Her White Lie Page 2

  ‘No Faye, he can’t pay for me.’

  ‘Why not? He has loads of money.’

  Tara’s smile disappears. ‘That’s not the point, I’ll ask my own dad.’

  ‘But…’ I stop. I don’t want this to be one of those moments when our different backgrounds become a thing. Like when my parents invited Tara on holiday with us two years ago but then she couldn’t come because the fare to Barbados was out of her parents’ reach.

  Or the time my mam offered some of my old clothes to Tara. I still can’t believe she did that. I was so embarrassed. I couldn’t believe the words coming out of Mam’s mouth as she stood in the bedroom pointing to a pile of clothes on a chair in the corner of the room. I continued talking as if I hadn’t heard her but I could tell Tara couldn’t wait to get out of my house.

  ‘Sure, Tara.’ I stand and walk to the window and look out into the garden to see if Tara’s dad’s car is there. ‘He’s not home, though. What about your mam?’

  ‘Mam will say yes, go, get out of here.’ Tara chuckles before becoming more serious. ‘But she’s not in great form lately; she’s tired all the time. I don’t want to put pressure on her. I’ll wait until Dad gets home from his chess club and I’ll ask them both together.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say, lifting my jacket from Tara’s bed.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she says.

  ‘Home.’

  ‘God, no, you better be here when I tell them. Dad will freak when he hears I’m leaving. He won’t be as bad if you’re here.’

  My eyes fall on the collage of photographs dressing the frame on the mirror. A history of our friendship since the day we met. On one side, I see a photo of us making our confirmation. I’m in a pink coat, with a cream hat that has a big pink bow at the side and looks ridiculous on me. I’m a good few inches shorter than Tara, who’s holding her hand in mine. We’re both smiling for the camera.

  Further on down the frame and the two of us have become a lot more precious with our smiles. We’re standing apart from one another, staring straight ahead like we’re in a line-up. Thankfully the ‘too cool to care’ phase didn’t last long because in every other photo, whether at school or getting ready for the local disco, we’re wrapped around each other, laughing and smiling. I sometimes find it hard to remember when Tara wasn’t in my life.

  The light is dimming now, casting a shadow over Tara’s face. She switches on the small lamp and we continue to make plans.

  ‘I’ll get a part-time job… Oh, I can’t believe this is happening, Faye! I can’t believe we’re leaving home.’

  ‘Can you imagine the parties we’ll have?’

  Tara stands and moves over to where I’m sitting on her bed. Her eyes open wide in anticipation of what our new journey will entail. Her hand is shaking as she hands me the hairbrush and sits down beside me. ‘God I’m sick with excitement,’ she says, turning her porcelain-skinned face away so I can brush her long shiny hair that I’ve always wished was mine. The image in the mirror resembles a perfectly created doll but Tara never seems to notice how beautiful she is.

  ‘I won’t be doing this every night when we’re living together, ya know.’

  ‘You won’t have to, Faye. Next week I’m getting it all cut into a bob. New beginnings, new hairstyle.’

  ‘What?’ I’m about to tell Tara she’s mad when I hear the front door closing. ‘Is that your dad?’

  ‘Probably.’ Tara rushes to the window to check if her father’s car is in the driveway then turns to me, teeth clenched, blessing herself before saying ‘Here goes… let’s hope he won his chess game tonight.’ Then we both rush out the bedroom door and down the stairs to where Tara’s dad has arrived in the kitchen.

  Roisin, her mam, is already sitting at the table. I call her Roisin because she told me to. Not something that would go down well in my house. My father expects my friends to call him Dr Connolly and my mam to be addressed as Mrs Connolly. My sister’s boyfriend called him James once and Dad spurted the brandy out of his mouth, he was so shocked.

  ‘Hi girls,’ she says, when we enter the room. Tara is right. Roisin does look tired and her face is very pale, but I don’t want to mention this in case she says she’s sick or something and then Tara decides it’s not the right time to tell them she’s leaving.

  ‘Mam. Dad. I have some news.’

  Tara’s father immediately puts down the kettle that he’s filling with water and turns around with a look of horror on his face. His mouth is wide open but he’s afraid to speak.

  ‘No, Dad. I’m not pregnant,’ Tara says, bringing a chuckle from her mother.

  ‘Well what then? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Jesus, Niall, give her a chance to talk,’ Roisin says, winking at me like she already knows what she’s going to hear. That’s another thing that would never happen in my house. Mam telling Dad to shut up.

  ‘I’m moving out.’

  ‘Good on ya,’ Roisin says.

  ‘What?’ Tara’s dad is in shock. Her mam is happy.

  ‘We got a house… well, Faye’s dad got us one. It’s close to the college. Just three hundred euros each a month. Two, if we get someone else to move in.’

  Tara turns to me and stares. This is my cue to join in.

  ‘It’s called Huntley Lodge.’

  Chapter Five

  Now

  Last night was the worst. I don’t think I slept for even an hour. Tossing and turning, worrying about what we did. Then this morning, with only half an hour left before I had to get up, I fell into a deep sleep. Typical. Now I’m like a robot that hasn’t been fully charged. Coffee. I need coffee.

  The only thing that made any sense during my hours lying awake was my decision to contact Tara Moore. As much as I hate the idea, I have to be sure she doesn’t give my name to the cops if they do come calling. My father made sure my name was kept off the lease at the time so it shouldn’t be too hard to do. I hope she’ll agree. It’s been such a long time since I’ve been in contact with her; almost three years since I walked out of Huntley Lodge that day, never to return. Ignoring all her attempts to communicate with me after that was easy. I didn’t want to talk to her. But now I have to. I’ll convince her the cops don’t need to know I was living there at the time. That it will just confuse things and keep them hanging around asking even more questions. I’ll remind her that won’t be good for either of us.

  The smell of coffee offers hope. I pour a strong dose into my cup and look out the window at the dull morning coming to life. It’s only seven, too early to ring Tara so I go to my diary and check the day ahead. Appointment after appointment fills the lines on the page in front of me. Just my luck – it’s going to be a busy day. I might be better waiting until this evening to ring her when I have time to talk. I need to find out if she’s worried too and if she knows anything more than what is showing up in the newsfeeds. The worst thing that can happen now is the cops will discover the body has been there since we were living at Huntley Lodge. If that happens, they will be all over our asses and, regardless of my cognitive ability, it will be difficult to hide the truth.

  I finish my coffee then stand under the heat of the shower for longer than is necessary. If I’m to get through the day with all this in my head, I’m going to have to focus. I put on a pair of blue trousers, comfortable but trendy shoes and close the buttons on my navy silk shirt. I take one last glance in the mirror before heading out the door.

  * * *

  Before I know it, it’s five o’clock. I got through the day without letting the discovery at Huntley Lodge distract me from the job in hand. And now it’s time to deal with it. I leave consultation room number four with a file under my arm and walk down the corridor towards my own room. The smell of something citrusy fills the air when I walk past the reception desk where Anna appears to be finishing up for the day.

  ‘Bye Anna, wrap up warm, it’s pretty blustery out there,’ I say, my voice showing no sign of the anxiety growing inside me at the prospect o
f the call I’m about to make.

  ‘See ya tomorrow, Faye,’ Anna says, zipping up her jacket. Then she moves out from behind the reception area and I continue with haste down the corridor. I need to ring Tara Moore. I need to talk to her before the cops do. When I reach the privacy of my own space, I quickly sit down at my desk. My finger flicks down the list of contacts in my phone until I reach her name. I’m hoping this is still her number.

  With the phone to my ear, I wait until I hear it ring then I cut the call. Why am I so nervous all of a sudden? It’s only Tara Moore. Why is my hand shaking, my breath quickening?

  I’m anxious. It’s like I’m standing at a crossroads on the map of my life and I don’t know which way to turn. The thing is, I have learned to live without Tara in my life. I don’t want to invite her back in. Especially when I don’t trust this woman anymore.

  There was a time I trusted Tara Moore with everything. She knew all my secrets, my hates, my wishes, the things I did that I shouldn’t have done. The things I should have done that I didn’t. But she betrayed me. Stabbed me in the heart with my own knife. I could never trust her again.

  Anger simmers below my skin when I think back to that night. My face reddens. I can feel the heat flush through my cheeks. I’m holding the phone so tightly my hand hurts. Releasing my grip, I let the phone drop onto the table… and breathe in… and out. Take it easy Faye… it’s just a phone call… and you have to make it.

  Chapter Six

  Tara

  I push open the door of the café to the sound of Muriel cursing at somebody over the phone. God love whoever it is on the other end. She does not take kindly to her orders being late.

  ‘So what do you want me to tell my customers?’ she shouts, giving me a thumbs-up when she notices me enter.

  The smell of coffee is a welcome change to the smell I had to endure on my walk to work. The Liffey is low and stinks today. Every breath was torture to take on the fifteen-minute journey down the quays.

  Our riverside apartment is situated in what’s commonly known as the financial hub of the city, a thriving space of banks, businesses, theatres and restaurants. It wasn’t that long ago when it was amongst the most run-down places in Dublin. An oasis for those who fell through the cracks and couldn’t climb out. Now it’s up there with the most expensive places to rent in the city centre. I don’t actually pay for any of it because it comes with Lucas’s job. It was part of the package offered to attract him away from the sun and the sand to the wind and the rain. That, and the promise of a promotion on his return to Australia. All I have to do is enjoy the view, the endless amenities and the one surviving traditional pub that’s conveniently situated right beside our block. The glossy green painted exterior of O’Reilly’s bar, with its stained glass and warm lighting, looks out of place amongst the cold brick and glass walls that surround it. It’s kept busy with clientele from all walks of life. On a Tuesday you could be sipping gin with a poet, Friday a bank manager, Saturday a drug dealer. As long as you don’t bring trouble through the door, everyone is welcome. Lucas loves to go there when the rugby is on. He wears his Wallabies gold and green with pride and even though he’s the only one not wearing an Irish jersey, he shouts for his team just as loud as the rest of the punters.

  ‘It better not be late,’ Muriel says, ending the call before turning her attention to me. She smiles.

  ‘Rotten day, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘Those fools from Cahill’s bakery are late with the croissants and doughnuts again.’

  Muriel calls ‘five minutes’ late. The poor van driver is probably stuck in traffic at the far end of the quays, sweating nervously that they have to come in and face the wrath of Muriel. They shouldn’t worry, though. Her bark is a hell of a lot worse than her bite.

  I yawn when I say good morning and she asks me what has me so tired.

  ‘Were you up all night again making love to that fella?’ she says, making me laugh. ‘You should keep something for the honeymoon.’

  ‘I didn’t sleep very well,’ I say, removing my jacket and walking in behind the counter.

  ‘Everything will be wonderful, pet, don’t be worrying.’

  Muriel thinks I’m stressing out about the wedding. Yesterday she would have been right. I have become more anxious the closer it gets to the day. Hoping everything will go well: that people will enjoy themselves; that my dress will fit; that the best man won’t be drunk before the speech. The list of concerns went on and on until last night. That list is now redundant. I have a brand new list and there’s only one thing on it. The body found at Huntley Lodge.

  As if reading my mind, Muriel comments.

  ‘Did you see they found a body of a woman in the grounds of some old house out by the university? It was all over the news. Apparently it’s been there for a while. The house was being renovated and some poor builder chap discovered it.’

  I stop walking and listen as Muriel tops up my fear.

  ‘Where did you hear that?’ I say.

  ‘It was on the news earlier. Poor fecker, he didn’t go in to work expecting to find a dead body… Mind you, if it wasn’t for him the poor woman’s body may never have been found. Is that Cahill’s van outside yet?’ she says, walking out from behind the counter to look out the window. Muriel flips the noticeboard on the door to ‘open’ and I find myself wishing I could turn back time. Get married last month. Be on the beach in Australia yesterday. Far away from this breaking news.

  Within two minutes there’s a queue and I smile and serve beautiful coffees to the customers. At this hour of the morning most people just want to get their coffee and leave. They’re on their way to work and not inclined to wake fully until they absolutely have to. There’s very little talk outside what’s needed to politely make an order.

  It won’t be like that later. Come eleven o’clock we’ll be providing commentary along with coffee. People are at their best then. The day is up and running. The energy levels are high and they want to communicate.

  Today is no different; the main topic of conversation is last night’s football match with one or two commenting on the discovery of the body by the builder.

  Each time it’s mentioned my heart skips a beat. I even flush red once or twice like I’m guilty. No one says anything I don’t already know but I am eager to go on my break to check the social media for myself.

  Eventually there’s a lull and Muriel asks me if I’d like a break. Usually I tell her to go first but today I don’t. I make myself a skinny latte, take it to the back room where I sit down and take out my phone. I’m eager to find out if anything new is being reported about the body found at Huntley Lodge. Did they discover the body was lying dead in the pit for three years?

  There’s nothing new posted on the The Journal.ie so I check Twitter and Facebook but still no new revelations. I suppose it’s still early; they might not have completed the autopsy yet. I’m just going to have to wait.

  My phone beeps. It’s a message from my chief bridesmaid Amy reminding me she’ll pick me up outside the cafe after work as planned. We’re going for the final dress fittings tonight. I should be excited but the discovery of the body is ruining everything for me. If the cops call asking questions and discover what we did, I won’t be walking down the aisle in my wedding dress or boarding a plane with my new husband. I might not even be allowed out of the country. A rush of sadness slows me as I think of Lucas. Will he still want to marry me?

  ‘Tara,’ Muriel calls. The cafe must be getting busy. It’s time to get back out front. I stand, shaking my head, shaking the negative thoughts out of my brain. What would Mam tell me to do? She’d say stop worrying about something that may never happen and concentrate on enjoying the wedding.

  I walk out to where a queue has formed at the counter and force a smile onto my worried face. ‘Next.’

  Chapter Seven

  I’m standing outside the cafe with an umbrella over my head. Amy is supposed to be here, but she’s late. She’s been so good helpin
g me prepare for the wedding. Especially with Mam not around. Amy was delighted when I asked her to be my bridesmaid and even though we’ve only been friends for the past two years, I feel close to her. Not like I did with Faye… but close. The night I bumped into her she was with a group of girls that knew Emily. I immediately gravitated towards her. Amy was funny, she made me laugh. It was what I needed at the time. We arranged to meet again the following week in the same bar and before long we became the best of friends.

  I’m hopping from foot to foot trying to keep warm, and my eyes are scanning the cars driving past searching for a little white Mini. Today seemed to go on forever. I couldn’t get the thought of that woman’s body lying at the bottom of the pit out of my head. Customers kept mentioning it but no one had heard anything new.

  I hear a horn beep and see Amy’s car arriving. At least now I might be able to take my mind off the discovery at Huntley Lodge and get in the mood for my wedding. I should be enjoying these last few weeks. I’m going to forget all about the news and think only of white dresses and wedding songs.

  Amy pulls over and I jump into the car. Immediately I feel better.

  ‘Sorry I’m a bit late, Tar, the traffic is crap on the quays at this hour.’ Amy moves back out into the traffic.

  ‘No worries, you’re here now.’

  ‘Are you excited? Last fitting.’

  ‘I sure am,’ I say, taking a deep breath. This is how I want to feel, excited, alive, looking forward.

  ‘Terrible about that body they found,’ Amy says, instantly bursting my happy bubble. I can almost feel the air deflating. Why did she have to mention that?

  ‘Yeah… ah, well, at least it’s none of us. Are you looking forward to trying on your bridesmaid dress?’

  ‘I am… You used to live at Huntley Lodge didn’t you?’ she says.

  ‘A long time ago. Is Emma coming to the hen party?’ I try once again to change the subject. Amy wasn’t my friend back then. She knows nothing about what happened that night but I did brag about all the parties that went on there. I’m sorry now I ever mentioned Huntley Lodge to her. I don’t want to continue this conversation. It’s making me anxious. I should be happy. This is my happy time.