The Truth Will Out

by Anna McPartlin

  Beth sat back in her chair. An extraordinary capacity for stupidity! Who talks like that? ‘You’re really weird, you know that?’

  ‘I wasn’t aware of that, no, but I’m listening and I’m taking what you’ve said on board.’ Harri turned into the hospital grounds.

  Beth grinned. ‘Okay. I’ll follow your advice but on one condition.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Harri asked.

  ‘You take your advice too.’

  Harri smiled. ‘I’ll try.’

  9 October 1975 – Thursday

  Matthew’s dad is dead! Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

  10 October 1975 – Friday

  I was waiting with Henry when Matthew arrived. He looked weird. His face was grey and strange. He hugged me and held on for ages. I was grateful. I can’t explain how grateful I was. Henry took him home and the housekeeper made him something to eat and she was crying and Henry was saying the nicest things and Matthew was being really strong. Even though he hated his dad it was very sad. Even though I hated him it really was very sad. His grandparents arrived and his granddad said we should all go and that he wanted some time alone with his grandson. So I left. It was after ten so Henry drove me home. He said that Matthew’s dad was driving in Monaco when he had an accident. He was with a woman. She was dead too. I asked him what will happen to Matthew. It was only when I saw his grandparents that I started to worry. What if they take him away? They live in Meath. They can’t. Please, God, don’t let them take him.

  11 October 1975 – Saturday

  Matthew said his grandparents haven’t discussed anything with him other than arrangements. The body isn’t coming home until next week! Matthew can stay at home until after the funeral and then he has to go back to school. His grandparents asked him what his dad had been doing in Monaco but he didn’t even know he was there. He’s holding up well, seeing as he’s worried about what’s going to happen too. He cried because he remembered that the last time he saw his dad they’d fought and said horrible things. I told him I thought his dad was just really sad that his wife had died, and for some reason he couldn’t let her go, and over the years it kind of made him bitter and that maybe looking at Matthew was too sad for him. Matthew thought about that and said it made sense. Now he thinks I’m really wise. I’m not.

  I told Dr B about the fight and he said those things. I would never have thought of that. But I can’t say anything to Matthew about Dr B because he’d go mad if he knew I’d told anyone. Anyway, it seems to have helped and that’s what counts. I still can’t believe Matthew’s dad is dead.

  18 October 1975 – Saturday

  Matthew’s dad came home on Thursday morning. The removal was Thursday night and the funeral was yesterday. Matthew’s been doing really well all week and he hasn’t cried since last Saturday. It seemed like the whole town was at the funeral. Matthew’s dad knew so many people. Sheila and Dave came and they bought a wreath between them, which was really nice and made me feel a bit sick because I didn’t think of buying one but I don’t have the money and I don’t think Matthew noticed. Still I feel bad about that. Dr B told Matthew he would always be there for him, which was really nice. Father Ryan said the Mass and talked about all Matthew’s dad’s achievements. I knew he was rich but I hadn’t realized he was so good at what he did. He’s done a lot. I suppose that’s stupid of me but I just never really thought about it. Matthew’s gran cried a lot. His granddad didn’t. He just sat there with her hand in his.

  Henry helped Matthew carry the coffin. Aside from Matthew’s grandfather I didn’t know the others. Sheila said one of them was an Abbey actor. I’ve never been to the Abbey so I wouldn’t know. Matthew’s quiet. He just lies in his bed and listens to sad music, mostly Carole King’s ‘So Far Away’ and T-Rex’s ‘Cosmic Dancer’. He listened to those two songs for hours. It started off being really sad and then it got so boring I switched it off. He doesn’t want to talk but that’s okay. He doesn’t want to touch and I understand that. He doesn’t really want to do anything. He reminds me of my mam a bit. I hope he’ll be okay. I hope nothing has to change but then everything changes. He’s going back to school tomorrow night and his grandparents still haven’t said anything to him about his future. That family is really strange.

  19 October 1975 – Sunday

  Matthew’s gone back to school. I can’t believe it. I missed him. His grandparents wanted to take him out for a meal and then drive him to Dublin. Henry said it was all very last minute and he couldn’t call me because I don’t have a stupid phone. He’s gone. I don’t know when he’ll be back. I don’t even know if he’s coming back. I don’t know anything. I never got to say goodbye. I just can’t believe it.

  21 October

  Liv,

  I’m so sorry I missed you but my granddad wouldn’t let me call in to say goodbye. I don’t want you to worry. He talked to me and he agreed that I’m old enough to stay in my own home on breaks from school. He was running a business at fourteen so I have no business acting like a child. He’s spoken to Henry, who’s happy to supervise, and this is the best bit – I can come home every weekend if I want. Henry said he’d have me home anytime and Granddad thinks it’s a good idea for me to be around the horses more and learn the business. Can you believe it? I’m coming home on Friday night. Today is Tuesday (sorry I couldn’t write yesterday, I had to go on a school trip to a stupid cave) so by the time you get this letter I might be on my way home.

  Love Matt

  PS Everything is going to be fine.

  21. I know what I said before but this time it’s true

  Harri stood up and looked at her parents.

  ‘What are you doing, my darling?’ Gloria asked.

  ‘I forgive you,’ she said.

  Gloria looked at Duncan, who looked back at Gloria and then rested his eyes on Harri.

  ‘I know you thought you were doing the right thing. I know that if you hadn’t taken me in I would probably have gone into care, and I’ve had a very good life as a Ryan. I’m glad I’m a Ryan.’

  Duncan smiled. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Well,’ he repeated. ‘What?’ he asked someone unseen.

  Gloria smiled and her eyes filled. ‘We’re so happy you feel that way, Harri. We love you so much.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know you do and I love you and so does George, even though he’s intent on holding it against you for at least another month or two.’

  ‘Oh, darling, that’s just George,’ Gloria said, with a wave of her hand.

  Harri sat down. ‘I’m going to be having dinner with Matthew Delamere tomorrow.’ Her parents’ faces fell.

  ‘I phoned Dr McCabe. I met him at Liv’s grave and he told me I could call him and I did. He asked me to dinner and he said that Matthew would like to meet me.’ She gulped. ‘At first I hung up on him but then I called him back and agreed.’

  She waited for a response. Both parents remained quiet.

  ‘I just want to meet him,’ she said.

  ‘Of course you do.’ Duncan nodded. ‘It’s only natural.’

  Gloria remained quiet.

  ‘Mum?’

  She nodded and smiled, then stood up. ‘Can you hand me your plate, darling? These dishes won’t wash themselves!’ The conversation was over.

  When she had discovered her husband’s blood pressure was off the charts and that this was responsible for both his erectile dysfunction and heart attack, Susan had been stunned. ‘Erectile dysfunction?’

  ‘Yes,’ the doctor had said.

  ‘Erectile dysfunction,’ she repeated.

  ‘Mrs Shannon, I take it you are aware that your husband has suffered with ED for going on’ – he looked at his chart – ‘three years now but we’re taking steps to control his BP and obviously we’ll have to discuss diet, exercise, et cetera. We’ll get the heart healthy and then we’ll deal with the ED.’
/>   ‘Erectile dysfunction,’ she said again. ‘Right. Thank you.’

  She walked away from the doctor, who hadn’t finished his medical update. It takes all sorts.

  It would be unusual for a wife to want to punch her husband while he was attached to a heart monitor but that was exactly what Susan wanted to do. The instant the doctor had told her that her husband was suffering from erectile dysfunction their problems fell into place. How could I have been so stupid? Wait a minute! How could he have been so stupid? And so cruel. I thought he didn’t want me any more.

  She drank a glass of celery, apple and carrot juice that the girl behind the counter in the juice bar swore had a calming effect. She hadn’t lied because by the time she was sitting by Andrew’s side the desire to punch him had disappeared, leaving only a terrible sadness in its wake.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You killed our marriage because you were embarrassed,’ she said, her voice drenched with tears.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know what I’ve done.’

  ‘I thought it was me,’ she said. ‘I thought you didn’t want me.’

  ‘I was a very stupid man.’

  ‘A stupid, vain, arrogant and ridiculous man,’ she said.

  He nodded, and smiled a little: if she was calling him names maybe they had hope. ‘Susan.’

  ‘You had your chance, a million of them. I said goodbye to you.’

  ‘But you’re still here,’ he pointed out.

  ‘For Beth.’

  ‘Beth is at home in bed.’

  ‘And Keith?’ she said, and saw him shudder.

  ‘I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.’

  ‘That’s big of you,’ she said angrily. This is your entire fault. The whole ruddy lot of it. None of it had to happen this way. Fuck you, Andrew!

  ‘I know you’re angry.’

  ‘Quick alert MENSA, there’s a genius in the room.’

  Andrew loved it when his wife was sarcastic – and he hadn’t given her the opportunity for that in such a long time.

  ‘Don’t laugh.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Suddenly it dawned on her that, despite the anger and recriminations, for the first time in a long time she and Andrew were on a level playing field. They were both at fault and they were both victims. Interesting.

  What was also interesting was that their daughter was behaving in a manner approaching kind, considerate and benevolent almost. ‘Are you hungry, Mum? I got you a sandwich just in case’; ‘You look tired, do you want me to take over?’; ‘Are you okay for a coffee?’; ‘Dad need anything, anything at all?’; ‘Mum, you look like you could do with a hug.’ Beth’s turnaround was miraculous and had an effect on both her parents.

  On the third day of Andrew’s internment in James’s Street hospital he reached for his wife’s open hand, reminding her of the painting on the couple counsellor’s wall. It will take time and work but we might just be okay.

  When Harri got home she found Susan packing.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Baby steps,’ she said. But she was smiling and seemed happier than she had in a while.

  Harri was delighted.

  ‘It might not work.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We still have a huge amount of stuff to work through.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘There’s a lot of pain there.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Will you stop saying, “I know”?’

  ‘Okay.’ What is everyone’s problem with me saying, ‘I know,’ when I do know?

  Harri helped her move her stuff to the car.

  ‘Thank you for everything,’ Susan said gratefully.

  ‘It was really good to have you.’ Harri meant it. Susan’s presence had helped ease her loneliness and it might even have broken her CSI habit.

  ‘I will not watch one more second of that bloody show.’

  ‘Ah, please!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s my apartment.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That is so unfair.’

  ‘Live with it.’

  Harri waved her friend off and took a bath. Tomorrow is a very big day. Do not mess it up. Do not have a panic attack. Do not end up in hospital.

  They took Harri’s car but George drove. He would never in a million years agree to be driven by Harri.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re crap.’

  He seemed obsessed with the fact that she didn’t keep a map in her car.

  ‘We don’t need a map. It’s a straight run on the motorway.’

  ‘That is not the point.’

  This is going to be a long drive.

  George was airing grievances so that he could talk and he wanted to talk because he was nervous. George always talked when he was nervous. ‘Look at that. What is the government thinking? How many more fucking flats are they going to build? You know, in ten years Irish people won’t know what a piece of grass looks like’; ‘I am sick to death of people overtaking without indicating. What is so hard about indicating? Indicate, you pissing moron!’; ‘You know what kills me about NASA? They kept going back to the moon. There’s nothing there, move on!’

  Harri was happy to listen and smile and nod when appropriate because it was helping to keep her mind off the impending appointment. The gate lodge was easy to find: it was stuck out in front of a property that seemed to go on for several miles.

  ‘So this is what a peasant feels like,’ George said, turning into the driveway.

  Harri was silent.

  ‘It’s fine, Harri. Everything is fine.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Breathe. And keep breathing.’

  Brendan opened the door and waved to them both. George got out of the car and shook his hand. ‘George Ryan.’

  ‘Brendan McCabe.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’ Brendan turned to Harri. ‘It’s good to see you again, Harri.’

  ‘She’s a little overwhelmed,’ George said, guiding his sister around the car.

  ‘Of course – come in,’ Brendan said, smiling.

  Harri’s legs felt like lead and she was all but dragged in by George.

  ‘Glass of wine?’ Brendan asked. ‘Dinner will be ready in half an hour.’

  Both Ryans decided against wine. Harri was busy wondering where Matthew Delamere was.

  ‘Matt shouldn’t be too long.’

  When Matt opened Brendan’s front door to let himself in, he heard Brendan talking to another man – must be George Ryan – about Harri’s fear of travel and foreigners.

  ‘It’s not exactly fear, it’s more a sense of discomfort,’ a woman’s voice – Harri’s, it must be – said.

  ‘You’ve cried over it.’

  ‘He’s exaggerating and, besides, he has a fear of tiled floors.’

  ‘It’s not a fear, it’s a sense of discomfort,’ George said, and Brendan laughed.

  Matthew listened at the door, afraid to go in.

  ‘George speaks four languages,’ Harri said proudly.

  ‘Harri works with tiles,’ George said, emulating his sister’s pride.

  Brendan laughed. ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I’m an interior designer,’ Harri said.

  ‘Impressive.’

  ‘Not really but I like it.’

  The door opened and Brendan smiled. ‘Matt.’

  George jumped up to shake Matt’s hand.

  ‘George.’

  ‘Matt.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Nice to meet you too.’

  Harri stood and faced him. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi.’

  The room was silent and tense.


  ‘Who’s hungry?’ Brendan asked, in an attempt to break the stare-off.

  Dinner was an extraordinary affair in that it wasn’t extraordinary at all. Brendan and George behaved as if they’d known each other a lifetime and Matt and Harri, while quieter, still found things to say.

  ‘The last time I broke my leg. Which leg was it?’ George turned to Harri.

  ‘The right.’

  ‘The last time I broke my right leg I swore I would never snowboard again. People think skiing is harder but I don’t find that to be the case.’

  ‘How many times have you broken your right leg?’ Brendan asked, amused.

  George thought for a second or two before looking at Harri.

  ‘Once. You broke your left twice.’

  ‘I thought I broke it three times.’

  ‘No, two breaks and a torn ligament.’

  ‘Jesus, that was sore!’ He involuntarily rubbed the back of his leg. ‘So, Matt, you must have fallen off a horse once or twice.’

  Matt nodded. ‘Once or twice.’

  Brendan, clearly sensing a lull in the conversation, decided to ask George to help him with dessert. They got up, leaving Matt and Harri alone.

  ‘You’re smaller than she was,’ Matt said.

  Harri wasn’t sure how to respond so she didn’t.

  ‘You have the same hair – you even wear it the same way.’

  ‘I was thinking of getting it cut,’ she said. Change the subject, you’re freaking me out.

  ‘Do you ride?’

  ‘No. George does.’

  ‘Would you like to ride?’

  ‘No, but thanks.’

  He was staring.

  ‘You’re being weird,’ she said, and he laughed.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He was staring again. ‘I expected you to be more athletic.’

  ‘Do you say everything that comes into your head?’ she asked, in wonder.

  ‘A lot of it.’

  ‘It’s very annoying,’ she concluded.

  ‘You’re exactly like her.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s the kind of thing she would have said.’