Sleep Sister: A page-turning novel of psychological suspense (28 page)

B
eth was
about to knock on her uncle’s office door when Conor emerged. His eyes narrowed suspiciously when he saw her.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘I want to talk to your father.’

‘What about?’

‘It’s personal.’

‘Personal? Is that a fact?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, here’s another fact. We’re a small community here, suspicious of outsiders – especially those who try to stir up trouble. If I find out you have anything to do with these slanderous rumours about my father your days in Anaskeagh are numbered.’

‘Don’t threaten me.’ She faced him squarely. ‘If your father was able to truthfully answer the questions he was asked, there’d be no slanderous rumours.’

‘How dare you presume to know anything―’

‘It’s okay, Conor. I’ll take it from here.’ Her uncle came between them and waved Beth into his office. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’ He closed the door on his son’s face and sat down behind his desk.

‘What is it this time?’ he demanded wearily. ‘I’ve had an extremely busy day, and I hardly imagine you’ve come to enquire about my health.’

‘It must make you proud to be so indispensable.’

He frowned and waved her to a seat. ‘I do the job I’ve been elected to do.’

‘You do it well.’ She continued to stand. ‘That was an impressive interview you gave at the factory. I was quite impressed by the way you stood up to Greg Enright’s insinuations.’

He sighed. ‘The media are part and parcel of a politician’s life. We tolerate them, just as we tolerate earwigs or bad breath. But that doesn’t mean we have to give them credence. I presume you know the story is dead.’

‘I heard. It seems that mud doesn’t stick after all.’

‘There was no mud, Beth. You’d be a foolish woman to suggest otherwise.’

He sat back in his chair, legs crossed, his top leg casually swinging backward and forward. Sometimes, in his presence, she imagined a pool, opaque at first but gradually becoming clearer until she could see herself as a child spreadeagled, speared, submerged; a discarded scrap, filled with loathing and disgust. She struggled against these sensations, knowing the flashbacks would follow before she had time to brace herself. Now, in that sudden flash, she saw him sitting in the chair where her father used to sit, the same rhythmic leg movement, drinking tea and asking about school. Was she behaving herself or being a naughty girl again? She should kneel and ask God’s forgiveness… Beth pressed her hands flat against his desk to stop them trembling and leaned towards him.

‘Greg Enright is looking for background material on Anaskeagh. It seems he did some research about the baby. The one abandoned on the headland. I hope I wasn’t acting out of turn by mentioning your name?’

His body stilled, the tilt of his head almost imperceptible. ‘Why would you mention my name?’

‘You were a county councillor at the time and in a position to talk knowledgeably about it.’

‘And now I’m a minister. Time moves on, Beth, but I still look after my own. I’ve just interviewed a deserted young wife whose husband left her with four children under the age of six. I hope to move her into a council house on Fatima Estate next week. My clinic is filled with constituents with similar problems. That’s the reality of the here and now, not some forgotten incident that no one wants—’

‘An
incident
?’

‘It’s history. No one in this town has the slightest interest in revisiting that tragedy.’

‘Perhaps not. All Greg Enright needs is background information. I’m sure you’ll be able to help him. It’s the least you can do, especially as you’ve effectively killed his investigation. I wanted you to know in advance so you have time to refresh your memory. Good evening, Uncle Albi.’

T
he group
of men parked their cars on Anaskeagh Pier. They removed fishing tackle and chatted quietly as they pulled peaked hats over their heads and belted their life jackets. It was a balmy early-summer evening, the sea gently rocking the large white cruiser moored offshore. Albert Grant was late arriving. He strode towards the men and uttered a brief apology for keeping them waiting.

‘This is it, Chas,’ Greg said tersely to the cameraman. They emerged from behind the corner of the high pier wall. The
Elucidate
crew had returned to Dublin, leaving him and the cameraman, Chas Woods, to wrap up. Chas stepped backward as his camera swept over the group of men. Greg moved close to the politician and held the microphone towards him.

‘Minister Grant, we’re doing a story on the Anaskeagh baby. I have a primary source who maintains that you are familiar with the events leading up to the tragedy.’

The politician turned away from the camera, shouting. ‘Jesus Christ! As well as harassing me you’re breaking the law! Are you aware that there is an injunction about to be served on your programme?’ He breathed heavily as he tried to move past Greg and reach the steps.

‘The Anaskeagh tragedy is a different story.’ Greg kept in step with him. ‘It’s a human-interest story. I repeat – we have a primary source who is willing to go on record to tell her story. As you were a county councillor at the time you were obviously involved in the investigation that followed and—’

‘This is outrageous!’ The politician lashed out at the microphone. ‘That unfortunate tragedy had nothing to do with me. Like everyone else in Anaskeagh, my only interest was in helping the mother – but, as she never came forward, there was nothing more any of us could do.’

One of the men pushed against Greg. ‘You’re upsetting the minister,’ he shouted and shoved him again. Greg staggered, almost losing his balance. Sweat trickled under his arms. He was too close to the edge of the pier. Another man tackled Chas, blocking the camera with his hand and attempting to push it to one side. The cameraman fell as he tried to keep his balance, hitting his head against the wall. His camera crashed down on the stony surface. Casually, as if he was kicking a fish back into the water, his attacker nudged it over the side then dragged Chas to the edge.

‘Can you see it?’ he roared. ‘Do you want to go down and look for it?’

Chas’s head was forced downwards. He made a choking sound, wheezing as the craggy surface of the pier pressed into his neck. Greg recognised the attacker as Ben Layden, the property developer who owned the shopping centre in Anaskeagh.

‘Fucking media!’ Another man jabbed him in the chest as he struggled to reach the cameraman. ‘You think you’ve nothing better to do than come down here hassling people.’

‘Gentlemen, please.’ The politician’s words immediately eased the threatening atmosphere. Ben Layden loosened his grip on Chas, who moaned loudly, too breathless to rise to his feet.

‘My camera! He kicked my camera into the sea.’ Chas was almost incoherent with rage as he struggled upright. He flung himself towards the burly man who’d attacked him but Greg held him back, frightened by the intimidating stance of the men. Pillars of Anaskeagh society, the politician’s men, each with their own reasons for keeping their dealings with Albert Grant under wraps.

‘A most unfortunate accident.’ The politician stared down into the rippling water.

‘Accident! You call that a fucking accident?’ Chas roared.

‘That’s exactly what I call it, young man. And these four men are witnesses.’ He faced Greg, unflustered. ‘Just remember this, Mr Enright. You and your colleague have attempted to besmirch my reputation with innuendo and allegations. This incident has added to the seriousness of your situation. I suggest you leave here quietly and allow us to begin our fishing trip. I wish you a safe journey home. The next time we meet it will be in a court of law.’

G
reg was checking
out of The Anaskeagh Arms when his producer rang. She came straight to the point. ‘They’re screaming assault, intimidation and defamation of character.’

‘That’s rich coming from the Anaskeagh Mafia. You’re lucky you’re not bearing two drowned bodies back to Dublin.’

‘It might be an easier option for us to handle,’ Sue snapped back. ‘I can’t believe a journalist with your experience would undertake such an inept doorstep interview without the proper support systems in place. The end result was the destruction of a valuable camera, but that’s another matter, which will be dealt with in the fullness of time.’ Her voice carried to Chas who grimaced and formed a noose with his hands. ‘
Elucidate
is successful only because we’ve always based our investigative features on a solid bank of evidence. I want the two of you in my office as soon as you return to Dublin. And the sooner the better. The programme controller has raised serious questions about your futures with
Elucidate
.’

M
arjory opened
the door before Beth had time to ring the bell. Lipstick smudged her upper lip, a garish slash on her ashen face. She had rung when Beth was reading a bedtime story to Gail. At first, it had been difficult to make out what she was saying but one thing was clear: she wanted to see her daughter immediately.

She walked rapidly ahead of Beth into the dining room. The television was on with the volume lowered. She slumped into a chair and stared at the silent screen.

‘What have you been saying to that television reporter fellow?’ Her voice shook with anger. ‘Ben Layden’s wife told me he was down on the pier asking questions about that baby. What’s that got to do with Albert? What’s it got to do with any of us?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Oh, you know all right. Your conniving mind never changes. Always making trouble for your uncle.’ She slipped lower in her chair. Her jutting bottom lip and hooded eyes reminded Beth of a lizard, wrinkled and burned out. ‘Even when you were a little girl there was badness in you – and you’re doing it again. You hate Albert so much you’d bring disgrace on this family to destroy him.’

‘Why do I hate him?’ Beth shouted so suddenly that her mother’s thin frame jerked with shock.

‘It’s your father in you. He was always jealous because he had neither the brains nor the drive to be like my brother. All he ever did with his life was play music and run around with whores.’

Beth trembled, still raw from the shock of Connie’s prognosis. Cancer, as Beth had feared. Terminal. ‘This has nothing to do with Connie. Why do you always avoid my question? How much longer will you go on denying—’

‘My tablets… My tablets... Where are they?’ Marjory lifted her handbag and fumbled inside it. ‘My doctor says I’m not to be getting upset about things. But how can I avoid it when you’re spreading slander about your family?’ She raised her thin shoulders so high her face seemed to shrink into them. ‘Get me a glass of water. I need to take my heart tablets immediately.’

‘What’s wrong with your heart?’

‘It’s broken. That’s what’s wrong with it!’ Marjory snatched the glass of water Beth brought her and swallowed two tablets. ‘That journalist says he knows the identity of the baby’s mother. How can he know that? How can he?’ Her mouth quivered. ‘No wonder May hated you. She never had a good word to say about you. She hated you until the day she died.’

‘She had good reason to.’

‘Not like Sara, my lamb. She loved Sara. Why did she say such a thing… Such a terrible thing to say to me. My Sara… How could she hurt me so?’ Her hands fluttered upwards then fell limply to her lap.

Beth stared at her mother’s bent head. ‘Sara told you, didn’t she? She came to Anaskeagh before she died to talk to you. But you refused to believe her… as he did—’

‘You filled her head with your crazy nonsense―’

‘You
cherished
her,’ Beth cried. ‘How could you deny her when she needed you so desperately?’

‘She was sick, Beth. Don’t you understand
anything
? She was having a nervous breakdown. Those antidepressants she used to take. My poor lamb, they made her delusional… Saying those awful things to Albert. He was so good to her! Sending her to boarding school, the best education, always watching out for her. He would have done the same for you too. But oh no, you had to go your own road, always making trouble… accusations. And now you’re here spreading those same filthy lies. Trying to bring shame on our family name.’

‘As Sara failed to do. Is that what’s frightening you, Marjory? That you denied the daughter you loved rather than accept her truth?’

The words thudded towards Marjory, who bent forward as if she’d been struck.

‘Stop it… Stop it at once! You’ll kill me with your lies. I don’t want you coming near my house again with your charity.’ She struggled to her feet, tears furrowing her cheeks. ‘How dare you think you can make up for years of neglect by shoving a few tins into my presses. I managed well enough on my own until you came back and I’ll manage when you’re gone. And mark my words you’ll be gone soon enough if there’s one more word out of your mouth about that baby. It’s got nothing to do with us. It never had and it
never
will.’

Beth imagined gripping the embittered old woman by her shoulders and shaking her until her head lolled to one side and she stopped breathing. Horrified by the thought, she grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair and left.

The engine cut out when she tried to start her car. She banged her fist off the steering wheel, hitting it repeatedly until pain shot through her arm and sobered her. Her sister had gone to Anaskeagh to confront her past and been denied twice by those who claimed to love her. But first, strengthened by Jess’s comfort, she’d gone to Estuary View Heights seeking solace from Beth. The last time they’d been together. Beth could recall the day in all its petty demands. Safe in her cosy citadel where meals needed to be served on time and the dictates of family life dominated her days, she’d refused to listen to her sister. Thrice denied, Sara had gone to her death as alone then as she’d been on Anaskeagh Head when darkness had closed around her childhood.