Hiding in Plain Sight Read online

  In Rossbeg Industrial estate, McGuire’s Hardware squatted amid a slew of small businesses. A bookie’s office and a petrol station guarded the estate entrance. A wine distributor had taken possession of a pool hall, and a TV satellite company had moved into a unit previously leased to an artisan baker.

  Hugh followed the delivery signs and parked alongside a van wrapped in a block of frozen snow up to the wheelbase. The back store full-length shutters were closed. He stamped his feet to aid circulation and pulled open a ‘Staff Only’ door, cut from the mainframe. A hut constructed from breeze blocks sat in one corner of the warehouse. Inside, a bleached blonde reclined in a high-backed swivel chair and chatted on a landline. She chewed gum, looped strands of hair around a Bic biro, studied Hugh’s approach and continued her conversation. Beside her, a portable three-bar electric heater strained to counteract the minus temperature.

  The blonde put the receiver to her bosom, slid open a glass window. ‘Can I help?’ The smile was as fake as her eyelashes, and the tone suggested she hoped she wouldn’t have to.

  ‘Stock delivery. Anybody here to unload?’

  The blonde spoke into a tannoy, the words indecipherable. An engine growled, and a propane Hyster forklift swerved into the aisle. The machine rattled along the passageway. Forks clanged as the driver fast-tracked over a bump. A teenager hopped off and pressed a switch on the wall. The roller shutter rumbled and wound around itself. The lad caught Hugh’s eye and jerked his head at the Hiace. ‘That one?’

  Hugh nodded and turned to the woman. ‘Can you sign these dockets?’

  ‘Milo’ll do it. Milo Brady.’

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘I saw him outside a minute ago.’

  ‘Can you buzz him?’

  ‘Tsk. Wait a sec, Sal.’ The blonde stabbed the tannoy button again with a blood-red fingernail. ‘Milo. Office.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Hugh said. ‘Do I need to sign in?’

  The blonde flapped an arm like a farmer shooing sheep. ‘Chill. He’ll be back.’ She swiped the window shut.

  Hugh strolled around to ward off the cold, wandered back towards the breeze block hut and watched the teen unload the van. A shower of hail pelted the Hyster. He started the circuit again, this time taking a wider circumference. Near a door leading into the shop, he spotted a figure leaning against a wall, checking stock sheets.

  The small man held a biro between his teeth and frowned at a sheet of paper littered with red marks. Head tilted, his right index finger explored the inside of his left nostril. Pulling the digit out, the man inspected his catch and pitched the prize over his shoulder.

  Hugh walked over. ‘Milo?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  The reek of cheap cologne assailed Hugh’s senses. Scrawny, wearing Mr Mole glasses, Milo had sad, smoky midnight blue eyes, a receding hairline which would leave him bald within a few years, an Irish winter pallor and hollow cheeks that reminded Hugh of Munch’s tortured figure in The Scream. Age around thirty, Hugh reckoned. A sprinkle of snow covered Milo’s jacket, and the brown shoes, slick with melted slush, looked like a dog had chewed them.

  ‘Hugh Fallon.’ Hugh held both hands behind his back.

  ‘What’s your pitch?’ Milo’s adenoidal voice resembled a lamb’s bleat.

  ‘No pitch.’ Hugh pulled out the dockets. ‘Delivery from Mullingar.’

  Milo clicked his fingers.

  Hugh dropped the invoices into Milo’s outstretched palm. ‘Today’s my first day.’

  Milo pinched his lower lip. ‘Where’s the stuff?’

  ‘Over here,’ Hugh pointed.

  Milo pushed away from the wall.

  ‘How’s business?’ Hugh asked for something to say.

  Milo thumbed through the sheets, checked them against the delivery and scribbled his initials. ‘It’s shite. But turns out I’m doin’ okay. He tore off the counterfoils. ‘Guess who gets the manager’s job that’s coming up in a few weeks? You’re lookin’ at him. Can’t wait to get into a nice warm office. Big change from freezing me balls off out here. Gimme your number. Might want more shit delivered.’

  Hugh wrote his mobile on a slip of paper and swapped it for the dockets. ‘Well, thanks for that. I’ll get out of your way.’

  Milo grunted.

  Some manager, Hugh thought. What an attitude.

  The Hiace skidded as he swung the van around. He pressed the wiper switch, and aluminium screeched across the windscreen. The rubber had worn away, the blades useless against frozen snow. Near the main entrance, he spotted Sharona Waters crouching beside her Renault Clio. He parked, and walked over. ‘Problem?’

  ‘All done.’ Sharona loosened the scissor jack and straightened. ‘I only came in for piping to fix a leak, and I get punctured. That’s three punctures in two months; twice here, and once at home. I’m jinxed.’ She pushed the wrench onto a lug bolt and stood on the handle to tighten the nut.

  Hugh lifted the punctured tyre into the boot, pointed out a gash beside the valve. ‘Something sharp pierced it. Doesn’t look repairable.’

  ‘Great. More expense. Need that like a hole in the head.’

  ‘Want a hand fixing the leak?’

  ‘It’s a small job, Hugh. I’ll solder on this new bit.’ Sharona threw the jack and wrench into the boot. ‘Not even worth calling the landlord. Thanks anyway. Oh, will you tell Ferdia not to arrange any meetings about that premises ’til next week. I’m away tomorrow for a few days.’

  ‘Will do. Enjoy your break.’

  ‘Not a break. It’s an art gig in Belfast. A friend of Charlie’s needs help.’

  ‘Safe driving. Get a new spare before you head off.’

  ‘Yeah. Are you driving that van?’

  ‘My new company vehicle. I’m redundant—’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Afraid so. Charlie’s given me a … I suppose Malcolm told you ’bout Charlie.’

  ‘Malcolm’s told me nothing. We’re not together anymore.’

  ‘Aww, God, I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘I’m fine with it. What happened to Charlie?’

  ‘He got mugged—’

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘Last night. He was in Dublin, and …’

  Milo Brady’s eyes tightened, a hunter squinting down the barrel of a gun, gauging distance. What were they talking about? He polished his glasses, replaced them, saved Hugh Fallon’s number into his contacts, lit a cigarette and glanced towards them again. ‘Keep off my turf, asshole. Your wheels aren’t immune to a Stanley knife either.’

  Afternoon

  Eilish waited until lunchtime to contact Ciara. ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘What’s up?’ Ciara asked. ‘You didn’t show to help search for Roberta Lord. You okay?’

  ‘I’m in an absolute mess. Can we meet?’

  ‘I’m swamped preparing appraisals. Tonight?’

  ‘I must talk to you. Now. Meet me in the car park. Ten minutes.’

  ‘Christ, Eilish. Phone me when you arrive. I’m not freezing my ass off out there. Your ten minutes means an hour.’

  Eilish redialled Ciara when she had the Global Environmental Engineering Group European headquarters in sight. Ciara crossed the car park, jumped into the Passat and blew into her palms. ‘Jesus, it’s bitter. Uh-oh. What’s the matter?’

  Eilish took a breath. ‘Jill’s revelation? I’m the other woman.’

  Ciara stayed silent.

  Eilish exhaled. ‘Well, say something.’

  ‘Keep talking.’

  ‘God, I want to die. Richard and I … We … clicked.’

  ‘Hmm. I wondered why you disappeared the other night. Hugh never loses keys.’

  ‘No. Sorry. I wanted to tell you, but couldn’t find the words. You wouldn’t approve, and—’

  ‘Jesus, Eilish. I won’t condemn or condone you. Okay, maybe condemn you a little. Let me see, how can I put this? What in hell are you doing?’

  Eilish swallowed. ‘If you were a stranger, it’d be … I
know this sounds crazy. I’m friends with Richard and Jill for years. I teach their kids for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘How long’s it been going on? When did—?’

  ‘September. I was in Ganestown, met Richard on the street, and he asked if I wanted coffee. We chatted about kids, holidays, his haulage business, you know, the usual stuff. He leaned into me and said, “I can’t resist you anymore.” Anymore? Jesus, I swear I hadn’t noticed he’d resisted me in the first place. I laughed it off, and he repeated it, dead serious. The Irish part of my brain popped up to say, don’t be an eejit, he’s double your age, for God’s sake.’

  ‘And a trice married outrageous skirt-chaser,’ Ciara added.

  ‘He’s not—’

  ‘Ah, give over. Richard never misses an opportunity to brush against me, squeeze my ass or look down my top.’

  ‘That’s his way. He’s—’

  ‘He’s a lech. How’d you get sucked into his bullshit anyway?’

  ‘It was harmless fun. I admit I was willing to let him … remove a few bricks from my defence wall, but I didn’t expect him to blast them all away in one fell swoop.’

  ‘So, what I’m hearing is, one flirtation led to another.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s the attraction?’

  ‘We shared conversations I should have had with Hugh.’ Eilish pulled out a tissue. ‘You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t ask for this. I—’

  ‘Well, you did. You said you were willing—’

  ‘I allowed him into my safe zone, and he pushed past my barricades before I realised we’d reached a point beyond friendship. It. Just. Happened.’

  ‘Does Hugh suspect?’

  ‘No. God no. Hugh’s … I love him to bits—’

  ‘Funny way of showing it.’

  ‘We … Richard is … We’re compatible on so many other levels. He’s fed up with Jill dragging him to charity events, putting up a front for the neighbours. It’s tearing him—’

  ‘Has he spoken to Jill about this?’

  ‘They don’t communicate any more. Well, not about anything important, anyways.’

  ‘Unlike you and him.’

  ‘Yes. No. I mean, I can imagine how that appears, but honest, I, he’s … What I’m saying is, I thought he was … it felt we were perfect for each other.’

  ‘You said the same ’bout Hugh, remember?’

  Eilish sniffed and wiped her nose. ‘I didn’t consider consequences down the line. I assumed … We’d such a … connection, an affinity. We never had a “where-is-this-going?” conversation. I’d no idea he planned to tell Jill he’d met somebody else. What’ll I do?’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘I don’t … I want to live my life for me.’

  ‘Oh, here we go. God almighty, Eilish.’

  ‘I’ve changed. It’s affected …’ Eilish leaked tears again, and she wiped them away. ‘I’m cranky as hell. And Hugh suspects something’s up. It’s a struggle to avoid him. I pick rows when he’s home. It’s rotten, stuck in this mess. Jesus, our friends use me as an agony aunt for their issues.’ Tears trickled. ‘I’m the rock of sense, the holier-than-thou person who dishes out advice like: “if you’re concerned about your relationship, you’d walk away,” or, “women who get into those situations—” ’

  ‘That’s rubbish—’

  ‘It’s true. And here I am, slap bang in the middle of an affair.’ Eilish twisted the tissue into sodden pulp. ‘And the worst … You know what’s worse? The way I feel. It hurts. Jesus. Why can’t I manage my own fucking life? It’s never like this in films.’

  Ciara pulled more paper hankies from a jacket pocket and handed them over. ‘You’re mature enough to separate life from fiction. What can I say? You think it’s fine to demolish a friend’s marriage? Or are you on a mission to sabotage your own relationship? Christ, Eilish, I’d love to shake sense … How many lives will you wreck before—?’

  ‘Right now, Ciara, I don’t need a lecture. You know what?’

  ‘What.’

  ‘Never mind. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have bothered—’

  ‘Forget yourself for a minute.’ Ciara counted on her fingers. ‘There’s Hugh plus Jill and two kids in the immediate circle. Lives ruined. Families destroyed. And why drag me into this? What do you expect me to do? Give you a pardon? If you want absolution, try the confessional box. I can’t help. You’ve made your own choices.’

  They stared out opposite windows. Eilish sniffled in the silence.

  ‘What’s your plan?’ Ciara asked. ‘You can’t unscramble the egg.’

  ‘I’ve told Richard we’re finished.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When did you tell him?’

  ‘Jill … when I saw the hurt we’d … I’d—’

  ‘When. Did. You. Tell. Him?’

  ‘Tuesday. Tuesday night. After I left your house. And I … I informed him face-to-face last night—’

  ‘Informed? Face-to-face? You … met him?’

  ‘He phoned. Asked if we could meet, and—’

  ‘Argh, for … sweet baby Jesus.’

  ‘See? I knew you’d be—’

  ‘I’d be what?’

  ‘Judgemental.’

  ‘Goddammit.’ Ciara slapped the dashboard with her palm. ‘I thought you were sick when you were a no show at last night’s search. Instead you … Jesus Christ, Eilish.’

  Eilish snivelled. Words wedged in her throat. ‘I was so … caught up, trapped in my own emotions, I didn’t consider Jill. What if my name comes out? How—?’

  ‘Did you ask why he picked now to tell Jill?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He wants us to be together, and he doesn’t care if—’

  ‘Is that your wish?’

  ‘No. God, no. How’ll I face Jill? We’ll meet at school.’ Eilish clutched Ciara’s arm. ‘How can …? Will you—?’

  Ciara held up a hand. ‘Let me stop you right there. Whatever you want from me, the answer’s no.’

  ‘If the school board finds out, will they ask me to resign?’

  ‘I hope as a society we’ve moved on from—’

  ‘And the parents. What will they say? They’ll see me as a bad example.’

  ‘Hmm. That’s a possibility.’ Ciara shrugged. ‘You know Ganestown runs on gossip.’

  ‘Shit. Should I tell Hugh? It’ll break his heart. What’ll I say? How do I say it?’

  ‘One issue at a time, Eilish.’

  ‘Hugh’s redundant—’

  ‘He’ll get another job.’

  ‘Will he? It’s made me … I’m not sure what I want anymore.’ Eilish condensed tissue paper into corrugated folds. ‘Life’s a rinse and repeat cycle of eat, sleep, laundry, rubbish bins, bills … and now we’ve to tighten our belts? I get it; redundancy equals cutbacks. But I didn’t sign up for not being able to afford basic items—’

  ‘Christ, Eilish.’

  ‘I expected us to maintain a … a certain standard.’

  ‘Maintain? Or be maintained?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘You’re selfish.’

  ‘I seldom see him. If he’d given me more attention, made time for us, this—’

  ‘Oh, please,’ Ciara said. ‘Hugh’s busted his ass to keep you in the style you’ve become accustomed to. You’re spoilt. You’ve always been spoilt. Stop laying guilt on Hugh. At times, I can’t for the life of me fathom how he puts up with you. Learn to take responsibility for your own actions.’

  ‘Hey, whose side are you on here?’

  ‘What? Side? I’m not taking sides.’

  ‘Yes, you are. I can hear it in your voice.’

  ‘I’m neutral, Eilish. I like Hugh. Jill’s my friend too, and I can read you like a book. Sounds like you want to offload your guilt, without doing the penance. Forget it. My advice? Focus on your relationship. Don’t tell Hugh or anybody else about Richard. “The truth will set you
free” crap only works in romance novels. Why hurt the person you love? You have planned to stay with Hugh?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Splendid. If you bump into Jill, pray Richard hasn’t mentioned your name, or else prepare for a slap across the face. And get yourself checked out, health-wise. Full medical screening. Oh, and if you think counselling will help, go. Alone.’

  ‘Jesus. I don’t know if I can take your practical advice right now—’

  ‘You asked for it,’ Ciara said. ‘You don’t have to take it. Look, I’ve to get back in here. After work, I’m off to Dublin. Dad got mugged last night.’

  ‘God, that’s dreadful. But what’ll I do, Ciara? I can’t function.’

  ‘Forget Richard, and I don’t ever, ever want Hugh or Jill to think I’ve taken your side in this tangle.’

  Eilish drove home. She stopped at the gateway and peered out like a thief, scrutinising the area for signs of Hugh. Reassured, she hurried into the house and crammed clothes into a suitcase. Muddied thoughts swamped her brain. She needed time to think.

  -----

  A conference call overrun left the art dealer with a tight timeframe to catch the four p.m. flight to Belfast, but before leaving Tullamore, he visited the internet café and logged onto DatingVista.

  Yes. Women can’t resist jewellery.

  From: [email protected]

  Sent: Thurs., 07:11

  To: [email protected]

  Subject: Me

  Hi,

  Good morning, and thanks for the mail. Can I say, I’m a novice

  at online dating, and unsure what to write? Let’s see; I consider

  myself a kind, generous person. I’m loyal, dedicated, and

  seeking somebody who’s prepared to share and experience