Sisters and Lies Read online

  And I could still see myself staring at her in confusion. Didn’t she want to pay them back for what they’d done to her?

  But when I looked at my sister again, I realized that revenge was not Evie’s aim. Invisibility was. She didn’t want to confront the bullies, she wanted to disappear from them. So that she could be at peace. So they couldn’t hurt her any more.

  17.

  Back in the flat that night, I slumped onto the couch and watched Donnagh cook in the kitchen. I noticed that his shoulders were almost as wide as the archway that separated us. For some reason his physicality seemed ludicrous set against the tiny scale of Evie’s flat.

  ‘You know Evie went by Darcy when she was a kid, not Durant?’ I said in the direction of the kitchen, attempting to feign nonchalance. I knew I couldn’t put off revealing this vital detail to him any longer, despite some part of me wanting to protect my sister’s identity. But who knew how he would react? Viewed from most angles, the whole thing seemed pretty sordid.

  ‘Sorry?’ he said, draining something in a colander. ‘Can’t hear you. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  A couple of seconds later Donnagh poked his head through the archway into the living room. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Um, just that Evie went by the name Darcy in secondary school, not Durant. She’d have been known as Eveline Darcy.’

  Donnagh stood there, colander still in hand. ‘Eveline Darcy,’ he said quietly. ‘I remember a girl of that name. But she looked nothing like Eve. Not even remotely.’

  ‘It’s the same person,’ I said, without flinching. ‘She’s lost a lot of weight, got her nose straightened and changed the colour of her hair. But, yeah, that’s Evie. Or Eve, as you call her.’

  Donnagh sank onto the couch beside me. ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘But how is that even possible?’

  ‘Donnagh, I’ve just explained.’

  ‘Right, okay,’ he said, pushing his fingers through his hair. His right leg was jiggling, like he’d got an electric shock. ‘We were in the same class,’ he said eventually. ‘She hated me.’

  I jerked my face up, surprised. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I was a bollocks to her. That’s why.’

  I felt the blood drain from my face. Had he been one of the faceless, nameless bullies who had driven Evie to despair? I asked him.

  He nodded. ‘I’m afraid I probably was.’

  For a while I didn’t say anything, trying to take in this new information. ‘What did you do to her?’ I asked eventually, trying to keep my voice steady.

  ‘The usual,’ he said. ‘Called her names. Made reference to her nose. To her body in general, really.’

  ‘Stupid prick,’ I mumbled incoherently. And then louder: ‘You stupid fucking prick.’

  For a long time neither of us spoke.

  ‘So, this was what?’ Donnagh said eventually. ‘Some kind of bizarre revenge fantasy?’

  I shrugged. It all sounded so crazy. Like a bad made-for-TV movie. ‘Why did you do it?’ I asked, in a tight voice. ‘Whatever it was you did to her.’

  Donnagh dropped his eyes and laced his fingers together, as if in prayer. ‘I don’t really know,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t know,’ I repeated, a sneer creeping into my voice. ‘Well, think, for Christ’s sake.’ I slammed the palm of my hand hard against the coffee-table. ‘Try to fucking remember.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rachel. I don’t think there was much of a reason, aside from the fact that she was so clever and perfect at everything.’

  ‘And you wanted to take her down a peg or two.’

  ‘Something like that,’ Donnagh muttered.

  The silence stretched out again in front of us. I wanted to hate him. I did hate him. And yet he was also my only real link to Evie …

  ‘Look, if you really want to know the truth, it was because my father had just died. Plus I’d moved to a new county. I was all over the place.’

  ‘So how did bullying Evie fix that? She had no father either, you know.’

  ‘I didn’t know that. For years, actually, I didn’t have a clue.’

  ‘Oh, come on.’

  ‘It’s the truth. The first time we sat together in class she’d said something about her dad being French. Mine had recently passed away, and for some reason it was like a red rag to a bull. I was angry with her for having a father, for boasting about it.’

  ‘She wasn’t boasting.’

  ‘I found that out later. But for most of my secondary school career I was under the illusion that Eveline had some exotic French dad who used to cook her onion soup and wear stripy Breton tops.’

  ‘You moron.’ I couldn’t look at him.

  We sat there in silence. At some point, without me even realizing it, Donnagh pulled out two whiskey glasses.

  ‘You think I’m going to drink with you? The man who bullied my sister to a pulp?’

  ‘Rachel, please,’ Donnagh said. ‘I want to explain to you.’

  ‘Explain what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Whatever it is you want to know.’

  ‘I want to know if you’re responsible for the fact that my sister is currently lying in a coma.’ I was crying now: I could feel the hot flow of tears and snot sliding down my face.

  ‘Jesus, Rachel, of course I’m not. If you’d just sit down and have a drink with me, I’ll explain things to you. What I know about your sister –’

  ‘What you know? You know nothing, you ignorant prick. Nothing about the sensitive girl she was – the loving daughter. You were too busy taunting her. Destroying her.’ I was growing hysterical, I knew that. I wasn’t even making sense.

  ‘Rachel, come on, let’s talk about this.’

  ‘Fuck you!’ I shouted. ‘Don’t you understand what you did to her? The pain you caused?’

  ‘Look, I know I was a jerk but –’

  ‘A jerk? You fucking ruined her.’ I was beyond reason now – flecks of spittle leaving my mouth and landing on Donnagh’s face. ‘You can take your whiskey and shove it up your arse, you horrible bastard.’ And with that I stomped off to Evie’s bedroom, banging the door so hard the whole flat shook.

  Hours later, after I’d sobbed myself into oblivion, I got up and made for the living room. When I entered, Donnagh was still sitting at the table, a tumbler of whiskey in front of him.

  ‘Rachel,’ he said, straightening himself. ‘Are you okay?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Please sit down and talk to me.’

  ‘What’s the point?’ I said. ‘I feel I know all I need to.’

  ‘Please?’ he said, pulling out a chair and gesturing towards it. Reluctantly I sat down. ‘I’m so sorry about what I told you earlier.’

  ‘You mean you’re sorry I found out or sorry for what you did to Evie?’

  ‘To be honest, probably a bit of both,’ he said. I tutted and made to stand up. He touched my arm lightly. ‘Don’t go. Please let me explain. Let me apologize.’

  I shook his hand off me, but sat down again. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Look, I really am sorry about what a creep I was to Eve as a kid.’

  ‘Sure you are.’

  ‘I am,’ he said, and when I studied his face he appeared contrite.

  ‘Is that it? Is that all you’ve got to say?’

  Donnagh remained silent, but when he looked up again, he seemed almost nervous. ‘Actually, I did want to ask you something, about what you said earlier.’

  I looked at him, my eyes narrowing. ‘Go on.’

  ‘You said I destroyed Eve. What did you mean by that?’

  I snorted. ‘Like you don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t, Rachel, I swear to God. Last thing I knew Eveline Darcy had got straight As in her Leaving Cert and was off to study medicine in Trinity. I, by contrast, was being hauled off to the copshop for stealing a car. It seemed pretty clear who had emerged victorious – at that point in our lives anyway.’

  ‘Shows how much you
know.’

  ‘Tell me, then.’

  A sudden wave of exhaustion flooded me. Why was this man in my life? ‘Okay, if you’re that interested. Evie went on to suffer a serious nervous collapse at university and tried to commit suicide. The doctors at the time blamed stress, brought on by being severely bullied at secondary school.’ I wiped something off my face and found I was crying again.

  Donnagh seemed to be on the point of crying himself. ‘Jesus, Rachel. I had no idea. I would have been in Chicago by then.’

  I stared at him. ‘She must have really hated you to put herself through this nightmare.’

  ‘You mean dating me? I guess she must have,’ Donnagh said quietly. ‘Although, to be honest, I thought we were getting on really well together.’

  I continued to stare at him, wondering how he could be so deluded. ‘She despised you, Donnagh. You destroyed her life. This fiasco can only have been about getting back at you.’

  ‘You think?’ There was the merest hint of challenge in his voice.

  ‘What else could it have been?’

  ‘Maybe she liked me too. She might have been afraid to come clean to me in case she ruined what we had together.’

  ‘And what had you?’

  Donnagh rose. ‘I thought you didn’t care about any of that. I thought I was just a stupid prick.’

  I took a deep breath. Then I stood up, went over to my leather jacket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes I’d bought earlier. ‘I’m sorry for that. Do you want to go out to the balcony? Talk properly this time?’

  Briefly Donnagh seemed to hesitate.

  ‘You owe me that much at least,’ I added.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, getting up and walking towards the balcony door.

  A few minutes later we were sitting on the plastic chairs, our cigarettes lit. The evening was balmy, with a light breeze.

  After a few moments of silence, Donnagh turned to me. ‘So, what is it you want to know, Rachel?’

  I looked at him – at the beauty of him – trying to understand the power he wielded over my sister. ‘Everything, Donnagh. I want to know everything.’

  He nodded, and took a long, deep drag of his cigarette.

  Then he spoke.

  18.

  Slowly, painfully, Donnagh delineated all the horrible details of his teenage torture of Evie: the name-calling, the rabble-rousing. Other, more physical, things. Then, when I couldn’t take it any longer, he fast-forwarded to the present day, recounting again how he had met Evie through the magazine she worked for. How he had fancied her from the moment he first saw her when she interviewed him.

  ‘She was so gorgeous that I decided immediately to pursue her. But it wasn’t just that she was beautiful. It was her sense of humour. Her slightly dark slant on things. After years of living in America it was refreshing.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. You shared a sense of humour. But what else?’

  He talked about the eight weeks they’d spent together. The initial hedonistic phase, which had quietly turned into something more. ‘It all culminated with a trip to Paris.’

  ‘What trip?’

  ‘The weekend before her crash, I brought Eve there. It was a thank-you for letting me stay here.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?’

  ‘Sorry, Rachel,’ he said. ‘But up until very recently we were barely talking. And, anyway, it didn’t seem particularly relevant.’

  Suddenly he got up and disappeared into the hall. A few seconds later he was back, with a digital camera in his hand. ‘Here are a few pictures we took.’ I flicked through the photos, some of Donnagh and Evie beaming into the lens, a few of Evie on her own, looking chic and glamorous. It took every fibre of my being not to cry. ‘Okay, I believe you. You went to Paris. So why, the night you get back, is Evie discovered four miles away, slammed up against a stone wall driving your car?’

  Donnagh let out a deep sigh. ‘I know. It’s impossible to make sense of.’

  ‘Had you had a row?’

  ‘No. We’d had a lovely romantic time in Paris. I thought everything had gone really well.’

  ‘It makes no fucking sense.’

  ‘I know,’ said Donnagh, tiredly.

  ‘The obvious explanation is that you know something and you’re keeping it from me.’

  ‘Why is that the obvious explanation?’ he shot back. ‘I’ve been open and transparent about everything, both with you and the police. It’s your sister who was keeping secrets.’

  I was unable to contradict him on that one. Eventually I said, ‘Are you trying to lay the blame at Evie’s door?’

  ‘No,’ said Donnagh, exhaling again. ‘No, I’m not.’ He took another drag on his cigarette. ‘Look, Rachel, I know you want someone to blame and I know, given what I did to her as a kid, I must seem the obvious candidate …’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  He reached out his hand suddenly, making brief contact with my arm again. ‘But please understand I would never have done anything to hurt Eve. I’m not the enemy here.’

  ‘You’re not?’

  Donnagh dipped his head. ‘I know what you think of me. I know I don’t deserve impartiality.’

  I remained silent.

  ‘But, please, I’m asking for one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The benefit of the doubt.’

  19.

  Evie

  Artie and I walked the short distance to another pub – well, more a wine bar, really. But it was quiet, and I knew we’d be able to talk.

  ‘So I guess a pint is probably out of the question here.’

  I smiled at him. ‘I imagine so, yes.’

  ‘Well, then, I’ll go for the Chilean Sauvignon Blanc with top notes of plum,’ he said. ‘See, Evie? I’ve become refined since we last met.’

  ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’

  ‘What can I get you to drink?’

  ‘A glass of pinot grigio would be lovely, thanks.’

  As Artie ordered the drinks from the bar, I found myself staring at him, at the body concealed under the brown woollen jumper and worn jeans. Back when we’d first started going out, Artie had weighed about nine stone, which, given his six foot four frame, was a tad on the malnourished side. Since then he’d filled out nicely. His shoulders were broader, his arms bigger and more muscular. I wondered if he’d known I worked in Greenwich, if that was why he’d found a job there too. He could have found my details online – on the Business Matters website – he’d have known to search for the surname Durant as well as Darcy.

  But I dismissed the thought, lovely though it was, almost immediately. What Artie and I had experienced together had been so long ago. Light years ago. Some things were just a matter of coincidence. Like this. Now.

  ‘Here you go.’ Artie set my wine in front of me. ‘It’s so good to see you, Evie.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, returning his smile.

  ‘So, tell me, what have you been up to since we last met?’

  I told him, then made a face. ‘Pretty crap, huh?’

  ‘Are you joking? High-flying journalist, owner of your own apartment. Sounds like you’re doing pretty well for yourself.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘Well, I would. Although, if I’m honest, the journalist thing does surprise me a little bit. For some reason, I thought you’d end up doing something visual.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Ah, I just had a notion you might become an artist or work in a gallery or something.’

  I shook my head. ‘No money in art, Artie.’

  We both smiled at the alliteration.

  A few seconds later, probably to fill the growing silence, Artie headed off on a different tack. ‘So, apart from work, are you married? Living with someone?’

  ‘Jesus, no,’ I replied. ‘Sure, who’d have me?’

  ‘Who indeed?’ he said, tossing his eyes dramatically to Heaven.

  We both gri
nned.

  ‘And you? Any significant other in your life?’

  ‘You mean, apart from Leonard Cohen and Bruce Springsteen?’

  ‘Yeah, apart from those two.’

  ‘Well, actually there is someone,’ Artie said, shifting ever so slightly in his chair. ‘My fiancée, Shannon. We got engaged a few weeks ago, actually.’

  ‘Oh, wow,’ I said, a fluttery sensation passing through my chest. Despite myself, I insisted he fill me in.

  ‘Well, she’s American, a lecturer in psychology. She has strong Irish roots.’

  ‘As in literally, like a tree?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Artie said. ‘Her lower half is one hundred per cent wood.’ He cast me a sardonic smile. ‘Glad to see you haven’t lost your surreal sense of humour, anyway.’

  I shrugged. ‘That’ll be the final thing to go.’ After a few seconds I added, in a softer voice, ‘Jesus, Artie. Engaged.’

  ‘I know. Very grown-up, isn’t it?’

  ‘Do you think she’ll mind us meeting up like this?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Ah, I don’t know,’ I said. ‘The fact that we dated, that we’ve seen each other’s wobbly bits …’

  Artie shook his head. ‘As I said, Shannon’s a psychologist. She’s very level-headed about stuff like that.’

  ‘So she knows about me.’

  Artie looked up. ‘Of course she knows about you.’

  I reached for my wine glass, took a large slug. My hands seemed to be trembling – in fact, my whole body was.

  ‘Anyway, enough about my love life, back to yours,’ Artie said brightly. ‘I’m not buying this whole single-girl act. There must be someone on the scene.’

  I attempted to feign nonchalance. ‘Okay, now that you mention it, I suppose I am seeing someone. It’s early days but things seem to be going pretty well.’

  I had no idea why I was lying. Or perhaps I did. How could I admit I was alone, given Artie’s near-married status and his horrifically right-on fiancée? On a secondary note, she sounded like a right dose.