Hiding in Plain Sight Page 5

  Positive alternative from drunken chat-ups.

  I won’t set myself up for idealistic expectations, but I’m keen

  for exposure to fresh approaches, and I promise not to take

  rejection personal…

  Confidence issues. Too easy.

  Next.

  Click, scan. Next.

  Click, next.

  Click …

  BachtoBasie:

  Hi,

  First time on a dating site, so in the spirit of hope over

  experience, here goes…

  I’m a single working mother. So, how to write a summary that’ll

  make me appear interesting? Does ‘blonde’ give the impression

  I’m ditzy, and ‘bubbly’ make me sound fat? Should I lie about

  My age, as most men appear to be on the lookout for 18 to 23

  year-olds? Well, I’m neither chubby, blonde, or 23…

  The art dealer’s spine tingled. He read the profile:

  Brunette, 29, 5’8’’, slender,

  attractive. Ganestown area...

  His brain shot out alarm signals.

  Ganestown? No. Too soon.

  The high-end headshot made his skin itch.

  Same hairstyle as Isobel Stewart.

  The cursor jumped between “next” and “save.”

  Save.

  He skipped a dozen outlines, skipping over any descriptions where he detected desperation. Stopped at Justme, Wicklow. Scrolled back. Read the summary again.

  Sounds feisty. A possibility.

  He stared at the picture, willing his body to respond.

  No spark.

  He whittled the wish list down to three, browsed these again; discarded one, then another.

  BachToBasie. Ganestown.

  It’s asking for trouble, but…

  The tingle spread to his nerve extremities along with a new feeling. The sense of danger excited him.

  Risk plus impulse equals high reward.

  He calculated the gamble versus consequence ratio, and made his choice.

  Let gardaí continue their stupid inquiries and news bulletins. Good luck trying to catch me. I’m superior. The next one has to be special. Unique. And after this fresh fodder, after March, I’ll take a break. She’s in my sights. Let the deception begin.

  From: thejewellerycollector@datingvista.ie

  Sent: Wed., 14:09

  To: BachToBasie@datingvista.ie

  Subject: Good Afternoon

  Came across your profile, and I’d love to read more.

  Hope to receive a mail soon. I promise I’ll respond.

  The Jewellery Collector.

  Evening

  Ireland was buried under an ocean of snow.

  Hugh drove through a sea of ice and slush, measuring the journey westwards in heavy metal tracks. Near Streamstown, Ferdia shifted his bulk, yawned, dug an elbow into Hugh’s ribs and pointed north. ‘There’s Ireland for ya. Hear the latest? The government wants to plant two thousand feckin’ wind turbines across the Midlands. Stop here, I need smokes. Need anything?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Hugh pulled into the rural shop and post office car park. His phone bleeped; a missed call from Ronan Lambe. He listened to the voice mail: ‘Dude, any news yet? Bet you’ve got interviews lined up. Negatory at this end. I never noticed how often people ask, where are you working, or, what are you doing now? Unemployment is the pits. My future is empty in this poxy place. Have you heard of anything? If I don’t get a break in a week, I’m outta G’town.’

  Ferdia ambled back, a pack of antacid tablets and a carton of cigarettes in one ham-sized fist, two twelve-ounce Styrofoam cups in the other, and a large rectangular box tucked under his arm. He handed Hugh the drinks, flittered open the tablet carton, prised half the contents from the blister pack and chewed them like Smarties. He took a cup from Hugh and gulped coffee. ‘Dammit, forgot sugar. Bought this yoke for Master David.’ Ferdia showed the package to Hugh. ‘I’ll make a farmer out of him yet.’

  At Drumraney, Hugh slowed and indicated right. They passed a school, rounded a sharp left-hand bend, and eased into Ciara’s driveway. A mantle of snow framed the garden where six-year-old David was throwing slush at a snowman. He slipped, tumbled face down, rolled over, kicked both legs in the air and laughed. When he saw the car, he scrambled to his feet and ran towards the visitors, screaming with delight.

  Ferdia hoisted David skywards. ‘Master David, you’ll soon be too heavy for me.’ Mush fell from the boy’s duffle coat.

  ‘Uncle Ferdi, help me build a bigger snowman.’

  ‘I only play with good boys.’

  ‘I am a good boy. Grandad said I’m the bestest boy in the world.’

  ‘Here, add this to your collection.’

  David’s blue eyes sparkled. ‘Wow. John Deere. Thanks.’

  Ferdia patted the boy’s matted brown hair.

  Ciara appeared at the gable end, drawn by the commotion. ‘David, come here.’ She pulled a grey wool jacket around her. ‘You’ve destroyed Ferdia.’

  ‘Sure, let him be. It’s not often we get snow.’

  ‘Hi, Hugh. Did you find your keys?’

  ‘Hi, Ciara. What keys?’

  ‘Eilish said you’d … David! Ferdia, you shouldn’t bring presents every time you call. Thank Ferdia, David.’

  ‘Did already.’ David grabbed Ferdia’s hand and yanked him towards the bungalow. Hugh and Ciara followed.

  ‘Did you hear the news?’ Ciara asked Hugh. ‘A woman in Oak View Lane disappeared.’

  ‘No. Who?’

  ‘Roberta Lord.’

  ‘Don’t know her. Do you?’

  ‘Only to see. But it feels like I know her. We’ve lots in common. Her son, Christopher, is David’s age. They found the poor lad home alone night before last. Can’t imagine anybody would abandon a kid on purpose. There must be an explanation.’

  ‘Hope she’s located soon,’ Hugh said. ‘Any word on the boy?’

  ‘Unharmed, but his mental state?’ Ciara shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea how the little mite will cope if Roberta’s not found soon.’ She shuddered, pulled the jacket tighter. ‘Imagine what’s going through his mind. Why mammy isn’t coming to … His father has organised a search party. I’m getting a group of us to help. Not sure what we can do, but at least it’s better than idle talk.’

  ‘Need me to take Master David?’ Ferdia asked.

  ‘Thanks, Ferdia, but we’re sorted for a few hours.’

  David tugged a wooden chest into the kitchen. The big man and the small boy sat shoulder to shoulder on the floor, surrounded by Lego and farm machinery.

  ‘You’d wonder which of them is the biggest child,’ Ciara said to Hugh. ‘I suppose you’re knee-deep in appraisals.’

  ‘Nope. I’m jobless.’

  ‘Since when?’ Ciara glanced from Hugh to Ferdia. ‘Eilish didn’t mention—’

  ‘Yesterday. We met Charlie earlier. He’s taken me on until I get sorted. I’ll begin the job search tonight. Can you do mocks with me when I get called for interviews?’

  ‘Anytime. I’ll contact HR colleagues and see if they’ve any management vacancies.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Ciara spun a ring around her finger. ‘How did Dad seem?’

  ‘Okay. He’s lost weight.’

  ‘I’ve noticed. The business is causing massive stress. Was Malcolm there?’

  ‘Around, but we didn’t see him.’

  Ferdia stretched for the biscuit tin and offered the contents to David.

  ‘No, Ferdia. We haven’t had dinner yet.’

  ‘Sure, a biscuit won’t do any harm.’

  David’s red cheeks dimpled, and he dipped in.

  Ciara yawned. ‘I’m too exhausted to argue.’

  ‘Where did ye eat last night?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘We stayed here. Late night.’ Ciara tossed her hair back. ‘Global Engineering will survive without my presence for one day.’

  Hugh nodded at
a laptop on the counter. ‘The work doesn’t end though.’ The screensaver displayed multiple coloured balls rebounding off the screen’s border.

  ‘Hmm. Paperwork. It’s endless.’

  Hugh stood. ‘Redundant or not, I’ve paperwork to complete too.’

  Ferdia grunted and heaved himself upright.

  ‘One more game, Uncle Ferdi.’

  ‘Gotta go, Master David.’

  ‘No.’ In frustration, David threw a toy.

  The plastic horse hit a cupboard, bounced and struck the computer keyboard. The screensaver dissolved, revealing what Ciara was surfing.

  ‘David! That’s bold,’ Ciara said. ‘Say you’re sorry.’

  Hugh moved towards the door.

  David stamped a foot. ‘I’m NOT sorry.’ His eyes welled.

  Ferdia hoisted the child into the air. ‘Sunday, I’ll collect you, and we’ll …’ he whispered into David’s ear.

  David’s features dissolved into a grin. Teary eyes twinkled. ‘The Viking Splash tour? Really?’

  ‘And the Zoo.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Cross your heart.’

  ‘Cross my heart.’

  They high-fived.

  David and Ciara waved the men goodbye. Ferdia stuck an arm out the window and gave a thumbs-up.

  Hugh thought it a shame Ferdia had no children; he’d be a cool dad. Twenty years earlier, he’d married Charlie’s sister, but within six months, she’d died from a ruptured aortic aneurysm. Ferdia never remarried.

  ‘Full of devilment,’ Ferdia said. ‘But he’s a great lad.’

  ‘That’s for sure.’

  ‘Needs a father figure though,’ Ferdia added, ‘but lucky to have a first-class mother. She’ll meet the right person in time.’

  ‘She will,’ Hugh said and smiled to himself. It would embarrass Ciara if she realised he’d seen her access a dating site.

  Night

  ‘You look red-carpet-ready.’

  Eilish was applying eye shadow and talking into a mobile perched on the kidney-shaped dressing table. She disconnected when Hugh spoke.

  ‘I’m tired. Didn’t sleep well.’

  Hugh dropped his keys on the bed. ‘Bet I know where you’re off to.’

  ‘What?’ Eilish twisted and stabbed herself with the eyeliner pen.

  ‘I talked to Ciara.’

  Eilish rubbed her eye. ‘You checking up on me?’

  ‘Whoa.’ Hugh held up a hand. ‘Steady on. We called in to see David. Ciara told us about Roberta Lord. You’re one of the search volunteers.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Eilish’s mobile bleeped. Her thumb danced across the keypad, texting a reply.

  ‘God, you read about disappearances, but when it’s someone local …’ Hugh shivered. ‘Mmm, you smell nice.’ He reached for a hug. ‘New perfume?’

  ‘Had it ages.’ Eilish moved half a step back and put infinite space between them. She used a tissue to dab her lipstick, opened the built-in double wardrobe and surveyed its bloated contents, her fingernails tapping a sharp staccato on the door frame. ‘So, did you meet Charlie?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s given me temporary work in Mullingar. But there may be a position in Ganestown soon. I’ll polish up my CV tonight. How’s your mum?’

  Eilish zipped up a midnight blue gilet. ‘She’s got the sniffles after yesterday. It pelted snow in Galway.’

  A spasm of guilt stabbed Hugh’s heart. He hadn’t spoken to his own mother since the weekend. ‘City busy?’

  ‘Jammers. Mum bought an outfit.’ Eilish gestured at the jacket. ‘I found this Rachel Zoe—’

  ‘Seriously, we need to keep an eye on expenses ’til I get fixed up with a—’

  ‘Give over, Hugh. It’s a jacket. On sale.’

  ‘You call it a jacket. I call it hundreds of euro.’ Hugh waved at the wardrobe. ‘I’d say you wear ten per cent of those, eighty per cent of the time, and you still buy—’

  ‘Dear God.’ Eilish rolled her eyes. ‘Next, you’ll tell me to cancel my hairdressers’ appointment—’

  ‘Something to consider,’ Hugh muttered.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Eilish checked her profile in a mirror. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’

  ‘Listening and hearing what I’ve to say are two different things,’ Hugh said. ‘But now you’ve brought it up, could you go to the hairdresser fortnightly instead of—?’

  ‘Women require regular wash and blow-dries.’ Eilish faced Hugh, hands on hips. ‘It boosts our self-esteem. Plus, I’ve got a standard to maintain in my job.’

  ‘You’re on holidays for the past—’

  ‘Argh, for fu …’ Eilish grabbed a coat and moved towards the landing. ‘I can’t take your practical logic, Hugh. I’m not the one who lost my job. I’ll buy whatever I—’

  ‘You think bags and bling. I worry about bills,’ Hugh snapped. He stopped, took a breath, hating the tone in his voice, but couldn’t stop himself. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I feel I’m being reasonable. We can’t afford more debt.’ He was talking to Eilish’s back. ‘Why the hell is everything I say lately turning into a dogfight? Jee-sus.’

  Eilish clomped downstairs.

  Hugh called after her. ‘That’s great. Run away. That’s bloody great. I’ve enough shit to handle at the moment without … And speaking of practicalities, if you’re gonna roam through gardens, change into something more sensible than suede Uggs—’

  ‘Stop making everything about you,’ Eilish shouted back. The front door slammed.

  Hugh punched a pillow. It wasn’t all Eilish’s fault, but he didn’t want to end up mired in unmanageable debt. Her attitude wasn’t helpful. He’d bought the rundown house near the end of the recession, and over-borrowed to carry out renovations. Now, he wished he hadn’t spent a fortune on a state-of-the-art marble, mahogany and steel kitchen they seldom used. Pure madness. He dialled his mother’s landline.

  ‘Hugh? Somebody’s stolen money from my bank account,’ Kathleen said.

  ‘Doubtful.’ Hugh was still seething. ‘You’ve said that before.’

  ‘Can you go over my bank statements? There’s money missing.’

  ‘I keep telling you, Ma, it’s your electricity bills and insurance direct debits. Did you withdraw—?’

  ‘I want to change banks.’

  ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  ‘That doesn’t suit. I’m doing night duty at the homeless shelter. Another helper is picking me up.’

  ‘Tomorrow so.’

  ‘Don’t forget Peter’s anniversary tomorrow.’

  Hugh peeked at his father’s portrait, smiling from its wall fixture. ‘Why do you keep saying that too, Ma? It’s not till July.’

  ‘Yes, July. I still miss him.’

  ‘Me too, Ma. Me too.’

  Midnight

  Hugh updated his CV.

  On the stroke of midnight, his mobile rang. ‘Charlie’s in hospital,’ Ferdia said. ‘He got beaten up—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Dublin. A street off Parnell Square. Head split open. Ambulance took him to Beaumont, and gardaí found his car burned out on a back-road near the airport.’

  ‘Jesus. Did he get mugged, or what?’

  ‘Don’t know. Yet.’

  ‘Will he be okay?’

  ‘Probably. He’s sedated. I’m outside the hospital now. They won’t let me feckin’ in to him. I’ll hang around and see what’s happening.’

  ‘Anything I can do to—?’

  ‘Nah. What’s your ETA at McGuire’s tomorrow?’

  ‘Around nine. Why?’

  ‘Try to get there earlier. They might need an extra hand.’

  ‘Sure. Wonder what Charlie was doing around Parnell Square.’

  ‘That’s what I intend to suss out.’

  An hour later, Hugh’s mobile rang again. He snatched it up, thinking it was Ferdia with an update.

  ‘Hugh? It’s Amy at the nig
ht shelter.’ The voice jabbered. ‘Your mother fell. We called the ambulance. They’re taking her to Ganestown A&E. I’ll go with—’

  A surge of adrenalin pushed Hugh from the chair. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

  Chapter 4

  Thursday, 10 January

  01:15 a.m.

  ‘Start. Start.’

  The starter wouldn’t crank.

  Hugh switched off the heater, lights and radio, gritted his teeth and turned the ignition key again. The motor whirred but didn’t engage the flywheel. He rammed the clutch and accelerator pedals into the footwell and made another attempt. The engine turned. A red wrench symbol glowed alongside the orange light on the dashboard. He put the heater on full blast, raced back into the house, got a saucepan of lukewarm tap water, splashed it on the ice-crusted windscreen, then sped into Ganestown, a seven minute drive.

  The tepid water froze up. Arctic air pouring from heater vents gave him coin-sized spots to peer through. Snow streamers blew off the bonnet as he took shortcuts, sliding around backstreet corners, snatching precious moments, heart slamming against his ribcage. Thoughts of his mother hurt and in pain made him nauseous. He made the hospital car park in four minutes.

  There’s seldom a quiet spell in A&E. Ganestown’s Accident and Emergency was in a state of organised chaos. Stressed staff struggled to cope with patients lying or sitting on the blockade of trolleys that lined both sides of a corridor. Family or friends accompanied some, whispering words of comfort. Most sufferers were alone. Hugh found his mother, and stared at her in shock.

  Tall, thin, with short, permed grey hair, Kathleen Fallon had full lips and the strong jawline Hugh inherited. Hyperactive, cheery and in a constant flap that there weren’t enough hours in the day, Kathleen had taken early retirement from her Matron’s post, months before husband Peter passed away. Instead of visiting the many cities they’d planned, she filled each day volunteering at Saint Vincent DePaul’s Ozanam House, or at the homeless shelter. Now, his tower of strength sat slumped in a wheelchair, ashen-faced, silent, hair dishevelled. Amy pressed an ice pack on Kathleen’s eyebrow.

  ‘It was’—Amy clicked her fingers—‘just like that. She tripped. Hit her head against the side of a table. I hadn’t a second to react.’

  ‘You couldn’t do anything, Amy.’

  ‘A nurse said he’d get an admittance form. Haven’t seen him since.’