The Girl Who Lied: The bestselling psychological drama

Kerry shook himself mentally and, letting go of the chair, turned to focus on the bistro table instead.

‘So, how was your first day?’ he asked, carrying a table in behind Erin.

‘Not so bad in the end. It’s been really quiet this afternoon. Not sure if it’s always like this, but it was hardly worth being open.’ They put the furniture to one side.

‘It will probably pick up more in the summer, though,’ said Kerry, holding the door open so they could go back out and collect some more tables and chairs.

‘I suppose so. If it’s like this tomorrow, I might close early.’

‘When do you think you’ll go back to London?’ Kerry hoped he sounded only mildly interested.

‘I need to see how things go with my dad first,’ she said. ‘There’s still no change in his condition. The doctors were having a consultation amongst themselves today to decide the best way forward.’

‘Is that good or bad?’ asked Kerry, although he acknowledged it didn’t sound good.

She shrugged and looked as if she was struggling to find the right words for a moment. He watched her swallow hard and then look up at him. ‘I really couldn’t say.’

Kerry placed another table inside the café. He felt he should comfort her with a hug or soothing words, but he got the distinct impression Erin didn’t want a fuss made. He decided best to leave it. As he turned to get the last of the tables, he saw a familiar figure heading towards the café, their eyes fixed firmly on the back of Erin as she stacked the last few chairs

She wasn’t hard to track down. She was going to be one of three places. At the hospital. At her sister’s or here, at the café. It wasn’t like she had loads of friends to catch up with.

Roisin neared the café, her thoughts solely on Erin. It wouldn’t be so bad, but after what happened, Erin had no right to disappear and start a new life, washing her hands of her old one, just because it didn’t work out the way she wanted it. Got herself a rich boyfriend in London and thought she was the bee’s knees. Sure, she had barely been back here. What sort of daughter was she?

But, hey, look at her now, waiting on tables. Serves her right. Roisin was so looking forward to wiping that smug look off her face and making Erin admit to what she really did.

‘How the mighty fall.’

Kerry looked from her to Erin and back again. His eyes were wary. He clearly wasn’t sure how things stood between the two of them.

Erin put the chair down and turned to face Roisin. ‘Hello, Roisin. I’m sorry but the café’s closed now.’

Sure, she wasn’t sorry at all. Erin knew Roisin wasn’t here for a cosy catch-up over a one-shot-skinny-latte, or whatever it was she drank. Probably some detox green-leaf crap, knowing her.

‘I’m not here for a coffee,’ said Roisin. ‘I didn’t get a chance to speak to you before, not with me mam there.’

‘I’m a bit busy right now,’ said Erin, glancing back at Kerry.

‘You got yourself a new job?’ Roisin asked, looking at Kerry.

‘Just being neighbourly,’ said Kerry.

‘Clearly. So, in the spirit of being neighbourly, has Erin been telling you all our secrets?’

‘That sounds dangerous,’ said Kerry.

The trouble with Kerry, Roisin could never read him. He could be so deadpan at times. She didn’t care; it gave her another opportunity for a dig at Erin. Roisin quite liked the way Erin had that look of uncertainty in her eyes. She had no clue as to what Roisin might say next.

‘Secrets are always dangerous,’ said Roisin. ‘Aren’t they, Erin?’

‘I need to get on,’ said Erin, ignoring the comment.

‘Yes, I’m sure you do,’ said Roisin. ‘Oh, meant to say, I got your text message…in the end.’

Erin looked up at her. ‘Good.’

‘It was too late, though,’ said Roisin, enjoying the doubt on Erin’s face. ‘Maybe we can catch up another time? There’s so much we need to talk about. Not least, why you did a disappearing act.’

‘It wasn’t a disappearing act.’ There was a snap in Erin’s voice and Roisin was rather pleased with herself. She had got the conversation to a place where she wanted it. A place Erin wasn’t happy to be: talking about her past. Erin turned her back on Roisin and picked up the last of the bistro tables. ‘I need to get finished here and go up to the hospital to see my dad.’

Before Roisin could reply, Kerry spoke. ‘Sorry, we must be holding you up. We’ll let you get on. Come on, Roisin, let’s go for a drink at The Smugglers.’ He whistled for Skip to follow.

Roisin went to protest, but Kerry took her elbow and whisked her away.

‘Sometimes, Kerry, you’re a proper gentleman,’ said Roisin, as she fell into step with him. ‘A drink is nice, although I’m not sure for whose benefit the offer is.’ She looked back over her shoulder and called out before Erin disappeared inside. ‘Don’t worry, Erin, there will be plenty of time for us to catch up. I’ll be in touch. Very soon.’

Chapter 7

Kerry always enjoyed spending time at Apple Tree Cottage. Joe and Bex always made him feel at home. No one stood on ceremony. Their home definitely had a lived-in feel, but one that was warm and welcoming; just as Kerry thought a home should be.

Kerry was in the garden with Joe, watching him fiddle around with the lawn mower. Skip was laid flat out on the grass, basking in the warm May sunshine.

‘Aren’t you fed up that you keep having to fix that old thing?’ said Kerry as Joe made yet another attempt to start the petrol mower. ‘Why don’t you admit defeat and buy a new one?’

‘No, there’s plenty of life left in it yet,’ said Joe. He knelt down and took the cover off the engine.

Kerry leaned against the shed and surveyed the garden at Apple Tree Cottage. Laid to lawn mostly, there were deep flowerbeds either side in which Bex, Joe’s wife, had randomly planted traditional cottage-garden plants. There was a semi wildness about it, much like Joe and Bex themselves, thought Kerry. The rear of the garden was fenced off, a small gate leading to the vegetable plot. Bex embraced the whole home-grown, organic ethos and could often be found tending to the many varieties of vegetables and fruits. Even with the recent birth of their second child, Bex was still a dedicated gardener.

The other side of their garden was home to free-range hens, which Bex had rescued from a battery farm. Only last week, Kerry had helped Joe make another hen house to accommodate the recent additions to Bex’s poultry sanctuary.

‘You’re wasting your breath trying to persuade him to buy a new one,’ said Bex, coming out into the garden. ‘I’ve been telling him for the past two years, but he likes a challenge.’ She smiled as she spoke.

‘I was thinking maybe we should go for the meadow look,’ said Joe, as he picked up a spanner from the ground and began tightening a nut. ‘Is Breeze asleep?’

‘Yes, I’ve just fed her,’ said Bex. ‘She’s gone straight off. It’s hard to believe she’s only a month old, she’s such a dream.’

At that moment, their three-year-old son came tearing out into the garden, dressed in a Superman outfit.

‘Watch out,’ said Kerry, sidestepping the youngster. ‘Superman Storm’s arrived. Hey, buddy, who are you saving the world from today?’

‘Marshmallow Man!’ called back Storm as he raced around the garden, stopping by the path to have an imaginary fight with his adversary. Skip raised his head to see what all the fuss was about, but the warmth of the sun was a more tempting option and he rested his head back down.

Bex turned back to Joe. ‘Why don’t you borrow your dad’s mower?’ she said. ‘We can’t go for the meadow look, we’ve got the barbecue soon and then a couple of weeks after that it’s Breeze’s naming ceremony.’

‘I’m…not…giving up,’ muttered Joe and then cursed as the spanner slipped from the bolt and clattered to the floor.

‘Want me to take a look?’ said Kerry. He pushed himself away from the side of the shed.

‘Nope. It’s not going to win,’ said Joe. Picking up his spanner again and issuing a series of threats to the machine, he set back to work.

‘I’ll take that as my cue to leave,’ said Kerry. He turned to Bex. ‘Shall I take Superman out for an hour for you? I’ll get him an ice-cream or something.’

‘Oh, would you?’ said Bex. ‘That would be great. I’ve got a load of nappies to wash out.’

‘Definitely my cue to leave,’ said Kerry.

‘You can leave Skip here,’ said Bex. ‘He’s no trouble. Won’t be much fun for him sat outside the café.’

‘Okay, thanks,’ said Kerry. ‘Hey! Superman! Do you want to recharge your powers with a bowl of ice-cream?’

‘Ice-cream! Ice-cream! Yes. Ice-cream!’ Storm ran over to Kerry and danced around his feet.

‘That’s a yes, then.’ Kerry gave Bex a peck on the cheek and Joe a pat on the shoulder. ‘Catch you later, cuz.’ As he headed out of the garden, holding Storm’s hand, he called back over his shoulder. ‘You may want to turn the fuel supply on!’

He laughed out loud as he heard Joe curse at him. By the time Kerry stepped out onto Corkscrew Lane, he heard the mower’s engine rumble into life.

Erin placed the bowl of ice-cream, vanilla with strawberry sauce, on the table in front of Storm. ‘So, Storm and Breeze,’ she said. ‘They’re unusual names. A bit like yours and Joe’s.’

‘Blame our mums for that. They collaborated,’ said Kerry with a smile. ‘As for this generation of Wrights, Bex says she named them after her pregnancies. A difficult first pregnancy and an easy second one. Plus the fact Bex is into all that being-at-one-with-nature business.’

‘I remember she was a bit hippy looking when we were younger.’

‘She’s very environmentally friendly, loves nature, makes her own bread and keeps chickens. Very bohemian. You get the picture.’

‘Hugs trees? Protests against urban development and smokes roll-ups?’ suggested Erin.

‘Something like that,’ replied Kerry, smiling.

‘She was a year below me at school,’ said Erin. ‘She’s married to Joe? Neither of them left the village, then.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that. I like living here, actually. There’s a real sense of community. Everyone’s really friendly.’

‘Hmm, nosey, you mean.’

‘You’re really not a fan of Rossway, are you?’ said Kerry, aiming a spoon of ice-cream in the direction of Storm’s open mouth. It reminded him of the wildlife programmes where the birds came back with little grubs to give to the eager, open-mouthed chicks. ‘Why don’t you like it?’

Erin shrugged. ‘Just don’t. Anyway, I’d better get on. Do you want anything else?’

‘No, I’m good for now. I’ll have something later.’ He held her gaze for a moment, the little smile now a broad grin. He didn’t miss the small flush of colour to her cheeks before she turned away.

‘What you doing two weeks Sunday?’ The question brought Erin to a halt.

She turned to face him. ‘Why?’

‘Bex and Joe are having a barbecue. Didn’t know if you fancied coming. You could catch up with Bex, maybe. It’s all very casual and low key.’

‘I’ll be busy. I’ve got something on.’

Kerry raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? You’ve got something to do in Rossway.’ He could tell she was being evasive. It intrigued him. ‘Come on, you never know, you might enjoy yourself. Or is it that you don’t want to associate with the locals?’ He gave a wink to show he wasn’t being totally serious.

‘It’s not that.’

‘So…,’ prompted Kerry. ‘You going to enlighten me?’

‘I hardly know you, for a start.’

Kerry let out a small burst of laughter. She dipped her head but he could see the smile on her face.

‘Okay. I’m twenty-six. My star sign is Aries. My favourite food is Indian. I like rock music and ride a motorbike. I love the sea and hate the gym.’ He rattled the facts off like a machine gun in rapid-fire mode. ‘Oh, and I was kicked out of the Scouts for setting fire to a tent…by accident, of course. What more do you need to know? Come on, say yes.’

‘Normally, I would say yes,’ said Erin.

‘Just say it, then,’ said Kerry. ‘It’s not hard. Y. E. S. Yes. Go on, give it a try.’

‘I have a visitor coming. From England,’ said Erin. The smile slipped from her face. ‘My boyfriend.’

Kerry hadn’t been expecting that, but then he wasn’t entirely surprised. Why wouldn’t she have a boyfriend? ‘Bring him too,’ he said. Not because he especially revelled in the idea, but a certain morbid curiosity had swept over him. He’d like to see what sort of fella had won Erin’s affections.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Erin. ‘I haven’t seen Bex since I left Rossway all those years ago. She might not even want me gate-crashing.’

‘Bex won’t mind. She’s the most laid-back person I know.’ Kerry lifted the bowl to scrape the last of the ice-cream for Storm.

‘I’ll have a think about it.’

The bell tinkled above the door as two customers arrived. Erin smiled at Kerry, before going off to greet them. Kerry turned his attention to his coffee.

‘All done?’ said Erin coming over to them some ten minutes later. She took the bowl and coffee cup from the table.

‘If you do decide to come to the barbecue,’ said Kerry ensuring a casual tone to his voice, ‘it’s Apple Tree Cottage, Corkscrew Lane, but I’ll see you before then anyway.’ He wiped Storm’s mouth with a napkin and lifted him down from the chair. He pulled out a note from his wallet and gave it to Storm. ‘Here you go, Superman, give the money to the lady and say bye.’

As Storm went to pass the note to Erin, he let go of it too soon and it fluttered to the floor. Erin stooped down and picked up the money, handing it back to Storm. ‘My treat.’

‘Say thank you to the lovely lady,’ prompted Kerry, giving Storm a gentle nudge forwards.

Without warning Storm planted a rather sloppy kiss on Erin’s cheek. ‘Thank you, lovely lady,’ he said.

‘Thank you, Storm. You’re welcome.’ Erin stood up.

Kerry grinned and then, on impulse, he too gave Erin a surprise kiss on the other cheek. ‘Thank you, lovely lady,’ he said.

‘What was that for?’

‘Just being friendly,’ said Kerry, feigning innocence.

Kerry left the café without so much as a backward glance, feeling very pleased with himself. He ignored the small voice of warning in his head. Erin Hurley was complicated, secretive and she had a boyfriend. He should be staying well clear, but never one to walk on the safe side, the intrigue was drawing him in.

Joe’s parents, Max and Louise, were at Apple Tree Cottage when Kerry arrived back with Storm. While Louise cooed over the baby and made a fuss of her grandson, Max took Kerry to one side.

‘You got a minute, Kerry?’

Kerry followed his uncle into the garden and lighting a cigarette each, they wandered towards the far end of the lawn, where the hedge and picket gate segregated the vegetable patch.

Kerry had no idea what Max wanted to talk about, although the troubled look on his face gave him a good indication he wouldn’t like what was coming next. Max pushed his hand into the back pocket of his trousers and pulled out an envelope. He proffered it to Kerry. ‘It’s a letter from your mother. Go on, take it.’ He waved the letter in his hand. Kerry could see his name written in his mother’s hand-writing, no address, no stamp. ‘It came in another envelope with a card for your aunt’s birthday,’ explained Max, as if reading Kerry’s thoughts.

Reluctantly, Kerry took the letter, but made no attempt to open it. ‘Thanks,’ he said, folding it in half and slipping into the back pocket of his jeans.

‘You ought to speak to your mother,’ said Max, not unkindly. ‘It’s been a long time, Kerry. Time’s a great healer and mellower of people.’

‘I haven’t got anything to say to her, and besides, if he’s still about I’m certainly not having anything to do with either of them.’

‘It’s not Tom’s fault your dad died.’ Max absentmindedly stroked his goatee beard, a habit Kerry recognised whenever his uncle was concerned about something. It obviously still pained Max to think about his own brother’s death, even though it was twelve years ago now. ‘You can’t blame him or your mother for it.’

‘I’m not blaming him. I just don’t like him. He’s a tosser, that’s all.’

Not wishing to hang around any longer than necessary, not least in case his aunt should start trying to convince him to contact his mother, Kerry made his excuses and left.

Once he was back in his flat, Kerry placed the envelope on the coffee table in front of him. For a long time he sat there looking at it. Should he open it, if only to see what she had to say? Would she be apologising or would she be berating him?

Kerry knew his uncle meant well, trying to encourage him to patch things up, but after all this time, Kerry still didn’t feel ready to speak to her. He wondered whether he ever would. He exhaled deeply before getting up and going along the hallway to his bedroom. He knelt down at the side of his bed and slid out a shoebox. In it were nine other white envelopes. Each with his name and the same handwriting. His mother’s.

He slipped the envelope into the box, alongside the others, and pushed the box back under the bed. The pain of her last words to him was branded on his heart.

Chapter 8

Seahorse Café has been steady all week and after being here for over two weeks, I feel I’m getting into my stride. I can definitely manage the early-morning breakfast rush now. Kerry and Joe don’t come in every morning, but when they do, I can’t deny it makes the morning much more pleasant. The only fly in the ointment is Roisin.

I debate whether I should, in fact, just leave matters. Should I start poking the hornets’ nest? Or should I leave it? Maybe she’ll grow bored and go away? However, my next thought is that I know Roisin too well. She won’t let matters drop, especially as she has that photograph. She must be biding her time for a particular reason.

I decide I need to take the initiative rather than wait to dance to Roisin’s tune.

With the mid-afternoon lull now upon me, I idly wipe down the counter and rearrange the contents of the chiller cabinet, moving the colder bottles to the front of the refrigerator and the more recent additions to the rear. I wonder what she’s planning. She can’t possibly know the significance of that photograph. It may give her a clue, but it’s only half the story. And even if she did suspect the truth, she has absolutely no way of proving it. I hold onto this last thought.

The door to the café opens, breaking my thoughts.

‘Hello, Erin! Remember me?’

I smile hesitantly as another ghost from my past resurrects itself. This ghost, however, is probably a more pleasant apparition. Perhaps because Bex is a year younger, she had never got involved with the teasing and tormenting I endured. As teenagers we had been friendly rather than friends, the crossover of groups unavoidable in a small place like Rossway.

‘Hi, Rebecca, how are you?’ I say, trying to assimilate the old memory of Rebecca the teenager with the up-to-date version: Bex the adult, wife and mum.

Bex certainly is rather boho, as Kerry had said. I take in the long, sinuous dark hair with streaks of indigo running through, matched by an equally flowing skirt that nearly reaches the ground. Bex’s purple Dr Martens boots kick out from under the fabric as she walks and she appears to be carrying some sort of multi-coloured cloth bundle in front of her. I realise this bundle is, in fact, tied round Bex and snugly tucked inside is the baby.

‘Kerry said you were here, so I thought I’d come and see you.’ She smiles warmly at me. ‘And no one calls me Rebecca these days, not even my mum. It’s Bex.’

‘Sorry, I’m a bit out of touch with everything. Although, I do know about your little one. Congratulations. How’s everything?’

‘Really good, thanks. Come on, Storm, you sit here.’ She pulls out a chair for her son and then, adjusting the baby bundle slightly, seats herself on the opposite side of the table. ‘There, she’s fast asleep now. The fresh air obviously did the trick.’

I nod and give a courteous look at baby Breeze nestled peacefully in her fabric cocoon. Immediately, the familiar feeling, something akin to fear and regret, flits through me as I admire the tiny features of the baby and see the tender look Bex gives her daughter.

‘She’s lovely,’ I say, then standing back, take out my order pad and pen. ‘Now, what can I get you?’

‘Black coffee for me, please, and a vanilla milkshake for Storm.’ Bex looks at the menu. ‘Think I’ll treat myself to a toasted teacake and Storm can have a cookie.’

I jot the order down on my pad. ‘Okay, I’ll get that sorted.’

‘How’s your dad?’ asks Bex. ‘I heard what happened.’

‘No change,’ I say, touched that she has asked. ‘He’s being kept in a medically induced coma. They’re waiting for the swelling on his brain to go down. They’ve given him a scan, but can’t tell from the results. They said he needs to rest and this is the best way. Also, his breathing is affected. They’re using a ventilator to give him a hand. They don’t think he can manage on his own.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ says Bex. ‘It is nice to see you, though, despite the circumstances.’

I smile. I’m taking to Bex already. ‘Thanks.’

‘What did you do when you left here? I heard you went to London?’ asks Bex.

I’m grateful for the change in subject.

‘Yes. I went to live my sister, Fiona. Went to college and did a beautician’s course, worked in a couple of places before ending up where I am now, at a health and fitness spa.’

‘This is a bit of a change for you.’ Bex grins as she indicates the café with a slight nod of the head.

‘You could say that. I’m only helping out while my dad’s not well. I’ve been given some time off from work, but I’m not sure how long they’ll be so understanding.’

‘You don’t fancy moving back for good?’

There’s something about Bex’s easy manner that doesn’t seem to challenge my departure from the village. It’s a nice change from the usual reaction I’ve been getting from customers once they realise who I am. It’s almost like an accusation when they refer to my leaving.

‘Moving back? Not really.’ That’s an understatement. ‘I don’t think village life, well Rossway life, is for me.’

Bex nods, as if understanding. ‘No, it can be a bit claustrophobic at times, I must admit.’

‘Not enough that it ever drove you away, then?’

‘For a bit, but only as far as Cork. You can’t really call that a life-changing move.’ Bex chuckles as she takes the salt and pepper pots away from Storm, who looks like he’s about to attempt to lick them. ‘Once myself and Joe became serious there really wasn’t any debate about where we would live. He’s very close to his family and, of course, working for his dad.’

‘Have you been with Joe a long time?’ I ask. I don’t know why this idea surprises me. I hadn’t pictured Joe as the childhood-sweetheart type.

‘Oh yeah, since I was eighteen and he was nineteen.’

‘Good for you,’ I say.

‘It’s not always been easy, don’t go thinking that,’ says Bex. ‘We’ve had our ups and downs. We called off the wedding once and I went away with my sister. Thought it was all over. But it was all sorted out in the end and that was a long time ago. We don’t count it. Not when you look at the big picture. We’re love’s young dream.’ Bex grins and although she’s laughing at herself, I can tell she is obviously very happy, courtesy of Joe. Maybe he does have some redeeming features after all.

‘Look, I’d better get your order before the baby wakes up,’ I say, although I actually think Storm needs distracting by way of his milkshake as he now seems intent on squeezing tomato sauce out of the plastic bottle and onto the table.

When I come back, Bex is in the middle of what looks like a game of chess. As she moves one item away from Storm he reaches over to grab another.

‘There you go, Storm,’ I say cheerily. ‘Lovely vanilla milkshake and a biscuit.’

‘What do you say?’ prompts Bex.