The Girl Who Lied. Sue Fortin
I forward it onto my own private email address. One I will have to sacrifice giving to her. I don’t want her trying to contact me at work again. I check my phone and see the email has been received. Next job is to delete the email coming in and going out of the work computer. I know there will be some sort of cyber-footprint, but no one will be looking for that.
It takes less than a minute to carry out, just in time as my next client arrives for her full leg wax. ‘I won’t be a moment,’ I tell her as I double-check that all traces of the email have been eradicated.
For the rest of the day, try as I might, I can’t put the email and Roisin out of my mind. Up until now, I’ve been pretty good at ignoring her. Naively, knowing Roisin, I had hoped she would go away if I didn’t reply. That she would give up. Her first email had been unthreatening. The sort you’d send to someone you hadn’t been in contact with for a long time. The second, thinking back, had a more insistent tone. And now the third, well, she’s certainly not going away and the bait she’s dangling, the something that might interest me, how can I ignore that? Not after what I’ve done.
The day slowly comes to a close and as I’m tidying up and checking the diary for tomorrow’s clients, the telephone rings. I let out a sigh, hoping it’s a straightforward query.
‘Good afternoon, Hamilton’s Health and Beauty Spa,’ I reel off automatically. ‘How can I help you?’ There’s silence, but I know someone is there. I can hear their breath. ‘Hello,’ I repeat. ‘Can I help you?’ A bead of sweat pricks the skin at the back of my neck and my mouth dries. I know who it is before they speak.
‘Hello, Erin,’ she says. ‘It’s me. Roisin.’ The soft roll of her country accent seeps out of the receiver, winding itself into my ear.
I haven’t much of my Irish accent left any more. Ten years has seen it dwindle and I’ve never had any particular desire to hang onto it. In the early days of our relationship, Ed used to mock it, which just served as another reason to leave it behind. Another connection with my past that I don’t want. I adopt my best English accent as I reply.
‘No. Sorry. You have the wrong number.’ I can’t speak to her. Not now. Not at work.
‘Oh, I don’t think I have,’ she replies. I can hear amusement in her voice. It’s the same patronising voice I remember from when we were at school. ‘And before you hang up, you might want to listen to what I have to say.’
I look up towards Ed’s door. It’s closed. The frosted glass blurs his outline, but I can see him there, sitting at his desk.
‘What do you want?’ My voice is low, almost a whisper. I hope she can’t detect the undercurrent of fear.
‘We need to talk,’ says Roisin. ‘Oh, and you can drop the accent.’
‘What do you want?’ I repeat, ignoring the snipe.
‘If you hadn’t ignored my emails, you would know.’ She’s enjoying this, I can just tell. It reminds me of when we were kids. She loved being in control then, whether it was as five-year-olds in the playground, twelve-year-olds listening to music or teenagers deciding what to wear for a party. It always had to be on Roisin’s terms. And I’d let her. She was pretty, she was popular, she was rich, she was all the things I wasn’t. She used to tease me then and she’s doing it now. Except, I’m not the same person as I was then. A little flicker of defiance ignites within me.
‘Look, Roisin,’ I say. Perhaps if I stand up to her now, like I should have done all those times before, I can call her bluff. ‘Whatever it is you want to talk about, spit it out. I haven’t got all day. I’m about to go home.’
‘Don’t go getting yourself all worked up now, Erin,’ says Roisin. ‘I’ve found something of yours.’
‘What’s that, then?’ I can’t for one minute think what it is and for that reason the unease shifts up a gear.
‘A photograph.’ She pauses for effect. It works. Then she continues. ‘A photograph of you and Niall.’
‘Roisin, can you get to the point,’ I say, noticing through the glass that Ed is standing up, getting ready to leave.
‘I tell you what, I’ll scan it and email it over to you.’
I hold in the sigh of exasperation. I don’t want her to know I’m riled. I can see Ed putting on his jacket. Any minute now he’ll be out of the office and waiting to take me for a drink. Neither of us has work tomorrow, so we had planned an evening out, which usually meant my staying over at his place.
I need to get Roisin off the phone. ‘Don’t email my work. Send it to my private email.’ I quickly rattle off the address.
‘Make sure you get back to me,’ says Roisin. ‘We need that talk.’
I put the phone down without answering just as Ed walks out of his office, his sports holdall in one hand and car keys jangling in the other.
‘All set, then?’ he says.
‘Erm, I’m not feeling too well,’ I say, not quite able to meet his eyes. ‘I feel a bit sick.’ That’s not actually a lie. I feel queasy at the thought of what Roisin is sending me.
‘That’s not like you,’ says Ed. ‘We can go straight to mine, if you like. Skip dinner.’
I smile at him. ‘To be honest, I think I’d better go home.’ Again that’s no lie. ‘I don’t think I’d be much company tonight.’ I pick up my bag and take my coat from the peg. ‘Sorry.’
‘Hey, that’s okay,’ says Ed. ‘Are you going to be okay to drive or do you want me to drop you home?’
‘I’ll drive. I’ll be fine.’
‘Text me when you’re home,’ he says. He gives me a hug and drops a kiss on top of my head. ‘I’ll give Ralph a call and see if he fancies a pint. Now, drive carefully and don’t forget to text.’ He’s scrolling through his contacts list and calling up Ralph before he’s even out the door. ‘Ralph, mate! What you up to tonight?’ And then he’s disappearing out of the door.
When I get back to the house, where I rent two rooms on the top floor, I call out a quick hello in the hallway and then head straight up. I hear Stacey, one of the house-sharers, call out a greeting. She rents the room at the front of the house. We’re friendly, but not friends. Same for the guy who rents the middle floor. I’m not even sure what he does, but he keeps himself to himself. We each do our own thing. I like it that way. Everyone at arm’s length.
I unlock the door at the top of the second staircase and step into my own bastion of safety. I make myself a cup of green tea and sit down in front of the laptop. I notice my hand shakes slightly as I move the mouse around on the pad and access my emails.
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.