The Girl Who Lied(123)

I speak before anyone else has a chance to.

‘She heard a lot of it up at the croft. I don’t know how much she took in. She was in a lot of shock.’

‘We have to speak to her, though, all together,’ says Fiona.

‘I agree,’ I say. ‘I don’t want Sophie to ever think that what I did wasn’t because I didn’t love her. She must know I wasn’t rejecting her. In fact, it was the complete opposite. It was the only way I could keep her.’

Mum takes Molly out into the garden and occupies her with a tea party for her toys. I can see how much Mum loves Molly. I know how much she loves Sophie. In trying to protect me, she has protected them too; her love as a mother has no boundaries, extending through the generations.

I can hear Fiona talking to Sophie and taking her into the living room. I take a deep breath and pray to God that we get this right as I follow them in.

‘Sophie, there’s something very important that we need to talk to you about,’ says Fiona. Her voice is steady, yet I know inside she’s trembling with fear. It’s a new notion, Fiona being frightened. All my life she has been confident and strong, knowing what to do and how to fix things. To have her uncertain has a ripple effect and I can feel the butterflies in my stomach. The last thing I want is to confuse Sophie. I want her to be one-hundred percent safe with the knowledge that above everything else, she is loved. Fiona continues to speak. ‘After what happened with Roisin, there’s something we need to talk to you about.’

Sophie nods. ‘Okay,’ she says. She fiddles with the iPad in her hand, opening and closing the magnetic catch.

‘You know how much Mummy and Daddy love you, don’t you?’ says Fiona. She waits for her to look up. She smiles. Fiona returns the smile. ‘And you know how much your family love you too. Nanny loves you. Gramps loves you. Erin loves you. All very much.’ Her voice wobbles a touch, but Sophie doesn’t seem to notice. ‘We love you because we are family and family all look after each other.’

‘And some families don’t have mammies or daddies, or grandparents,’ says Sean. ‘Families are all made up differently.’

‘I know. Eamon Donnelly has no father,’ says Sophie. ‘Eamon Donnelly’s mother says his father is a no-good-drunken…’

‘Okay, we don’t need to know that,’ says Sean, hiding the smile on his face. ‘But, yes, some families are different.’

‘And that’s like your family,’ says Fiona. ‘Your family is different.’

Sophie looks back down. She flicks the catch on the iPad a little bit faster. ‘Roisin said my family wasn’t real.’

‘Oh, darling, your family is real,’ says Fiona. ‘It’s very real but…but there are things you don’t yet know about your family.’

Fiona falls into a silence and looks at Sean. Neither knows what to say next. It’s hard for them. It’s hard for all of us. We are about to twist everything Sophie thought she knew about herself. We are going to twist it out of shape and then try to bend it back again, only it won’t ever be quite the same. There will be dents, scratches, marks and scars that will always be testament to how we distorted the truth.

‘When I was younger,’ I say. ‘I had a baby.’

‘That’s what Roisin said,’ says Sophie.

‘Yes, she’s right. I was very young and I was on my own. The baby was a little girl and we all loved her very much, so I asked my family to help look after my baby.’ I let the idea settle. Sophie’s stops fiddling with the iPad now and is looking at me as if she’s going over the words I’ve just spoken and sorting them into some sort of order. ‘I asked your mummy and daddy to help me look after the baby. And because we are all family and we all love each other, which includes the baby, they were delighted to be able to help. That way the baby could grow up with her family and be loved by everyone.’

There’s an uncertain look on Sophie’s face. Sean puts an arm around her shoulder. Fiona looks at me and I nod.

‘Do you think you know who that baby might be?’ asks Fiona. She twiddles her wedding ring round and round on her finger.

Sophie looks uncertain. I sense she knows the answer, but is too scared to say it.

‘That baby,’ I say, my voice catches in my throat and I try again. ‘That baby was you, Sophie.’ Sophie looks at each one of us. She doesn’t know if this is good or bad news. She doesn’t know how to respond, how she’s supposed to respond. ‘Do you understand what we’re saying?’ I probe gently.