Tell the Truth

by Amanda Brittany

  But Rachel gripped the bulging bag to her chest.

  ‘OK, well, don’t blame me if things go missing.’

  Once at Lough End Farm, Bridie and Caitlin ran out to greet them, Bridie in a purple velvet dress and cream shoes, her dark hair loose and curly to her shoulders, and Caitlin in a pale blue dress with identical cream shoes, her dark hair tied into a ponytail with a blue ribbon. They smiled widely, excitement in their eyes.

  ‘Ma’s done a special tea,’ Caitlin said to Rachel, but Rachel didn’t respond.

  Dillon appeared, ragged in jeans and a sweatshirt.

  ‘Can I take a photo of you all?’ Laura asked, lifting the camera that hung round her neck.

  Dillon shook his head, on his way to the barn. ‘Count me out, I’m about to chop wood.’

  ‘Please, Dillon,’ Laura called after him.

  ‘For feck’s sake, what do you want a picture of us for?’ He turned and padded towards her, hands deep in his pockets.

  ‘I want to paint a picture, Dillon,’ she said.

  Once the children were lined up, Laura snapped a photo. ‘I’ll send the film off to be developed tomorrow,’ she said, as Bridie and Caitlin ran inside, and Dillon disappeared into the barn, clearly disinterested.

  ‘Let’s go in, shall we?’ Laura said to Rachel, taking her hand.

  ‘I don’t want to go any more,’ Rachel said, pulling back.

  ‘But Imogen has made tea, and it’s Caitlin’s birthday – and you’ve bought her a gift.’ She kneeled in front of her daughter, tucking her hair behind her ears and smiling. ‘You’ll have a lovely time, and I won’t be long.’ She paused, staring into her eyes, finally seeing how beautiful they were. ‘I love you, darling,’ she found herself saying. Realising, for the first time, that she meant it.

  ‘I love you more,’ the little girl said, and Laura’s heart gave a flutter, and her eyes filled with tears. Had she finally reached her daughter? ‘I want to go home, Mummy.’

  Imogen appeared at the door, and raced towards them. She whisked Rachel into her arms. ‘Now come along,’ she said. ‘Don’t spoil Caitlin’s birthday.’

  Rachel looked at her mother, and then at Imogen, the canvas bag of toys dangling from her hand.

  ‘I’m not sure she’s quite ready to be without me,’ Laura said feebly, reaching out to touch her daughter’s hand.

  ‘Well, she never will be if you fuss all over her,’ Imogen said, waltzing towards the door. ‘Come and collect her in two hours,’ she called, disappearing inside the house, the door closing behind them.

  Laura sat on a log for some time, listening out for Rachel’s tears. But they never came. Perhaps Imogen was right. Laura had certainly isolated the child too much, kept her inside like a dog you never take for walks, because it barks at other dogs.

  Maybe this was exactly what Rachel needed.

  ***

  The hammering on the door grew louder. ‘Laura! Answer the fecking door. It’s me. Dillon.’

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ she said, opening up, and knowing from the tears on his cheeks, and the blots of blood on his T-shirt, something terrible had happened.

  ‘Imogen’s dead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I came in through the back door, and there she was in the kitchen.’ He began to sob. ‘She’s cut open her wrists. There’s blood everywhere.’

  ‘And the girls?’ Laura cried, shoving her feet into her trainers, and almost tripping through the door. ‘Is Rachel OK?’

  ‘I didn’t go into the house, Laura. I just grabbed my bag and ran.’

  ‘You didn’t check on them? Oh God, Dillon. What the hell were you thinking? They’ll be so scared,’ she said, slamming the door behind her.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I just panicked and ran.’ He swallowed hard, eyes wide, and Laura noticed he was clutching a piece of screwed-up paper. ‘There was so much blood,’ he cried. ‘I just had to get out of there.’ He darted a look around the wood, as though someone was about to rush from behind a tree and grab him, and he rubbed his wide, vulnerable eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘I’ve got to get away from here, Laura.’ He dragged up a rucksack from the ground, and slung it over his shoulder, grabbing the stick he always carried. ‘Have a good life, Laura,’ he said, turning and taking off, racing through the trees like a convict on the run.

  ‘Dillon!’ she cried after him, as he slung the stick into the lake with a splash.

  ‘I’m never coming back, Laura,’ he yelled. ‘I can’t take any more. Tell Bridie and Caitlin I’m sorry.’ His voice faded, and he was soon out of sight.

  Laura took off towards the farmhouse, her mind spinning with scenarios as she raced through the hedgerow. Had Tierney returned? Had Imogen hurt the children? Had Dillon done something awful? Oh God, please let Rachel be OK.

  When she reached the edge of the wood, she stopped, catching her breath. Hens pecked the ground. Kids’ clothes swung, pegged on the makeshift washing-line that squeaked and moaned in the wind. The door stood ajar. It was far too quiet.

  She shuddered, suddenly sure someone was watching her. She scanned the area, trying to pick out shapes, before walking hesitantly towards the door.

  ‘Imogen,’ she called into the house. ‘Are you there? Rachel? Girls?’

  She stepped in, and Bridie came into view, sitting on the floor with Caitlin huddled in her arms. Laura ran towards the girls, and crouched down in front of them. ‘What’s happened?’ Her voice trembled. ‘Are you OK? Where’s Rachel?’

  Neither girl spoke, their eyes dark and heavy in their intensely pale faces, and she noticed Caitlin had a gash on her forehead. She leaned over and touched her face. ‘What happened, darling?’ she said, but the child remained silent.

  Laura went into the kitchen. The sight that greeted her made her stomach turn.

  ‘Oh my God, Imogen,’ she yelled, rushing towards her, and grabbing a tea towel from the cooker handle. She bent to where Imogen was lying on the floor, and wrapped it around one of her bloody wrists, noticing how deep the gashes were, as fresh blood dripped and pooled on the floor. ‘Stay with me, please stay with me.’

  But Imogen’s wide staring eyes were lifeless. Laura knew she was too late.

  In tears, she rose, and left the kitchen – searching for her daughter.

  ‘Rachel?’ she called, venturing into the small hallway, where coats of all sizes fought for space on a rack, and kids’ shoes lined the wall. And there she was, her tiny body crumpled at the foot of the stairs. Laura let out a painful wail.

  She fell to her knees. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God, Rachel, no, no, no, please be OK,’ she cried, bending over the child, tears flooding her eyes. She’d never felt such agony. Despite everything, she’d grown to love her daughter. ‘Rachel, please wake up,’ she continued, her cheeks sodden, her nose running, tears dripping from her chin. ‘Wake up, wake up, wake up.’

  ***

  When the Guards and paramedics arrived, Laura was still by Rachel’s side, her daughter’s head on her lap. An unbearable numbness had stunned her into a trancelike silence, as though she wasn’t there at all. As though she’d entered another realm she would never escape from.

  Through the door, she saw Bridie had withdrawn into the corner of the room, her head buried into her knees. She was singing, her voice haunted, her words bouncing around the room. ‘Polly put the kettle on, Polly put the kettle on, Polly put the kettle on, we’ll all have tea. Suki take it off again, Suki take it off again, Suki take it off again, they’ve all gone away.’

  Caitlin had found her way to Laura’s side, and was now sitting next to her. She laid her head against Laura, blood drying on her forehead.

  When the pathologist pronounced Rachel dead, Laura let out a piercing scream. Sheer pain thrust through the numbness, crippling her, and Caitlin burst into tears.

  Rachel had gone. The little girl she was just beginning to reach had left her, and another painful sob racked her body.

  Later, when her sobs subsided, she b
ecame aware of an officer talking to Bridie. The woman was crouched down in front of the child, holding both her hands.

  ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’ she said, but Bridie was silent.

  Laura looked down at Caitlin by her side, the child’s eyes puffy and red from crying, her dark hair damp from tears. She looked so helpless. So bewildered. Laura lifted her into her arms, stood, and swayed, as the child snuffled and hiccoughed, her breathing erratic. Within moments Caitlin had drifted off to sleep on Laura’s shoulder.

  ‘Do you know what the arrangement is here?’ the officer asked Laura as she entered the room. ‘The woman who took her own life, do you know who she was?’

  Laura nodded, continuing to sway, the child’s warm body comforting in her arms. ‘She is … was Imogen O’Brian,’ she told the officer. But then she couldn’t have been. If Dillon had never discovered where his mother went to, Imogen couldn’t have married Tierney without him getting a divorce. ‘Actually, I don’t know what her surname is, but her partner was Tierney O’Brian. He hasn’t been around for months. And Bridie …’ she nodded at the little girl huddled into herself in the corner ‘… is Imogen’s daughter. Tierney has a sixteen-year-old son, Dillon, but I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘And the child who died?’

  My little girl. My Rachel.

  Laura swallowed hard – the officer’s words were so final. She looked down at Caitlin in her arms, and kissed the child’s head. The thought of these girls losing both parents didn’t bear thinking about. They would be better off with her than in care, surely. The words were out before she could think them through. ‘The dead girl is Caitlin O’Brian,’ she said. ‘Tierney and Imogen’s daughter.’

  Bridie’s head shot up, and she glared at Laura. ‘Caitlin isn’t dead,’ she cried.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ the officer said, pulling her into her arms. ‘I know how hard this is for you.’

  ‘But she isn’t dead,’ Bridie cried, pulling away from the officer. She rose to her feet, and ran at Laura, punching her legs hard, and crying.

  ‘Come with me, Bridie,’ said another officer, taking hold of the child’s hand. ‘Let’s get you somewhere safe.’

  Bridie was sobbing so hard now her words were incoherent. She grabbed Rachel’s bag of toys, before being picked up by an officer, and taken outside. Laura wanted to stop her – explain – but she’d already lied, she couldn’t go back on it.

  ‘Oh God, what will happen to her?’ Laura cried, as the door closed behind Bridie’s screams.

  ‘A foster home, I expect,’ the original officer said.

  Laura’s heart pounded, and tears came again. ‘I could take her. Let me take her. Please.’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ the officer said. ‘I’m sure you could put in a request, but she’s a dear little thing – they shouldn’t have any difficulty finding her a good home.’ She paused. ‘One more thing, would you be happy to come down to the station and officially identify the bodies?’

  Laura nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  Once they’d gone, Laura looked around the farmhouse. What happened here? How had Rachel ended up at the foot of the stairs? Why had Imogen taken her own life when the little ones were in the house? And why had Dillon taken off?

  She headed through the open door, wondering if she would ever know the truth.

  ‘We’re going to call you Rachel from now on,’ she whispered to the child asleep on her shoulder, as the trees swallowed them, and guilt consumed her as she thought of Bridie out there alone in the world.

  Tears came quickly, the sobs waking the child. ‘Don’t cry,’ she said, touching Laura’s face softly.

  ‘I’m not crying, sweetheart. I’ve got something in my eye.’

  She took a deep breath, trying to battle down thoughts of her daughter lying dead at the bottom of the stairs, of Bridie now lost in the system. If only she could go back – take her too. But if she did it would come out eventually that she’d taken the wrong child. She would have to move as far away as possible, and quickly – before Dillon returned, if he ever did. She would book flights to England and put the house on the market. She couldn’t stay around, not even for Bridie.

  Chapter 47

  March 2018

  I raced to the far end of the pool area, hoping to find another exit, panic swelling. What the hell’s the matter with me?

  With no second exit, I pushed myself into the far corner and slipped down the wall into the shadows. I gripped my knees, making myself as small as I could, close to tears and feeling helpless.

  I took several deep breaths – my shaking body rooted to the floor – and tried to reach my rational side. Lawrence’s voice was in my head: ‘You’re over-reacting, Rachel.’

  After several moments, I leaned over to look through the door. Whoever had been there, had gone.

  Oh God, had I imagined it? Or had it been Zoe, and through the frosted glass she’d looked bigger than she was? Or a caretaker perhaps? Or was this place really haunted?

  My heart, which had picked up speed, began to slow, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I needed to get my act together. I levered myself to my feet with the aid of the wall, and, with a deep breath, padded towards the door.

  ‘Zoe?’ I called, as I cautiously peered into the quiet corridor. ‘Zoe,’ I repeated, as I crept towards the first set of stairs. As I reached the top, I noticed a cup lying on its side, a swirl of hot chocolate spreading over the varnished pine floor, dripping onto the second step. ‘Zoe,’ I called again. ‘Is everything OK?’

  I was about to take the second set of stairs, when a sound like something falling over down towards the gym area, caught my attention. ‘Is that you, Zo?’

  As I made my way along the corridor, I scanned the fitness machines, their shapes menacing in the half-light, and turned into the café area, where a chair was on its side. I cast my eyes around the deserted room, and caught a glimpse of someone disappearing through a door at the far end.

  My courage made a run for it, and I turned and raced back the way I came, and took the stairs two at a time to the foyer.

  Rain hammering on the roof of the reception area, after the silence I’d left behind, felt somehow reassuring. ‘Zoe,’ I said, looking about me. ‘Zoe, where are you?’ But she wasn’t by the coffee machine, and a desperate need to get out of the building took over. I flung open the door, and breathed in the cold, wet air for several moments, trying to clear my head. Had I imagined someone else in the building? But as my eyes fell on a car parked next to Zoe’s, I knew I hadn’t.

  I looked back over my shoulder, knowing I couldn’t leave Zoe. I pulled my phone from my robe pocket, but there was no signal.

  Without thinking it through, I raced back inside and down the two flights of stairs, hoping she’d somehow made her way back to the poolroom, calling her name as I went.

  ‘Thank God, Zoe,’ I yelled as I lunged through the door, to see her lying on a lounger, looking at her phone.

  ‘Hey, Rachel,’ she said, lifting herself onto her elbows. ‘Sorry I was so long – I dropped your hot chocolate.’ A pause. ‘Are you OK, hon?’

  ‘No, no, I’m far from it,’ I said, heading towards her, my voice raspy.

  ‘Christ, what’s wrong?’ she said. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. You haven’t, have you?’ She looked about her wide-eyed, as though a grey lady might appear through the wall.

  ‘Someone else is here,’ I spluttered, gripping my phone like it was a hand grenade. ‘A man, I think. But I can’t be sure.’

  She pretended to shudder. ‘God, don’t say that, Rach. You’ll give me the heebie-jeebies.’

  ‘I’m not joking. I saw him through the glass door. We need to leave. Now!’ I was talking way too fast. ‘You didn’t lock the door when we arrived, and I think whoever it is followed us in.’

  ‘But I’m sure I locked it.’ Her brow lifted. ‘And I didn’t see anyone when I went to the coffee machine.’

  Frustration was tur
ning to anger. ‘I’ve just been up there, for God’s sake. The door’s unlocked.’

  She took my hand, and, as if I was a child making up stories, said, ‘Calm down. It’s pretty creepy, I’ll give you that, but it’s just you and me here.’

  I wanted to argue, but she beckoned me to sit down next to her. ‘You’re meant to be relaxing, Rachel,’ she said, with a wide smile.

  I stared at the door. Had I imagined it? Lawrence said I over-reacted all the time. Maybe he was right.

  But I hadn’t imagined the friend request.

  ‘And there’s something else,’ I said, remaining standing as I faffed with my mobile, attempting to get the friend request up. And then I saw it – another friend request. I almost dropped my phone as I opened it, despite a nagging voice telling me not to.

  Caitlin O’Brian: CONFIRM/DELETE REQUEST

  The profile photo was a recent photo of me. The cover photo was the spa. I read the update:

  Caitlin O’Brian went to the spa, in a shower of rain

  She stepped in a puddle, right up to her middle, and never was seen again.

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ I cried, tears in my eyes as I showed Zoe the screen. ‘I can’t take any more.’

  ‘Caitlin O’Brian?’ she said, taking my phone, and furrowing her forehead as she looked at the screen. ‘Do you know anyone called Caitlin O’Brian?’ She raised eyes to meet my mine. ‘Does she ring any bells?’

  Memories I couldn’t quite reach drifted in, and disappeared once more. ‘Caitlin,’ I muttered, lowering myself down next to Zoe, who placed my phone on the table. ‘In the picture I found at my mum’s house I was with three children I can’t recall.’ I dashed a tear from the corner of my eye. ‘Perhaps one of those is Caitlin.’

  I darted a look towards the door, and my body stiffened. ‘Oh God,’ I whispered, seeing the ominous dark shape behind the glass.

  ‘Fuck!’ Zoe cried on seeing it, jumping to her feet, but I couldn’t move.

  ‘I told you,’ I said. ‘I told you I saw someone. Hello!’ I called out.

  ‘Shhh,’ she said, putting her finger to her lips.