by Jackie Walsh
‘You need to go home, love, or wherever you should be. You should not be here.’
He said love, Andriu said love. My heart is swelling; it’s going to burst. A flurry of heat shoots through my body. I’d better do what he says.
‘But can we meet before you go back to London?’ I say, hopeful now as he knows I still love him and that I’m still available.
‘Sure,’ he nods. His eyes stare through me. It’s like he’s trying to figure me out. I wish he’d ask me to come back to his hotel with him. Maybe I’ll suggest it.
‘I’m freezing here, Andriu,’ I say, my teeth chattering. ‘Is your hotel nearby?’
‘I think it’s best if you go home, Faye. It’s not safe around here. Are you still on the same number?’ So he remembers my number – or at the very least didn’t delete it.
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, go home, I’ll catch up with you before I go back.’
I let him go. Leaving me feeling a lot happier. I would have loved to go back to his hotel. To make love all through the night. But I should have known Andriu wouldn’t take advantage of me. He’s not like that. He cares about me. All I need is time to rekindle his love for me. To remind him how great a couple we were. Then we’ll get back together.
Taking the phone from my pocket, I notice I’ve missed about five calls from Mam. I open the phone and text her that I’m on my way. Then I look back and watch Andriu’s handsome shape fade into the dark night.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The following morning I’m feeling excited and motivated and I even chance a tune in the shower. I haven’t heard my own singing voice in a long time. I put on a pair of jeans and a bright yellow T-shirt then I plaster cream on my face. My skin has dried up a lot lately. I need to take better care of it. When I get to the kitchen, Mam and Dad are sitting at the table. Mam jumps up and asks me if I would like sausages but her voice sounds nervous. She’s wearing a navy skirt and white shirt with a navy trim. Her hair is perfectly set.
Mam always likes to look her best even first thing in the morning when she’s frying sausages. I say yes to the sausages but a sense of dread is growing inside me. I sit down at the table and wait for the bad news. I know it’s coming because my father hasn’t said anything yet and that’s how he usually starts delivering his bad news, by saying nothing.
‘What’s wrong?’ I say.
My mother turns her attention to the frying pan and I look at my father. I hadn’t noticed how much he’s aged until now. His silver-grey hair is now snow white. His eyelids droop a little heavier over his eyes. He looks away from his paper and sighs.
Mam is silently buttering bread at the countertop. The poor woman gets into as much trouble as I do. I bet my father gave out to her last night, telling her not to cover for me.
‘Were you drinking last night?’
‘I just had one drink, Dad.’
My father turns his attention back to the paper. It’s his way of saying you’re not fooling me. I’ve heard your bullshit before. He will never forgive me for losing my driving license.
Mam turns to look at me and mimes, do you want some tea? I smile at her and nod. For the next while, no one will say anything. Eggshells will not be broken. My father will decide when normality can return but, until then, Mam and I will sit and eat and be grateful. I wish I didn’t have to stay here. It’s ridiculous being treated like a kid again. I can’t wait until I get my own place.
* * *
I’m sitting in my bedroom with nothing to do but daydream. I wonder when Andriu will ring. I wonder when I can go to London to be with him. I wonder what our kids will look like. I have a strange energy boiling inside me, a sense of needing to do something. I can’t just stay here in my room while Andriu is floating around the city, probably with nothing to do. He might welcome some company.
I dial the number I have for him in my phone but it’s no longer in use. I could ring Tara. She must have his number. But I don’t want to talk to Tara; she might ask more questions about the dead woman and I can’t go there. Not now, not when I’m feeling so positive. I’ll text her instead.
Within ten minutes she sends me Andriu’s number and without planning what to say I dial it. My heart leaps when he answers.
‘Andriu, it’s Faye.’
‘Faye, what are you doing ringing me?’
‘I thought you might like some company. Do you want to meet for a coffee?’ I’m holding my breath, praying that he’ll say yes.
‘You shouldn’t be calling me.’
‘But?’
‘Faye, I don’t want to meet you. I don’t want you calling me, either.’
‘But Andriu, I thought…’ I can feel the pain like a knife ripping a hole in my heart.
Why is he being so mean? I thought he understood. I thought…
‘Is it Tara?’ I say.
‘Tara? What are you talking about?’
‘Do you love her?’
‘Sweet Jesus, Faye, where does your madness end? Of course I don’t love Tara. Tara is getting married.’
‘But you stayed in touch with her, you slept with her.’
‘What are you talking about? When did I sleep with her?’
‘That night, when I was at work, when you were both drinking.’ Why is he acting so clueless? ‘When we had the big row… I asked you to leave and…’
‘I never slept with Tara Moore. When I said I was sorry I slept with her I didn’t mean Tara, I meant Emily. It was Emily I slept with the night before I left. But no. You wouldn’t listen to me. You just kept shouting and screaming and throwing things and when you said Tara’s name you went completely mad. I couldn’t quieten you down to explain you had it wrong so I just ran out of the place while I still could. Is that why you hung her out to dry, Faye?’
‘What?’ My hand is shaking so badly I can barely keep the phone up to my ear to hear him continue.
‘You told the detective that Tara knew Avril Ryan. Did you kill Avril Ryan, Faye? Is that why you told the detective that? Is that why you’ve gone mad? You can’t live with yourself.’
There are no words to describe how I feel. I have been wrong all along. How could I have believed that about Tara? But Andriu must have known I would think he was talking about Tara. She was lying on the sofa when I came home that day, conked out, half-dressed. They had both been drinking. I saw the empty glasses. The box of condoms on his bedside cabinet. No one mentioned Emily. What has this man done to me?
And now he thinks I killed Avril Ryan. He thinks I’m mad. Andriu doesn’t love me. Did he ever love me?
‘No,’ I whisper before ending the call.
I drop my head onto the pillow. What the hell is going on? Why did Andriu ask me if I killed Avril Ryan? Is it because I lied to the detective about Tara knowing Avril Ryan? Does he think I’m trying to shift the blame to her?
Fear washes over me, bigger than the fear that has been washing over me for years. It’s heavier. To lift it, I’m going to have to be stronger.
I sit up on the bed and let reality sink in. Andriu Fitzpatrick does not love me. He might even hate me. He will tell people I killed Avril Ryan. He will tell the cops.
I can’t let that happen.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Tara
I’m watching the commuters get off the bus at the 22a stop for the last time. They’ll do it again tomorrow, but I won’t be here to see them. My journey is changing course. This is my final day working for Muriel in the café and while I’m sad to be leaving because I’ll miss Muriel – she has always been very good to me – I’m also happy. Happy to be moving on to new exciting things.
Telling Lucas about my mam’s passing has helped me see more clearly. We spent most of the day yesterday just lying around, talking, spending time on our own. Lucas assured me I had done the right thing, and though I didn’t need his reassurance and never doubted my decision, it was nice to hear.
I don’t know why I delayed telling him and maybe if it hadn’
t been for the discovery of Avril Ryan’s body at Huntley Lodge bringing it all up again, I wouldn’t have. But I’m glad I did. It’s over now. Lucas has seen the darkest side of me and he still loves me.
The worry of Avril Ryan being associated with the ‘Cabhrui’ website hangs heavy in my mind. Lucas and I talked about it. We searched Google for the website to see if there were any clues but we couldn’t find anything. It was gone. We googled Avril Ryan but there was nothing new that I didn’t already know. Lucas advised me to push it out of my head and enjoy the week ahead. I told him I’d try, and I will try, but it’s hard, especially when Andriu suggested Faye might have been involved. Was he serious or just thinking out loud? Trying to get his own head around the events of that week when Faye threw him out of Huntley Lodge.
I refuse to believe that Faye would hurt anyone. It would be so out of character for the Faye I knew and loved for all those years. But I am surprised she told the detectives I may have known Avril Ryan. Is she trying to shift attention away from herself?
Here I go again, trying to figure it out. I need to let go, if only for a couple of days to concentrate on the wedding. Then I’ll be leaving and this nightmare will soon be a distant memory. At least I hope so because this could really mess things up.
* * *
I’ve a to-do list as long as my arm to get through and the first thing on that list is my dad. So today I’m calling in to see him after work to make sure he has everything he needs to walk me up the aisle and that the house is ready to receive the bridal party. I’ll give the place a once-over, make sure the bedroom that we’re getting prepared in is clean and ready and that he’s removed all those empty suitcases and boxes from the landing that I asked him to.
I look down the quays and see big black clouds approaching in the distance. The river is full of energy this morning, flowing at a great pace. The air is damp and I’m adding to my list of things to do, in my head, when I see her image. Avril Ryan. Her face is on the front page of the newspaper being read by a man who’s leaning against a barber’s shop door. My heart sinks. Something has happened. Some new information must have come to light if her picture is on the front of the newspaper again. I want to go over to the man, grab the paper and see what’s going on but I can’t do that.
The nearest newsagent is one street down to my right. I take the first turn I come to and rush down the laneway to the store. Inside, I walk over to the newspaper stand and lift the paper with Avril Ryan’s face on the front of it. Her hazel-green eyes are staring at me from the page. I never realized how beautiful she was before. I’d been so obsessed with not getting dragged into the whole mess that I never paid much attention to the woman who was killed. What she must have gone through. And why did she end up at the bottom of that pit? How does her family survive knowing their sister, their daughter, their niece has been killed? God knows how many people’s lives were turned upside down when Avril went missing, and now they must go through this fresh, ruthless pain. This grief that removes all the hope from their hearts of ever seeing Avril alive again.
I take the newspaper in my hand and a feeling of guilt washes over me. I don’t know why but it’s as though I believe deep down that somehow I have something to do with this woman’s death. Have I? For a brief moment I imagine everyone in the shop is looking at me, thinking I am responsible for her murder, which is stupid because no one is looking at me. No one is looking at anyone.
I pay the cashier and leave the shop. If Lucas could see me now he’d say I wasn’t doing a very good job of pushing the investigation to one side and concentrating on the wedding. But I have to find out what’s new. Have they arrested somebody? Have they discovered some new information? Can I stop worrying about this now?
The answer is no. I can’t. The police haven’t arrested a suspect. They are making a fresh appeal for information. Asking the public to come forward if they can remember anything, no matter how small. My eyes are glued to the words on the page as I also try to navigate my way down the road without walking under a car. After a few lines, the paper directs me to page ten. Which is what I intend doing but when I turn the page I bump into a buggy coming from the opposite direction. The pain shoots down my leg.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I say to the girl pushing the buggy and bend down to rub my knee.
‘Watch where you’re going, for fuck’s sake,’ she says, pulling the buggy away from me before walking on past. For a split second I want to cry. I feel so vulnerable. Why was she so mean to me? It was clearly an accident. But then I think, feck her and walk on towards the café. Reading while walking is proving dangerous so I shove the paper into my bag. I’ll finish the article when I get to work.
Sorry You’re Leaving Us. The banner is the width of the café, hanging above the service area in silver and blue. My mouth is open with surprise and delight. I can’t believe this. Muriel is playing ‘The Wedding March’ music on her phone and Helen, the new girl who’s taking my place, sings along with it. Dah dah da-dah. They’re both standing behind the counter with great big smiles on their faces. Imelda and Anna from the beauticians on the corner are standing to my right clapping. Noel from the travel agent’s is also here and Sean. Sean is clapping too. I can’t believe this. All this for me.
‘Oh my God. Thank you so much, I don’t believe this,’ I say and suddenly I feel tears rolling from my eyes. But they’re not tears of sadness, these are tears of joy, happiness, appreciation. These people love me, they care about me. What the hell am I doing moving to Australia?
Muriel walks out from behind the counter and hands me a small package wrapped in wedding paper with a card attached.
‘A few of the regulars made a collection, Tara. They wanted you to have this to thank you for all your smiles over the years. You’ve been a wonderful part of the café and we’re all going to miss you.’ Muriel is choking up. Her eyes glisten with tears.
‘You shouldn’t have… but thank you so much,’ I say, grateful. I know I’m experiencing one of those moments when you realise how lucky you are. I am lucky to have known these people, to have served them coffee. I’m experiencing a moment that will soon become a scene from my past. One I will always recall with a smile.
‘Well, open it,’ Muriel says.
I rip the paper off to reveal a mug in a box. Dublin’s Best Waitress: Tara is painted on the front of it. I laugh. I love it.
‘Look inside it,’ Imelda says.
When I pull the mug from the box I see a wad of notes tucked inside and I’m rendered speechless. I was not expecting anything like this. There must be a few hundred euros there.
‘It’s your tip,’ Sean says, and everyone laughs.
‘A well-deserved tip,’ Muriel says.
* * *
I hug everyone before they leave the café and thank them at least a hundred times. There are loads of ‘best of luck’ wishes and ‘stay in touch’ comments. I’m giddy with happiness and heartbroken with sadness at the same time. Mostly, I’m blown away by their kindness. I was not expecting that. I can’t wait to ring Lucas and tell him what they did for me. I’m moving up a gear now. I can’t wait for the wedding.
I’m still thanking Muriel when she hands me a coffee and tells me to take my time. I go out to the back of the shop and hang up my coat for the last time. I’m taking my bag from the floor when the newspaper falls out. It opens on page ten.
Avril Ryan was thirty-four years of age when she mysteriously disappeared. Her body was found at the bottom of a disused slurry pit at Huntley Lodge. It mentions the ‘Cabhrui’ website for the first time and says the police are only interested in information about Avril Ryan and are not interested in pursuing any other avenues with regard to services provided by the site.
My breath buckles, my eyes open wide and I read it again. Does that mean they’re not going to arrest anyone who used the services of the website? That’s what it sounds like to me. If that’s the case, I have nothing to worry about. I’m free. This is great.
I continue down the paragraph and read about her life. I already know a lot of the information on the page from social media. She was single. She had a love for dogs and took care of her elderly neighbour.
What I didn’t know was that Avril Ryan was a keen chess player. It took a minute for this to sink in. I had to read through the section a second time to make sure I read it correctly. Avril Ryan is a chess player. My dad is a chess player. Could he have known her? It’s not like every second person you meet plays chess, especially at club level, so it is possible. They might even be from the same club. In the background I hear some laughter and a lot of voices. The café is getting busy and Muriel will expect me to finish my break. I roll up the newspaper and shove it into the pocket of my jacket. I catch my image in the small wicker framed mirror that hangs on the back of the door. My face is pale. I rub my hands on my cheeks and take a deep breath to slow down my racing heart. It’s like I can’t get a break. What do I do about Dad? I’ll have to ask him if he knew Avril Ryan but what will that mean if he does? The detectives will want to talk to him if they find out the man who did all the maintenance at Huntley Lodge knew Avril Ryan. So I sure as hell won’t be mentioning it to them but I do want to know if he knew her.
‘Tara,’ Muriel calls out to me, breaking my train of thought. I move away from the mirror. I close my eyes briefly and beg God that Dad never heard of Avril Ryan. I don’t think I could handle what that would do to my paranoid head.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Sean is sitting behind his desk when I walk into his office. The cuffs on his crisp white shirt stick out below the sleeves of his light blue suit as he signs the paper in front of him. He has skin like satin that any woman would be jealous of. Sean, as always, looks like he’s stepped out of a magazine. His partner Flynn is just as handsome but hails from a different tribe altogether. He’s a bricklayer who works for a company that builds bespoke mansions. He’s been to the coffee shop a couple of times with Sean, his work clothes covered in the dust of someone else’s dream as he tucks into a double helping of the house special cheese and bacon toastie.
