The Girl Who Lied(72)

Kerry gave a small laugh. ‘You reckon you’ve changed? Grown up? Matured?’

Joe grinned back. ‘To a certain extent. I don’t seem to remember you being much of an angel when you were a kid either. Anyway, the point I’m making is, we do things as kids without the knowledge and experience of adults. That doesn’t make us bad people as adults. Whatever she did then, she was a kid herself. It’s what she does now, as an adult, you should think about.’

‘Thanks for the counselling session,’ said Kerry. ‘Now, if it’s all right with you, I’ll get back to my work.’ He wasn’t entirely sure Joe was right. What made a person, the essence of who they were, that was embedded deep in their DNA. He wasn’t convinced a person could change that.

Roisin spent the rest of the day at work barely able to concentrate. Once she called a patient Mr instead of Mrs and another time she took some urgent results back to the wrong doctor. She was glad she wasn’t on a late shift that night. She wanted to get home and think clearly about what she was going to do next.

Finally, she made it back to the Manor House. She could hear the television on in the living room and poked her head around the door. Her father was there watching the evening news.

‘Hello, darling,’ he said. ‘How are you? Good day at work?’

Roisin went over and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. ‘Hi, Daddy. I’m fine. Glad to be home.’

‘Your mother’s in the kitchen getting tea ready.’

Although her father tried to say it in a nonchalant way, as if it was the most usual thing in the world for her mam to be cooking, they both knew that given Diana’s current state of mind, this was something of an achievement.

They had never openly discussed Diana’s depression and drinking habits. They were taboo subjects: ones Roisin and her father both pretended didn’t exist. It was as if admitting to them, saying it out in the open, would mean they had to confront them and do something about them. Neither Roisin nor her father had the emotional energy to do so. It was simply referred to as Mam having a bad day. Her good days, when they happened, were to be savoured, although they were bittersweet reminders of the mother Roisin had lost. When Niall died the best part of her mother died too.

Roisin weighed up her options. Should she approach her mam whilst she was sober, knowing that it would probably kick-start the next cycle of drinking? Or, should she wait until Diana had had a drink, when alcohol was more likely to loosen her tongue?

Roisin stopped outside the kitchen door. She could hear the radio playing and her mam singing along. It reminded Roisin of happier childhood days. Sundays in the kitchen helping her mam prepare the roast dinner. They were precious times. Her mam had worked long days as a GP which often trailed into the early evening. Roisin hadn’t always seen much of her during the week, but always felt at weekends her mam more than made up for it.

Roisin longed to have her old mother back and, for the first time in ten years, she thought she just might be able to make it happen. She now had the solution. The answer to all their problems. An answer that could also punish Erin Hurley and bring a sense of justice for what had happened.

Roisin decided to hold off speaking to her mam, she would wait until after dinner, when they were all relaxed after a nice evening meal together.

‘Hello, Mam,’ said Roisin, walking into the kitchen.

Diana looked up from chopping the vegetables. ‘Hello, Roisin,’ she said as a smile spread across her face. ‘Dinner won’t be long. I thought we would eat in here today. Less formal.’

Roisin took in the pine kitchen table set for three. Pale-blue table mats; matching napkins lay on top of white dinner plates. A white oilskin table-cloth with blue spots finished off the retro effect. Her eyes came to rest on the condiments and bottle of wine on the table. The wine was already open. She looked over to where Diana had returned to prepping the vegetables. To her right was a wine glass with the remnants of red wine sitting in the bottom.

Diana looked back over her shoulder and followed her daughter’s gaze. She raised her eyebrows in question.

Roisin said nothing. What would be the point? It wouldn’t stop what was surely to follow. Any hopes of a civilised evening and a heart-to-heart talk were slipping away.

And so it did.

Dinner was one of false cheer and fading hope. Each mouthful of food was matched by a slug of wine.

Roisin poured herself another glass that she didn’t want but it was one less glass of wine for her mam to consume. However, it was a wasted attempt to limit her mam’s intake. Diana simply opened another bottle and took it into the sitting room.