Sleep Sister: A page-turning novel of psychological suspense

by Laura Elliot

  Out of earshot they flung themselves on the ground, rolling wildly over the grass. ‘Disgusting, oh my God, it’s so disgusting.’ They gasped, breathless and giggling, vowing they would never ever allow any man to do such awful things to them. As their blood cooled they became thoughtful. Maria wondered if her parents did it.

  ‘You bet your life they do,’ Eva replied. Maria’s brother was six months old so it seemed a safe enough assumption to make, even if it was impossible to imagine her fragile Aunt Claire squashed beneath Uncle Jack, who auctioned cattle and had a voice as loud as a drum being played too fast. Her parents did not need to do it because they had adopted her. She felt proud of Liz and Steve. It set them apart from everyone else, gave them a dignity that removed them from damp riverbanks, trampled grass and noises that still sang inside her head.

  Soon afterwards, she asked her mother how long she had stayed with the puppy lovers before she was sent to the convent. She wanted Liz’s practical answers rather than the gentle rambling stories Steve would offer.

  ‘Six months,’ Liz said. ‘You were a delicate child.’ Suddenly, her words had a hollow ring, an echo Eva could not penetrate. For the first time the full significance of ‘Eva’s Journey to Happiness’ dawned on her, and she understood how she, and not the rebellious Maria, became the swan in the nest of the clamorous Frawley and Loughrey clans. But this realisation did not fill her with curiosity about her past. She loved her parents and questions as to why, when, where and how she came to share their lives were irrelevant.

  Chapter 34

  When Eva completed her Leaving Certificate examination she decided to study horticulture. Steve was suspicious of his daughter’s need for diplomas and degrees.

  ‘Haven’t I taught you everything you need to know?’ he demanded, shaking his head when Eva outlined her plans for the future. ‘You don’t need a fancy piece of parchment to tend a sick rose. A diploma won’t heal an ailing hydrangea if you can’t give it the loving touch.’

  Her father’s ability to personalise his plants and shrubs was an endearing trait, but on the subject of parchment Eva was adamant. She wanted to become a garden designer and host her own television series. Frawleys of Ashton would be the perfect backdrop, she said.

  Steve shuddered away from such ambitions, imagining bossy television producers ordering him around his beloved rose arbour and cameramen trampling his geraniums. He was a simple son of the soil, content to live his life selling his bedding plants, fruit orchards and weeping willows.

  When Eva emerged from horticultural college, waving her fancy piece of parchment, she decided the time had come to modernise and expand his business. A new, state-of-the-art computer was installed. It reduced Steve to palpitations every time he laid his hands on the keyboard. She drew up a three-year marketing programme, forcing him to watch graphics and spreadsheets flicking across the screen. She submitted a proposal to RTÉ for her television series and waited in vain for a reply. When she suggested buying the field next to the centre and turning it into a landscaped show garden with her design service and a coffee shop attached, he shook his head firmly.

  ‘People want to dig their own gardens,’ he argued. ‘It’s therapy, fresh air, good exercise.’ His voice held more than a hint of suspicion that Eva was undermining his authority.

  She told him about the time pressure young couples were under, how they were too busy to feel the soil under their fingernails. They had parking bays and gravel lawns and terracotta pots on patios. Those with gardens wanted water features and Zen layouts and lakes of exotic fish swimming under delicate water lilies.

  ‘Not my customers.’ He shook his head decisively. ‘They want to pot and plant, to see the familiar flowers unfold with the seasons. It’s the best therapy they can get.’

  Her grandmother advised her to strike out on her own. As the owner of the Biddy’s Bits ’n’ Pieces chain of souvenir shops, Brigid Loughrey was a shrewd businesswoman who had made a fortune selling garish tri-colour mugs, shamrocks and shillelaghs. She had no problem tackling the intricacies of the World Wide Web and blocked her ears when anyone dared mention retirement.

  ‘You’ll never be able to move your father,’ she told Eva. ‘Steve runs his garden centre the way he wants it and forcing his arm will do neither of you any good. There’s no sense burying your ambitions in Ashton, especially when you’ve so many excellent ideas.’

  ‘What good are my ideas when I’ve no money to put them into practice?’ Eva asked.

  ‘Then borrow,’ replied Brigid. ‘How do you think I started my first shop? By emptying my piggy bank?’

  Eva was still contemplating her future when Frank O’Donovan, a distant relation to her father, died. Eva had never heard of him until Steve read the death notice in the Irish Independent and decided to attend his funeral. Her parents left Ashton the following morning and Eva, busy throughout the day in the garden centre, was shocked when a phone call from Anaskeagh Regional Hospital informed her that her parents had been injured in a car accident. The nurse quickly reassured her there was no need to worry. It was a minor accident; Liz would be discharged in the morning and Steve transferred to a Dublin hospital within the next few days. Eva left immediately, driving westwards, obsessively repeating the nurse’s words but unable to find a crumb of comfort in her crisp, clinical reassurances.

  On the approach road to Anaskeagh, a tractor in front of Steve had suddenly stalled. Although her father had managed to brake in time, the driver following behind had skidded on the wet surface and ploughed into the back of his car.

  It was late when Eva reached the small country town. Liz was sitting by Steve’s bed. His arm was broken and X-rays had revealed a number of cracked ribs. Eva stared at the intravenous drip feeding into his arm and the closed screens surrounding his bed.

  ‘I was so scared. Don’t you dare do anything like that to me ever again,’ she scolded him, then started weeping fiercely. Steve winced from her embrace, his body still in shock from the impact of the collision.

  ‘It’s not the end of the world, pet. I’ll be right as rain in a day or so.’ He offered her a tissue with his free hand and stroked her head. ‘Sure, isn’t it hard to kill a bad thing?’

  Eva was blowing her nose when she became aware that another person had entered the ward and was standing at the foot of the bed. She noticed his eyes first, a penetrating blue stare that had an unsettling familiarity, yet she couldn’t think where they might have met.

  ‘Good heavens, Greg! It’s so late.’ Liz rose to her feet and warmly greeted the stranger. ‘I didn’t expect to see you back here again.’

  ‘I wanted to make sure everything was okay before I returned to the hotel.’ His eyes swept over Eva and he gave an apologetic nod when Liz introduced him as the driver who had been behind them when the crash occurred. He had been discharged earlier and, apart from a bandage around his left hand, he seemed unscathed.

  ‘It’s been a most unfortunate day for all of us,’ sighed Liz. ‘But Greg’s done everything he can to help us through it.’

  ‘If there’s anything else I can do—’ He glanced enquiringly at Steve, who shook his head, his body in spasm when he tried to cough.

  ‘For starters, you could try practising the rules of the road,’ Eva snapped, hearing the painful rasp of her father’s breath. Recalling her terror on the long drive to Anaskeagh, her voice shook with anger. ‘I hope you’re satisfied with your day’s work. You could have killed my parents with your careless driving.’

  ‘I’ve already made my apologies to them and I’m glad to have an opportunity to apologise to you in person.’ He made no effort to defend himself. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear such frightening news over the phone. I can only imagine the shock you got—’

  ‘You’re right – it was a shock,’ she interrupted, suspecting that such an abject apology was simply a ruse to diffuse her anger. ‘Hopefully you’ll remember that the next time you drive too close to the car in front.’

  ‘Th
ere’s no need to be so upset, Eva.’ Liz’s grave voice calmed her down. ‘Greg has accepted full responsibility for the accident and we’ve sorted everything out between us. All that matters is that we’re alive to tell the tale.’

  ‘If there’s any way I can make amends…’ His voice trailed away as he shoved his hands into his pockets, the shock of the accident visible for an instant on his face. After he said goodbye to her parents she rose and followed him outside to the corridor.

  ‘Thank you for stopping by to see them,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sorry for sounding off in there. I’m not usually so rude when I meet people for the first time.’

  ‘Then, perhaps, when all this is over, you’ll have a chance to prove it.’ When he smiled he no longer seemed so intimidating, just intriguingly familiar with his long, intense face and finely boned cheeks.

  ‘Have we met before? You look familiar but I can’t remember where or when…’

  He shook his head emphatically. ‘We’ve never met before. If we had, I’d remember you.’ He made no effort to hide his meaning and Eva, responding, boldly returned his gaze.

  ‘Then why do I feel as if I know you?’ she asked.

  ‘You’ve probably seen me on television.’ He sounded embarrassed by this admission of celebrity, self-consciously pushing his fingers through his thick brown hair. ‘I work on a current-affairs programme.’

  ‘Of course – Elucidate. You’re Greg Enright! I can’t believe I didn’t recognise you.’

  ‘It happens all the time.’ He laughed ruefully. ‘I’m not instantly recognisable, just vaguely familiar. People usually suspect I’m their child’s teacher or their window cleaner. It’s not good for the ego but I’m used to it.’

  ‘I suspect very few politicians would agree with you.’ She smiled for the first time since receiving the call from the hospital. ‘No wonder Liz forgave you so readily. Elucidate is her favourite programme. She enjoys seeing politicians shrunk to size and drenched in acid. Do you live here?’

  ‘No. I’m from Dublin. I’m doing a feature on a day in the life of a rural politician. It’s boring but occasionally necessary if we’re to avoid accusations of only concentrating our reports on the capital city.’ He shook her hand, grinning as a nurse passed and ordered him out of the hospital. Visiting hours had ended an hour ago. ‘Is there any chance you might recognise me the next time we meet?’ he asked when the nurse had returned to her station. He still held Eva’s hand, the signals passing between them unmistakable. ‘I’ll recognise you, Eva Frawley. But not vaguely, believe me – not vaguely.’

  The following morning Liz insisted she was well enough to attend the funeral. Frank O’Donovan was a local farmer and the church in the centre of Anaskeagh was crowded. The O’Donovan family filled the top pews, a large clan gathered to unite in mourning. Towards the end of the service, one of the O’Donovan daughters stood on the altar to give the eulogy. She wore a navy dress with a plain navy cardigan and her voice was filled with emotion as she spoke about her father. A nun, murmured Liz, working in a health centre in Malawi and home for the funeral. Another sister had returned from London and a brother had made the journey from Australia for the first time in twenty-four years. They reminded Eva of her own relatives, an Irish diaspora scattering and uniting to grieve or to celebrate as the occasion demanded.

  Frank O’Donovan was buried in a country graveyard at the foot of a high headland. The lush slopes gradually rose upwards into a formidable rocky outcrop that loomed above the small town. The peaks were clearly visible on this fresh windy day, but Eva could imagine it cloudy and shrouded in mist, a hovering presence dominating the lives of the population.

  Later, in a local hotel, the mourners gathered to shake off the chill of the graveyard, enjoying sandwiches and steaming whiskey toddies. Catherine O’Donovan, the recently widowed wife, sat in her family circle, flanked by the nun and a middle-aged man. The prodigal son from Australia, Eva guessed.

  ‘Would you like to meet the O’Donovans?’ Liz asked. She seemed subdued, uneasy in the presence of so many strangers and anxious to be back with Steve in the hospital. When Eva shook her head, reluctant to partake in the ritual of condolence when she didn’t know the family, Liz made no effort to dissuade her. ‘Then I’ll say goodbye to Catherine and we’ll be on our way.’

  The arrival of the Elucidate television crew created a sudden silence in the bar. Unperturbed, Greg Enright led the way to the cordoned-off area that had been reserved for the funeral group. He shook hands with an elderly man whose thick mane of white hair gleamed under the lights. Obviously the local politician, Eva thought. She had noticed him shaking hands at the graveside, his expression concerned as he placed his arm around Catherine O’Donovan and escorted her back to the limousine. He was equally at ease in front of the camera, joking with the camerawoman, ordering her to focus only on his good side. Greg was in deep conversation with him as she passed and didn’t notice her. Judge Dredd in action – the erring politician’s nightmare.

  The following Saturday, in the rose arbour uprooting bushes, Eva heard footsteps and knew, without turning, that Greg Enright was behind her. When she faced him, aware that she was flushed, her hair wind-blown, he exaggeratedly raised his eyebrows – his trademark gesture, which signified sardonic disbelief when seen on television – and stretched out his hand. ‘Recognise me, Ms Frawley?’ he asked.

  ‘Vaguely,’ she replied. ‘What took you so long, Mr Enright?’

  ‘I left Anaskeagh four hours ago,’ he admitted. ‘The journey usually takes five.’

  ‘Still driving too fast, Mr Enright?’

  ‘Not any more, Ms Frawley,’ he replied. ‘I’ve arrived at my destination.’

  That night they dined in Ashton’s only restaurant. He talked about his career, his future plans, his reputation. His admirers called him righteous and rigorous, a committed journalist who stopped at nothing to expose the truth. Those who disliked him claimed he was an opinionated, self-serving muckraker. He was twenty-eight years old and his only responsibilities were to his fish aquarium, which he managed with meticulous devotion, and to his mother, an independent widow who tolerated his fortnightly visits as long as they did not clash with her bridge evenings or the Late Late Show. He lived alone in a small apartment in The Liberties, with Christ Church Cathedral behind him and the downward sweep to the Liffey in front. He had his music, his books, his workstation, a futon and a streamlined kitchen in which he loved to cook. His future with Elucidate was clearly traced on an upwardly mobile graph.

  Eva teased him, calling him a bloodhound who sniffed in the footprints of other people’s sins. They laughed together, at ease in each other’s company.

  ‘Tell me how it feels to have the power to destroy people?’ she asked.

  ‘People can only be destroyed if they have something to hide.’ Greg was suddenly serious. If that was wielding power, then so be it. He accepted it without being moved, intimidated or suppressed by its responsibility. ‘That’s why I always tell the truth,’ he said. ‘And why you must believe me when I tell you I’ve fallen in love for the first time in my life.’

  How easily the words settled between them. How easily they were reciprocated. She watched him watching her and felt the same anticipation reaching her in waves, as if being close to each other released something unguarded, dangerous, thrilling.

  They returned to Wind Fall where Liz, protective of her only daughter, subjected him to the same grilling he gave his Elucidate interviewees.

  He commented on the resemblance between them. ‘You’ll never be able to disown each other,’ he said.

  ‘We’d never want to disown each other,’ Eva replied. She placed her arms around her mother, demanding that Liz share her happiness. She felt as if she was falling from a safe ledge. This urge to fly was the most exhilarating emotion she’d ever experienced.

  Afterwards, she told Greg that she was adopted. ‘People are always commenting on the resemblance between us. Some tell me I’m t
he image of my aunts, that I’m a real Loughrey.’

  ‘Then they must be the most beautiful women in the world,’ he replied.

  The Loughrey sisters were indeed a handsome trio. Annie, Liz’s younger sister, was a musician, a fiddle player, never at home. Claire lived close to Wind Fall and managed Biddy’s Bits ’n’ Pieces with her mother. When people told Eva she was made in their image she had every reason to feel proud. Except that she didn’t resemble them. An expression, imitative gestures, a head of shaggy blonde hair that broke combs and drew tears from her eyes when she tried to separate the strands. Superficial resemblances, but they satisfied her in those sparkling early days when nothing mattered except being with Greg and the slow, tender happiness building between them.

  When Maria heard that her cousin was making wedding plans, she demanded to know if Eva was crazy or pregnant. Otherwise, why marry a guy who was probably a member of the Inquisition in a former life? She called into the garden centre one lunch hour to remonstrate.

  ‘What’s this nonsense about you and Judge Dredd getting hitched?’ she demanded, perching on an upturned terracotta pot. She clicked her fingers in Eva’s face and ordered her to get a grip. So what if he had a terrific dick, she demanded. Terrific dicks were ten a penny if one looked in the right places. It was a dismal excuse for marriage. Eva was rapidly regretting the indiscreet secrets she had confided in her friend’s willing ear.

  ‘Greg Enright is not the marrying kind,’ Maria stated. This was a loaded comment, backed by insider information. Eva concentrated on the clematis plants she was staking and ordered her to dish the dirt. Maria prevaricated for a while before throwing the name Carol Wynne at her. Eva tossed it back, growing angry. But being angry with Maria was a lost cause. She simply ignored it, waiting until the emotion was exhausted before returning to her original point.