September 1990
The boat glided across the lake, silhouetted by the hazy moon. One of the occupants rowed, the other was still. Laura’s heart pounded. What had she heard? Whatever hit the water was heavy – a solid mass. Were there smugglers in the area? Fishermen?
But she was pushing down her real fears. The only rowing boat she’d seen since she arrived was the one that had been moored outside Lough End Farm, and that was where the boat was heading now.
She stole a glance over her shoulder at her house. She’d locked up. Rachel was asleep. Laura wouldn’t be gone long. She tightened her robe around her, took her torch from her pocket, and flicked it on. Her slippers were hardly suitable for walking through the wood, but if she returned to change them, Rachel might wake.
The torch made little impression on the impenetrable darkness, and the moon was barely visible through the trees. The ground was dry and hard, twigs breaking under her feet. She knew the way now – the direct route. She’d been there so often, watching the children like their guardian angel – hoping they were OK.
An owl hooted, and an animal the size of a mouse darted about the undergrowth startling her. As she neared the farmhouse she heard hushed, anxious voices, and saw a flicker of torchlight. She continued until she could see and hear clearly, and crouching behind a tree, she turned off her torch.
‘I don’t like this.’ Dillon jumped from the boat, and tugged it to the edge through the liquid black water. He bent to wrap the rope around the mooring post, and Imogen climbed out and stood watching him, her arms folded.
‘It’s too late now,’ she said.
‘But what if someone finds out?’ He rose to his full height, now several inches taller than Imogen.
‘And who would that someone be? Nobody’s interested in us, Dillon. They don’t even know you haven’t been to school in years. We’ve dropped off the radar.’
‘Yes, but…’ He bashed his cheeks with the heels of his palms. Soundless tears.
‘Enough of your weeping, Dillon O’Brian,’ Imogen said. ‘You’re the man of the house now, and you need to act like it.’ She strutted towards the farmhouse, and he followed, head bent down.
Had they killed Tierney? Dumped him in the water? Laura trembled. Her torch fell through her fingers, clattering onto a pile of sticks. Imogen stopped and peered in her direction. Can she see me?
Laura froze; her heart pounding so hard she was amazed Imogen couldn’t hear it. But after a long, painful moment, Imogen and Dillon continued into the house, and closed the door behind them.
Laura turned and ran. Should she call the Guards? If she didn’t, was she an accessory after the fact? But Tierney was a cruel man, and the last thing she wanted was for Dillon to get into trouble. They’d be better off without Tierney, she knew that much. She picked up speed, tripping over branches, her hands catching on thorns – sharp and painful, blood running down her palms.
When she entered the house, Rachel was screaming, and Laura raced up the stairs to see her standing in her cot, face red and smeared with tears, stomping her feet.
‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart,’ Laura cried. Flustered, she grabbed a blanket, and held it against her hand, blood spreading across the lemon wool. ‘I’m an awful mother. You deserve someone better.’ She lifted her out and attempted, for what must have been the millionth time, to comfort her. But the child wiggled and thrashed, until Laura put her down.
‘Why do you hate me so much?’ she said, a tear rolling down her cheek.
***
Dillon appeared at the back door around seven the following morning, drained of colour.
I saw you. I saw what you did.
‘You look dreadful – rough night?’ Laura said, wishing she could take back the words instantly. He didn’t need her playing games with him.
‘A bit.’ He avoided her gaze. ‘Rachel asleep?’
She nodded. ‘Do you want some tea?’
‘Na, had some.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked everywhere but at her. ‘Da’s gone, Laura,’ he said eventually.
I know.
She sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Where’s he gone, Dillon?’
‘Just took off in the middle of the night. Took all his clothes and everything.’ There was a wobble in his voice.
‘Just like your mother?’
He bolted a look her way, but said nothing.
‘Talk to me, Dillon,’ Laura said.
‘Imogen says we’re better off without him.’
‘Perhaps she’s right.’
‘I keep wishing me real ma was here. She’d know what to do.’ He lowered his head into his hands. ‘Imogen says I can come and see you now, if I want. She says she’ll come too sometimes. You know, like she did before. That’s if you want her to.’
Laura’s mind whirred. Imogen had deserted her, bickered with her, and now she’d possibly murdered Tierney. Suddenly, the cold reality that Imogen was capable of murder – that Dillon had helped – shot through her like an injection of poison, and fear filled her senses. She had to find the courage to leave Ireland. Leave behind the memories of her cold, selfish parents, and Jude letting her down. It was time to shake them free. Stop allowing them to feed off her sanity, to somehow hold her here. This time she would find the strength to move on.
‘You don’t mind me coming over, do you?’ Dillon said, seeming to pick up on her silence, and lowering himself on the chair opposite her.
She looked into his worried dark green eyes, bruised cushions of flesh beneath them from lack of sleep, and sighed. She leaned forward and touched his cheek gently. How could she leave him when he needed her most? ‘Of course I don’t mind, I love our chats. Always have.’
For a moment a smile touched his eyes, but it quickly departed, ‘Thanks, Laura,’ he said. ‘Life’s shite at the moment, and I desperately need a friend.’