The Girl Who Lied: The bestselling psychological drama

Despite feeling myself flinch, I remain composed. I’m older now. I’m in control. I can handle this.

Straightening up, giving him the benefit of my five-feet-eight-inches’ height, I look at him unsmiling. ‘How could I forget?’

‘Nearly didn’t recognise you without your curls,’ Joe says, nodding towards my poker-straight hair, which hangs loose over my shoulders. ‘Do you remember my cousin, Kerry? He used to come and stay sometimes during the summer.’

I give a shrug. ‘A bit.’

Kerry is watching me. He has blond hair, not dissimilar to Jody’s, actually, casually parting in the middle with longish layers giving a sort of dishevelled look. He wears a pair of blue overalls, which hang from his waist and bear the scars of many a battle with a paintbrush. The black t-shirt has suffered a similar fate, together with a rip at the left sleeve, revealing some sort of tribal-pattern tattoo around his bicep. He smiles at me and descends the steps.

‘I thought you looked familiar, I was just trying to place you,’ he says. ‘You were at Shane’s eighteenth birthday party, weren’t you?’

I nod, impressed with his recall. Shane is one of Joe’s older brothers. ‘That’s right. There was a big group of us.’ I shift on my feet. The desire to take a trip down memory lane is furthest from my mind.

Joe gives a laugh and carries on energetically. ‘There are quite a few of us Wrights. Kerry probably just blended in. One summer he came to stay and never went home, I don’t suppose me mam even noticed an extra person at the dinner table.’ I nod this time. He carries on enthusiastically. ‘What you up to these days? It must be about ten years. You disappeared without a trace.’

‘Working in London,’ I reply, really having no wish to get into this conversation. ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude but what with my dad and everything…’ I wave my hand airily, hoping I don’t need to explain. I’m relieved when Kerry speaks, ending Joe’s desire to revisit our childhood days.

‘Yes, of course, you’ve got more important things to do than reminisce about the good old days. You’ll have to excuse my cousin’s enthusiasm,’ says Kerry, giving Joe a playful whack on the arm with back of his hand. Kerry ferrets around in the large side pocket of his trousers and after a moment produces a set of keys. He holds them out to me. ‘How is your dad?’

‘Not good. He’s stable, but they’re waiting for the swelling to go down before they can assess him further. He’s taken a nasty bang to his head. Thanks for asking.’ I take the keys from Kerry, his rough hands with grubby fingernails briefly brush my own well-moisturised and manicured fingers. ‘Mum said you helped her yesterday evening?’

‘It was nothing,’ replies Kerry shrugging. ‘I just happened to be out the back there. I called the ambulance and then locked up the flat. As I said, nothing really.’

‘Thank you, anyway. Mum really appreciates it. We all do.’

‘You should come down the pub one night and meet up with some of the old gang,’ says Joe.

Looking at him for a moment before I speak, I can’t think of anything less I want to do. ‘I’m only here for a few days, so probably won’t have time. And besides, if I wanted to catch up with everyone, I could have done that by now on Facebook.’ I give a little laugh, which I so don’t mean and then, turning my back on Joe, direct a slight nod at Kerry before heading out of the dirty workshop. I’m just congratulating myself on getting one over my old enemy when I hear him call after me.

‘See ya, Bunny!’

For a split second I’m transported back to my school days. Bunny is the nickname Joe used for me. A loose connection between the colour of my hair and carrots, which still appears to amuse him. I force myself to walk on and not acknowledge his parting shot.

*

Roisin’s heart pumped an extra beat. There was Erin Hurley walking across the green, heading straight to where Roisin and her mam had parked their car. Roisin had got Erin’s voicemail but it had come too late. She hadn’t been sure Erin would come but fate had intervened and made it impossible for her not to. The incident with Jim Hurley, unfortunate as it was for Erin, was fortunate for Roisin.

Suddenly, Roisin thought of her mam and how she would react. She looked across the roof of the car as they got out. Her mam, Diana, was having a good day today. She was calm. She was talking clearly. Thinking rationally. She had even been smiling a lot. Roisin was under no illusion that it was all about to end in a matter of seconds.

‘Mam,’ she called across to her. Diana looked up and smiled. Roisin didn’t return it. She flicked her eyes towards Erin. Her mother followed suit. Roisin watched the recognition spread across Diana’s face like a snow flurry. Her mother’s hand grappled for the car, resting on the front wing for support.

The athletic figure of Erin Hurley walked purposefully towards them. The curls might have gone, but the distinctive red hair was unmistakable as it reflected back the sun, almost challenging it to be brighter.

This was not how Roisin had wanted the meeting with Erin to happen. It was supposed to be just the two of them. Alone. On Roisin’s terms. Somewhere private. Not here in the middle of the village when she was caught by surprise.

Erin was only a few metres away and as she looked up, the recognition in her eyes was instant. The defiant look came a second later. She slowed her pace and came to a stop in front of their car. She fiddled with the bunch of keys she was holding.

‘Hello, Erin,’ said Roisin. She wanted to glance over at her mam to see if she was okay, but she didn’t want to break eye contact with Erin. Roisin had nothing to be ashamed about. She wasn’t the one who had done something so wrong. Roisin hadn’t caused her family this never-ending pain.

‘Hello, Roisin.’ Erin held Roisin’s gaze for a moment and then looked over at Diana. ‘Mrs Marshall.’

‘How is your father?’ Diana spoke with a removed tone to her voice. Roisin wasn’t sure her mam was really that concerned about Jim Hurley, but she asked as that was the polite thing to do.

‘Not too good at all,’ replied Erin.

‘I hope he makes a good recovery,’ said Diana. Her own recovery now in full swing. ‘Please pass on our best wishes to your mother.’

‘Thank you. I will.’

‘I take it you’ll be around for a few days?’ said Roisin, sensing this reunion was coming to a close.

‘That’s right, yes. Until I know he’s better and Mum is okay.’ The reply was stiff and cold.

‘We must catch up,’ said Roisin. ‘We have lots to talk about.’

‘If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know,’ said Diana, straightening her navy tailored jacket and dropping the car keys into her handbag.

‘We’re fine. Thank you.’ A terse response from Erin, which irritated Roisin more than it probably should. A flutter of anger made itself known in her stomach at Erin’s lack of gratitude. Old feelings of hostility broke free. Shame on you, Erin Hurley, for what you did.

‘Is something wrong?’ asked Erin, making her way round to the driver’s door of the car parked next to Diana’s. Roisin recognised it as Jim and Marie Hurley’s car. An old estate car they used for their weekly trip to the trade discount supplier.

Roisin was perfectly aware of the lack of concern in Erin’s voice. If anything, there was almost a mocking, challenging tone as she continued. ‘Don’t worry, I know we have things to catch up on.’ She made quotation marks in the air. Roisin got the subtext.

‘Good. I’ll look forward to it,’ said Roisin.

Without so much as looking their way, Erin reversed out of the parking bay and drove off up Beach Road. It was only once the silver estate car had turned the corner Roisin allowed herself to succumb to the tremors that rippled from the inside to the outside. She looked down at her hand. It was shaking. Adrenalin-fueled.

She took a deep breath. Slowly she exhaled. The feeling of control came back. She had to admit, she hadn’t expected Erin to have that effect on her.

She looked over to her mam. Roisin could tell Diana was fighting with her emotions.

‘You okay, Mam?’

Her mam turned to her. ‘I need to get a few bits from the shop. Why don’t you get what you need from the chemist and I’ll meet you back here in, say, fifteen minutes?’ She totally ignored Roisin’s question. Roisin knew the subject of Erin Hurley was off-limits.

She also knew her mam wanted her out of the way so she could stock up with sherry. Then the subject would have no limits.

Once again, Roisin cursed Erin Hurley for what she’d done to the Marshall family.

*

Diana turned the car into the drive, the gravel scrunching under the tyres. The Manor House looked down on them, casting its shadow across the drive. Roisin looked up at the home she had lived in all her life. It used to be filled with happiness, now it was empty and devoid of any warmth. She ignored the sound of the bottles clanking together as her mam came to an abrupt halt. The wheels ground into the stones. Diana cut the engine and, holding on to the top of the steering wheel, rested her head on her hands.

‘I suppose I should have expected her to turn up,’ said Diana, sitting back in the seat. Her fingers unfurled from the steering wheel. ‘It’s just she’s so brazen. Full of attitude. No shame.’

‘Come on, let’s go inside,’ said Roisin, opening the door. She wanted to distract her mam, to stop her going into a full rant. Roisin knew the routine. Anger followed by despair as the pain was numbed by alcohol. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea and some lunch.’

As Roisin took the shopping into the kitchen, she noted Diana peel off into the drawing room, the bag with the bottles chinking in time with her step.

Roisin made a pot of tea and hurriedly put together two ham sandwiches. It was probably futile. Diana would be well into the sherry by now, but she had to try. She couldn’t give up on her mam. All Roisin ever wanted to do was to save Diana from herself. For her to be the mam she used to be. And since Roisin had found that photograph, she thought she knew how. She could make things right. Roisin could make her mam happy again.

Diana was standing at the fireplace, in one hand a sherry glass, in the other a photograph of Niall. It was taken when he was sixteen. They were on a family skiing holiday.

Roisin placed the tray on the coffee table and, going over to her mam, she took the photograph and replaced it on the mantelpiece. Niall’s deep-blue eyes looked back at her, his ski goggles were strapped around the top of his ski helmet. Mam always insisted they wear helmets. She never took any chances. From when they were a very young age she had instilled in both of them the need to be safe. As a doctor who spent several years working in A and E, she had seen the result of many an accident where the injuries sustained could so easily have been avoided had the victim being wearing or using the correct safety equipment.

Roisin absently ran her finger across Niall’s face. It was as if touching his photo would bring a small crumb of comfort. She wished, like she had every day since the accident, that he had held the same regard for his safety as their mam had.

Roisin guided her mam to the wing-backed armchair beside the fireplace.

‘Here, sit down.’

The lid of the walnut art-deco drinks cabinet was down. The freshly opened bottle of sherry stood on the glass shelf, the lid beside it. Roisin replaced the lid.

‘I’ve not finished,’ Diana said, without turning to look at her daughter.

‘At least have a sandwich,’ said Roisin, putting the lid down and offering the plate to her. Diana took it, but her attention was caught by something else and she rested the plate on the arm of the chair.

‘What’s that sticking out of the sideboard?’ she asked, nodding to the other side of the room.

Roisin swore silently to herself. That was her fault. She had been rummaging through the box of photos the other day. She thought she had put them all back neat and tidy, just as her mam liked it. Roisin was certain Diana had developed OCD over the years. She never used to be this particular about things; it had only been since the accident.

Roisin jumped up quickly and went to put the errant photograph away.

‘Pass it here.’ Diana held out her hand.

Obediently Roisin delivered it to her mam. It was a photograph of Roisin and Niall when they were about five and seven. A school photo. They were both smiling brightly at the camera. Diana drank in the image before her.

She placed the photograph on her lap. As she did, her elbow caught the plate balanced on the arm of the chair. It fell to the floor, the sandwich hitting the parquet tiles, quickly followed by the plate, which broke into two pieces.

Diana didn’t give the plate a glance. Roisin knelt down and picked up the two halves. It reminded her of their hearts. Broken.

‘I’ll make you a fresh sandwich,’ said Roisin, standing up.

‘Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.’

As Roisin left the drawing room and closed the door gently behind her she could hear her mam sob. A guttural noise from deep within. A sound Roisin was all too familiar with.

Roisin took the crockery and sandwich out to the kitchen, choosing not to return to the drawing room. She was not sure she could deal with this today. After the sobs would come the blame. Her mam would say how she held Roisin partly responsible for what had happened. How Roisin should have said something sooner. How Roisin had let her down.

She slipped off her shoes at the bottom of the stairs and trod softly as she ascended the oak staircase, seeking solace in her room.

Her mam went through phases. Sometimes she barely drank at all and, during those dry times, she was easier to live with. However, when she befriended the sherry bottle, she became an emotional wreck. The sadness that emitted from her was so heavy Roisin felt she was drowning in it simply by being in the same room.

Roisin reached the top of the stairs and headed to the back of the house, where her bedroom was situated. Her mam’s sobs were now, thankfully, out of ear shot. She closed the bedroom door behind her and slumped onto her bed.

She needed a few minutes’ peace and quiet to work out what to do next. She needed to up her game. If she was to give her mam something to cling to so she could climb out of the pit of depression she had fallen into, then Roisin needed to make things happen.

Chapter 4

Teenage Kicks

Eight months before leaving

I hate my curly hair. I hate my red hair. I hate my curly, red hair. I hate that Jody Wright and his mates call me Curly Hurley at every opportunity. I walk out of the village-hall youth club away from them, my head held high. I should be used to it by now, but it still hurts.

‘Hey, it’s Erin, isn’t it?’

I stop dead in my tracks as in front of me Niall Marshall is sitting in his car, smoking a cigarette, the driver’s window is wound down and a plume of smoke floats out. He looks pretty cool. I throw a glance over to the passenger seat. His mate, Shane Wright, is sitting with him. They are listening to some drum-and-base music. Shane flicks his cigarette out of the window and nods in acknowledgement of me.

I realise Niall is waiting for an answer. I must try to play it cool. Niall Marshall is a bit of a catch in the quiet backwaters of Rossway. Nearly all the girls in my year have a crush on him. I swallow hard and, resting my hand on my hip, I stick it out to one side and place one foot slightly in front of the other.

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I say.

‘You not staying at the youth club, then?’ he asks.

I shake my head. ‘It’s boring.’

‘Full of kids, right?’ Niall looks over at Shane and they both laugh.

‘There’s nothing else to do in this village,’ I say, as justification for being there.

‘Is that right?’ muses Niall. He leans over and mumbles something to Shane that I can’t make out. I’m not sure whether I should stay where I am or carry on home. Back to where life is even duller. I can’t wait to leave school and get out of this place.

I feel a bit of an idiot standing there and the pose is making my leg hurt.

Shane gets out of the car, saying his goodbyes to Niall. He holds the door open and gestures for me to come over.

‘Aren’t you going to get in, then?’ asks Niall.

‘Am I?’

‘Come on, I’ll take you for a ride. It won’t be boring, I promise.’

I look back at the youth club door, the sounds of some club mix blares out. I look beyond Niall’s car at the road leading to the flat, where I live with my mum and dad. There’s no contest.

I’m sitting beside Niall. I want to squeal with delight and excitement, but I keep it in. He’s two years older than me and the coolest thing since I don’t know what. He flicks the control on his iPod, which is plugged into his stereo and ‘Teenage Kicks’ by The Undertones blasts out from the speakers. I grin to myself and, as I fasten my seat belt, Niall blips the throttle and does whatever you do with the pedals to make the wheels spin for a few seconds, before we lurch forward and Niall floors it. We speed down the High Street. I’m with Niall Marshall! Woohoo!

We drive around the village for a while. As usual, it’s pretty quiet. There’s not much going on in Rossway. There never is.

‘So, where do you want to go?’ he asks.

‘I thought you were going to take me somewhere exciting,’ I say. To be truthful, I don’t mind where we go. If I’m with Niall, I really don’t care. I wonder briefly what Roisin would say if she knew I was out with her older brother. I don’t know if she would be happy. Anyway, she’s with Jody and his crowd. I don’t know why I feel any loyalty towards her, it’s not as if she ever sticks up for me when they start taking the mickey.

‘I know, let’s go out to The Spit,’ says Niall. ‘We can get burger and chips from the takeaway and eat it there.’ The Spit looks out onto the Irish Sea, jutting out from the coastline for about half a mile.

I smile at him. ‘That sounds great,’ I say, even though I’m not really hungry. Mum always makes sure I have some tea at the café before they close at the end of the day. I had a burger tonight, but I’m sure a burger with Niall will taste better than one from the café.

It’s peaceful out at The Spit. We come to a stop in the car park and look out across the dark water, the clouds cross the path of the moon, allowing snatches of light to peak out for only a minute or two.

I eat my burger and I was right. It does taste better.

‘Why were you leaving the youth club early?’ Niall asks.

‘I was actually a bit bored,’ I reply.

‘I think everyone grows out of it after a while. You’re what, sixteen now?’ says Niall through a mouthful of burger.

‘That’s right.’ I feel grown up that I’m sixteen, it sounds so much better than being the fifteen I was a month ago. I like being one of the oldest in the school year.

‘I can’t wait to get away from here,’ says Niall as he screws up the burger wrapper and drops it into the brown-paper takeaway bag. ‘Only one more year in the sixth form and then I’m off to university.’

‘Where are you going?’ I ask, ignoring the little flicker of disappointment that he will only be about for another year.

‘Dublin. If I get my grades, that is,’ he says. ‘I’m going to study law.’

‘Wow! You want to be a lawyer? You must be clever.’

Niall laughs. ‘A little. My mam’s got high hopes for me. She wants me to go into company law – where the money is.’

He imitates his mother’s voice and I laugh.

‘But what about you? Is that what you want to do?’ I ask.

‘I want to represent people who can’t afford a proper solicitor. I want to make a stand for the underdog. Mam doesn’t get that at all. She’s all right, really,’ he says with a smile. ‘She says she just wants what’s best for me. She’s a bit of a control freak at times.’

‘Sounds like my dad. It’s his way or no way. My dad isn’t ambitious for me, though. He’d be happy for me to work in the café when I leave school.’

‘Do you want to?’

‘No way. It’s bad enough having to work in there at the weekends and during school holidays. When I leave school I want to go to college and do a beautician’s course.’

‘What like, make-up and leg wax, that sort of thing?’

‘Yes. I want to have my own salon one day. Be my own boss.’

‘And will your dad let you?’

‘He doesn’t think I’ll stick at it. I’d like to live with my sister, Fiona.’ I fold up the last bit of burger in the wrapper. ‘She lives in London with her husband.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Twenty-four. We get on really well despite the big age gap. I’d be lost without her sometimes.’

‘I’ve only got Roisin,’ says Niall. He pulls a face, which makes me laugh again. ‘I know she’s your friend and all that, but as a sister she’s a feckin’ pain at times. She’s another control freak. I think she must get it from Mam. My poor dad is going to be spending even more time hiding from them at work once I leave home. He says he going to get a huge man-shed in the garden and take up model train-making.’

A small silence settles between us as we contemplate our families.

‘Let’s make a pact,’ he says suddenly. He turns in his seat to look at me. ‘We promise each other we’ll follow our dreams and not let our parents stand in the way. You promise you’ll go to college and become a beautician and I promise I’ll qualify as a solicitor and defend criminal cases. Is it a deal?’

He holds out his hand. I put mine in his. Just touching him makes me feel like a child at Christmas who has opened the best present ever. ‘It’s a deal,’ I manage to say, trying to stay calm and cool.

Niall leans over and kisses me briefly on the mouth. Oh, my God! I’ve had my Christmas and birthday presents all in one go.

We sit for a little longer looking up at the stars, talking about what the future holds for us. What we’re going to call our businesses. We fantasise about the sort of clients we will have. I will work on a cruise ship and travel to faraway places like the Caribbean and Mediterranean. Niall will defend high-profile celebrities and businessmen so he can make enough money to work for free, defending those who can’t afford a solicitor. He sees it as a modern-day Robin Hood sort of figure.

We promise again we’ll follow our dreams.

*

Seven months before leaving

‘When exactly were you going to tell me?’ demands Roisin.

‘Tell you what?’ I try to act all innocent.

We’re sitting next to each other at registration. I know exactly what she means. She means me and Niall becoming a proper item. Proper boyfriend and girlfriend. I hadn’t told her before as I didn’t want her to tell the others. Jody Wright will no doubt find something funny about it.

‘Come on, Erin. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m on about.’

Fortunately, Miss Martin, our form teacher, begins to call the register and I avoid answering Roisin. It gives me time to come up with a reasonable excuse.

As soon as registration is over and Miss Martin tells us to read in silence until the bell goes for first period, Roisin is hissing in my ear.

‘So?’ she demands. ‘When were you going to tell me you were going out with my brother? Why did you keep it a secret? I thought I was your best friend. Best friends are supposed to tell each other everything.’

I resist the urge to say what else best friends are supposed to do, like stick up for each other. Instead I say, ‘I was going to tell you eventually, but I was waiting until it was all official. We’ve only been out a few times.’ I hope she doesn’t press me to define ‘a few times’. I’ve actually seen Niall eight times in the last three weeks. Last night, he said we were officially boyfriend and girlfriend. I think Shane, Jody Wright’s brother, knows as he saw us together last night. He seems cool about it, though. He just said hello and carried on talking to Niall about what he was doing to his car. I suppose it is inevitable now that word will get around. After all, Rossway is only a small village.