The Girl Who Lied(122)

Pat went into the drawing room, reappearing with a small glass of sherry, which Diana downed in one go.

‘The thing is,’ said Roisin, once Diana had placed the empty glass on the coffee table. ‘After the accident, everyone assumed Erin had lost the baby.’

‘Yes. She did,’ said Diana. ‘Her mother told me so.’

‘Mam, she didn’t have a miscarriage. She was okay in the end. She went to England straight after the funeral. She had the baby over there.’

‘What do you mean?’ Diana sounded a mix of anger and surprise.

‘She went through with the pregnancy,’ said Roisin, knowing there was no way back now, despite the incredulous look on her mother’s face and the knowledge that this would poleaxe her. ‘She had the baby. She had Niall’s baby. Your grandchild.’

‘No. That’s not possible,’ said Diana, flapping Roisin away with her hand, like she would an irritating fly. ‘Marie Hurley made a point of coming to me after the funeral and telling me that Erin had had a heavy bleed and there was no need for a termination.’

‘That, I suppose, was the truth,’ said Roisin. ‘Marie Hurley left out a few details, though.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ muttered Pat. He left the room and came back this time with the sherry bottle and two more glasses. He poured one for them all.

Diana took another drink. ‘What happened to the baby?’ she said. Her voice was quiet. ‘What happened to my son’s child?’

‘They named her Sophie,’ said Roisin, trying to break the news gently. ‘Sophie Keane.’

Her father looked blank. It didn’t mean anything to him. Her mother, however, made the connection. ‘Sophie Keane?’ she repeated.

‘That’s right. Fiona and Sean’s oldest girl,’ said Roisin. ‘They have brought her up as their own.’

Diana stared at her daughter for a minute before speaking. ‘I have a grandchild living in this village and I didn’t know?’ She rose and walked across to the French doors, which overlooked the gardens. She gazed out of the window and hugged her arms around her waist, pulling her cardigan around her. ‘Niall has a daughter. Part of Niall lives on.’ Her hand went to her mouth to stifle a sob and then she collapsed onto the parquet flooring.

As Roisin and her father rushed over and picked her up, Diana was crying but smiling at the same time. Supporting her, one under each arm, they took her over to the sofa and put her feet up.

‘Just rest there, Mam.’

Diana reached out for her husband and grasped his hands within her own.

‘Pat, we have a grandchild. Niall hasn’t gone completely,’ she said through her sobs. Roisin realised these were sobs of joy. ‘He’s still with us. We have a grandchild.’ Diana repeated these two sentences several times.

‘Go and get your mother’s pills,’ said Pat.

‘I don’t want to be sedated. Those tablets are to stop me feeling pain. This isn’t pain. This is pure joy. I want to feel every moment of it,’ said Diana through her tears.

Roisin found herself crying too. Even her father couldn’t stop the tears from falling. For the first time since Niall had died Roisin could see the happy, joyous mother she had once known. Perhaps her father could see it too. There was a glimmer of her mother, the one who laughed and sang and played games with her. Her mam was coming back to them. No matter what anyone said, Roisin knew she had done the right thing.

The silence lies heavy across Fiona’s kitchen table. My mum sits beside me with Fiona and Sean opposite. After the initial relief that mum has been released by the Guards, the harsh reality of what we must face is now upon us.

‘How’s your father?’ Mum ventures at last.

‘I went to see him today,’ says Fiona. ‘He was awake for much longer than the last time and the sleeps in between were much shorter.’

‘And his speech?’

‘It’s getting better. A little slurred and slow, but the doctor says it’s all good signs. They are going to get him out of bed tomorrow and see how his gross motor skills are.’

‘There’s something you need to know,’ says Mum. ‘About your dad’s fall.’

Fiona reaches across the table. ‘It’s okay, Mum. We know.’

‘I told them,’ I say. ‘I thought they should know. No more secrets.’

‘I’ll have to tell the Guards,’ says Mum.

‘You can’t do that,’ I say. The thought of my mum being questioned again and possibly charged for attempted murder for real, fills me with horror. Fiona protests too.

‘Now, you three listen to me,’ says Sean. ‘This conversation need never be had again. What happened at the top of the steps was an accident. You can’t be prosecuted for your thoughts, only your actions. You didn’t push Jim. He fell. End of.’ He looks purposefully at each of us in turn. We nod in agreement. ‘Good. Now, I suggest we move on and sort out what we’re going to tell Sophie. How do we play this? What I mean is, not only what do we tell Sophie, but what happens to her now?’