by Laura Elliot
She heard his deep intake of breath, saw the quick, uncontrollable flush on his cheeks. His fingers trembled as he lifted an envelope opener and turned the blade in his hand. When he looked up again his eyes reminded her of a dead fish. Frozen on a slab but still staring.
‘She came here to confront you and you told her about Lindsey. How did you know? Even my secrets… Nothing was safe from you!’
‘What did she expect, coming here with her ridiculous accusations? Did she honestly expect me to sit by and allow my reputation to be ruined by the ravings of a crazy woman?’
‘And Lindsey? You built up her trust, knowing I’d never have allowed you within breathing distance of any of my children.’
He slapped his hand hard on the desk. ‘Your daughter also wanted the truth. If you’re trying to destroy me, you’re playing a dangerous game. Stop and think before you say anything else.’
‘I’m not going to destroy you, Albert. All I intend to do is tell the truth.’
‘And what truth would that be, Beth?’
‘The truth about the Anaskeagh Baby.’
‘Bitch… I’m warning you for the last time. This farce has gone on long enough.’ He moved swiftly towards her. For a moment she thought he was going to strike her. Close to him she could smell his fear – rank, like something exposed after a long burial. She winced when he gripped her wrists, his nails digging deep into her skin. His breathing was so laboured she thought he would keel over from a heart attack. Would that make her a murderer? It was a burden she would carry willingly.
‘Let me remind you of the real truth, Beth.’ His voice grew louder. He still held her in his grasp, even when she struggled to free her arms. ‘I gave Stewart an opportunity to make something of himself. We’re a small community, suspicious of outsiders. I smoothed the way, even persuaded Fashion Lynx to take him on – and now, just when he has it all together, you want to ruin him? What kind of vindictive wife are you? I could lift the phone to my contacts on the ACII board this instant and they’ll pull the plug on your pathetic factory so fast you won’t have time to blink. And that’s exactly what I intend to do if you dare threaten me again with your foul insinuations. You are evil incarnate. Filth… Filth! You carried it within you even as a child… The soul of evil.’
‘No, Albert. I carried innocence and you trampled it under your feet. And Sara too…’ Her voice broke. ‘She finally found the courage to confront you and you destroyed her again. May God forgive you. I know I never will.’
‘What do you know about God?’ he shouted. ‘When did you ever raise your hands in prayer? Filth… Filth. How dare you tarnish your sister’s memory with disgusting lies? She was a beautiful woman but weak. Delusional, hysterical… Claiming she was that mother―’
‘Your daughter is in Anaskeagh, Albert.’ Beth stared coldly at him. ‘But you know that already. I’ll be by her side when she leads the television crew to Anaskeagh Head. I’ll take her to Aislin’s Roof so that she can film our daughter’s birthplace. That’s where it happened, Albert. A hard cradle rocked our daughter into life. I’ll show her the rocks that sheltered me and the path I walked on my way to O’Donovan’s farm.’
‘Jesus Christ, you’re every bit as crazy as your sister!’ His fury came towards her in waves. ‘Are you trying to kill your mother? Have you any idea how ill she is? She could die any minute – too much stress and her heart will give out—’
‘I will tell our story, Albert. Every single ugly word of it. I will name your crime and I will name you. And when you’re in jail you’ll find out how many supporters you have left.’
The strength left his body. He staggered back to the chair and stared at her, speechless. For the first time she saw him as a withered old man. Not elderly or stately but old with liver warts on his hands, his teeth bared in a grimace, too white and perfect for an old man’s face. He rubbed his eyes, as if to banish her from sight. Or perhaps to stem tears of shame, of regret? She would never know. As she walked towards the door the words he spoke were barely audible. ‘Liar… Bitch. You’re not the mother.’
She turned to confront him for the last time. ‘But I could have been, Albert,’ she said. ‘That’s the one and only truth we both share.’
She unlocked the door and walked out of his life.
‘Anaskeagh Baby Seeks her Roots’ was shown after the evening news on Elucidate. Viewers watched as Eva climbed over the rugged terrain to the shelter of Aislin’s Roof. She laid flowers under the slanting rock and spoke about Sara Wallace, the mother she would never know. Viewers followed Beth’s journey to O’Donovan’s farm and listened to Catherine’s recollections of that night. Jess, interviewed in her medical centre, described her joy when Eva was adopted by Liz and Steve, who also appeared on the documentary. Ashton looked tranquil and green, in stark contrast to the bleak earth where Eva had first laid her head. One question overhung the documentary. Who was the father? Beth faced the camera and said he was a respected and admired member of the Anaskeagh community. She was unable to name him as his crime was under police investigation. DNA, she said, could never be denied and, in time, when charges were heard and judgements made, his name would be known to all.
Rumours were rife in Anaskeagh. In the pubs and restaurants, the shops, cafés and hairdressing salons, everyone asked the same question. How many men were respected and admired in their town? It had been twenty-seven years since the Anaskeagh Baby scandal. Were the names of men, now middle-aged, about to be pilloried once again? Then, like a cobra wriggling into a room, unnoticed until it rose and spat, a name was whispered. A fearful whisper at first but gaining volume. Albert Grant had been brought down once. Could it happen again?
Word spread that he had disappeared. Journalists and television crews gathered outside Cherry Vale and the politician’s apartment. Adding two and two and getting four, the media bayed loudly. Was Albert Grant the respected and admired member of the community mentioned on the documentary? Was that why he was in hiding? Conor read out a statement. His father had gone sailing – his favourite hobby – before the documentary had aired. How could it have anything to do with his departure? He was a seasoned sailor and he would set the record straight as soon as he returned to shore.
A search operation was organised. When his cruiser was located it was drifting, empty. Broadsheet headlines read ‘Disgraced Politician Disappears’ while the tabloids stated ‘Sicko Sex Fiend on the Run’. Rumoured sightings were reported. He’d been seen drinking champagne on the deck of a luxury yacht in West Cork. He’d been spotted on a beach in Spain, drinking an espresso on a pavement café in Rome. These claims grew more ludicrous as the days passed, but Beth knew he was dead. She had killed him as surely as if she had placed her hand on his back and pushed him violently from the deck of his boat into the ocean.
Did he hesitate before taking those final steps? she wondered. He was a coward and it would take courage to drop into the deep. He was manipulative so he would have weighed up his options, considered calling her bluff. His word against hers. The accusations of corruption fading into insignificance against the weight of a far juicier media scandal. The shock and odium. Paedophilia – the most hated crime of all. How could he prove his innocence when he’d looked into her eyes and seen her hatred made visible? The determination etched on her lips. Was the sea calm or sun-speckled when he finally decided it was over? Did the waves heave with violence when they claimed him or sink him gently downwards? Was Anaskeagh Head the last place he saw before the darkness came?
He was buried quietly when his bloated remains were washed onto the rocks of a distant coastline. Suicide or accidental death by drowning? The media pondered this mystery but they were already moving on to the next scandal. Anaskeagh was at peace again. A small town minding its own business.
‘The media hounded him to his grave,’ said Marjory when Beth called to see her after his body had been formally identified. She had endured the wait for news of his whereabouts with an unnerving calm. ‘My brot
her was a good man. He may have pulled a few strokes in his day but he never knowingly hurt anyone in his life―’
‘Stop.’ Beth pressed her hands to her ears. ‘Why must you keep up this façade? Don’t you owe it to Sara to accept the truth of what she told you?’
The two women stared at each other across the kitchen table. Marjory’s mouth puckered and tightened, as if she was forcing back a torrent of words.
‘I can’t… I can’t… endure it…’ She swayed, defenceless against the sobs that racked her thin frame.
Beth held her hands. When Marjory tried to pull away, she clasped her firmly until the old woman became still. The moment passed. No words were spoken. The body of Albert Grant, washed from its watery grave, had ended their story. Perhaps it would begin another, where forgiveness was not demanded but gently passed from one to the other in silence.
In the distance, the headland loomed, a bloated shadow falling silently as a shroud over the secrets of Anaskeagh. Life’s problems were not always resolved. Sometimes they were just contained until it was time to deliver them into the void.
Epilogue
Eva sinks a spade into the loamy soil and turns the first sod. She continues digging until the hole is deep enough to receive the roots of a slender magnolia tree. Beth places it carefully in position and Lindsey flattens the earth around it. Years will pass before it blooms but when it flowers its beauty will be unsurpassed. Beth kneels to hammer a small plaque with Sara’s name emblazoned on it into the earth. She wills her sister to speak to her, to breathe gently through the green, fluttering leaves. This search for an ethereal presence never leaves her but Sara’s spirit still eludes her.
Eva lays the spade aside and instinctively presses her hand against the small of her back. Rebuilding her marriage has been painful but now life grows within her, a fragile beginning but strongly rooted.
Lindsey stands above the plaque, her head bowed. Soon she will travel to Italy. Her tentative first step towards reconciliation with Peter. This is another beginning that may in time develop roots but she will only ever love one father.
In a small medieval hamlet in Tuscany, Peter gazes out over a valley where rows of vines are guarded by sturdy rose bushes and avenues of poplars tremble in the evening breeze. So much beauty laid before him but he turns to the white studio wall where Sara’s photographs are displayed. He begins to paint. Familiar smells, the heartbeat of anticipation, the knowledge that it is pain, not pleasure, that will dominate this painting. He does not stop to eat or drink. When darkness falls he is still at work, stretching beyond hunger and loss until there is only the sense of movement fused on canvas. This painting is alive. Leaning rocks, mossy and dank, sentinels guarding an ancient site. The play of light and shadow on a jagged landscape. Dangerous clouds darkening the moon, haphazard and chaotic; a world ending and beginning. He continues to paint until the night closes in and he is able to lay his love to rest.
Letter from Laura Elliot
Dear Reader,
My books always begin with an idea, shadowy yet insistent. This is the one percent of inspiration described by Thomas A. Edison, who claimed that the other ninety-nine percent was due to perspiration. But that one percent is the catalyst that propels an idea from my imagination onto the page. The months that follow, as the story forms and reforms, allows plenty of time to mop my brow and wonder why, when the sun is shining and the world is at play, I’m creating an imaginary world with rules that only I understand. Finally, it’s over – the redrafting, editing, proofing and angst are forgotten as my book travels outwards into that great space occupied by you, The Reader. I cannot watch you turn that final page, or lay down your reading device, yet I know you are out there – and your support is the motivation that inspires me to begin yet another book.
Sleep Sister was influenced by hidden stories that are locked away in the memories of women, their secrets carried to the grave. Some stories become public, either through whispered word of mouth or as a headline on a news bulletin. I remember a young woman from my childhood who gave birth secretly in her small bedsit. When her baby’s body was found abandoned in a nearby doorway she was traced, arrested, charged with infanticide and confined to an asylum. Years later, I was shocked and appalled when a teenage mother died with her son after she’d given birth to him secretly beside a grotto. Even as recently as last year, a day-old baby was found abandoned by the roadside close to a busy suburb. The baby survived against great odds, so, although the dark days of a one-time closed, judgemental society have passed, these tragedies can still occur.
Sleep Sister is a fictitious story set in an imaginary landscape – but those are some of the stories that inspired me to explore the corrosive nature of shame and secrecy, the corruption of innocence and the brutality of power. If you enjoyed Sleep Sister (which is an extension of a novel I wrote some years ago called When the Bough Breaks) and would like to leave a review on Amazon or Kobo, I’d be most appreciative. Finally, if you’d like to keep up-to-date with all my latest releases, just sign up here:
Laura Elliot new releases email
Warmest regards,
Laura Elliot
@Elliot_Laura
lauraelliotauthor
www.lauraelliot.com
The Betrayal
Out now…
A perfect divorce. A new flame. And a deadly obsession.
Nadine and Jake Saunders were married as teens. Tied to one another by a night of passion that resulted in a pregnancy neither could turn away from.
Now, years later, their children have all flown the nest and the pact they made as teenagers – to give one another the freedom to pursue their own dreams – has resurfaced.
But freedom comes at a price …
While Nadine and Jake begin to untangle their lives from one another, Jake embarks on a passionate affair with a beautiful woman, Karin Moylan. What he doesn’t know is the dark history Karin shares with Nadine.
As lust spirals into dangerous obsession, Jake must break free from Karin. But he must also ask himself how well he ever really knew Nadine. What secret is she hiding? The truth, when it is revealed, could destroy them all.
If you devoured The Girl on the Train, The Husband’s Secret and Gone Girl then make sure THIS is the book you pick up next.
BUY HERE!
Fragile Lies
Out now…
His name is Michael Carmody.
He is a writer and a father.
His son is lying in a coma, fighting for his life.
Her name is Lorraine Cheevers.
She is an artist and mother.
An illicit affair has destroyed her marriage.
Michael is desperate to find the couple who left his son for dead, a victim of a hit and run.
Lorraine is desperate to start a new life for her and her daughter.
Michael and Lorraine are about to cross paths – damaged souls, drawn to one another.
They don’t know that their lives are already connected.
They don’t know the web of lies surrounding them.
They are each searching for the truth. But when they find it, it could destroy them both.
Fragile Lies is out now!
* * *
‘Dealing with passion, adultery, deception and tragedy, and how the past has a way of creeping up on you…a really intriguing page-turner with a surprising twist.’ Evening Echo
‘This page-turner is gripping, all the more because it presents the dilemmas of betrayal with brutal honesty.’ Irish Independent
‘This well-crafted and compelling story traces the deceits which begin unnoticed but end in the destruction of friendships and lives.’ The Irish Times
The Prodigal Sister
When 15-year-old Cathy Lambert runs away from her Dublin home, she is scared and pregnant. Settled in New Zealand with her new son Conor she believes the secret she carries will never be revealed…
Rebecca Lambert was eighteen when her parents died and she took re
sponsibility for her younger sisters. Years later, she is haunted by fears she hoped she'd conquered.
Freed from family duties, mother of three Julie Chambers is determined to recapture the dreams of her youth.
Married to a possessive older man, Lauren Moran embarks on a frantic love affair that threatens to destabilise her fragile world.
Anxious to make peace with her three sisters, Cathy invites them to her wedding.
But as the women journey together through New Zealand towards their reunion, they are forced to confront the past as the secret shared histories of the Lambert sisters are revealed.
* * *
‘A page-turner…has all the ingredients of a bestseller.’ RTE
‘A gripping, multi-stranded novel… An unusual combination of fine writing, strong plotting and a huge cast of well-formed characters.’ Irish Examiner
‘A well-crafted and compelling story traces the deceits which begin unnoticed but end in the destruction of friendships and lives.’ Irish Times
Stolen Child
If you loved Daughter by Jane Shemilt you will love this.
