Sisters and Lies Read online

  Mick joined us.

  ‘This is Eve Durant. And, Eve, this is Mick Flaherty. We went to school together many moons ago and he’s now my head foreman in London.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Mick, in the same thick accent I remembered, holding out his hand for me to shake. I had a violent urge to smash it back against his chest.

  ‘Hello,’ I muttered.

  ‘So how did you meet this bollix?’ he said, jerking his head in the direction of Donnagh.

  ‘Hey, language, please,’ Donnagh chided, but I could tell he was loving the banter.

  ‘Through work.’ I took an enormous gulp of champagne. It would be so easy to slip up here. One wrong word, one inappropriate reference, and he could twig who I was.

  ‘But sure Donnagh doesn’t do any work. He leaves that to his lackeys.’ Mick was smiling widely and so was Donnagh, reminding me of the old days when they’d been teenagers. When they’d ruled the roost.

  ‘Fair enough,’ I demurred. ‘The truth is, he’s been stalking me for weeks now and I’ve basically just given in.’ I held up my hands in a what-are-you-going-to-do? gesture.

  Mick and Donnagh laughed simultaneously.

  ‘Sorry, guys. If you’ll excuse me I just have to pop to the …’

  ‘Oh, sure, sure,’ Mick said, moving slightly so I could slide past him. ‘And while you’re there, could you see if you can find my wife? I think she might have fallen down one of the toilets.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, with no idea who his wife might be. Someone who was deaf, dumb and blind, perhaps.

  The only other person in the loo was a tall, dark-haired woman, who had her back to me. It was only when she turned around that I recognized her: Gemma Brady. Miss Leitrim 2005 and Donnagh’s on-off girlfriend when we’d been kids.

  She couldn’t possibly be married to Mick Flaherty, could she?

  ‘Gemma,’ I said, forgetting myself just for a moment.

  ‘Sorry?’ She looked up. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘Um,’ I stammered. ‘I’m Donnagh’s … Well, I’m with Donnagh. He mentioned I might run into you.’

  ‘Did he now?’ she said, frowning. ‘What did he say exactly?’

  ‘Oh, God, nothing bad. Just that you were an old flame. Or have I got that wrong? It seems like Donnagh’s dated everybody at this party.’

  Gemma snorted. ‘No, you haven’t got that wrong,’ she said, making the finishing touches with her lipstick, then placing it back in her bag. ‘He’s a complete and utter man-slut. I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?’

  ‘Eve,’ I replied, taken aback by Gemma’s aggressive tone. She seemed pissed off about something. Very, very pissed off.

  She let out a long sigh. ‘So, you’re his latest conquest, are you?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You and Donnagh. I take it you’re an item.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly.’ I was flustered. ‘We’ve only been out together a few times. We’re not a couple or anything.’

  ‘Oh, you will be,’ she said, in a bored manner. ‘If Donnagh brought you here tonight it means he wants you. And, believe me, what Donnagh wants, Donnagh gets.’

  I stared at her, not sure how to respond.

  ‘Look, I’m not trying to freak you out,’ she continued, as if sensing my unease. ‘It’s just I’ve known Donnagh a very long time. I know what he’s like. You were right earlier, I did go out with him – when we were kids.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Oh, yes, many moons ago. But now I’m married to Mick Flaherty, his foreman.’ Her face hardened as she said this, and if I’d been a betting woman I’d have put money on theirs not being among the happiest of unions.

  ‘I met Mick a few minutes ago,’ I said, trying to smile. ‘He asked me to check if, um …’ I stalled, unsure whether to quote Mick verbatim.

  ‘To check if I’d fallen down the toilet?’ she said, with another snort, and I nodded. ‘Gobshite,’ she added, under her breath.

  As Gemma’s face toughened up once more, I forced myself to breathe. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed my gaffe earlier when I’d said her name. Perhaps everything was going to be okay …

  ‘What did you say you were called again?’ she said, turning back towards me, giving me the once-over.

  ‘Eve,’ I repeated, feeling myself tremble. Christ, could this be it – the big reveal? Had Gemma figured out who I was?

  ‘Eve,’ she repeated slowly, holding her gaze. ‘That’s a pretty name. But then again, you’re a pretty girl, aren’t you? And Donnagh always chooses pretty girls.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, flinging a paper towel into the bin and giving me a last lingering look before heading for the stairwell. ‘He does.’

  Once she was gone, I stumbled into a cubicle and slumped onto the toilet seat. My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t get control of my breath. I felt like I was lost at sea, sinking and drowning in waves of panic.

  All these people, these reminders of my past. Surely they would sniff me out. Unmask me. Not to mention all the women Donnagh had fucked. He didn’t fall in love. He collected people. I could see that now.

  Finally, after what seemed an age, I exited the cubicle and walked back towards where Donnagh was standing.

  ‘Hey, there you are. What’s the story?’

  ‘I’m not feeling well, Donnagh. I think I need to get home.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s my tummy,’ I lied. ‘I think I might have eaten something dodgy.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ he said. ‘That’s not good. Do you want me to call a cab or shall I take you home?’

  ‘No, please, Donnagh, you stay. I just need to get back to the flat, lie down. And if it is a bug, I’m probably contagious. I don’t want you picking up anything off me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Donnagh said, looking vaguely relieved. ‘Have you been sick?’

  ‘No, but I feel like I’m going to be. Honestly, you can’t do anything for me. I just need to get home. I need some privacy.’

  He nodded. ‘Fair enough, but at least let me call you a taxi.’

  ‘No, Donnagh, honestly it’s fine. I can do that myself.’

  He stared at me. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Now please go back and join your friends at the party.’

  He caught my hand and pulled me towards him, kissing my hair. ‘Get well soon, gorgeous, I’ll call you tomorrow. And, by the way, this does not count as a full date, just in case you thought it did.’ He was smiling now, mischief in his eyes.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ I muttered.

  He was crazy if he thought I was ever going to meet him again. This thing was over. Finished. Dead in the water.

  I had paid my debt in full.

  And, more importantly, I had made it out alive.

  39.

  Rachel: day nine, 4.30 p.m.

  And then there was a breakthrough. I was in the loo, cleaning myself up after searching the apartment, when I flicked open Evie’s tiny bathroom bin and saw it there – a small cream business card lying among some discarded cosmetic pads. I picked it out of the rubbish and turned it over carefully: Arthur Columb, Civil Engineer, Conlon & Forsythe Engineering. The office was in Greenwich; there was a telephone number and an email address.

  I stared at the card, not quite sure whether to trust it. Could this be Artie, whom Evie had dated back in Leitrim? The one she’d been madly in love with? Was he the mystery man Donnagh had mentioned in the hospital?

  I ran into the sitting room, grabbed my mobile from my bag and stabbed in Artie’s number so fast I messed up and had to do it again. I was practically panting by the time I got through to him.

  ‘Hello, Arthur Columb speaking.’

  ‘Artie? Is that you?’

  ‘Um. Sorry, who is this?’

  ‘It’s Rachel Darcy. Evie Darcy’s sister. Hopefully you remember me.’

  ‘My God, Rachel, of course I do. Long time
no hear. How are you keeping?’

  ‘I’m okay, Artie. Listen, Evie’s been in a car accident. I heard you were working around these parts, so I was just wondering if you might be able to meet up for a coffee and a chat. If you were free, that is.’

  ‘Evie’s been in a car crash? Is she okay?’

  ‘She’s alive but in a coma.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, and for a moment, it was as if the line had gone dead.

  ‘Artie, are you still there?’

  ‘I’m still here,’ he responded.

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘In Lewisham,’ he replied. ‘But I’m at work in Greenwich at the moment.’

  My breath snagged. Lewisham was where Evie had crashed. ‘So, do you think we could meet up?’ I continued, recovering myself. ‘There’s a pub just off the Old Woolwich Road – I think it’s called the White Horse or Hound, something like that.’

  ‘I know it,’ he said. ‘I actually work right beside it. Can you give me an hour?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll see you there.’

  Artie looked much more haggard than when I’d last seen him, six years earlier. True, he’d always had a wild, slightly unkempt air about him. But today he looked practically homeless. ‘Rachel,’ he said, pulling me immediately into a hug. ‘How is she? Will she be okay?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, unfolding myself from his grasp and sitting down. ‘The experts say there’s hope, that most people wake up after two weeks to a month.’

  ‘How long has it actually been?’

  ‘Nine days.’

  ‘So, not that long, then. There’s still a good chance?’

  ‘I guess so. I hope so.’

  When Artie went off to the bar to order drinks I tried to get my plan straight in my head. I needed to ask him why Evie had his business card in her flat, whether he was having an affair with her. But I couldn’t just blurt it out as soon as he sat down. I needed to bide my time, draw him out a bit.

  ‘So what brought you to this area?’ I asked, trying to sound nice and casual.

  Artie was doing a good job of looking upset. ‘What? Sorry, Rachel. I just can’t believe it – about Evie, I mean.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s hard to take in, all right.’

  For a minute or two, Artie remained completely silent. But after a few slugs from his pint, he came to a little. ‘I moved here with my fiancée,’ he said eventually. ‘I lost my job back in Ireland, and around the same time she got offered a position at Goldsmiths College. We decided to make the move – seemed like the only solution, given the state Ireland was in.’

  ‘Your fiancée?’

  ‘Yes. Shannon. Shannon Curtis.’

  ‘American, by any chance?’ I asked, taking a punt.

  He nodded. ‘From Boston originally, but with Irish heritage. That’s how we met. She was visiting her homeplace in Leitrim, tracing her roots, when we bumped into each other one night. Got talking …’

  ‘… and love blossomed?’ I finished, watching his reaction.

  ‘Yes,’ Artie said, seeming to blush a little. ‘I suppose it did.’

  For a moment I just sat there, taken aback. I hadn’t expected Artie to be engaged – hadn’t pinned him as the unfaithful type at all, in fact. But a lot of time had passed since we’d last seen each other. A lot had changed. And there was something about his demeanour now that seemed jumpy. He looked like a man with a secret. A secret I was determined to find out.

  ‘So, you and Evie,’ I continued, ‘you’d obviously been in recent contact.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your business card. I found it in her apartment. I just assumed you’d met up.’

  ‘Oh, that, yeah,’ he said, reaching for his pint again. ‘We bumped into each other about two months ago. Had a few drinks together.’

  ‘And was that all you saw of each other?’

  ‘About a week later she came round to our flat for a barbecue.’

  ‘The flat you and Shannon live in?’

  ‘Yes,’ Artie said, shifting a little in his seat. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, Rachel, were you hoping to find out something in particular from me?’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I said, trying to hide my agitation. ‘It’s just I’ve been away on a book tour so I wasn’t in much contact with Evie before the accident.’

  ‘And you’re trying to figure out what exactly?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ I said, terrified he was on to me. ‘I suppose what she’d been doing, who her friends were …’

  ‘Oh,’ said Artie, unhunching a little. ‘Well, if I can help you with anything I will.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, attempting to steady my breathing. ‘Tell me, how did Evie seem on those two occasions you met her? Was she in any way upset? Did she seem distracted?’

  ‘Distracted?’ Artie repeated. ‘I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use. She talked about some new relationship she was in. Said it was going really well, actually.’

  ‘She said that?’

  ‘Yes. She said there was “great chemistry” between the two of them. Though she did seem worried he was out of her league.’ Artie raised his eyes to Heaven.

  ‘Typical Evie,’ I said, nodding. ‘Always doing herself down.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Artie agreed. ‘To be honest, I was hoping she’d have grown out of it by now.’ He leaned across the table. ‘Did you know him, Rachel, this new boyfriend?’

  ‘Kind of,’ I replied, noting Artie’s curiosity. ‘His name’s Donnagh Flood. He’s from Dublin originally but he lived in Leitrim as a teenager.’

  ‘Jesus, not Donnagh Flood from Mohill, by any chance?’ Artie said, his eyes widening.

  ‘Yes, why? Do you know him?’

  ‘Know him? I used to play football against him. Dirty player, so he was.’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder if he still is.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Paranoia, maybe? All I know is he’s very cocky and very successful.’

  ‘Sounds like Donnagh, all right.’

  ‘You’re not a fan, I take it.’

  Artie shrugged. ‘I just can’t picture him and Evie together, that’s all. He’s not exactly her type.’

  ‘Unlike you,’ I said, before I could stop myself.

  Artie stared at me. ‘That was a long time ago, Rachel, a very long time.’ He pointed at my glass. ‘Do you want another?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. I needed to take this slower, get him on my side. Maybe if he dropped his guard a bit, he might say something. But not if I went at him like a battering ram. I’d get absolutely nowhere with that strategy.

  When he came back with the drinks, I guided the conversation into safer water. We talked a little about my career as a writer, and also about old times. About Leitrim. About Mammy.

  ‘She was such a lovely woman,’ Artie said, seeming to have calmed down a bit now. ‘How was Evie coping with her loss?’

  I emitted a deep sigh. What I wanted to say was ‘by taking drugs and shagging lots of unsuitable men’ but I didn’t. Instead I said, ‘Not brilliantly,’ which was also accurate.

  ‘She looks so different now,’ Artie continued. ‘So sophisticated.’

  ‘Yeah, all the weight gone, and the new nose. I didn’t think you’d recognize her with it. Most people don’t.’

  ‘I’d recognize Evie anywhere,’ Artie said quietly. ‘In any case I’d seen the new nose. Briefly. Before we broke up.’

  ‘Oh, of course. You were dead set against it, weren’t you?’

  ‘Of course I was. It was madness. Her mother not cold in her grave and there she was haring off to a plastic surgeon to get her face ripped open.’ Even now Artie sounded angry. ‘It was just so unnecessary, Rachel, you know? She was lovely as she was.’ He coughed, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

  I nodded. ‘She couldn’t be talked out of it. I think it was her way of dealing with the
grief.’

  ‘Maybe so.’ He took another swig of his Guinness, lapsing back into silence.

  Afraid I was losing him, I tried to manoeuvre the conversation in a different direction. ‘Artie, do you mind if I ask why you and Evie broke up? I never really got to the bottom of it.’

  ‘I’m not sure there’s any point in raking over all that again.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, trying to sound coaxing. ‘But it’s just that Evie changed after she left Ireland. Became …’ I searched for the right word ‘… wilder, I suppose you might call it. I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on that.’

  Artie looked at me as if I’d laid a trap for him, but then he said, ‘Okay. If you want to know the truth, we broke up because of that stupid nose job.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I didn’t collect her from the hospital after the operation. Didn’t visit her for about a week.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I was fucking angry with her, that’s why. I felt she was being selfish, taking herself off to have surgery when you’d both already lost your mother. What if something had happened to her, too, on the operating table? You hear about things like that occurring sometimes.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘You do.’

  ‘But it was all an act. I caved after about a week and went around to see her, but she’d decided she didn’t want us to be boyfriend and girlfriend any more and was refusing to have anything to do with me. Next thing I knew she had moved to London.’

  ‘God, Artie, I’m sorry I didn’t help you out. I barely registered any of it at the time.’

  ‘Ah, you had your own troubles, Rachel, coming to terms with your mum’s death and everything. And I got over it eventually.’ He reached for his pint.

  Without thinking, I put my hand on his arm, causing him to look up. ‘Did you, Artie? Get over it, I mean?’

  For the tiniest moment I thought I saw something flicker across his face (guilt, perhaps?), but then he jerked away. ‘Jesus, Rachel, what are you trying to say here?’

  ‘Artie, tell me truthfully, was there something going on between you and my sister?’

  For a second, he remained statue still. Then, ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You claim to have only met up once – just you and Evie, I mean. But what I want to know is, was there more to it than that?’