TONY HAD GONE to a huge amount of trouble in decorating his house for the party, with lights and holly and a sprig of mistletoe over each doorway. It was almost as if he was trying to re-create the Oak as it was the week before it burned down. He’d even managed to get some hand-knitted reindeer like the ones over the bar.
“Mrs. McKinney knits them,” he said when Maeve asked. “Hal’s mother. They’re a bit bonkers, as is she to be honest, but I like them. When she said she had a spare set she hadn’t sold before Christmas, I thought why not? Maybe they’ll bring us a bit of luck.”
“They didn’t bring the Oak much luck,” Phyllis muttered, looking rather startling in a full-length blue kaftan and headdress. Tony shrugged. “No, but if we can’t spend New Year’s Eve in the Oak, then at least we can have a bit of the Oak here on New Year’s Eve.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Maeve said, glass of Bacardi in hand.
She was wearing a green silk dress and high heels, a rarity for her. Everyone had made an effort, I noticed. I was glad I’d changed from my funeral suit into a red vintage skirt I’d bought online. I watched as Tony moved about the party, pouring drinks and offering snacks; he was playing the cheerful host, but I had a sense he was wearing a mask that could easily crack. His face had taken on the cadaverous look of a crumbling Rembrandt visage.
When he went to the kitchen to get more drinks, I followed him. I pushed open the door to see him standing at the door of the fridge, tray of ice in hand as if he’d forgotten what he was supposed to do with it. He half turned when he heard my steps and his face fell; he looked cornered. He straightened himself, put the tray on the draining board, and hung his head.
“I know what you’re going to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re going to ask me about the hospital earlier.”
I placed my glass on the island in the middle of the kitchen. “Well I was wondering. You were there one minute and gone the next.”
He turned. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have stayed. But I needed to gather my thoughts.”
“Was it anything to do with the name on the chart? Why was Stan using the name Stephen Stanley?”
Tony groaned, as if in pain. “Stephen Stanley,” he said. “I never thought I’d hear that name again. I really thought he’d emigrated. I’m sure that’s what I’d heard. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part, an easy way out.”
“Tell me,” I urged.
Tony walked over to the kitchen door and closed it, blocking out the noise from the living room. When he came back, he poured himself a whiskey, refilled my glass of wine, and sank down onto one of the kitchen stools, glass gripped between his two hands. I joined him.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it, but I went to boarding school,” he began. “Not very common around here in those days, but my father was away a lot and my mother worked. Also, not very common. I went to a boy’s school over the west of Donegal. I did well, was popular, and eventually became a prefect. When I was in my final year, a new boy arrived, halfway through the term.” He stopped as if unable to continue.
“Stephen Stanley,” I prompted.
“Stephen Stanley. A pudgy boy, with a stammer. Just ripe for bullying. Low-hanging fruit, as they say – easy prey. And he was bullied, mercilessly. Stephen the Stutter. Spitting Stephen. It was unfortunate that both his names began with S. Anyway, I tried to help him, but it was impossible. He was five years younger than me, and I couldn’t be around him all the time. Hardly at all, in fact. But there was one time when I found him being hung upside down by his underpants in the sports room and I knew I’d have to do something about it. I tried to get some of the other prefects involved so I wouldn’t have to go to the teachers, but they weren’t interested. They said he just needed to toughen up. So I did something I regret.”
“Go on.”
His frown grew deeper as he remembered. “I went to the head. Stephen had pleaded with me not to, said he’d just get more grief, but I really thought he was going to be seriously hurt if it continued.”
“And …”
Tony clicked his teeth in disgust. “The head was useless. I don’t know what I expected him to do. Maybe I just wanted the worry off my own shoulders. He called in the boys I’d named, told them off, and left it at that. Left me out of it completely so they thought Stephen was the one who’d told on them. Unforgivable in that school.”
“Unforgivable in any school at that time, I’d say. What happened?”
“Stephen went missing. For a full day and night.”
“He ran away?”
“That’s what was generally assumed. It’s what I thought anyway.” He put his head in his hands. “I didn’t even bother looking for him.”
“He hadn’t run away?”
Tony shook his head. “He’d been locked in a cupboard in the games room. One that was rarely used. For a full day and night. A proper search was launched the next day and one of the other prefects found him … he’d passed out in panic. Hadn’t even screamed. Had wet himself.”
“The poor kid.”
Tony looked at me. “That’s not all. The reason Stephen Stanley had been sent to boarding school in the first place was because his mother was sick. Really sick. She had cancer – it was terminal. And the reason there was such a huge search for him the day after he went missing was because she had taken a turn for the worse.” He swallowed and ran his fingers through his hair. “She died while he was locked in that cupboard. He never got to say goodbye to her.”
I was stunned into silence. “God. How awful.”
“I told him afterwards, at the funeral as a matter of fact, that it had been me who’d told the head about the bullying. I said I was sorry, that he had been right and I shouldn’t have done it. I couldn’t have it on my conscience.” He shook his head. “But I don’t know if it did him any good, telling him. I probably should have kept it to myself. It wasn’t going to bring his mother back or give him a chance to say goodbye to her.”
“And you had no idea that Stan MacLochlainn was Stephen Stanley?” I asked. “He never told you in the year or two he’s been here?”
“No,” Tony said. “And I didn’t recognize him. The last time I saw him, he was thirteen. He left the school after that. He was really overweight when I knew him. He’s unrecognizable now from that pudgy thirteen-year-old. There was a school reunion about fifteen years ago and I’m sure someone told me he’d gone to Australia.”
“Maybe he left and came back,” I said. “How did he react when you told him it was you who’d told the head about the bullying?”
Tony shook his head as if the memory was painful to him. “He said that I should have left him alone, that he’d have been able to take care of himself. He told me that someday I’d understand what it meant to lose everything. To not be able to say goodbye.”
I pictured a thirteen-year-old Stan trapped in a locked cupboard while his mother passed away, and my heart went out to him. Then something hit me. Hadn’t Stan said that he had been to see his mother in Dungloe on the night of the fire? Hadn’t Róisín told me that that was where he had gone yesterday, too, when I’d been looking for him at the funeral?
I said as much to Tony and he paled again. He looked away. “He mentioned his mother to me a few times too. I wonder now if he was testing me, seeing if I’d remember that she was dead. But I didn’t. He’s been here for eighteen months and I never realized who he was. Living in my flat, renting my business premises.”
“I wonder why he came here in the first place?” I said. Before Tony could reply, there was a knock on the door and
Phyllis stuck her head in. “Susanne’s here with her new man.”
I let Tony go to be introduced to Susanne’s boyfriend while I stayed perched at the island in his kitchen, thinking about what he had just told me. There was a bowl of chili-covered nuts in front of me that I found myself reaching for repeatedly; the chewing seemed to help me think. I was so distracted I barely noticed Liam come in. He gave me a nod, took a beer from the fridge, and opened it with a cigarette lighter that he took from his pocket.
“So,” he said. “Poor old Stan. There’s been a right old rate of attrition in Glendara this Christmas, hasn’t there?”
I sighed and took another nut. “The sooner it’s over the better as far as I’m concerned. I’m even looking forward to getting back to work.”
“Tough gig for the sergeant. I’d say he’s under a bit of pressure to sort this all out.”
With a jolt I realized how true that was: murder, arson and a serious assault all within two weeks. It would reflect badly on Molloy if he was unable to bring the perpetrators in, and quickly, too, before people became really frightened.
“Why don’t people talk to the guards, Liam?”
Liam perched on the stool beside me. “You mean Molloy?”
“Maybe.”
“Ach, people might find it hard to admit their mistakes to him. Maybe he could do with being a bit more approachable.”
I took a sip of my wine.
“But he’s a good man,” Liam said. “A good friend, loyal. That’s not to be underestimated.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. Who would be Molloy’s friends? I wondered. With a prickle of fear, I thought of Laura Callan.
“Ach, just … maybe people need to trust him a bit more.”
Liam wasn’t going to give me any specifics. He took a swig from his bottle of beer and changed the subject. “The funeral was a tough one, wasn’t it?”
“What did you make of George’s eulogy?” I asked.
Liam shook his head. “George has told me a few things in the last few days that I’m not too happy about.”
“Like what?”
He sighed. “I’m not sure I should say.”
I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know any more. “That’s okay. I understand. You’re friends.”
Liam shot me a smile. “Ach. Sure, you and me are friends too. And I reckon you might have guessed anyway.”
“Go on.”
“Let’s say he hasn’t always been a good boy. Being a musician and all, I know the girls like him, but …”
I resisted asking for details. “You never had your suspicions?”
Liam shook his head. “He kept it to himself. I’d have told him what I thought of it if I’d known. With two wee ones at home, it’s not right. Of course, there isn’t much I can say to him now. I’m hardly going to kick him when he’s down, am I?”
“I suppose not.”
Liam scratched his chin. “The thing is, I think the guilt is getting to him. He wonders if maybe Carole was trying to pay him back and got herself in strife that way.”
“With a man she was having an affair with?” I wondered if George had any inkling yet that his wife was already married when he met her.
“Exactly.” Liam reached for a nut and tossed it into his mouth. He pulled a face. “Jesus, what’s in these?”
“Chili.” I reached for another one myself. “You were there that night in the Oak. Was there anyone that wouldn’t usually be there? Taking a bit more interest in Carole than normal?”
Liam shook his head sadly. “I didn’t notice, to be honest. I wish I had. I was only in for the one. But as I said, I thought she was on edge. Mind not really on the job. Maybe George is right – maybe she did know what he was up to.”
“Did she give any indication that she knew?” I asked.
Liam shook his head. “He says no. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t.”
Liam had a point. It seemed to me that Carole and George had communicated very little; both with their suspicions about the other, but neither articulating them.
Liam frowned. “But he did say that this latest woman was causing problems. He wouldn’t say who she was; just that she was putting him under pressure.”
When Liam left the kitchen, I poured myself another glass of wine. I knew I was being unsociable, but I didn’t feel like going back into the living room, not yet, and the strains of “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree” coming through the open door did nothing to change my mind. I missed Molloy but I wondered how comfortable everyone else would be having him here.
Phyllis appeared in the doorway. Seeing me alone, she belted out a chorus of “You will always find me in the kitchen at parties” before resting her ample bosom on the island.
“You holding court in here? Should I make an appointment?”
I sighed. “No, I’m just not feeling very sociable.”
“I don’t blame you. Tony’s doing his best, but it’s all a bit fakery-pokery out there to be honest. It’s pretty clear that nobody really feels like being at a party but they all think they’re putting on a brave face for everybody else.”
She glanced at the big silver clock over the window. “You should come back in before midnight, though. I think we’ll all probably head off then anyway.”
I looked at the clock. It was quarter to twelve. “Okay, I’ll come in now.”
“You can meet Susanne’s new boy. That’ll give you a bit of diversion.” She winked. “Don’t think Tony’s too impressed. He’s a bit slick. Older than her, too.”
I hauled myself off the stool and followed Phyllis into the living room with my glass of wine.
The room had filled up since I’d left it. It was warm and festive; the scent of Tony’s mulled wine filled the air, and despite what Phyllis had said, on the surface at least people seemed up for a party. A typical New Year’s Eve atmosphere. Ever the barman, Tony was opening bottles of champagne and lining up flutes at a sideboard in preparation for the big countdown.
Phyllis made her way over to Maeve and I followed her. On the way, Liam offered to refill my glass and I accepted. It was a night for a taxi, I decided.
A few minutes later, Phyllis moved in closer, her bulk preventing me from seeing who had joined our circle. Then I glimpsed something out of the corner of my eye that caused my chest to tighten as if the air had grown thinner. Logic told me I must be wrong. It was impossible. I was afraid to turn my head. Introductions were made, and I was next. I was aware of a scent that made it hard to breathe. I heard Phyllis say my name and I turned, moving in slow motion as her voice faded into the distance. Forcing myself to look into the smiling face, the cruel mouth, the cold blue eyes of Susanne Craig’s new boyfriend.
Luke Kirby.