As the evening wore on, Roisin came to a decision. Asking her mam tonight about Erin would be a bad idea. Diana had shut herself in the sitting room and was now listening to the CDs Niall used to play all the time. It was a bizarre event. A middle-aged woman, ex-GP, listening to music from a decade ago, music that doesn’t sit naturally with her. Music to which she knows the exact words and slurs them out in between sipping her wine whilst slumped in a wing-backed library chair. It was a sorrowful sight.
Roisin reassessed her plan. She would force the Hurley family’s hand. She was going to make them admit to what she had found out. Roisin had the proof, so even if they didn’t want to, she would be able to force them. She would do it publicly, if necessary. She didn’t care. Not about them. She cared about her mam and what had happened to her family.
If her mam had something to live for again, if she knew part of her son lived on, then Roisin was sure Diana would pull herself together. It would give her the incentive to sort herself out. She could be the mother Roisin longed to have back. The Marshalls would be well on the way to being fixed. There would be another Marshall to love and welcome into their arms. Just how it should be.
Her phone bleeped in her handbag. Roisin took it out and read the text message.
‘Would you look at that?’ she said out loud. She read the message again. A small smile spread across her face. She licked her lips, tasting victory already.
Grabbing her coat from the hall stand, Roisin wriggled her feet into her shoes. She looked from the closed sitting-room door on the left to the closed living-room door on the right. Would either of them notice if she went out? Would they care? Probably not, to both those questions. Checking she had her car keys, Roisin slipped out the front door, closing it quietly behind her. She would be back before they locked up for the night. She would nip back in, go up to her room and neither her mam nor Daddy would be any wiser.
The village was quiet. Roisin didn’t notice anyone as she drove along Beach Road, heading out to The Spit. The gravel road that led out to the headland was unlit and her headlights cut through the darkness. The weather had taken an unhealthy turn at some point in the evening. The wind was picking up and as the wheels scrunched along the unmade track that ran alongside the water’s edge, the rain came down heavier.
Arriving at the end of the track, Roisin parked the car. There was no other vehicle there and certainly no sign of who she was meeting.
The knock on her window made her jump and Roisin screamed with fright.
‘Jesus!’ she said. She couldn’t see that well in the dark, but she knew who it was. They beckoned her out of the car and impatiently opened the door. ‘You could have warned me you were here, instead of lurking in the shadows. Frightening me half to death. Haven’t you got a torch?’ said Roisin, swinging her legs out. The fierce wind swirled her hair around her head. She caught it in her hand, taming it and tucking it into the collar of her coat. ‘Do we have to stand out here? I’m getting soaked.’ But the figure, huddled into their coat, was already walking away towards the end of The Spit. Roisin swore under her breath. She had little choice but to follow.
I take the steps the flat as quickly as I dare in this weather, but at the same time with an urgency to get out of my wet clothes and to dry my hair, which has turned into a mass of copper coils. As I open the door to the flat, something makes me glance to my right and I see the bathroom light is on. I don’t remember leaving it on.
As I walk into the living room, I sense I’m not alone. The door to the hallway is open and I can see a shadow move across the bottom of the closed bathroom door.
The door opens and I jump, letting out a small squeal.
‘Mum!’ I hold my hand to my racing heart. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to be here. You scared me.’
‘Sorry, I decided to come home for the night,’ says Mum. She’s wearing her dressing gown and her hair is wrapped in a towel. In her hands is a bundle of wet clothing. ‘I got caught in the rain.’
‘What were you doing out in the rain? I thought Fiona and Sean were bringing you home.’
‘Sean had to work late. Some emergency or something, so Fiona and I got a taxi back from the hospital.’ Mum takes her wet clothes through to the kitchen and puts them into the washing machine.
‘So how come you’re so wet?’ I ask
‘I went for a walk. I needed some time to think about what the doctor said.’
I look at my watch. ‘It’s half-past nine. It’s a bit late to go wandering around, especially in this weather.’
‘Ah, sure, it wasn’t raining then. Like I said, I just got caught in it.’
‘Where was Fiona? Didn’t she offer to go with you?’ I don’t like the thought of Mum wandering around in the dark.
‘I didn’t tell her. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,’ says Mum. I follow her back through to the bathroom, where she plucks a towel from the airing cupboard and passes it to me. ‘You’re a fine one to talk, you’re soaking yourself.’
I take the towel and rub vigorously at my hair. ‘So where’s Fiona now?’ I ask.
‘She had to get back for the babysitter. She had a couple of things that needed sorting out.’
‘Well, don’t be going off again like that without telling someone,’ I say.
Mum laughs. ‘Yes, Mummy.’
‘It’s not funny,’ I reply, although I can feel the corners of my mouth turning up. I give in and a broad grin spreads across my face.
‘Now you know how I felt all those years ago when the two of you were out.’ Mum comes over and kisses me. ‘Am I grounded now?’
‘No, but you can have an early night for your cheek.’
‘I’ll have a cup of tea first, though.’
‘I’ll ring Fiona. Check she got home okay,’ I say, as I head to my room to get changed into some dry clothes.
Mum has taken to coming home the last few nights. Fiona and I have managed to persuade her she will have a better night’s sleep in her own bed and reassure her that the hospital will ring if there is any change at all.
I call Fiona’s mobile number, but can’t get through, so I call the house phone instead. An unfamiliar voice, who I assume is the babysitter, picks up the call.
‘I was trying to get hold of Fiona,’ I say. ‘It’s her sister. Is she there?’
‘Hi. It’s Karen. I’m the babysitter,’ comes the reply. ‘Fiona’s not back from the hospital yet.’
‘Oh, right. I expected her to be back by now.’ I wedge the phone between my shoulder and chin as I wriggle out of my jeans and into my pyjamas.
‘She called me to say she had been held up, but she’d be back as soon as possible,’ says Karen. ‘Shall I get her to call you?’
‘If you could. I’ll try her mobile again. I might get hold of her that way.’
I end the call, puzzled as to where Fiona might be. She and Mum had come home by taxi, dropping Mum off first. I consider questioning Mum, but decide against it – she has enough to worry about without me inventing things. I’m not my sister’s keeper. Maybe she’s called in to see a friend. I give Fiona’s mobile one more try. This time it rings.
My sister’s out-of-breath voice comes on the line.
‘Hi, Erin. Everything okay?’
‘Yes. All good. Are you okay? I rang the house, but your babysitter was still there.’
‘I’ve literally just walked in now. I had to pick up a bit of shopping on the way home and bumped into one of the mums from school. We got chatting – you know what it’s like. Where are you?’
‘I’m at the flat. Mum’s here. I was just checking you got back.’
‘Yep, all safe and sound,’ says Fiona. ‘I’ll call by the café tomorrow after I’ve done the school and nursery run. One of us can take Mum to the hospital and the other can stay in the café. How does that sound?’
‘That sounds fine. I’ll take Mum up to the hospital, if you like.’
‘Really? I mean, that’s great,’ says Fiona. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
I don’t miss the note of surprise in Fiona’s voice and I appreciate the quick recovery she makes. Both Fiona and Mum will be pleased with my change of heart about visiting Dad, but I’m not ready for a big discussion about it. Knowing my family as I do, I’m confident they will let it go, silently accepting and approving of my new attitude.
Mum looks comfortable in the armchair, her big blue dressing gown pulled tight around her, a cup of tea resting in her hands on her lap. She nods towards the other cup, which she has made for me, on the coffee table. Finishing my call with Fiona, I replace the receiver in its cradle.
It’s dark outside now. I switch on the table lamp and go over to close the curtains. As I draw them together, the sound of a motorbike’s engine rumbling along the road catches my attention. I look out and as the bike passes under the street lighting, turning from Beach Road on to the main road into the village, I recognise the rider as Kerry.
He draws to a halt and lifts the goggles from his eyes. He looks up at the flat. I look back at him. I’m too far away and it’s too dark to see his face properly, but I know he can see me. After a moment, he blips the throttle and, flicking the bike into gear with his foot, pulls away from the kerb, disappearing out of sight. I can hear him as he turns into the bike yard. A rev of the engine before it’s cut.
I snag the curtains closed.