Fragile Lies Read Free Page B

boy.
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    B lack … black … black night … black hole … black eyes … eyes … drowning eyes …

Chapter Two
    M arch 2002

    T he removal men arrived on time, their truck almost filling the width of the small terrace. They were efficient, descending like a swarm of locusts to divide the bric-à-brac of sixteen years of marriage into two halves. They packed them neatly into separate crates and departed, leaving nothing but a skeletal frame behind.
    Lorraine Cheevers gazed around her house for the last time. Bare walls surrounded her, stripped of paintings, posters, calendars and the many photographs that charted the years of family life. Already, the walls were expanding away from her, the bare windows glinting coldly; even her footsteps on the wooden floorboards sent back an unfamiliar tread.
    “Running away never solved anything,” Donna Cheevers declared when she heard about her daughter’s decision to move to Trabawn. “It’s not easy breaking into a closed community. Trabawn was holiday time, nothing else. You’ll suffer on your own instead of allowing us to support you through this.”
    “I’ve a broken marriage, not a broken leg,” Lorraine retorted. “I don’t need a crutch.”
    “Yes you do,” Donna stoutly replied. “You need strong shoulders to cry on. Your life is here. And your work, what about that?”
    “I can work anywhere. Trabawn’s not exactly on the other side of the moon.”
    “Think carefully,” her mother warned. “And if you can’t think about yourself, think about Emily. Fifteen is the worse possible age to uproot anyone.”
    “Emily will be fine.” Lorraine brought the argument to a decisive close. “You have to allow me to be the judge of what’s best for my daughter.”
    Donna’s expression left her in no doubt that such judgement was way beyond her grasp and, when it came to parting, she had held Lorraine fiercely, dry-eyed, knowing the utter futility of uttering banal words of comfort.
    Even in her numbed state of mind, Lorraine had been impressed by the amount of money people were willing to pay to live so close to the city. Only ten minutes walk from the city centre, the terrace of red-brick houses where she and Adrian had lived throughout their marriage was as drowsy as a suburb at night. Their neighbours, mainly elderly, retired people, were a close-knit community, watching over the house when they were on holidays and always willing to look after her daughter if Lorraine was delayed at her studio. Their street mascot, they called Emily, remembering her birthdays, fussing over her with presents at Christmas and Easter.
    As the estate agent predicted, the house was sold within a few days of going on the market. The couple who bought it were young professional types. He mentioned something about the law library. She worked in the Financial Centre. A starter home, they said, their eyes dismissing the fixtures and fittings, assessing how soon it could be refurbished in their own image.
    With the ease of long practice, Lorraine reversed from the terrace. Goodbyes had already been said but her neighbours came to their gates to wave them off. An elderly man walked past and raised his cane in salute. The Liffey had a sullen gleam as it channelled through the quays. Seagulls swooped between dun-coloured walls, fanning their wings against the high-tide markings. Emily clasped her hands on her lap. She stared straight ahead when they passed Blaide House. Fine blue veins etched against her skin. The quays dwindled behind them and the car surged forward, racing westwards towards Trabawn.

Chapter Three
    B rahms Ward , 9 p.m.

    T he clinic is quiet tonight . There’s stubble on your chin and your nails are growing long again. Your fingers move, clutching the sheet, knuckles braced against imaginary foes. So much life still within you. Skin dying and being renewed, your heart beating steadily. Your hands are beginning to clench inwards. Do you feel us massaging you,