Page 28 of Delectable Lies

SAOIRSE

With a craneof his tattooed neck, Liam’s eyes align with mine, burning like hot embers as his curiosity carves tormented lines along his forehead. He doesn’t buy a word of my omission. That much is evident by the clench of disappointment tightening his jaw. Finally, we reach the doorway of Fiadh’s office, and he turns to face me, gripping my biceps to keep me from avoiding his stripping stare. “What was that?”

“It was nothing. I don’t know who that guy is, let alone how he knew me.”

“I’m calling horseshit.”

Suddenly, the weight of my lie drops a stone block through my core, rippling waves of regret in its wake. I know Liam wants answers, but what am I meant to say? How am I supposed to externalise my thoughts about the mysterious Rí when I can barely grasp them myself.

His stormy eyes soften as his shoulders collapse into a bowed heap. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything you know, free bird. How do you know Rí?”

At his statement, my eyes narrow into anger-filled slits. How dare he demand my knowledge? Especially when all he does is feed me riddles, leaving me more confused and even further away from unravelling the web of lies my mother tangled me in.

“How about you tell me why I’m here first?”

His eyes close as he huffs out an impatient breath. Frustration twinges across his face as a deep frown worms its way onto his pursed lips. “I can’t do that, Saoirse. You’re not ready.”

“Well, it seems we’re at a crossroads, Devereux.”

Unwilling to make any further concessions, his teeth slide over his bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth. His pierced nostrils widen as he tips his head. “Guess I better take you back to the house, then.”

Turning his gaze away from me, his fingertips grip the door handle of Fiadh’s office. “Wait here.”

His tone scolds me as if I am a misbehaved child who needs reprimanding. Then, pleating my arms under my breasts, I level him with an unimpressed eye roll. “Whatever you say, Your Highness.”

Liam’s legs jolt forward, leaving me glaring at him from the open doorway. Bracing myself on the doorjamb, I take the weight of my tired legs as I follow every one of Liam’s movements with my eyes. Finally, he stops in front of Fiadh’s desk, drawing her attention. Too far away to decipher their hushed tones, I strain my gaze to their lips, eyes narrowing as I try to work out what they’re talking about. Fiadh’s lips bunch into a dubious pucker as Liam’s hands move with great animation.

Suddenly, Fiadh’s head swivels towards me, showcasing the deep worry lines surrounding her forehead and eyes. Her shoulders drop as she places her hands against her desk and pushes herself from her seat. A shadow of something unreadable glides across her defined features. Then, with a heavy release of breath, her nostrils widen.

Circling her desk, her legging-clad legs carry her towards the coat rack and closer to me. Her hands disappear into her handbag, and then she retracts her keys and holds them out for Liam to take. Thankfully, their new position grants me a better chance of hearing their conversation. Leaning forward slightly, my ears strain as I eavesdrop.

“Take her home, and for the love of God, don’t push her into talking when she’s not ready.” She drops the keys into his palm while raising her brow in warning.

“She knows him, Mam. He said as much.” Liam’s fingers tighten around the keys, his knuckles turning white as his hand silently begs to be let loose. “Why is she hiding it?”

“What she shares or withholds is her business. Understand, she doesn’t remember the little boy who was once her best friend. Éanna removed all traces of us from her life a long, long time ago. She was never part of this world, Liam. Give her a minute to catch her breath and figure out who she can trust. Go easy on her. She’ll come around.”

At that, my brows deepen, shading my eyes with confusion. What does she mean, remember? Racking my brain, I scan through my childhood, searching for my earliest memories, but I can’t seem to locate anything younger than the age of seven or eight.

More precisely, on the day of my holy communion, when a girl called Avril stood on my dress and tore it. After a colossal meltdown, my class teacher stapled it back together in time for me to walk down the aisle to receive the Holy bread.

Sure, there are a few other faded moments, but nothing of significance, not a single substantial memory. Did I know about the Devereuxs before this week? Were they a part of my life that somehow faded from my view?

“Is there any more information on Éanna?” At the mention of my mother’s name, my ears prick, and my wide eyes train on Fiadh’s scrunched face, desperately wanting and silently begging for her reply.

“No, nothing. The Gardaí are withholding any information they have on the fire. Your father has been relentless, calling them on the hour, every hour, and they won’t budge.”

“Not surprising. What about Reilly?” Liam’s jaw clenches, sharpening his chiselled cheekbones. “Have you spoken with him?”

Fiadh’s head twists, a sharp turn left, then right. “He won’t answer my calls. Which can mean one of two things.”

Unease rolls through me like a chilled, dark wave.Who the fuck is Reilly, and what has he got to do with my mam?

Liam tilts his head, giving a clipped nod. “He knows something and doesn’t want to share it.”

“Or, he knows something and he can’t make a move, not yet,” Fiadh finishes.

“Either way, he’s withholding, and that’s never a good sign.”

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