landing when they were kids. It had a fifteen-watt bulb and a timer that was set for darkness so that when the kids needed to use the bathroom, they could find their way. It had been known as the bathroom light ever since and even when the massive extension downstairs and sleek renovation of upstairs had been undertaken, the bathroom light remained. An old idea that had become a tradition, a tradition that none of the Buckleys, especially Abbie, was eager to change.
‘You woke me up,’ Josh answered and reached to turn his bedside lamp on before he stretched to the pile of clothes that were heaped close to his bed on the floor.
‘No, I didn’t,’ she answered, scrunching up her face and plonking herself at the end of Josh’s bed. She tucked her fleece pyjama bottoms into her fluffy bed socks, pulled the hood of her school hoodie over her messy bun and pulled the bottom of Josh’s duvet over her. ‘I’m freezing,’ she added, with a little shiver for effect. With the rain earlier and her over-tiredness, it had felt a lot cooler than usual.
‘What’s up?’ Josh didn’t really need to ask because he already knew the answer. This was what Abbie did. It was the same routine every time she was worried, upset or anxious and tonight, with everything that had gone on she was all three. When her mum and dad would argue, this was where she came; when their dad had left two years ago, this was where she came; when Jenny was first diagnosed, this was where she came; every time she needed to talk to anyone she slinked into the bottom of Josh’s bed and talked her worries out.
‘Nothing.’ She shuffled around the end of the bed trying to hide the tears in her eyes.
‘It’s not nothing.’ Josh pulled a T-shirt over his head and scooted himself back against the headboard, reclaiming some of the duvet that she had already pulled away from him. ‘And you can think again if you think that you’re staying in here talking all night.’ Seeing her in the middle of the night in her pyjamas curling up at the end of his bed reminded him of how they used to be when they were younger. ‘What are you worried about?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ she shrugged. ‘Anyway it was you who texted me to come in.’
‘God, you really are so annoying.’ Josh looked up underneath the mop of hair that had fallen into his eyes and smiled.
‘I’m annoying?’ She laughed in response. ‘I thought you said that I was the only one that wasn’t annoying?’ The words came out before she had a chance to check how loud they were.
‘Annoying, but in a good way,�
� he whispered and pushed his foot down pretending to kick her out of the bed. She kicked him back.
‘Ow.’ He winced, exaggerating how sore it had been. He knew that sometimes she didn’t need to talk, sometimes she just needed not to be alone, she was just wired to agonise over every single thing.
‘But you do know there is nothing to worry about though, don’t you?’ Josh said tentatively, drawing his legs towards him. He looked at her. Her eyes were wide with worry. Years ago, when Abbie’s worries had first begun, it manifested itself in physical stuff like headaches, tummy aches and not being able to sleep. But when her mum and dad delved deeper realising there were no obvious physiological causes, they knew it was her emotional well-being that was delicate.
‘Yeah, well sort of,’ she paused for a moment concentrating on her feet, ‘but there sort of is,’ she drew in a deep breath. ‘Like, what if…’ she couldn’t bring herself to end the sentence.
‘What if what, Abs?’
‘What if…’ she hesitated, ‘what if mum…’ an image of the Gardaí dressed in their white boiler suits flashed across her eyes, ‘do they think it wasn’t suicide?’
‘Don’t Abs, why would you even say that?’ he asked.
‘I’m not thick, Josh, I know that Dad doesn’t just go to the Garda station for nothing and I know that they don’t do a detailed forensic examination and seal off a room in your bloody house for nothing…’ She picked at fluff on the duvet, released it over the carpet and watched it float to the floor. ‘And I know that you don’t get a solicitor unless you have something to hide, especially not one who would come to your house on their day off in his shorts and T-shirt.’ She had also spent the time in her room googling – in between notifications and blue chats – and it worried her, what she’d found.
‘Yeah, but they have to do that for all deaths that are unexplained, Abs, not just because they think that Mum didn’t do it herself.’ He was repeating what he had heard their dad explain – whether it was correct or not, he wasn’t sure.
‘I think they think that Dad did it, helped her commit suicide. I googled it.’ She called up a screenshot on her phone to read it out loud: ‘Under the Criminal Law (Suicide) Act of 1993, it is an offence to aid, abet, counsel or procure the suicide or attempted suicide of another person.’
‘Jesus, Abbie, don’t be googling stuff like that,’
‘Why, because you think they’ll check my phone and then I’ll look guilty?’ She waited for a response and when he didn’t answer she continued, ‘so you do think it’s a possibility?’
‘Hardly,’ he answered, not knowing whether she was asking about the Garda taking her phone or the fact that their dad killed their mum. ‘You know yourself, Mum said that when the time came she wanted to choose where and when she would die, it’s as simple as that.’ He looked away to hide the tears in his eyes. It was hard having to be strong for her, sometimes.
‘But do you think she did it, Josh?’
‘I don’t know, Abs,’ he said.
‘Well… I don’t think Mum was ready to die yet, I don’t think that her time had come and there is no way that she’d just do it like that without telling us.’
‘Or maybe she would’ve because she didn’t want any of us to get into trouble,’ he suggested.
‘You know, if someone did do it, they could go to jail for like a minimum of fourteen years… I googled that too.’
‘Look, Abs, whatever happens, we’ll be okay, okay?’
‘How are we going to be okay, Josh? What if…’ She hesitated, reluctant to say what she was thinking.
‘What? Abs, say what’s on your mind.’
‘What if they were to think that it wasn’t suicide and Dad killed her, he’d go to jail for sure and then it’d just be me and you and you’ll have the Leaving Cert this time next year and then you’ll be going to college and they won’t let me stay here by myself.’ She tried to sniffle back the tears that were already sliding down her face.
Josh stretched his neck. He knew that she needed reassurance and that telling her that it would never happen wouldn’t work to ease her mind. ‘Well, for a start, college is not until next year and I might not even get in anywhere.’ Just like his mother would have done, he worked out the practicalities for her instead. Besides, college wasn’t a given. He definitely hadn’t applied himself the past year and if he wanted to get enough points for college, he had a lot of catching up to do. ‘And even if I do get enough points for a place, I’ll be going to university somewhere in Dublin so nothing will change. I’ll still be living here and coming home every night. Actually, it’ll probably be better because I won’t have to do half as many hours as I would have done in secondary school, and the workload and coursework will be doddle compared to the Leaving Cert.’ Her heart was racing, he could tell by the shortness of her breath. It took all his strength not to tear up in front of her. He hated seeing her like this. ‘You are just feeling shite because Mum is dead and you’re worrying about things that will never happen.’
‘Do you think they’ll charge him?’
‘I don’t know, I really don’t.’ It was always a fine line with Abbie between false hope and reality and it was too late at night to argue the toss.
‘Do you think we should phone Sarah, maybe she’ll have a better idea of what to expect?’ Her voice trailed a little, there had been tension between her brother and her mum’s best friend earlier and she didn’t really understand why. ‘She’ll know whether or not they’ll charge him,’ her eyes flickered towards her father’s room.
‘No,’ Josh was quick to answer. Sarah might very well have a better understanding of how the Irish justice system worked and how to tailor their expectations accordingly, but that was about all. Reaching out to Sarah was the last thing he wanted to do, especially now. ‘Look, Abbie, this will all work itself out.’ He was eager for the topic of conversation to change and shuffled in his bed looking for his phone, which he had dropped earlier after texting Abbie to come in. When he found it, he plugged it in to charge and the last text messages that they had exchanged flashed up. ‘Do you think…’ he started, nodding his head towards his bedroom door. Discussing his dad’s relationship had always felt awkward and discussing his dad’s sleeping arrangements with his little sister, even more so. Surely Alex hadn’t stayed over? And if she did, she couldn’t be in his dad’s room… could she?
Dinner, much to his surprise, hadn’t been as torturous as he had expected and, even though he had protested and accused his dad of moving his girlfriend in when his mum hadn’t even been buried, he hadn’t been that upset when Alex had actually arrived. He could tell that she felt as awkward as he did and besides, she had brought the lasagne and the couscous salad that they loved from the deli and after dinner she had made herself useful, hovering helpfully in the background as mourners called. The last caller, one of his mum’s friends from her Aer Lingus days, left just before eleven and, shortly after that, he and Abbie had gone to bed. Alex had still been there at that time, it was understandable, he supposed. His dad and Alex hadn’t actually been alone since she had arrived.
‘I don’t know,’ Abbie said, ‘but I want to do a wee, so I’ll see then.’
‘Let me know,’ he waved his phone, a text would suffice. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked.
‘I’m grand,’ she uncurled her legs from under her and crept across Josh’s bedroom floor. He had already had the light off by the time she eased the door closed behind her. She hesitated on the landing when she heard angry voices meander up the stairs and then took the first step on the stairs and it creaked. She paused for a second and when the voices continued oblivious to her approach, she took another, and another until eventually she was standing outside the kitchen door in the hallway. Alex and her dad were arguing inside.
‘Dad,’ she pushed back the door and stood looking from one to the another. Alex was sitting on the edge of the sofa, her phone in her hand. ‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s okay, love, did we wake you?’ he asked.
‘No, I was awake.’ She shuffled into the kitchen and closed the door behind her, squinting at the brighter light of the lamp that stood on the console table. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Alex’s eyes flicked from Liam to his daughter. ‘Your dad and I were just…’
‘Fighting,’ Abbie interjected. She wondered what about.
‘Well, yes,’ Alex agreed. She got up, stepped over Liam’s shoes where he had kicked them off, and crossed the room to the kitchen island where she had left her bag. She hadn’t intended to stay so late. It was only her intention to get him on his own and determine, without anyone else’s influence, whether or not he was telling the truth about his involvement, or lack thereof, in Jenny’s death. If only it had been that easy. If only she hadn’t been so naïve. If only he had said something to quash the niggle of doubt that had begun to sprout in her mind. Of course, she had asked all the pertinent questions, all of which he had categorically denied, but how do you really know if someone is telling the truth? Intuition isn’t scientific, nobody really knows what a murderer looks like, especially not her. ‘But I’m heading home now, I’m so sorry, Abbie, I really am.’ She tried her best to smile, everything that Liam had just said going off like mines in her head. No matter which way she turned, it was dangerous and there didn’t seem to be a safe way out. She could accept his denials, understand his pleas of innocence and she could even, to a certain degree, rationalise his theory about an unfortunate collection of coincidences, but what she couldn’t accept was what he had to tell her in answer to the last question she had asked: is there anything else you think I should know?
Would he have told her if she hadn’t asked? Would she have remained oblivious to the fact that he had slept with his ex-wife back in March, if the events of the past twenty-four hours hadn’t occurred? Infidelity – the implications of it – was something she would never be comfortable with and if she had one regret about her relationship with Liam it was that she met him while he was still married to Jenny. But now the shoe was on the other foot. It was she that Liam had cheated on and with his ex-wife too. The irony was not lost on her.
When the Time Comes Page 8
