The Girl Who Lied(58)

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘Farewell drink with Roisin.’

‘Idiot,’ I say.

‘We need to go to the old croft,’ says Niall.

‘Whatever for?’

He doesn’t answer me and staggers back to the car.

We have only been going for a few more minutes when the first drops of rain begin to spit onto the windscreen. It’s not long before the spits become drops, then morph into splats. Faster and faster, heavier and heavier.

Headlights sweep around the bend ahead of us. The trees are lit up and road is more visible. I can see the rods of rain now hammering out of the night sky. Then a car comes round the bend towards us. The two white headlights burn bright and I am transfixed by them. I can’t see anything other than the burning globes. The car passes us quickly. Suddenly the road is darker, the only illumination coming from the headlights of Niall’s car.

Neither of us sees the flood of water lying across our path as we come out of the bend. The car suddenly loses contact with the road; it slips to the left.

We are now sliding sideways. The tyres snatch at the tarmac as we veer out of the water. I hear myself scream as we skid and continue our unchecked slide into the grass verge. I feel like everything is happening so slowly when, in fact, it’s only taking seconds. The car pitches into the ditch. We somersault over. I can hear the crunch of metal, the shattering of glass. I hear Niall give some sort of shout, it’s impossible to make out what he’s saying.

As the car turns over, Niall is flung to the side. His head hits mine with such force I feel a searing pain and then nothing. I see nothing. I hear nothing.

The first conscious moment I have is dominated by pain. A distorted human-like groan filters through. I realise it is me. The pain I can locate to my head mostly, but my left shoulder hurts too.

The next sense I become aware of is smell. The unmistakable aroma of petrol creeps up my nostrils and claws at the back of my throat.

My natural instinct to survive takes over and I no longer feel the pain in my head and shoulder. I am overcome with the need to escape.

The smell of petrol spurs me on.

‘Niall!’ I shout. I can’t see him. The seat next to me is empty and the door has come off.

The smell of petrol is stronger. I realise I am chanting the first few lines of Hail Mary. Repeating the words that have been ingrained in me from early childhood. ‘Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with me. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with me.’ I push frantically at the clip of my seat belt and am rewarded with the sound of a click and immediately the pressure of the strap is gone.

I grapple with the door handle but my head is throbbing and I can’t see properly. ‘Hail Mary, full of grace. Hail Mary, full of grace.’ My vision blurs and blackness comes at me from all directions.





PART 2


You never know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice.





Chapter 20


I feel flat. It’s been over a week since I called things off with Ed. I know I’ve made the right decision, but all the same, it isn’t a nice feeling. There is no sense of freedom I thought I might experience, no standing on an empty beach and throwing my arms wide open, embracing my new lease of life. No, there is definitely none of that; more a deep feeling of sadness, mixed with embarrassment that I had let myself become his project. Looking back, the signs were there, I just hadn’t seen them, or maybe I hadn’t wanted to see them.

I find myself wandering along the road towards the seafront. The sea air, the sound of seagulls and the gentle lap of the incoming tide always have a calming effect. I often sought refuge at the beach when I was a teenager, hiding amongst the sand dunes, away from the teasing and name-calling. I could look out to sea and watch all my worries slip away on the outgoing tide.

The day is drawing to an end and the sun is dipping low in the sky. A lone figure and dog come into view. The sun shines brightly behind them, silhouetting their outlines. The dog bounds around the owner dropping a ball on the sand, waiting for it to be thrown once more into the sea. The dog obviously delights in the game and keeps coming back time and time again.

As they come closer, the figure stops and faces the sand dunes. Then changing direction, heads towards me. I groan. It’s Kerry. The sun has conspired against me, making early identification impossible. I rest my elbows on my knees, cupping my chin in my hands. Maybe he’ll get the hint I’m not in the mood for talking.

‘You look deep in thought there,’ says Kerry as he approaches.

I continue to look out to sea. ‘I was.’

‘Ooh, tetchy. Someone got out the wrong side of the bed this morning, did they?’