Sisters and Lies Read online

True, I didn’t have any hard evidence, but I had the beginning of something: leads, suspects, potential motives. All I needed was somebody to help me, a bit of genuine support.

  A dart of pain passed through my heart, causing me to drop my cigarette. There it was again. Guilt. Rolling, crashing waves of it. I hadn’t been strong enough for Evie when we’d been teenagers, when I’d left her to rot among the bullies at her school. But I was damned if I was going to let it happen again and allow history to repeat itself.

  Back in the flat, I sat down on Evie’s sofa. ‘Think logically,’ I told myself, taking out a notebook and a pen, jotting down my thoughts on Evie’s ‘accident’: the date, the time, other facts Ainsworth had mentioned about the case.

  I’d never been the biggest fan of the police, always assuming people who got off on throwing their weight around couldn’t be much better than the criminals they purported to catch. And, frankly, my dealings with Ainsworth over the past few days hadn’t done anything to assuage that feeling.

  But one thing had become very clear. If he and his lot were not going to get to the bottom of why Evie had crashed, if they were going to treat it like some botched suicide attempt, somebody else was going to have to take charge and lead the investigation.

  Me.

  26.

  Evie

  It was only the next morning when I was getting ready for work that I realized I had left my jacket in Artie and Shannon’s flat.

  ‘Subconscious desire to see Artie again,’ I could practically hear Janet say, giving me her Freudian take on the whole thing. ‘Leave him alone, Evie. He’s getting married. It’s not fair.’

  She was right, of course. But what was I going to do? Leave my favourite coat in his flat? It had cost me nearly three hundred quid. I sent Artie a quick text, explaining the situation. No problem, do you want to call round for it this evening? he replied. I’ll be back around seven.

  Sure, I said, and left it at that, but for the rest of the day I got practically no work done, obsessing about whether Shannon would be there and what I should wear. In general, being a neurotic maniac. So humongous was my anxiety that I nipped out during my lunch break and went back to my flat to change into a very tight dress and drop a Xanax to calm me down.

  Fuck the floral tea-dress. I needed to bring out the big guns now. I’d remembered how much Artie had loved my body (even the pre-surgery one). How he would drop his head into the crevice between my breasts, and just lie there as if I was his own personal piece of Heaven. Maybe if I reminded him of that time, he’d want it back. Dump Shannon – nicely, of course – and rekindle what we’d had together. Rediscover us. Rediscover all that love.

  When I arrived at Artie’s flat, luck seemed to be on my side. Shannon was out.

  ‘She said to pass on her love, and that she hopes to see you soon,’ Artie said, giving me the briefest peck on the cheek.

  Yeah, right, I thought. Sure, we’d got on well the night before, and in a parallel universe we might even have been friends, but she’d be a saint if she wanted to see me again, knowing my history with Artie. Even Mother Teresa wouldn’t be that generous.

  ‘So here’s the coat.’ Artie was holding out my jacket. Was it me or did he seem a little jumpy?

  I took it and just stood there, refusing to budge. Finally, after a rather excruciating wait, Artie asked me if I wanted a coffee.

  ‘Sure,’ I said, flashing him a smile, then followed him into the kitchen, adjusting my cleavage behind his back.

  ‘Is Americano okay?’ he asked, taking two white cups out of the cupboard and lining them up in front of what looked like a brand-new Nespresso coffee machine.

  ‘Jesus, Artie, ’twas far from Americanos you were reared.’

  ‘It sure was,’ he said, a reluctant smile forming on his lips for the first time since my arrival. ‘Tay with a reused taybag. That was as much as you could expect in our house.’

  ‘Well, there were about twenty of you.’

  ‘Twenty-five,’ he said. ‘If you counted the cousins from Tipperary.’

  We both grinned.

  ‘So, back to the coffee question, is Americano okay? Or would you prefer something else?’

  ‘Americano is fine,’ I said, relieved Artie seemed to be coming out of his dour mood.

  A few minutes later, at his suggestion, we were carrying our cups and saucers in the direction of the lounge, which he said would be ‘more comfortable’. He was right: it was, but not just because of the squishy couch or the light streaming through the window. It was mainly because Shannon wasn’t there. Without her presence, it felt like old times again. Just me and Artie. Together at last.

  ‘Shannon really likes you,’ Artie began, taking a slurp of his coffee.

  ‘Oh, go on out of that,’ I mumbled, not wanting to ruin this perfect moment by talking about Shannon.

  ‘She thinks you’re hilarious. She reckons you should go into stand-up comedy.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or not. Why hadn’t she mentioned that I was pretty? Was she trying to take the piss? ‘Um, well, I thought she was nice too. Very upbeat.’

  Artie nodded. ‘Oh, yes, she really is. An incredibly positive person.’

  He looked at me rather pointedly, and I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable. Did he mean in comparison to me? His former miserable girlfriend? It certainly seemed that way.

  ‘The coffee’s nice,’ I said, rather limply.

  ‘Thanks,’ Artie said, shrugging. ‘Shannon gave me the Nespresso machine for my birthday, and I’ve been trying to get into using it.’

  ‘You seem to like sophisticated things, these days,’ I observed quietly.

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘I would.’

  We sat in silence for a minute, both of us seeming a bit lost for words. Well, that wasn’t entirely true: I knew what I wanted to say. How sorry I was. How much I’d missed him. And other things. That I felt an emptiness inside me every day. That I felt cocooned in loss.

  ‘Actually, Eveline, I’m glad you came over. There was something Shannon and I meant to tell you last night but we couldn’t because of a timing issue.’

  Suddenly there was the jiggling of keys in the lock and we both looked towards the door.

  ‘That must be her now,’ Artie said, getting up quickly, smoothing his trousers. ‘Hi, sweetheart,’ he said as she came in, and went to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Hi, Eveline,’ Shannon said, walking over, and giving me a quick hug. ‘You got your jacket, I see.’

  ‘I did,’ I said, holding it up to show her.

  ‘You’re back early,’ Artie said. ‘Did something happen with your class?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ Shannon replied, slipping off her coat. ‘The instructor came down with food poisoning and it was called off at the last minute.’

  ‘What was the class?’ I asked, feeling a sense of foreboding overwhelm me.

  ‘Oh, didn’t Artie tell you?’ Shannon said, looking at her fiancé, who shook his head.

  ‘Didn’t get the chance,’ I heard him whisper tersely.

  For a second I saw something glimmer in Shannon’s eyes. ‘It was pregnancy yoga, Evie,’ she said, taking her boyfriend’s hand. ‘Artie and I are expecting a baby.’

  It was one of the worst fifteen minutes of my life. As I struggled to keep my coffee down, Shannon delineated in excruciating detail everything connected with the pregnancy.

  ‘We wanted to tell you last night, but we didn’t hit the twelve-week mark officially until today.’ Shannon beamed at Artie, who was acting a lot more subdued than she was.

  ‘We had our scan earlier this morning.’ She went over to her handbag and produced a black-and-white image of her womb. ‘See?’ she said, pointing at the centre of the picture. ‘That’s our little munchkin. See how she’s waving her little hand at everyone.’

  ‘You know it’s a girl?’ I said, feeling nauseous. I’d always thought Artie and I would have a girl. A
perfect, beautiful little girl.

  ‘Well, I don’t for sure. It’s too early to tell, but I have a feeling. You know how it is …’

  Actually, I didn’t. And at the rate I was going I was never going to find out either.

  ‘Shannon, I’m sure Eveline doesn’t want to be bored senseless with our baby talk. You probably need to get going, don’t you, Eveline?’

  Artie, I noticed, had turned extremely pale.

  ‘Arthur, don’t be so rude. Of course she doesn’t want to go. Do you, Evie?’

  ‘No,’ I said, shaking my head, although I was desperate to flee.

  ‘And did he tell you our other great news?’

  Christ, there was more?

  ‘We’re moving back to the States. I’ve been offered a teaching position in Vermont.’

  ‘Huh?’ My legs turned to jelly.

  ‘Yes, I know. It’s hard to believe, right?’ She laughed as I remained statue-still.

  ‘But how is that even possible?’ I said, swivelling to look at Artie. ‘How will you even be allowed into the country?’

  ‘We’re going to get married beforehand. Back in Ireland.’

  ‘So there’ll be no immigration issues. No visa problems.’ I knew I was saying all this with disappointment in my voice but I didn’t care. I’d just found Artie, and Shannon was taking him away from me. No wonder she’d had no qualms about meeting me. About inviting me to her home. She hadn’t been intimidated because she hadn’t needed to be.

  She held the jewel in the crown.

  Artie’s baby.

  ‘In a way it’s such a shame you and Artie only ran into each other now. We would have so loved to get to know you better.’

  Artie already knows me, I felt like saying to her. And, by the way, why was she already talking about me in the past tense?

  ‘But I suppose there’s always Facebook and Twitter.’ She was walking towards the kitchen. ‘WhatsApp, Instagram, Skype …’

  Once she had left, I turned to Artie. ‘When do you leave?’

  ‘Not for another few months. I still have to serve out some notice. Shannon has to do the same and, of course, we have the wedding in Ireland to plan.’

  We looked at each other then, not saying anything. It felt as if a chasm had opened up between us, so wide now it was impossible to cross.

  ‘Artie,’ I began, trembling with emotion. I needed to say this stuff now before I lost my nerve. ‘I’m so sorry about everything that happened between us. If I could turn back time I would. It was a mistake – the biggest mistake of my life.’

  For a moment Artie looked startled. Then he held up his hand. ‘Evie, stop. There’s no need to apologize. It’s all water under the bridge. Another lifetime. Another planet.’

  I made to speak again, but then it dawned on me: there was nothing left to say. ‘Goodbye, Artie,’ I said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. ‘Good luck with everything.’

  ‘Goodbye, Eveline,’ he said.

  Shannon walked back into the living room, just as I turned to leave. ‘Hey, don’t you have a kiss for me too?’ she said.

  ‘Of course.’ I moved to peck her cheek.

  ‘You must come to our leaving do. I’m not sure where we’re going to have it yet, but I’ll send you an email.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, needing to escape now. To make all of this stop.

  ‘Or maybe visit us in Vermont. When the little one comes along.’ She patted her non-existent belly, and reached for Artie’s hand.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, feeling something break inside me. ‘Perhaps I will.’

  27.

  I felt as if my heart had splintered into a million tiny pieces, which was stupid because Artie and I had broken up years ago. So why did I feel like I’d just lost him today? I’d been such a fool. Shannon hadn’t been nice to me because she’d liked me, it was because she was pregnant. All the time she’d been fucking pregnant.

  I began to cry. I’d always thought it would be me and Artie having a child together. I could almost picture it: his curly head bent low, kissing my damp forehead after I’d given birth, beaming with love for me and the little one.

  I kicked a rogue Coke can, which bounced off a streetlamp. Why was I so fucking angry all of a sudden?

  ‘You left me,’ I could hear Artie whisper. ‘I wanted you for ever and you just let me go.’

  ‘But now I want you back,’ I heard myself say aloud. ‘I need you back.’

  A homeless woman looked up at me, her eyebrows raised.

  Soon Artie would be jetting off to get married in Ireland, then to America. And in six months’ time he would be a father – to a child that wasn’t mine. It seemed so final. So unstoppable. Like a giant avalanche rolling down a mountain.

  I stopped walking, threw some change into the woman’s coffee cup.

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ she mumbled. ‘Any chance of a bit more? For a hostel like …’

  I looked at her, the anger gone now, just resignation in its place. ‘Sorry,’ I said sadly. ‘I’ve nothing left to give.’

  For the rest of the week I found it hard to sleep. I kept dreaming about my mother. In one dream she was making apple tarts but had no eyes. In another she was in London, shaking hands with Donnagh, but as soon as their skin touched, her body disintegrated, leaving nothing but a pile of dust. Each time I woke up, writhing and shaking, my entire body lathered in sweat.

  Donnagh had texted me yet again about meeting up on his return from Chicago, and I was still trying to work up the courage to tell him it couldn’t happen. Yet something stopped me. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.

  I wandered into the city on the Thursday evening, utterly confused, my heart racing. I wanted nothing more than to get off my head, but I had no drugs. And, second, no drinking companion. A woman in a tight bustier handed me a flyer. ‘La Petite Mort,’ it read. ‘For adventurers, for provocateurs, for lovers.’

  ‘A sex shop?’ I muttered out loud.

  ‘Yes, but a very beautiful one,’ she replied. Her face looked as if it had been sculpted from porcelain. ‘You have a boyfriend?’ she asked, and I nodded even though I most certainly didn’t. ‘They do some incredibly sexy lingerie, if you want to give him a bit of a thrill tonight.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said noncommittally, but I found myself walking in the direction of the shop anyway.

  Inside, it was clear that the place was aimed at middle-class women, not men in macs. The carpet was thick and champagne-coloured and the assistants were dressed like models on the cover of Vogue.

  ‘Can I help you?’ one said. The name ‘Lola’ was written on a heart-shaped badge pinned to her chest.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said truthfully. ‘I’m not really feeling myself at the moment.’

  The woman lowered her voice. ‘Can you give me a bit more detail?’

  ‘It’s complicated. There’s this man …’

  ‘Isn’t there always?’ She smiled at me and took my hand. ‘Don’t tell me. He’s gorgeous, the relationship’s new, and you need a bit of a confidence boost in the bedroom …’

  I shrugged, not exactly contradicting her. Should I tell her about Artie? About bumping into him? About the fact that an American earth-mama was, at this very moment, carrying his child?

  Lola didn’t appear to need any of this extra information. Instead she began riffling through the rails, selecting tiny pieces of underwear as she went. ‘Come with me.’ Unlike most changing rooms, this one wasn’t stark and unflattering: the lighting was low and high heels were provided. There was also a small hole in one of the walls, which I pointed out to Lola.

  ‘Oh, that’s a voyeur hole,’ she explained, as she ducked her head between the curtains. ‘Sometimes partners like to watch their girlfriends getting undressed.’

  A tiny shock ran through me. Women brought their partners here? To ogle them? Bloody hell!

  I peeled off my boring old non-sexy underwear, and proceeded to try on some of Lola’s offerings. The dim lighting was a godsend
. Normally in regular changing rooms I try not to look at my naked body. It’s not fat but there are stretch-marks from gaining and losing so much weight. There are scars. But in that semi-dimmed cubbyhole of erotica, I felt okay. Good, even. And the pure silk creations adorning me were definitely helping.

  Lola peeped in at me, and I couldn’t help but feel that must be part of the sales pitch. The vaguely Sapphic energy. ‘My God, you look incredible.’

  I was wearing a black balconette bra, extremely low cut, with tiny pink ribbons running around the edging. The knickers were the same design, thong shaped, with suspenders attached.

  ‘The thing is, you have to fake it till you make it,’ she said solemnly.

  ‘What?’ I said, turning round.

  ‘You’re feeling intimidated because your new partner is sexually experienced. Am I right?’

  I dropped my head. Actually, I was feeling shit because my old partner didn’t love me. But I was pretty sure G-string knickers weren’t the answer – not where Artie was concerned.

  ‘So you need to pretend to be confident. Men are simple creatures. If you turn up looking hot, and like you know what you’re doing, the rest will follow.’ She gave a sly smile as if she had plenty of direct experience in that area.

  I pirouetted slowly in front of the mirror, turning this way and that. In the selective lighting the overall look was impressive. Not perfect, of course, but good enough for a normal person. In any case it wasn’t even the look that mattered as much as how the outfit, the shop, made me feel. In this get-up, I was as far removed from Artie, Shannon and baby bumps as I could possibly imagine. No more thinking about the past. No more dreaming about my mother.

  ‘I’ll take them,’ I said, and Lola nodded, as if she’d known all along that I would.

  At the till I handed over the money and bit down the guilt at spending so much on underwear when my electricity bill was overdue. As Lola ran my credit card through the machine my phone pinged with a message from Donnagh: Okay last chance. Do you want to see me or don’t you?

  He sounded pissed off. Aggressive, even.

  Fake it till you make it. Lola’s voice rang in my ears as I thought of what to do next.