The Lost (41 page)
‘Yeah.’ She swallowed hard, feeling the metal almost choke her.
‘See you in the office tomorrow, then? Thank you, Paula. I won’t forget this.’
‘It’s OK.’ She bit her tongue, trying desperately to telegraph it.
Help me, Guy, please help me.
‘B-bye then.’
‘Bye.’ He clicked off, her last lifeline. Eamonn held out his hand, and she put the phone into it without a word.
As they got out of town and onto the famous bypass, Eamonn seemed to relax, taking a deep breath. ‘O’Hara. Do you know Listowel Road?’
‘Aye, I think so. That the wee one up into the hills?’
‘Take it.’
Aidan swung off the main road and onto the narrow country road. They passed several large bungalows, curtains open to see the fireworks, but soon the road had narrowed and grass grew down the middle.
‘Do I keep going?’ The car was now bumping and
rocking on the uneven track.
‘Keep going until I say.’
They were in deep country now, the sky above pricked full of stars like a night at sea. Eamonn slid down the window – she could see sweat dripping from his forehead – and the night air rolled in, sweet and smoky; the wholesome stink of earth, and wet grass, and cows somewhere not far off. She gulped it in as if it was the best thing she’d ever smelled. Smelling, breathing, that meant you were still alive.
‘Here.’
‘Here?’ Aidan slowed the car suddenly; you could barely see the turn-off. There was a gap in the damp hedge, and a cattle-grid which the car rattled over.
‘Pull up there, under the trees.’
The engine died with a splutter and the silence of the countryside was all around them. Paula could hear an owl call, and the soft lowing of cattle in a field nearby. Through the rain, she could make out dark shapes moving under the trees, eyes glowing. They were on a farm of some kind.
‘Get out.’ Eamonn gestured to her with the gun, and she climbed carefully out, her feet sinking into mud. He clambered after her, the gun slipping in his hand. ‘You next, O’Hara.’
Aidan took the keys from the ignition and closed the door with a soft click. He held them out to Eamonn, who said impatiently, ‘Never mind that now. The house.’
It rose up before them, ghostly-white, a tarpaulin flapping in the moonlight. This house was half-renovated, unlived-in. Or so it seemed. Below them, fireworks broke the sky over town, flashing green and red and purple in the dark.
Eamonn took Paula’s arm again, gesturing to Aidan to go in front of them. ‘You walk on. Watch out for anything.’
There was no car anywhere else, so perhaps Maddy hadn’t found this place. How would she, anyway? As they rounded the damp, overgrown hill, wet weeds brushing her jeans, Paula suddenly knew where they were. She’d seen it before on the news, the square porch, the barn alongside. ‘Is this—’
He jerked her. ‘Keep moving.’
Eamonn Carr’s family home. That porch in front was the very one in which Patsy
Carr, IRA supremo, had been shot dead when he went to answer the door to what he thought was a collection for the church trip to Lourdes. ‘You bought it back,’ she said softly. ‘It’s true. You were going to move. Start a new life . . .’
Eamonn looked at her scornfully. ‘Just walk, will you. And try to keep your mouth shut, if you can.’
For once she was obeying, and Aidan too was silenced. Paula could hear his heavy breath, and his feet slipping on the wet grass as they laboured up the hill and the house came into view. Eamonn looked between them as if trying to figure out the logistics.
‘Stick close together,’ he ordered. ‘Don’t move, I’m warning you. We’re going in.’
Aidan and Paula bunched up, all arms and legs, while Eamonn went ahead, walking
awkwardly backwards so he could keep the gun trained on them. As they reached the front door Paula felt Aidan’s chill hand slide into hers. He ran a finger over her chafed wrist and his dark eyes met hers for a second before they both stumbled in after Eamonn. She’d never seen him look so scared, and it sent her into a long spiralling fall of fear. Why had Eamonn brought them here, if not to get rid of them? She gripped Aidan’s hand, felt the pulse in the side of his cold wrist.
‘Angie?’ Eamonn was calling. ‘Angie, pet, are you OK?’ His voice was different. They’d never heard him speak that way before, as if to a frightened child, or a cherished small animal.
Paula saw several things at once. One, that the door into the house was padlocked shut from the outside. Another, that through the glass window – still sporting new-bought stickers – Angela Carr was sitting on a sofa, in much the same way they’d found her at her own house. She didn’t look up at the noise of them outside.
Eamonn was waving the gun at Aidan. ‘You. On the key ring, there’s one for the padlock. Open it.’
‘This wee one?’
‘Aye, aye. Open it.’ Eamonn wiped his brow with the heel of his hand, and when Aidan had fumbled the door open he pushed in. ‘Angie? Are you OK?’ He knelt in front of his wife. Paula and Aidan, still holding hands, stood frozen in the doorway. The walls and floor of the room were bare concrete and there was no electricity. Angela was staring into space, her eyes fixed on nothing at all. She was dressed just as beautifully as before, in expensive jeans and a silk jersey, the cuffs of which seemed to have been taped to her arms so she couldn’t take it off. A sleeping bag was unrolled on the sofa beside her, and on the floor were packets of food and a Thermos. There was no other furniture. Paula flicked her eyes to Aidan’s, desperately. He just shrugged.
Eamonn was pushing
back his wife’s hair, kissing her tenderly on the forehead. ‘Are you all right, love? I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. It’s OK. Tell me you’re OK.’
Very slowly, Angela’s eyes focused and wandered round the bare room. ‘We have visitors, Eamonn,’ she stage-whispered.
Eamonn glared at Paula and Aidan. He still held the gun in the crook of his arm, but it was slipping. ‘I’m sorry, love. They – well, they found out some things.’
The woman’s body tensed, and a shrill cry came out of her.
‘No, no, it’s OK. They don’t know everything.’
Paula moved so her back was braced against the wall, opposite Angela. It would be hard for Eamonn to spin round and shoot from there. She cleared her throat.
‘Angela. We just want to help you. You remember that day I came to yours, I said I would help you? And you said – you said no one could.’ She fixed her eyes on the wife, trying to block out the husband, who was watching her closely, drawing his gun back into his hand. ‘Angela, he’s got a gun. But I know he won’t hurt you. Just tell me – how long’s he been keeping you here? I saw the locks.’
Angela looked confused. ‘Eamonn? Who are these visitors?’
‘You’ve met me, Angela. I’m Paula. I was looking for Cathy, only she was never lost, was she? You knew exactly what happened to her. Was it him – did he kill her? She found out who you were – how you got sent to the home, and that your child had come back. Only he couldn’t cope with that, could he, not his perfect little wife, damaged like that, the bad press—’ The words kept coming, as if she couldn’t stop.
‘
Maguire!
’ Aidan screamed, ducking.
Eamonn Carr had sprung
to his feet, and then he was across the room and pressing the gun to Paula’s temple, one hand grasping her round the shoulders. She felt her knees buckle. ‘I told you to stop! Why don’t you ever listen?’ He was trembling.
Aidan looked round him, muttering, ‘Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.’ He stared wildly at Paula. ‘Oh Christ, Maguire, just stay still, for once in your life, will you? Eamonn! What do you want, man? You don’t want to hurt her.’ Then he was lunging for Paula, and Eamonn was raising the gun, his other hand still round Paula’s neck, and a bang rang out. She felt the noise inside her nose and teeth, and then it was replaced by another sound: Aidan howling. ‘Fucking hell! Ah Jesus, Mary, and St Joseph!’
‘
Aidan!
’ she choked out. He was falling back against the wall, clutching at his arm. She saw bright beads of blood run down his pale skin.
Eamonn jerked her neck; she couldn’t breathe. Her hair was over her face, getting in her eyes and mouth. She was panting. The gun was rock-hard against her head, cold as ice. Aidan was still hissing and howling in the corner. The only person in the room unmoved was Angela Carr. Slowly, she got to her feet, moving like an automaton. She was crossing the room. As if he’d spoken it aloud, Paula saw Aidan, blinded by pain, wonder about grabbing her, threatening her in some way, and not being able to do it. Angela walked up to her husband, who was still half-strangling Paula. She put her hands on either side of his face. Kissed him on the mouth, briefly. Then, as he sagged, she took the gun gently from his hand. Paula dropped to her knees, fighting for breath. Angela held the gun out as if she’d never touched one before, testing its weight.
She hoisted it in both
hands and peered down the sight. ‘I wish you wouldn’t leave this thing lying around, Eamonn. The weans might get hold of it.’ Her voice was high, artificial.
Her husband, slumped against the wall, began to cry. ‘For God’s sake, Angie, we have to stop them. They
know
, Angie. Not everything, but they know.’
She looked at Paula. Her eyes were green and clear, lovely. Like her daughter Cathy’s must have been. Like her firstborn daughter Madeleine’s were. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, harsher. As if the other one was a part she’d been playing all her life. ‘You think you know all about me, do you?’
Paula couldn’t speak. She could feel the ache in her neck, from where the gun had pressed. She tried to twist her head to see Aidan; he’d fallen silent. Why had he fallen silent?
‘Yes, I’m Angela McGreavy. Yes, I got pregnant when I was twelve and they made me have the wean. And they took her away and sold her to America and I had to live in that home until I was eighteen.’ She eyed her husband with something like compassion. ‘Poor Eamonn, he never knew. Damaged goods you got, wasn’t it, pet?’
‘No – no.’ He was sobbing on the floor. ‘I’d not have cared. I loved you.’
‘You wanted it all – lovely wife, lovely kids, big car, nice house. So did I. I thought we deserved it, the shite childhoods that we both had. But it was all a lie, wasn’t it? I was trash, like
he
always said.’ She sighed, looking at the gun in her hand. ‘He said he’d never leave me, even after he was gone. And he was right. You believe in ghosts, Paula?’
‘N-no.’ She was struggling to draw
breath into her lungs. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the slow rise and fall of Aidan’s chest. Thank God he was still breathing.
Angela laughed. ‘They exist, all right. Or haunting does.’
Who did she mean by ‘he’? Could it be Ron Almeira again, who’d fathered Ed Lazarus? Had he also been with Angela, back in the eighties, when she was little more than a child? Paula tried again. ‘Angela, it wasn’t your fault. We can help you.’
‘Nobody helped me when I was twelve, did they? And then my Cathy . . .’ She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘My Cathy, some fella pawing at her the same way. Still no abortion allowed in this country. I couldn’t have her going through that, a baby at her age, or taking her away to England to get rid of it. And she comes in saying, “I know all about you, it’s disgusting, I met this girl at the Mission and she’s your daughter, Mammy. Why did you lie to Daddy all this time.”’
‘Angie!’ Eamonn Carr’s voice was practically a scream. ‘You don’t have to do this, we can get rid of them!’
‘Ah, pet.’ She bent down to him. ‘It’s too late, do you not see that? I’ve had my fill of keeping secrets. I know what I did and I’m ready to take my pay.’
Paula said, ‘But it wasn’t your fault, Angela, you were only little. It was his fault, not yours.’
‘Ah, whist, would you, girl. You’re a right busybody. I know all that. I’m talking about what I did to my Cathy.’
Silence. The sound of Eamonn’s sobs. A harsh wet breath from Aidan. Angela said, ‘I don’t know what went on in my head that day. I was in the kitchen – I’ve a lovely kitchen, have you seen it? Like I always wanted as a wean, all white and clean, lovely crockery and all. And in she comes, my Cathy. She knows it all. All that – filth. The filth of the past. She drags it in like shit on her shoes. “I’ll tell Daddy,” she says. “I’ll tell the wee ones – everyone’ll know about you. You lied to me. I’ve a sister and you never said.” And then she tells me she’s in trouble too – she’s two months’ gone. And I’m doing the dishes. And I’m washing this knife, this set of good knives Eamonn was after bringing me from London. They can’t go in the dishwasher, and for the life of me I don’t know what happened – it wasn’t
me
for a moment.’
‘Angela. No,
please. No,’ Eamonn wept.
‘Next thing she’s there on the floor, blood all coming out of her throat, and she’s choking on it, and the weans are in the next room. I tried to stop it, but – well. It was too late. You can’t take these things back.’
‘It was you,’ Paula said quietly. ‘You killed Cathy.’
‘So you really didn’t know.’ Angela sighed. ‘Ah sure, what odds. I haven’t the strength to hide any more. Yes, I killed her. There’s not much you could do with me that’d be worse than I’ve already been through.’
‘You think
you’ve
been through a lot.’ A new voice, coming in from the door on a gust of smoke and wind. All four of them turned, Eamonn bent over crying, Aidan barely conscious, Paula frozen, Angela still holding the gun weighed in both hands. In the half-light, Maddy Goldberg’s face was ghostly. The sight of her made Paula’s breath die in her throat. She’d seen eyes like that before – dark, dead. She’d seen them across interview rooms, behind prison bars. The eyes of someone who would do anything, and often had. Maddy’s hand was outstretched. In it, a carving knife.
‘It’s you,’ said Angela, sighing. ‘You’ve come back.’
‘That’s right.’ Maddy’s voice shook as much as her hands. ‘You can’t get rid of me that easily,
Mom
.’
At her feet, Paula felt Eamonn sag even more, a whimper in his throat.