The Girl Who Lied(91)

He wraps his arms around me and kisses me. It feels good. So reassuring and comforting after several hours’ sitting in the hostile environment of the station.

‘Come on, I’ll take you home,’ says Kerry, pulling away and reaching for the spare crash helmet.

‘What time did you get out?’ I ask, as I allow Kerry to fasten the strap under my chin.

‘About an hour ago. Joe came and got me. I came straight back with the bike. I guessed you’d be out soon.’

‘I’m assuming they asked you about phoning or texting Roisin,’ I say. The thought that he had been in touch with Roisin that night sits uncomfortably with me.

‘Yeah. I texted her that night,’ he says

‘You texted her? What for?’

‘To meet for a drink. I thought I might be able to persuade her to let things go. You know, draw a line under the past and move on.’

‘And did you?’

‘No. She never showed up. Look, let’s not talk about it here.’ He nods towards the Gardai station.

I look over my shoulder. Sean is standing in the doorway to the station observing us. A small chill runs through me. I climb on the back of Kerry’s bike, wrapping my hands around his waist.

Kerry starts the Triumph and within seconds we are roaring down the road. I tighten my grip around his body. It feels good to be in physical contact with him. I don’t want to let go and wish we could just keep riding and not stop.

Sex with Kerry is a strange mix of tenderness combined with urgency. Time is ticking against us and we make the most of every second we have together. And yet, the care and love surfaces time and time again.

This time we have actually made it to his bed. I nestle down in his arms, pulling the duvet up around my shoulder.

‘It feels like a cocoon,’ I say. ‘Warm and safe. If only we could stay like this forever.’

‘Sure, that would be nice,’ says Kerry. He pulls me closer. ‘Stay the night, won’t you? There’s no need to go.’

‘What’s the point of us both sleeping alone, especially when we’re only across the road from each other,’ I say. ‘It’s not like I’ve got far to go to work tomorrow.’

‘How is your dad?’

‘He’s starting to come out of his coma. It’s like he’s waking from a really heavy deep sleep. It will take time.’

‘That’s good. I’m glad about that.’

‘Me too,’ I say. ‘I want to talk to him as soon as I can. I have things to say to him that I should have said a long time ago. Bridges to build.’

‘You’re a very courageous woman,’ says Kerry. ‘I wish I had half your guts.’

I prop myself up on my elbow and drop a kiss onto him.

‘I’m no braver than anyone else,’ I say. ‘Certainly no braver than you.’ I trace my finger around his face, following the line of his jaw, biding time as I weigh up my next words. ‘You’re just as brave. Everything that you’ve been through. There’s no reason why you can’t build some bridges of your own.’

His eyes widen and the muscles in his face tense. ‘It’s easy for you to say.’

Is that a small chink in the wall he’s built around him? He hasn’t outright dismissed the idea.

‘Why don’t you let me help you?’ I say, making sure there is no challenge in my voice. ‘Of all the people in your life, I’m probably the only one who truly understands what you’ve been through. How you’re feeling. How it feels to be adrift. Let me help you, please?’

Kerry rolls over and, sitting on the edge of the bed, he plants his feet on the floor, resting his arms on his knees. I shuffle over and put my hand on his back, kissing his bare shoulder. Kerry covers my hand with his.

‘I don’t know,’ he says at last. ‘You’re stronger than me.’

‘Strength doesn’t come into it. And even if it did, you can lean on me.’

‘It’s too painful.’

‘Don’t let that pain eat you up,’ I say. ‘It’s painful because you’re scared of it. You’re scared of being hurt again. I totally get all that, I really do.’ I move closer and wrap both arms around his shoulders, resting my chin on him. ‘It’s like, if you stop being angry, you have to confront it. Deal with feelings and emotions you couldn’t deal with at the time, but you’re older now. Wiser and, yes, stronger. You can’t be running away all your life.’

I continue to hold him, willing him to understand and to take the risk.

‘Okay,’ he says at last.

‘Okay, what?’

‘Okay, help me.’ His voice is so quiet I can only just hear him. ‘Help me make things right.’