Forget Me Not. Claire Allan

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       Chapter Eight

       Rachel

      The following morning felt just as surreal as the previous day. We tried to keep things light as we got Molly ready for daycare, even though I wasn’t going to work. I couldn’t face it. I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate even if I was there. My sleep had been terrible, broken and filled with nightmares, and my head was thumping. Still, I wanted to keep things as normal as possible for Molly.

      I threw back two paracetamol with my morning cup of coffee while Paul helped Molly into her favourite sandals. Beth was still asleep, having cried herself to sleep the night before. I’d already texted Julie and told her I’d call round after I dropped Molly off. We’d head to Clare’s parents from there.

      It was something I felt I needed to do, but it wasn’t something I particularly relished. I was scared to see their grief up close. But there was something innate in that Irish-ness of having to be helpful following a death, how we could all spring into action, making sandwiches and tea, leading mourners through the house to view the remains and offer condolences.

      There was no floral wreath or black ribbon on the door of the Taylors’ house, but the blinds were closed – more, I guessed, to try to ward off any intrusive members of the press than anything else.

      After parking the car, Julie and I were set upon by a small but determined group of reporters hoping to get a topline to run with, or to strike gold and get an interview with Clare’s family.

      I felt them swarm around me and while they were polite, it felt overwhelming. How did we know Clare? Were we related? Was there any more information? Was there any truth in the rumour that the police were hunting her boyfriend? Could we just, please, ask her parents to speak to them? Did we have a picture they could share?

      Julie blinked at me, her eyes wide with panic. I clasped her hand tight in mine and politely told the reporters that I wouldn’t be answering any of their questions. Thankfully, the sight of a policeman at the door of the house was enough to stop them following us up the garden path. He looked us up and down, sizing us up.

      ‘We’re friends of Clare’s,’ I said. ‘Close friends. Ask Ronan or Mr and Mrs Taylor.’

      He asked us to wait where we were while he went inside to check. We were expecting him to return, but it was Ronan, pale and exhausted-looking, who opened the door and let us in.

      ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ Julie said, throwing herself into his arms.

      He didn’t speak for a moment, just hugged her back as they both cried. I stood awkwardly; there was an intimacy in their hug that made me feel like a third wheel.

      When they pulled apart, Ronan gave me a hug, too, and I whispered my apologies for his loss. Never had words seemed so woefully inadequate.

      ‘My parents are upstairs, sleeping. It was a bad night, so we got the doctor to give them something first thing. I’ve told them they’ve to keep their strength up,’ Ronan said.

      ‘You’ve been here all night?’ I asked.

      He nodded. ‘I didn’t want to leave them. They are so lost.’

      ‘Any more news?’ I asked as he ushered us into the kitchen.

      Empty teacups were piled by the sink, testament to many visitors. Used to making herself at home, Julie emptied the teapot of cold tea and put on the kettle to make another. I filled the sink and started to wash up.

      Ronan sat, shaking his head, staring into the middle distance. Trying to find the words he needed.

      ‘They still won’t tell us much,’ he said eventually. ‘They have to “protect their investigation”.’ He shook his head. ‘The postmortem was done last night. Did you know, they don’t do them here? They had to take her up to Belfast. We can’t even be with her, or near her, and they can’t release her body. Not “at this stage of the investigation”.’ He made quote signs with his fingers. Parroted what he’d been told. ‘We can’t bring her home. Can’t make any arrangements. They can’t tell us when we’ll be able to.’

      Julie sat down across the table from him then reached out and took Ronan’s hands.

      ‘And yesterday. Did you see her?’

      I stood, back to the sink, watching them. A tear rolled down Ronan’s cheek, which he brushed away quickly before taking a shuddering breath. Here was this grown man. This guy we’d all seen as cool and funny and untouchable in so many ways, and he was broken in front of us. My heart physically ached for him.

      ‘Mum couldn’t face it. Da and I went in together. They had her well covered up, you know, up to her chin almost. We were told they did that so we didn’t see the worst of her injuries. I don’t know if that just made it all worse. If I’d seen them, maybe I wouldn’t be imagining all sorts of horrors now.’

      Or maybe he’d be plagued by the real horror of what he’d seen, I thought, but I didn’t speak.

      ‘I was still hoping, you know, until the last minute, that it wouldn’t be her and at first … God, it didn’t look like her. I thought they’d made a mistake. Her hair was all wrong, too dark. And her face seemed … I don’t know. It just wasn’t an expression I’d ever seen her pull. But Da gripped my arm so tight and I felt him buckle then he let out this noise like I’ve never heard before, and I knew it was her.’

      I watched Julie squeeze his hand, rub his arm with her other hand. Tears ran unchecked down her face.

      ‘We’ve seen dead bodies before, right?’ he asked, looking at Julie and then up at me.

      And of course we had, many times. It’s part of our culture to bring our dead home, wake them over the course of a few days and nights, spend time with them, ensuring they’re never left alone until they make their final journey.

      ‘She didn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before. She was blue. Not even grey but blue and bruised. I could see the bloodstains on her ears, her face. Her hair was matted with blood. That’s why it looked all wrong. There was this huge graze on her cheek, as if she’d been dragged along the road. It was just a horror show.’ He broke down, gasping to gain his composure, while I tried to quell the nausea in the pit of my stomach. ‘We weren’t even allowed to touch her. I couldn’t hold her hand or kiss her forehead. I had to hold Da back … He wanted to hug her, but the police said it might interfere with evidence. Evidence? That’s all my sister is now. She can’t be touched by any of us until after the autopsy. I’ve never seen a man look so broken,’ Ronan said.

      I realised I was crying too, and shaking. I wanted to shake the picture he’d just painted from my mind, focus on being there for him instead, СКАЧАТЬ