Fragile Lies Read Online Free PDF

switch on.
    “Lorraine, pick up the phone. I know you can hear me.” Her husband’s voice faded into background noise. He was ringing from a pub. She could almost smell the perfume in the crowded bar, the vigorous crush of bodies around the counter, the exhaled smoke spiralling as high as the laughter. The noise faded as he moved to a quieter place. “Please talk to me, Lorraine. Emily called to the apartment this evening and created quite a scene. She’s very distressed.”
    She lifted the receiver and pressed it against her ear. “Is she with you now?”
    “I followed her but she insisted on going off with her friends. They’ll take care of her. We have to meet soon. This is a ludicrous situation. It can’t continue.”
    “ No . I’ve told you already. I can’t meet you. I’m not ready –”
    “But this is not just about us.” Impatiently, he cut across her protests. “Whether you like it or not, we have to sort something out for Emily’s sake.”
    “I’ll ring her on her mobile. Thanks for contacting me, Adrian. Goodbye.”
    “Don’t hang up, please. You know I’m right. We must work out some kind of routine –”
    “That’s up to Emily to decide. I’ll discuss it with her when she returns.”
    “You did a cruel thing by removing her from everything that was familiar to her and this is the result.” His breath rasped down the line, judge and jury, accusing. He once had the power to cajole and comfort her, to raise her to heights of pleasure. But as she hung up the phone she felt nothing except an aching regret that tightened like a fist, knuckles digging deep into her chest.
    She poured a glass of wine and flung another log on the fire. The glow from the flames reflected ruby splinters off the glass, imbued the kitchen table with a tawny sheen. She liked cottage furniture that had absorbed many lives into its grain and the table, an ancient hunk of wood with scrubbed ridges, bleached of colour and slightly hollowed in the centre, had once belonged to Celia Murphy, the original owner of the house. Lorraine had discovered daffodils among the weeds in the garden and had heaped them in vases around the kitchen. They added to the illusion of comfort and lifted her briefly into a future where she could imagine how everything would look when the house was restored. Small gestures she could manage. Illusions she could create. But nothing drowned the echoes. She sat by the window and stared into the impenetrable darkness of the countryside. Such silence. She breathed into it. The stars shone with a clarity she had never seen in the city but they only made her yearn more fervently for the glare of street lights, the noise of traffic, sirens, burglar alarms, the acceleration of motorbikes passing too close, too fast, the march of footsteps across the Ha’penny Bridge, the loud pealing of bells, the whispering sighs of passion satiated. Her hand was steady as she poured another glass of wine. In the past, on such a night, she would have lifted the phone to Virginia. Perhaps she would have driven to her cousin’s house in Howth and they would have sat on the balcony overlooking Dublin Bay, sharing laughter and confidences, and everything would seem manageable again.
    The bottle was empty, the glass smeared. Her breath shortened. Her skin shivered. As loneliness gave way to all-consuming grief, Lorraine Cheevers began to weep. Her crying echoed, unheard, throughout the empty house.

Chapter Five
    B rahms Ward , 10 p.m.

    D on’t look so lost , Killian. I’m here beside you. The moon is tossing high in the sky and the wind would slice the nose from your face. You’re warm and safe here. Snug as a bug in a rug. I dreamt about you again last night. A wonderful dream, filled with colour and movement, but silent, as if sleep had granted me this one concession. I was standing on the Great South Wall and you, light as a feather and aged about six, were perched on my shoulders. A red lighthouse winked and warned