The Silent Speak

by Val Collins

  Like many places in Ireland, the area had been completely changed by the property boom. It was still busy and there were many young people, but the youthful buzz was gone. The occasional crumbling mansion remained, but an astonishing number had been converted to outrageously expensive single-family homes.

  Ruth’s house was in Leinster Square, a small cul-de-sac set slightly off the main Rathmines Road. Aoife had recognised the address immediately. The top floor had once been occupied by art students who had turned the entire building into a mural, painted every colour under the sun. Once the front door had been left open and Orla and Aoife had marvelled at the artwork on the stairs. Every step was devoted to a different musician. They had time to see a life-size drawing of Bruce Springsteen and read the first line written beneath—‘I come from down in the valley where mister when you’re young’—before the door had been slammed shut. Aoife had imagined Ruth living in a more upmarket version of the building she remembered, perhaps with the artists replaced by authors. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

  In contrast to the dilapidated house of Aoife’s memory, Ruth’s home was pristine. The outside walls were painted a brilliant white, and the small front garden that had once held overflowing rubbish bins was now paved and occupied by a people carrier and a small Ford Fiesta. The Fiesta was a bit of a surprise. Why would somebody living in a house that must have cost at least three million drive a Fiesta? She’d expected a Jag or at least a Volvo. Maybe it belonged to the help.

  As she was about to ring the doorbell, the door was flung open and a boy of about ten burst out. Seeing her startled expression, he stood back to let her enter. Before slamming the door after him, he shouted, ‘Mum! Visitors.’

  Aoife tried to go outside again and ring the doorbell, but the door had locked automatically and she couldn’t figure out how to open it. She was alone in a narrow corridor with high ceilings and ornate plasterwork. The walls were cream and bare. Not even a single painting adorned them.

  ‘Hello!’ she called, but there was no answer. There were rooms on either side of the corridor, but the doors were shut and her knocking elicited no response. She pulled out her mobile.

  ‘Hi, Ruth, this is Aoife. Your son let me into the house. I’m standing in the hall at the moment.’

  ‘On my way.’

  Aoife heard a door in the basement bang and footsteps on the stairs. Aoife hadn’t seen Ruth since her first night at the book club, but she was pretty sure Ruth had lost weight. Her tiny frame was so fragile it looked like a strong wind could knock her over.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ruth said, her brown curls bopping up and down as she hurried towards Aoife. ‘Boys are unbelievably rude, aren’t they?’ She looked around. ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Please, follow me.’ She led the way down a narrow staircase.

  The entire basement had been converted into an enormous kitchen. It came as a bit of a shock to see another room without a single splash of colour. Aoife thought it was a shame Ruth had chosen the metallic, dark grey cupboards that were now so fashionable. The room also had a Belfast sink, another popular feature that Aoife hated. Black marble countertops ran both sides of the room and were covered with an impressive array of electrical gadgets. Aoife spotted a yoghurt maker and popcorn popper. She thought she recognised a food dehydrator, and one of the gadgets looked similar to an egg cooker she’d seen on TV. After pushing several buttons on something that looked complicated enough to launch nuclear missiles but, judging by the coffee mugs standing nearby, was probably a percolator, Ruth led her into the conservatory, which took up most of what had once been a narrow, rectangular garden. The room was L-shaped. A long dining table filled the centre, and the room opened up into a cosy seating area overlooking a miniscule but beautifully landscaped garden. A middle-aged man removed his glasses, folded his newspaper, tossed it on the table and stood to greet her.

  ‘This is Martin.’

  In stark contrast to Ruth’s pink Juicy Couture tracksuit and runners that looked like they had never seen the outdoors, Martin was dressed in a suit and tie.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘Please sit down.’

  Aoife sat in one of the single chairs, Ruth took the chair opposite and Martin remained on the sofa. Martin and Ruth glanced at each other but neither spoke.

  ‘You have a lovely home,’ Aoife said.

  ‘Thank you. Sometimes I think it was a waste converting the entire house when we spend most of our time in the basement. Well, the kids and the nanny use the playroom upstairs, but I hardly ever set foot in it.’

  They exchanged glances again and Martin cleared his throat.

  ‘Will Detective Moloney be joining us?’

  ‘No. You do understand I’m not a member of the police force?’

  ‘Yes, but as you are Detective Moloney’s fiancée, we expected him to accompany you.’

  Aoife cringed at the term but didn’t correct him.

  ‘No, I’m on my own.’

  ‘Ruth and I don’t know why either you or the police are interested in speaking to us. There’s nothing we can tell you about the Grogan murders.’

  ‘I understand, but I’m speaking to everyone who knew the family.’

  ‘We didn’t know them very well. Shane and I used to coach the local rugby team, but I stopped that years ago when it became obvious my boys had no interest in the sport. I hadn’t spoken to Shane in several years.’

  This was better than Aoife had expected. ‘How many years did you coach together?’

  ‘About four.’

  Aoife looked at Ruth. ‘So you both knew Shane quite well?’

  ‘Not very well,’ they both said at the same time.

  Ruth nodded at Martin, who continued. ‘Shane was in the house a few times, but we never discussed our personal lives and, as I said, I hadn’t spoken to him in years.’

  ‘And you, Ruth? When was the last time you and Shane spoke?’

  ‘I don’t remember, exactly.’

  ‘Has he been to your house in the last twelve months?’

  ‘Maybe. I can’t be certain.’

  ‘So you stayed friendly with him although your husband didn’t?’

  Ruth bristled. ‘As you know, Fiona was in my book club. I mentioned I was having trouble with my heating system and she sent Shane around to fix it. I can’t remember exactly when that was, but it was a few months before the murder.’

  Martin shifted in his seat.

  ‘And you weren’t in the house on that occasion, Martin?’ Aoife asked.

  ‘No, if I had been, Ruth wouldn’t have needed to ask somebody else for help.’ There was an edge to his voice.

  Ruth rolled her eyes. ‘Of course you were always so handy when you…’ She gave Aoife a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear us squabbling. Martin is convinced he’s good with his hands despite all the evidence to the contrary.’ She stood. ‘I must get the coffee.’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

  Ruth ignored her and headed for the kitchen.

  ‘What kind of a man was Shane?’ Aoife asked.

  Martin shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He was a good coach, that’s why I chose him. But I’m a busy man. I should never have allowed myself to be talked into coaching, but rugby was a part of my life for so long that I was reluctant to give it up. It was fun at the beginning, but the strain of coaching and running my own business got too much. Shane was busy too. We did our jobs and went home. We didn’t take the time to get to know each other.’

  ‘Did you ever see him lose his temper?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he ever appear depressed?’

  ‘No, but remember I hadn’t seen him for years before the murder.’

  Ruth returned with a tray, which she placed on the table. She nodded at it for everyone to help themselves.

  Aoife tasted the coffee she hadn’t wanted. She had to admit Ruth’s machine produced slightly better coffee
than her Cuisinart, but it was also three times the size and probably ten times the cost. ‘This is amazing.’

  Ruth smiled. ‘Thank you. It’s the best coffee machine on the market. It only costs—’

  ‘Ruth!’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Martin. I was only saying—’

  ‘Aoife didn’t come here to discuss coffee. Now I have a very busy day ahead, so could we please get on with this?’

  Ruth glared at him but she didn’t reply.

  ‘Tell me about Fiona. When did she join your book club?’

  ‘About two years ago.’

  ‘How did she find out about it?’

  ‘Oh Lord!’ Martin put his mug down with a bang. ‘If we carry on at this pace, we’ll be here for hours. Fiona was a full-time mother desperate for an opportunity to speak with people capable of intelligent conversation. There are millions of women like her all over the world, and I’d guess about half of them are in book clubs. They talk to other women and find out the good book clubs in the area.’

  Aoife expected Ruth to be angry, but she nodded. ‘That’s true.’

  ‘What was Fiona like?’

  ‘She was a nice woman. I didn’t always agree with her choice of books, but she was pleasant to everyone.’

  ‘Did she ever seem upset or depressed?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

  ‘Four days before the murder. We had book club in my house that week.’

  ‘How did Fiona seem?’

  ‘Her normal self.’

  ‘Did she mention Shane or her family?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Certainly not to me, but I was hosting the event and I was in and out with coffee and food.’ She smiled, and this time her eyes shone. ‘Everyone loves when I host the book club. They all adore my coffee, and I’ve had so many compliments about my cakes.’ She leaned forward as if to convey an important secret. ‘The only way to have perfect baking every time is to—’

  ‘Ruth! I don’t have time for this.’

  Ruth glared at him. ‘Will you stop interrupt…’ Her anger dissipated abruptly. ‘Yes, you’re right. I’m sure we’re all very busy and I know you have to get to the office. Aoife, if we’ve answered your questions, we really must call this a day.’

  f

  Orla devoured a plate of spaghetti while Aoife described her morning.

  ‘I loved that house. It was always such a happy place. It doesn’t seem right that it’s been stripped of all its colour.’

  ‘It’s not very happy now. It’s as quiet as a church. About the only noise is Ruth and Martin bickering.’

  ‘Did you find out anything useful?’

  ‘No. Although I hadn’t realised they’d known Shane for years. He and Martin coached the local rugby team.’

  ‘Did they get on?’

  ‘Martin claimed they hardly knew each other.’

  ‘After four years? Is that likely?’

  Aoife shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. What I can’t understand is why Martin was there in the first place. He clearly didn’t want to be. I’d only asked to speak to Ruth.’

  ‘Moral support for his wife?’

  ‘Why would she need moral support? And he wasn’t very supportive. It was like I’d walked in on an argument. They sat as far away from each other as possible and snapped at each other the whole time.’

  ‘Sounds like a lot of married couples to me.’

  ‘Hmm. There was something off about their relationship. In one way Ruth was like a Stepford Wife. All she wanted to talk about was coffee and baking, but she wasn’t in any way deferential.’

  ‘Maybe Ruth’s stuck at home all day and baking is her only pleasure.’

  Aoife was silent for a few minutes. ‘You know what it felt like? It was like Martin was there to run interference. And now I think of it, Ruth didn’t answer all my questions because Martin kept interrupting.’

  ‘You’ll have to talk to her on her own.’

  ‘It was hard enough getting her to speak to me once. I can’t see her agreeing to it again.’

  ‘You’re meeting all the other members of the book club, aren’t you?’

  Aoife nodded.

  ‘Somebody’s got to know where Ruth hangs out. Wait until she’s in a coffee shop or a restaurant and sit down beside her. Make her answer your questions.’

  ‘What if she refuses?’

  ‘I don’t think she will. She met you once already and, you’re right, it’s obvious neither of them wanted to speak to you.’

  ‘I bet she wouldn’t have spoken to me at all if I wasn’t a member of her book club.’

  ‘Or maybe she couldn’t ignore the fiancée of the detective investigating the death of a man she’d known for four years yet claimed was practically a stranger.’

  ‘You think she and Martin are hiding something?’

  Orla nodded. ‘It certainly sounds like it.’

  THIRTEEN

  Aoife hurried off to meet with the book club members. They all thought Fiona was nice. Two of them had been quite friendly with her. None of them knew Shane. The only interesting thing Aoife discovered was that Ruth and her sister had lunch every Saturday in Powerscourt.

  f

  Normally Amy loved spending time with her grandmother. Today she decided she had been treated very badly and was determined to make her displeasure clear. She refused to speak to Aoife the entire journey home. When they reached the house, she stormed into the kitchen and demanded ice cream. When Aoife refused, she dissolved into floods of tears. Twenty minutes later, she had another meltdown when Aoife wouldn’t allow her to watch a movie. Aoife was worn out. Shouldn’t Amy have grown out of the terrible twos by now? Was her behaviour Aoife’s fault? Was she a terrible mother? There was no point in asking Conor. He hadn’t even known he was a father when Blaine was Amy’s age. She wished she could ask her mother for advice. She was beginning to feel quite weepy herself when Conor and Blaine arrived.

  Aoife wiped her eyes and headed upstairs.

  Conor found her in her bedroom. He wrapped his arms around her. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Aoife sniffed. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Amy’s in a mood, I’m missing my mum and I haven’t even started dinner yet.’

  ‘Two of those I can help you with. Blaine!’

  ‘Yeah?’ Blaine called from the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘There’s a game of Snakes & Ladders in the TV cabinet. Can you keep Amy occupied while Aoife and I get dinner?’

  Blaine went in search of Amy, and Conor led Aoife into the kitchen.

  ‘You sit down and relax. I’ll make dinner. What are we having?’

  Aoife shook her head. ‘I’ll make it. You get the veg.’

  From the sitting room, they could hear Amy’s cries of ‘I don’t want to play a stupid game’ followed by screeches of laughter as Blaine tickled her. Conor laughed. Aoife tried to smile, but Conor had his head in the fridge and didn’t notice.

  ‘Where are all the knives?’ he asked.

  Aoife looked at the knife block she kept on top of the kitchen cupboards where Amy couldn’t reach it. It was empty. Not again!

  ‘I don’t know. Ask Blaine.’

  ‘How would Blaine know?’ He turned to look at her. ‘Tell me you’re not still blaming Blaine for everything that goes missing around here?’

  ‘Things only go missing while Blaine is in this house.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous, Aoife. Why would Blaine want your knives?’

  ‘Why would he want my clothes, or my keys, or my wallet? He takes these things to annoy me, Conor.’

  ‘No, Aoife. He doesn’t. I’m sorry you’ve had a bad day but don’t take it out on Blaine.’ He opened the dishwasher. ‘What are these?’

  He pointed at the knives packed neatly into the cutlery tray.

  Aoife slammed down the saucepan. ‘I did not put those there. I would never leave knives in the dishwasher wher
e Amy could find them, and I do not appreciate your son endangering my child.’

  ‘Your child? What about my child, Aoife? I don’t appreciate you blaming my son for your own carelessness.’

  ‘So I’m careless now? I’m an irresponsible mother?’

  ‘That’s not what I said.’

  ‘That’s exactly what you said. Well, you can get your own dinner. Amy! We’re going for a walk.’

  Amy and Blaine appeared in the doorway. Aoife turned her head so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  ‘I don’t want to walk. I’m hungry.’

  Aoife opened the cupboard, reached up to the top shelf and took down two bars of chocolate. ‘Dinner,’ she said, handing both bars to a delighted Amy and marching her out the door.

  *

  Aoife took Amy to the park and then the supermarket. It was almost two hours later when they returned home. Conor’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Aoife’s heart sank. Half of her had wanted Conor to be gone, but the other half had hoped he’d put his arms around her and everything would be okay.

  ‘Where’s Blainey?’

  ‘They’ve gone home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They weren’t hungry.’

  Aoife looked around the kitchen. Conor had made dinner and left two plates in the microwave. The kitchen was spotless.

  *

  When Amy had eaten and gone to bed, Aoife phoned Orla.

  ‘He’s a good man, Orla. I do love him but I’m not sure we can get over this. I wouldn’t be with a man who didn’t like Amy.’

  ‘Do you dislike Blaine?’

  ‘Right now? Yes. I know I shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. I’ve been as nice as I can to Blaine, but he’s deliberately causing trouble between Conor and me. I can’t like someone who would do that.’