The Girl Who Lied

by Sue Fortin

  ‘Okay, when did you last have any contact with her?’ said Sean.

  ‘If I’m being linked to her disappearance, I’d like to know on what grounds.’

  ‘We’ve got a copy of Roisin’s mobile-phone records. It shows all her calls and text messages, both in and out.’

  Kerry shrugged. ‘And …?’ He looked right back at Sean and hoped his poker face wouldn’t let him down.

  ‘And…it shows a number registered to you,’ said Sean, matching his stare. ‘You and Roisin exchanged text messages on the night of her disappearance. What was that about?’

  Kerry thought about refusing to answer. Sean couldn’t demand to see his phone now, not without a warrant or a court order. By the time that was organised, Kerry would be able to wipe the text messages from it. However, if the Guards ever found Roisin’s phone, then they would soon be able to see what was said. He decided to bide his time for now.

  ‘I can’t remember exactly.’

  Sean leaned in. ‘I suggest your memory improves or you could be here a long time.’

  The other police officer opened a file he had in his hand. He looked at a few notes and then at Kerry.

  ‘Seems you have a bit of a past. Known to the Gardai.’ He ran his finger down the sheet of paper. ‘Drunk and disorderly. Affray. Drugs.’

  ‘That doesn’t make me a murderer,’ said Kerry, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat.

  ‘Who said anything about murder?’ said the officer.

  Kerry bit down the urge to respond. He could see he was only going to dig himself in deeper. Instead, he folded his arms and leant back in the seat. ‘Charge me if you think I’m involved. If not, I’d like to go home now.’

  The interview room is sterile and hostile. I’ve never been in one before and can’t help feeling intimidated by the oppressive surroundings. The walls, painted a neutral light grey, reflect the small stream of light coming in through the one high window. I’m sitting on a plastic chair, which reminds me of the chairs at the hospital. In front of me on the laminated table is a plastic disposable cup full of water.

  ‘I’m Garda O’Neill,’ says the first Guard sitting opposite me. ‘This is my colleague Garda Murphy.’

  The female Guard acknowledges me with a slight nod of her head, but doesn’t speak.

  ‘Now, I understand you’re Sergeant Keane’s sister-in-law,’ says O’Neill. ‘He speaks very highly of you and assures me you will co-operate fully with us.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I say, holding my hands in my lap. I wipe my palms with the tips of my fingers and concentrate on breathing normally.

  ‘I want to run through a few details, first,’ says O’Neill. He refers to a sheet Murphy passes to him. ‘You used to live in Rossway until ten years ago, when you moved to England to live with your sister. Is that right?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I say. ‘I’ve come back because my father is seriously ill in hospital.’

  ‘So I understand,’ says O’Neill. ‘I hope he makes a good recovery.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  It’s surreal: having a civilised conversation with a stranger, all very polite, and yet at the heart of it I know this interview relates to Roisin and her disappearance.

  ‘You went to the local school and were friends with Roisin Marshall,’ says O’Neill. ‘When did you last have contact with Miss Marshall?’

  I take a sip of water. My hand shakes as I lift the flimsy cup towards my mouth, something neither O’Neill nor Murphy will miss, I’m sure.

  ‘It was…’ I begin.

  O’Neill interrupts before I can finish. ‘I should say at this stage, we have a copy of Roisin Marshall’s mobile phone. It lists all her calls, incoming and outgoing, together with sent and received text messages.’

  I understand what he’s saying.

  ‘I sent Roisin a text the night before last,’ I say. I replace the cup on the table. My hand shakes even more.

  ‘That will be the night she went missing?’

  ‘Yes. I arranged to meet her, but she never showed up.’

  ‘What were you meeting her for?’

  The female Guard stops making notes and is looking at me, anticipation shining behind her eyes. O’Neill leans forward. Both are clearly eager to hear what I have to say.

  I say a silent prayer. I hope to God I’m doing the right thing.

  ‘We had a few things we needed to talk about.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Personal stuff.’ I know it’s an insufficient answer, one I won’t get away with. If anything, I’m arousing suspicion.

  ‘We understand from some locals that you and Roisin had an argument in the street last week,’ says Murphy. ‘What was that about?’

  My mouth is parched. I desperately want some more water but know my hand will shake violently if I attempt to reach for the cup. I wet my lips and swallow hard. ‘It was an argument from way back when I used to live here. I went out with her brother Niall. He died in a car accident and Roisin, for some reason, holds me responsible. It was about all that.’

  ‘So what were you meeting her for?’ asks O’Neill.

  ‘To try and sort things out once and for all.’

  ‘And where did you meet her?’

  ‘I didn’t meet her. I arranged to, but she never turned up,’ I say. ‘I was supposed to meet her at The Spit. I waited for ages but she wasn’t there and it was raining heavily so I went home.’

  ‘And what time was this?’ O’Neill’s tone sounds harder. I’m sure he doesn’t believe me.

  ‘I got there at nine o’clock and waited for ten, fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Can anyone confirm this?’ O’Neill asks as Murphy scribbles the information down on her notepad.

  I shake my head. ‘No.’

  ‘You know, Miss Hurley, this is looking very much like you were the last person to have contact with Miss Marshall that night,’ says O’Neill. ‘Is there anything you would like to tell us? Anything that you may have forgotten or omitted?’

  ‘No. I’ve told you everything.’

  ‘I’m going to need you to make a formal statement,’ says O’Neill. ‘After that, I’d ask that you don’t leave the area for now. Not until we’ve made further inquiries.’

  This time, I nod. I think of Mum, of Fiona and of the child I had.

  I have no choice.

  When I step out of the station, I’m relieved to see Kerry across the road. He’s sitting casually on his bike, smoking a cigarette. I walk over to him. On seeing me, he drops his cigarette and grinds it out with his boot.

  ‘They let you out, then?’ he says.

  ‘I could say the same for you,’ I reply with a smile.

  He wraps his arms around me and kisses me. It feels good. So reassuring and comforting after several hours’ sitting in the hostile environment of the station.

  ‘Come on, I’ll take you home,’ says Kerry, pulling away and reaching for the spare crash helmet.

  ‘What time did you get out?’ I ask, as I allow Kerry to fasten the strap under my chin.

  ‘About an hour ago. Joe came and got me. I came straight back with the bike. I guessed you’d be out soon.’

  ‘I’m assuming they asked you about phoning or texting Roisin,’ I say. The thought that he had been in touch with Roisin that night sits uncomfortably with me.

  ‘Yeah. I texted her that night,’ he says

  ‘You texted her? What for?’

  ‘To meet for a drink. I thought I might be able to persuade her to let things go. You know, draw a line under the past and move on.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘No. She never showed up. Look, let’s not talk about it here.’ He nods towards the Gardai station.

  I look over my shoulder. Sean is standing in the doorway to the station observing us. A small chill runs through me. I climb on the back of Kerry’s bike, wrapping my hands around his waist.

  Kerry starts the Triumph and within seconds we are roaring down the road. I tighten
my grip around his body. It feels good to be in physical contact with him. I don’t want to let go and wish we could just keep riding and not stop.

  Sex with Kerry is a strange mix of tenderness combined with urgency. Time is ticking against us and we make the most of every second we have together. And yet, the care and love surfaces time and time again.

  This time we have actually made it to his bed. I nestle down in his arms, pulling the duvet up around my shoulder.

  ‘It feels like a cocoon,’ I say. ‘Warm and safe. If only we could stay like this forever.’

  ‘Sure, that would be nice,’ says Kerry. He pulls me closer. ‘Stay the night, won’t you? There’s no need to go.’

  ‘What’s the point of us both sleeping alone, especially when we’re only across the road from each other,’ I say. ‘It’s not like I’ve got far to go to work tomorrow.’

  ‘How is your dad?’

  ‘He’s starting to come out of his coma. It’s like he’s waking from a really heavy deep sleep. It will take time.’

  ‘That’s good. I’m glad about that.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say. ‘I want to talk to him as soon as I can. I have things to say to him that I should have said a long time ago. Bridges to build.’

  ‘You’re a very courageous woman,’ says Kerry. ‘I wish I had half your guts.’

  I prop myself up on my elbow and drop a kiss onto him.

  ‘I’m no braver than anyone else,’ I say. ‘Certainly no braver than you.’ I trace my finger around his face, following the line of his jaw, biding time as I weigh up my next words. ‘You’re just as brave. Everything that you’ve been through. There’s no reason why you can’t build some bridges of your own.’

  His eyes widen and the muscles in his face tense. ‘It’s easy for you to say.’

  Is that a small chink in the wall he’s built around him? He hasn’t outright dismissed the idea.

  ‘Why don’t you let me help you?’ I say, making sure there is no challenge in my voice. ‘Of all the people in your life, I’m probably the only one who truly understands what you’ve been through. How you’re feeling. How it feels to be adrift. Let me help you, please?’

  Kerry rolls over and, sitting on the edge of the bed, he plants his feet on the floor, resting his arms on his knees. I shuffle over and put my hand on his back, kissing his bare shoulder. Kerry covers my hand with his.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says at last. ‘You’re stronger than me.’

  ‘Strength doesn’t come into it. And even if it did, you can lean on me.’

  ‘It’s too painful.’

  ‘Don’t let that pain eat you up,’ I say. ‘It’s painful because you’re scared of it. You’re scared of being hurt again. I totally get all that, I really do.’ I move closer and wrap both arms around his shoulders, resting my chin on him. ‘It’s like, if you stop being angry, you have to confront it. Deal with feelings and emotions you couldn’t deal with at the time, but you’re older now. Wiser and, yes, stronger. You can’t be running away all your life.’

  I continue to hold him, willing him to understand and to take the risk.

  ‘Okay,’ he says at last.

  ‘Okay, what?’

  ‘Okay, help me.’ His voice is so quiet I can only just hear him. ‘Help me make things right.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. If I can help him understand his mum and what she did, then maybe he can understand what I’ve done.

  Kerry moves from the bed and kneels down. He pulls the box out containing the letters. ‘There’s a date on the back of each one,’ he says.

  ‘That’s good, we’ll start with the first one, then,’ I say. ‘But first, shall we put some clothes on?’

  Five minutes later, we’re sitting in the living room. The letters are laid out on the coffee table in front of us in date order. Kerry picks up the first one and slides his thumb under the flap to open the envelope.

  A single sheet of A4 paper is folded in four. Kerry opens it and lays it out flat on the table.

  Dear Kerry

  I know you probably don’t want to hear from me after what happened earlier this year but I hope and pray that you will read this letter.

  I have thought about you every day since the argument and every day I’ve wished I could turn back time. God, I would do things differently. I never meant for things to get this bad. There’s been too much hurt and loss in this family already.

  Please call me. I’d love to talk to you properly.

  I love you.

  Mum xx

  P.S. Ronan made the school hurling team.

  I look at Kerry to gauge his response, but his face is impassive.

  ‘Have you not even seen your brother?’ I ask.

  ‘I used to go and watch him in his hurling matches. If mum or her husband wasn’t there, I’d go and speak to him,’ says Kerry. ‘Now he’s older, he calls me or texts me. Sometimes we meet up.’

  ‘That’s good, at least you still keep in contact with him – that would be a shame otherwise,’ I say. ‘Let’s try the next one.’ I pick up the envelope, which is dated about ten months after the first one.

  We read it together. It says much the same thing. How she wishes Kerry would get in touch and that Ronan is missing him.

  Gradually, we make our way through the letters. They are all along the same lines. She wants to meet to talk through things. To make things better. She misses him and she always finishes by telling him she loves him.

  We get to the final two.

  ‘I think this is pointless,’ says Kerry. ‘I don’t want to read any more.’

  ‘Come on, let’s read these two. We might as well now we’ve read all the others.’ I don’t wait for him to answer and open the next one. It has a date of nearly a year ago. It sounds more reflective, somehow sadder, and his mother tells Kerry how she still misses him.

  ‘It’s just the same as the others,’ says Kerry. ‘In not one of them has she apologised for what she said to me. It’s all about her and her sorrow.’

  I take the last letter and look at the date. ‘This is only a few weeks old.’

  ‘I know. Honestly, Erin, let’s not bother.’

  I tear open the letter before Kerry can stop me. It’s the longest letter yet and goes on to a second page. I tug at his arm to stop him from getting up and begin to read it out loud.

  Dear Kerry

  I still don’t know if you are reading these letters or not. I spoke to Max. He says he definitely gives them to you. I really hope that you are reading them.

  You may have heard that Tom and I aren’t together any more. He left me just before Christmas. I saw it coming, if I’m honest. And as I’m being honest, I’ll tell you why. It was because of you. I’ve never been able to forgive myself for what happened that night. For things that were said. And I’ve never been able to forgive Tom either. I should not have let what happened happen. I can only imagine how you must feel and I’m tortured every time I think about it.

  I never in a million years wanted things to end up like this. I can’t tell you how much it hurts me to think I no longer have a relationship with my own son. Your dad would be furious if he knew. I came to Rossway last week. I came to see you. I sat in the little café next door to the workshop for a long time trying to pluck up courage to come and see you. But in the end I wasn’t brave enough. I didn’t want to have to face you rejecting me. How hypocritical is that? After me telling you I never wanted to see you again, I’m too scared to see you in case you say the same thing. And not without reason. I know I was wrong then, but I was scared of being alone and I had Ronan to think of. A life for my five-year-old child or a life for my seventeen -year-old who was probably going to fly the nest soon anyway. I couldn’t deny another one of my sons the chance to grow up with his father. You’d already had that taken away, I couldn’t take it away from Ronan.

  I know this doesn’t make what happened right and I know what I said was wrong, so very wrong. As soon as I said it, I regretted it. If I
was able to change one thing in my life, I wouldn’t choose the obvious – your dad not to have died – I would choose to take back those words. To take away the pain I caused you and the damage I’ve done. I know I can’t and I can only tell you how sorry I am and hope that one day you will forgive me.

  Please know, Kerry, that you are my son and always will be. You may not think of me as your mother any more and that is something I will have to live with. I may have got it wrong. Really wrong, but I have never stopped loving you.

  I love you. Always have, always will.

  Mum xx

  This time Kerry picks up the letter and reads it himself. I watch him closely, but don’t say anything. He shuts his eyes tight, holding his thumb and finger against the closed lids. He takes a big gulp of air and when he opens his eyes, he is crying. I hold him in my arms, not saying a word.

  Eventually, he pulls away, palming his eyes and face to wipe away the tears.

  ‘God, would you look at me?’ he says.

  ‘It’s okay. You’ve had nine years of pent-up emotion and feelings. It needed to come out sooner or later.’

  Kerry looks at the letter, which has been crumpled. He flattens it out on the table.

  ‘She’s actually sorry,’ he says. ‘She says so here.’

  ‘That’s a good start,’ I say gently.

  ‘You know, I always thought she didn’t want me because Tom didn’t like me. I thought that’s why she chose him over me, but it wasn’t that at all. She chose Ronan. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to grow up with his dad. She knew how bad it had been for me since my dad died.’

  ‘She did what she thought was best for her child at the time,’ I say. I’m aware of the similarity to my decision-making. ‘She never stopped loving you, though.’

  Kerry nods. ‘She was sacrificing her relationship with me for what was best for Ronan. Who can blame her? Like she says, I was seventeen and probably wouldn’t have stayed around for much longer anyway. Ronan was so young. She had no choice but to put him first. I still wish she hadn’t said what she did. That’s the thing that has stuck with me all this time.’

  ‘It was a mistake. She says that herself. It’s the one thing she wishes she could go back and change. We are all wiser after the event, aren’t we?’