The Girl Who Lied(3)

Roisin didn’t waste any time. Her email is sitting there in the inbox. The paperclip icon indicating an attachment.

I take a deep breath and open the email.

Call me by six o’clock this evening or you’ll be sorry. Last chance.

Her mobile number is typed below. I move the cursor to the attachment. It’s a jpeg. I double-click and wait for the image to download.

It takes only a matter of seconds.

My stomach lurches and for a second I think I’m going to be sick.

‘Oh God, no.’ I drag at my face with my hands, rubbing my eyes as if I can rub away what I’ve just seen. But I can’t.

There in front of me, filling the screen, is a picture of myself and Niall Marshall. Any other picture and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid, but this one… Where the hell did she find it? I had totally forgotten about it.

Somewhere in the distance I hear the doorbell ring, followed by footsteps taking the stairs two at a time. I don’t fully register this or my name being called until there is a rapping of knuckles on the door.

I jump in my seat, knocking the cup of green tea flying. The earthy-coloured liquid performs a jump only physics could explain and cascades across the keyboard of my laptop.

‘Erin? Erin? You there?’ Ed is knocking on the door.

For a moment I’m paralysed as I stare at the door and then back at the laptop. ‘Erin!’ He’s more insistent and there’s a note of agitation in his voice. ‘Are you okay?’ He bangs harder on the door.

Adrenalin kicks in and I grab the laptop, turning it upside down, hoping the tea hasn’t reached the vital components. ‘Won’t be a minute!’ I call out. I rush through to the bedroom and into the small en suite. Grabbing a towel, I wipe at the keyboard.

‘Erin!’ He’s definitely gone past the agitated stage now.

I stand the laptop upside down, like a tent and hope it’s enough to save it from permanent damage. ‘I’m coming!’ As I bustle past the table, I upright the offending cup and throw a tea towel on the table to soak up the remains of the tea. Unfortunately, most of it seems to have gone on the laptop.

When I open the door, Ed is standing there, his face taking on a pink tinge. His mouth is set in a firm line and there’s the familiar crease between his eyebrows he gets when he’s annoyed.

‘I was just about the break the door down,’ he says.

‘Sorry, I was in the bathroom.’ I step back so he can come in. ‘I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you were going out with Ralph.’

‘Yeah, well, Ralph is busy,’ he says. ‘I wanted to check on you anyway. Come back to mine if you’re not well. It’s much nicer than here.’ He waves his hand around with disdain. Ed has never made any secret of what he thinks of my living accommodation. It couldn’t be more different from his plush bachelor pad on the fourteenth floor with views of the Thames.

‘I’m okay here,’ I reply. I think of the laptop in the bathroom and check my watch. Thirty minutes until Roisin’s deadline.

‘Don’t be daft,’ says Ed. ‘I insist. Come back to mine.’

‘I just want to go to bed.’

‘Perfect. You can go to bed in much more comfortable surroundings than this.’

‘No, I mean here. I just want to go to bed here.’

‘Really, Erin, you’re so stubborn at times.’ The note of irritation is back. He picks up my jacket and handbag. ‘And silly. Now come on.’

I feel like a child as he ushers me out of the door. ‘My stuff,’ I say in a final act of protest.

‘Your overnight bag is still in my car. You put it in there this morning. Remember?’

He’s right. I did put it in the boot of his car earlier. I could kick myself. I glance at the clock. Twenty-five minutes to the deadline. Even if we get through the rush-hour traffic and to Ed’s apartment by six, there’s no way I can make a phone call to Roisin. Not with Ed there. I’ll have to nip to the loo and text her that I’ll call tomorrow. Hopefully that will hold her off from whatever it is she has planned.

County Cork, Ireland

Kerry wiped the petrol tank of the Yamaha with the polishing cloth. It looked good. His latest commission was to spray-paint an image of the human rib cage down the centre of the black tank and pop in a few mini skulls sitting on the rib bones. Unusual, but effective. He liked the less-than-ordinary private jobs he got in. Bike mechanics might be his trade but spray-paint artwork was his passion. A bike tattooist, if you like.

Draping a soft cloth over the tank to protect it, Kerry checked his watch. It was after six. He should call it a day soon. His cousin, Joe, had already finished and Max, Joe’s dad and owner of the workshop, wasn’t in today. That had given Kerry time to get the paint job finished.