The Liar’s Daughter. Claire Allan

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      I can feel tears prick at my eyes. A well of emotion I know wants a release rises up in me. It’s a mixture of anger and grief and fear. I’m that thirteen-year-old again having her heart broken, asking her daddy to say he loved her enough to stay and that he was sorry that he ever hurt her.

      I swallow them down and look him straight in the eyes. He will not see me cry. He will never know how much he hurt me, or how scared I was.

      ‘I’m not sure what you want me to do about that,’ I say, not caring in that moment about the icy tone in my voice.

       Chapter Seven

       Joe

      Now

      I don’t like being in this house alone any more. I used to enjoy the silence. I’d be happy lost among my books, or out in the garden. Now, no amount of books can distract me from the knowledge that my body is giving up on me.

      I should have known I wasn’t well. Maybe I did and I was in denial. I’ve felt myself slowing down for the last few months – having less energy, less drive. I was foolish to think, or hope, it was merely my age.

      Time is running out and I don’t know what’s ahead of me. Will it be a painful death? Will I just slip away? What will be waiting for me on the other side? I’m a believer, of course. I believe in a God who forgives all sins when the sinner repents, but is there is a cut-off point in His tolerance for wrongdoers? Are some sins unforgivable?

      Ciara has been so cold with me. I’m not sure what I expected. A hug? A tearful reunion? It’s been almost ten years or more since we last saw each other. Ten years since she said I was no longer part of her life and never would be again.

      I suppose I expected some sign of love. That she cared. She’s not the thirteen-year-old girl I moved out on any more. She’s a grown woman, old enough to know that adult relationships aren’t always straightforward. She should have a bit more savvy by now. Then again, maybe I don’t deserve to be forgiven, by Ciara or by God.

      Maybe I’ll ask Heidi to call Father Brennan for me. Get him to come to the house and provide some spiritual counsel. I’m too sore and too tired to get out of this bed save to shuffle to the bathroom and back again. I’m definitely too sore for a trip to chapel.

      What will he think, though, if I tell him? Will he stay impartial as priests are supposed to? Will he dole out the penance of a couple of Hail Marys and Our Fathers and all will be forgiven, or will he never think of me the same again?

      The clock in the hall is ticking loudly. I used to find it a comfort – a constant companion on quiet afternoons in front of the fire, reading my books with a cup of tea at hand.

      Now, though, it’s just reminding me that every second passing is one that I won’t get back, and brings me one second closer to facing the judgement of God.

      Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

       Chapter Eight

       Heidi

      Then

      Ciara’s face was incandescent with rage. Her blue eyes narrowed. Her mouth set in a snarl. She was lashing out, swiping at him with her arms while he tried to subdue her.

      I was standing in the corner. If I could have pushed myself further into it, disappeared through a crack in the plaster, I would have. I was cradling my favourite doll and trying to understand what was happening. My mother was trying to coax me to come and sit beside her, but I’d never seen such rage before and it scared me.

      Ciara was angry and Joe was doing his best to mollify her. Although she was thirteen – tall and lanky with a smattering of teenage acne – she started to cry like a baby. To cry the way I wanted to cry at the sound of their raised voices.

      ‘You can’t make me be friends with these people!’ she howled. ‘You can’t make me like them. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home. LET ME GO HOME!’

      She kicked him square in the shins and he let out a roar of pain, while she darted around him and made for the front door. Quick as a flash he went after her, blocking her escape.

      ‘Ciara, pet, there’s no need to react like this. Natalie and Heidi just want to spend more time with you.’

      ‘Heidi! What kind of a stupid name is Heidi? Does she live up in the mountains with her granda or something?’

      I shrank into myself. I was all too aware of my literary namesake, but most people had told me how pretty my name was. How unusual. They didn’t mock me – not like Ciara was mocking me.

      ‘She’s a nice girl,’ I heard Joe soothe.

      ‘I’m a nice girl, too,’ Ciara yelled, ‘but you’ve left us, me and Mammy, for them. And they let you. Mammy says they’re homewreckers.’

      ‘That’s enough,’ I heard Joe say. It was probably the first time I’d heard real sternness in his voice. ‘I understand that you’re angry, Ciara, but there’s no excuse for such rudeness. Things aren’t as simple as your mother would have you believe. We’d fallen out of love with each other a long time ago.’

      ‘That’s crap!’ Ciara blustered. ‘Mammy still loves you. She told me. She cries all the time.’

      I glanced at my mother, who was pale. She looked as if she might be sick. I felt as though I might be sick too. I didn’t like that Ciara was calling my mammy names. I didn’t like that my mammy was being painted as a bad person. She wasn’t a bad person. But Ciara looked so sad and scared, and angry.

      ‘Loving someone and being in love with someone are two different things,’ Joe said. ‘I’ll always love your mother, but I’m in love with Natalie now. And she needs me.’

      ‘We need you!’ Ciara wailed.

      ‘Not as much as Natalie does,’ Joe said and I felt my mother stiffen beside me.

      ‘Joe,’ she said, a warning edge to her voice. ‘Now’s not the time. She’s upset. She has a right to be upset.’ I saw her give a small, reassuring nod to Ciara, but her face was blazing as if she was embarrassed, or ashamed. As if she had done something wrong.

      ‘Sweetheart, they need to know. They need to know why I have to be here with you,’ Joe said. His voice was thick with emotion. ‘When you’re older, Ciara, you might understand more. I love Natalie, and she’s sick. Very sick. And I need to be – no, I want to be – here for her, and for Heidi, because we don’t know what time we have left.’

      I heard my mother sob as Joe crossed the room and took her hand. I saw the shock and hate on Ciara’s face.

      Mammy squeezed my hand tight. I heard a small groan, barely perceptible, leave her lips. ‘Joe!’ she said in an angry whisper before nodding her head in my direction.

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