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grief, she said. And he's been holding on to it for eight years. I've got to tell Mum all this.’

She didn't want to be in the flat when that happened. ‘Well, don't be surprised if she refuses to believe you. She's incapable of changing her lies as well – the pair of them are made for each other.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, come on. She had to know about Dad, what with all those men coming to the house. Arguments they had about where the money came from. She turned a blind eye in the end and stuck by him because she spent so much time lying for him, she couldn't speak the truth. And she liked having the money.’

‘How would you know? You hid in your room.’

She ground her fingernails into her thighs, right on top of her scars. No, not again. Mark's bitterness wasn’t her fault. While she might have stayed out of sight in order to protect herself from seeing things, Mark had been kept occupied and deliberately distracted by their father's legitimate hobbies; things that wouldn’t raise eyebrows. Mark had been adept at gluing himself to the better side of Bill.

She spoke with as much neutrality as possible. ‘Tell her. Then forget it, and don't go looking for a reason, you won't find it.’

He finished his wine. ‘So. That's that.’

‘Not quite. I've got my own news to tell.’

‘Oh?’

She reeled in the excitement. ‘I've got a chance to go to Ireland and join a dig. It includes accommodation and some pay. I'm waiting on confirmation.’

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What about uni?’

‘It can wait. Experience is just as important.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘I've a friend over in Dublin with contacts. He's called Freddie.’

‘Freddie. You've not mentioned him before now.’

A hazy conversation echoed in her mind. Perhaps she hadn't mentioned his name. ‘Why should I? It's not as if you show any interest in me. I'll have to quit work—’

Mark’s reclining pose shifted into a rigid one. ‘What? How long is this for? When?’

‘Next month. And I don't know exactly how long. I don't care about work. I can get another job when I get back. Which brings me to your offer. I'm going to hand in my notice at work and on the bedsit and pay the last month off. Then I can move my stuff here to your spare room while I'm away.’

He blinked several times. ‘You're going but dumping your things in my spare room. That's it?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded defiantly, then swiftly softened her voice into sweet contrition. ‘If you don't have other plans for the room.’

He rose and carried his glass to the kitchen table. ‘I've got a girlfriend.’

The scent of roses. She had been right. ‘So this works better for you. Not having little sister around?’

Mark’s face was an admirable portrait of neutrality. ‘My offer for you to live here remains. I prefer her place.’

Things made more sense in the light of finding out he had a love interest. ‘You're moving in with her?’

He laughed. ‘No. We're not in that kind of relationship. We're friends with benefits.’

She called Nicky her friend without benefits.

Ellen handed Mark her wine glass. ‘Finish it. I'm not in the mood.’

He caught her sleeve. ‘Wait. There's something else. Sophia has invited us to her place for dinner.’

‘Oh, no. Not another Razzles, please—’

‘We should go and say thank you for her effort. Luke's too. I'm sure her fee will be discounted. Luke is Jackson's brother.’

She had nothing to thank them for. ‘I'll drop her a postcard.’

‘Ellen, they're inviting a professor you should talk to. It might give you another option, instead of going to Ireland. A good word from an eminent academic, yes?’

Freddie had given her a good word, too. However, if it shut Mark up and let her store her things for nothing at his place then she’d go. ‘Okay.’

~ * ~

She confessed again. The compulsion to serialise her life into brief snippets continued to evolve and, back at home, she typed it out for Freddie to read.

I told him. Mark, that is. He wants me to meet somebody else, a professor.

He doesn't think you should come here?

He doesn't think I should ignore a Haynes offer. Mark's been given the name of an alternative who I should meet.

Your brother shouldn't decide for you. My name is Freddie Zustaller. See, I'm good on my word. Is Mark? I think you know the answer. I'll let you decide.

He'd attached a drawing, an old map of Wicklow. It was annotated with jottings and marks about possible trenches and geophysical points of interest. Something real, tangible: a lure, and it worked a treat. One day she would control everything, be in charge of a major project and earn a reputation that was worthy, instead of contrived with the edge of a razor.

Ellen's fingers curled into a ball and she punched the air. The truth was she knew exactly what she wanted to do. Freddie had filled the void and if anyone deserved the recognition, it was him. She couldn't wait to meet him, touch him. Yes, even that. She would happily go where he sent her.

  17

Julianna

Mark rolled off Julianna and flopped onto his back. She lay her arm across his chest and curled the black hairs around her fingers.

‘This thing with your dad has really upset you.’ She’d listened over dinner to Bill's story. She had hoped Mark might put aside his anger in the bedroom. Clearly not. It clung to him: a straightjacket of raw emotion.

‘I’m sorry, I’ve not been good company.’ He sighed, labouring the exhale.

‘I don’t mind.’ Shuffling closer, she pressed her warmth onto him, hoping for a better response. But, nothing. He sighed, again.

‘Your mum must have taken it

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