The Secrets of Primrose Square

by Claudia Carroll

  ‘Whoever this is, it’s definitely not Jayne,’ Nancy said to Melissa, starting to get a bit scared now. After all, she reasoned, who tries to barge their way into your house at 9 p.m. on a Saturday night?

  ‘Maybe grab my phone from the living room,’ she hissed, ‘just in case we need to call the cops.’

  Obediently, Melissa did as she was told, as whoever was outside started to wallop angrily on the door. Then there was a man’s voice, sounding gruff and irritated.

  ‘Whoever is there, can you open up, please?’ he said crisply, in well-spoken, middle-class tones.

  Nancy took the precaution of putting the chain latch on, before gingerly opening the door half an inch and peering through the darkness onto the gloomy, half-lit street outside.

  Standing there was a man, in his late-fifties, at a guess, portly and red-faced, wearing a suit and an overcoat, with a pile of expensive-looking suitcases scattered all around his feet. Meanwhile a taxi in the square was doing a U-turn, as if it had just dropped him off.

  ‘Who are you?’ he said, eyeing Nancy up and down distastefully.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked at exactly the same time.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded crossly.

  ‘Excuse me?’ she replied, baffled. ‘I might ask you exactly the same thing. Is there a particular address you’re looking for? Because I don’t think this is it.’

  ‘No,’ he contradicted her, checking the brass number plate on the door. ‘I definitely have the right house.’

  ‘Then who are you?’ she insisted, mystified at his rudeness.

  ‘This is my house,’ the stranger said, ‘and I’d very much like to know what you’re doing in it.’

  Susan

  ST MICHAEL’S WELLNESS CENTRE

  ‘First of all, thank you all so much for convening here at short notice,’ Dr Ciara said, addressing the people seated in a circle in the meditation room. They were all looking from her to Susan and back again, dying to know what this emergency meeting was all about.

  ‘As you know,’ she went on, ‘we’re all here to support each other, and right now, I think that Susan has something she’d like to share with us. Something important.’ She gave an encouraging little wave in Susan’s direction, as if to say ‘The floor yours. Away you go.’

  Then there was curious silence and Susan felt all eyes on her. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath and went for it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she began to say. ‘I’m so sorry for yanking you all in here so late in the evening, when I’m sure you all had miles better things to be doing.’

  ‘No problem at all, love,’ said Bungalow Bill, folding one chunky, tattooed arm over the other. ‘Sure that’s what we’re here for.’

  ‘And there was shag all on telly tonight anyway,’ said Emily, with an encouraging little half-wink in Susan’s direction.

  ‘So what is it, pet?’ Bunny asked, her big, blowsy, red face looking worried. ‘What’s the emergency?’

  ‘I’ve . . . well, the thing is . . . ’ Susan began tentatively, formulating her thoughts as she went along, ‘I feel I haven’t been entirely honest with you. With any of you. Least of all with myself.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Dr Ciara prompted. ‘Can you explain that further?’

  Susan twitched nervously before she could answer.

  ‘I’ve sat here for weeks now,’ she eventually told the room. ‘And I’ve listened to all of your stories. Sometimes I’ve laughed with you and sometimes I’ve cried for you, and you’ve all been an inspiration. Because every one of us here has a battle on our hands and it’s only by being honest with that we can really move on, isn’t that right?’ she said, looking at Dr Ciara, who nodded in agreement.

  ‘But, you see, I wasn’t ready to face the truth,’ Susan went on, finding her confidence as she spoke. ‘Not until now. It was like a coping mechanism with me – sitting here and telling you all about my perfect daughter who was taken from me. Beautiful, flawless Ella. It’s like I couldn’t face up to how things really were between Ella and me, so I glossed over everything and made her out to be some kind of saint. She was a wonderful girl, of course she was, but the honest truth is, the last year of her life was sheer hell for her, for me, for her dad and for my little girl, Melissa.’

  ‘You never talked about this before,’ Emily said gently.

  ‘Because I was never ready to,’ Susan answered. ‘Not really. Not before now.’

  ‘This is all good work, Susan,’ Dr Ciara said. ‘So why don’t you tell us what happened during Ella’s last year? We’re all here for you and we’re listening.’

  ‘What happened . . . ’ Susan said tentatively, ‘was that Ella started to change. To the point where I was worried sick about her. I know every mother worries about her kids, especially daughters, but the thing was that ever since she’d gone into sixth year, I started to notice a difference in her.’

  ‘Changed how?’ asked Emily.

  ‘She was always such a robust, outgoing girl,’ Susan replied, ‘a real force of nature, people used to tell me. But then she started to change physically. Slowly, at first, but then over time, it became something I couldn’t ignore. Up till then, Ella had never given a shite what she looked like; she went around in jeans and warm jumpers and always said people could take her as they found her. But that year she underwent a kind of metamorphosis. In the space of a few months, she’d got thin as a pin and had become so moody at home, it was like treading on eggshells being around her.’

  ‘Ah, that’s totally normal for teenagers,’ said Bunny practically. ‘Trust me, love. I’ve three of them at home and girls are by far the worst. Complete bitches from the age of sixteen till they hit twenty or so. Then it’s like you get your daughter back again. I always think it’s Mother Nature’s way of preparing both of you for them to flee the nest. You’re so delighted to get shot of them that you hardly miss them at all.’

  Susan nodded politely, but all the time was thinking to herself, You’re wrong. It wasn’t like that with Ella at all. It was so, so much more.

  ‘With Ella it was a different,’ she said. ‘I tried to help her, I really did. Frank and I reached out to her time and again. We talked to her as often as she’d allow us to, although most of the time, all we got were grunts in return. What was going on with her? We were baffled, both of us. I was watching her like a hawk, so I knew it wasn’t an eating disorder. Was it that she was being bullied online, maybe? Frank talked to her teachers in school and pretty much got nowhere, while I limited her screen time, in the hope she’d engage with her family a bit more.’

  ‘You tried to take a mobile phone off a teenager?’ said Bunny. ‘Jaysus, you’re a braver woman than I am.’

  ‘Keep going, Susan,’ Ciara said encouragingly. ‘You’re doing really well.’

  ‘But it was like Ella had completely cut herself off from us,’ Susan said, in a weak, watery voice as she forced herself to be truthful. ‘And there was worse to come, I’m afraid. Much worse. You see, there was – is – a guy in her year and Ella had fallen in with him and his gang. His name is Josh Andrews and I never liked him; he’s a rugby star on the school team and a real jockstrap as far as I was concerned. His friends are every bit as bad; they’re an arrogant, entitled bunch of spoilt brats and I knew without being told that they were bad news. Ella was hanging out with him far more than I liked, and it was like the more time she spent with Josh and his cohorts, the worse her behaviour got. It got to the stage where every single conversation with her descended into a blazing shouting match.’

  She broke off there, as a memory bubbled to the surface, jagged and unwelcome.

  ‘Where did my daughter go? My beautiful daughter who used to care about global warming and migrant workers and animal rights? Who used to be such a good big sister to Melissa? Why are you behaving like this, Ella? What is wrong with you?’

  ‘Jesus, Mum, can’t you give me one minute of peace? You’re at me morning, noon and ni
ght, and I’m sick of it! Have you any idea what I’m going through?’

  ‘No! Ella, how can I possibly know what you’re going through unless you tell me? I’m not a mind reader! Your dad and I are here for you and we’re worried sick about you. We want to help, but first you have to tell us what’s going on!’

  ‘Tell you what’s going on? That’s a laugh! All you do is nag at me and take my phone off me and go behind my back to check up on me with my teachers in school. Just back off, Mum, and leave me in peace. You haven’t a clue!’

  To this day, Susan could still hear the sound of the front door being slammed in her face as Ella thundered off. Then she felt a little pair of arms slip around her waist, as she stood silently in the hallway, trembling with rage.

  ‘Why is Ella so cross all the time?’ Melissa asked. ‘All she ever does is shout at us. She never used to be like this. She used to be so much nicer.’

  ‘I don’t know, pet,’ Susan said, hugging her back tightly. ‘But you can be sure of this: your dad and I will certainly find out.’

  ‘I still love you, Mum. No matter how mean Ella is, remember you still have me.’

  There was a long silence as Susan opened her eyes and realised that everyone in the entire circle was staring at her, waiting on her to finish.

  ‘You mentioned a name,’ Ciara prompted softly, ‘Josh Andrews. Would you like to tell us what happened between him and Ella?’

  ‘Was he connected with your daughter’s death?’ Emily asked, looking transfixed.

  ‘The truth,’ Dr Ciara said, eyeing Susan.

  ‘Yes.’ Susan nodded. ‘I’m here and I’m finally ready to tell you all the truth.’

  ‘Good woman,’ said Bungalow Bill.

  ‘I want you to remember this moment, Susan,’ Dr Ciara said. ‘Because this is what we call a breakthrough.’

  From the journal of Susan Hayes

  My darling Ella,

  From here on in, sweetheart, you’ll find my memories far more realistic. It hurts me to even write this but, as Jayne said to me, there are three things that cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon and the truth.

  So here goes, Ella. How it actually was for us that nightmarish last year. Do you remember? Could either of us ever forget?

  ‘Bloody Josh Andrews.’ That’s what you said, my darling, the first time I heard his name. Those exact words. A vivid memory for me, to this day. You were upstairs in your room, and from the kitchen downstairs, all I could hear was the sound of you effing and blinding as you threw half the contents of your wardrobe onto the floor, then tried to figure out what to take with you and what to leave behind.

  So I went upstairs to see if I could help, but you were in a foul humour and in no form to be civil.

  ‘He’s an arsehole, Mum!’ you said. ‘A total tool. The charity sleepover tonight is my gig that I organised for the Help the Homeless, everyone knows that. And now I have to put up with that roaring eejit?’

  ‘I know, love . . . ’ I tried to soothe you, sitting down on the edge of your bed, just like I used to when you were little and upset over what global warming was doing to the polar bears, or something. This time, however, you were in no mood to be talked off the ledge.

  ‘And now my social science class is letting anyone and everyone in, just because some gobshite Mr Johnson has decreed from on high that they can all score higher grades if they bunk into what they think is a doss subject.’

  ‘I know, Ella, love, you already told me.’ About two hundred times since you’d come home that day, I could have added, but didn’t. I knew of old that when you were in one of your righteous tempers, the best your dad and I could do was sit, listen and wait patiently for the storm to pass.

  Oh darling, I wish I’d known to ask more about him back then. I wish I could have protected you. But I didn’t and I couldn’t and now I’m paying the price in full.

  ‘But Josh Andrews and his cohorts don’t care, Mum!’ you insisted, flinging warm jumpers and the thickest pair of socks you could find into your backpack. ‘Not like I care. I invested blood, sweat and tears into tonight’s sleepover and all that gang care about is getting wasted and how many bottles of WKD they can swig on a night out sleeping rough. We’re meant to be raising money and awareness of the homeless, and this lot are acting like they’re off to a cocktail party. You should have heard that idiot Josh in school today – he was wondering what to wear tonight, for fuck’s sake! His gobshite best friend Marc asked me if there was somewhere we could all go for smashed avocado on toast for breakfast in the morning. Wankers, both of them!’

  ‘Don’t let your dad hear you using language like that, love.’

  ‘Come on, Mum! This is a huge deal for me, and Josh and his gang are acting as if we’re going to some kind of night on the piss. I bit the face off the lot of them in the school canteen earlier.’

  ‘I can only imagine,’ I said with a little smile, picking up some of the discarded clothes that you’d strewn all over the floor.

  ‘And what’s more I don’t even care. Shower of twat heads.’

  ‘So you said.’

  ‘You should have heard me, Mum. I told Josh and his entourage that some people had lost everything and were now forced onto the streets in the freezing cold with nothing to sustain them, only blankets and soup from Help the Homeless, and the odd few coppers that passersby might throw at them. You’d have been proud of me, Mum, I went straight for the ringleader. I told Josh to his face that if he took the piss or treated these people with anything less than respect and compassion, that I’d personally set fire to his hair and rip his teeth out.’

  ‘You didn’t, did you?’ I asked, wondering if I’d get another call from the school pleading with me to rein you in a bit. I was getting calls from the school about you so often, my darling, I used to wonder if the school secretary had my number on permanent speed dial.

  ‘Course I did,’ you said, with a defiant smile and a shake of your head, stuffing a thick woolly jumper into your backpack. ‘And what’s more, I meant it too. Just watch me, Mum. Josh fecking Andrews better not cross me tonight or I’m not kidding, he’ll rue the day.’

  I wasn’t a bit worried when I dropped you off in town for the charity sleep-out. Not even a bit. There were two teachers supervising the students at all times, and besides, as Frank said, if any rough characters tried it on with you, my darling, then God help them.

  As you clambered out of my car with your backpack strapped to you, I saw Josh in front, getting out of his mother’s expensive-looking SUV. He turned around and waved at you, but you pretended not to see. I did see, though, and God help me, I even waved back. I may even have smiled at him.

  A frighteningly short amount of time later, I certainly wasn’t smiling.

  Nancy

  24 PRIMROSE SQUARE

  ‘But . . . but you can’t be Sam Williams,’ Nancy kept spluttering, over and over again, as shock began to make her head spin. ‘It’s not possible. It’s not making any sense!’

  ‘I’m only too aware of who I am, madam,’ came the clipped response. ‘Far more to the point, who are you? And if it’s not too personal a question, what exactly are you doing in my house?’

  ‘I don’t understand . . . Sam . . . Sam Williams is in Shanghai! He’s been texting me for weeks now from the Far East . . . ’

  ‘While it’s perfectly correct to state that I was in Shanghai,’ said the middle-aged imposter standing on Nancy’s doorstep, brazen as you like, ‘as you can see, clearly I’ve returned. And if it’s not too much to ask, I’d very much like my house to myself, please. Who exactly are you, anyway? Some kind of squatter?’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’ Nancy blurted out, coming over all proprietorial about her beautiful, gorgeous home, which she’d put so much of her own stamp onto over the previous few weeks. ‘I’m not a squatter – look!’ she added, casting wildly around her for proof. ‘I bought potpourri . . . and scented candles from L’Occitane! Now is that
really the kind of thing a squatter would do?’

  Next thing, Melissa burst out from the living room, with the good sense of taking Nancy’s mobile with her.

  ‘Just show him all the texts you’ve been getting, Nancy,’ she said bravely, shoving the phone at her. ‘Prove to him that Sam Williams really is in Shanghai right now.’

  ‘Yes, fabulous idea!’ Nancy said, delighted at least one of them was thinking straight, as she grabbed the phone and fumbled around to scroll up all the incessant messages she’d been getting around the clock from Sam. The real Sam.

  ‘Look . . . here’s a good one!’ she said, pointing her phone at this total stranger on her doorstep, who was looking more and more pissed off by the second. For dramatic effect, she even read the text out loud. ‘“Hi Nancy, how were rehearsals today? Bloody hot here in Shanghai – almost need a Jacuzzi to cool down!” And may I point out that particular beaut only came through ten minutes ago. So what have you got to say to that, then?’

  ‘You’re an intruder in my home, madam,’ came the sharp reply, ‘and if you’re not gone in precisely five minutes, I’m calling the police—’

  ‘You needn’t bother,’ Nancy interrupted him. ‘Because I’m calling them first. Right now.’

  ‘Good!’ came the cool reply. ‘That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say. Let’s see what the police have to say when I tell them that you’re trespassing in my home.’

  With her phone clamped to her ear, Nancy dialed 999. It was answered almost immediately.

  ‘Hi there,’ she said briskly. ‘I’m at number twenty-four Primrose Square and I’m afraid I’ve got an urgent problem. There’s a strange man standing on my doorstep claiming that the house I’m renting is actually his. Can you please come around to get rid of him? This is most intimidating.’

  ‘Well?’ said the gentleman caller.

  ‘Cops will be here in five minutes,’ Nancy said, folding her arms and resolutely not budging. A tense stand-off followed, with no one prepared to move an inch, till Melissa piped up.