The refuse bags came in useful. I slit them and laid them out, and then rolled the slab onto them. The frozen flesh was visible through the torn wrapping, yellow and creased.
When it was fully encased in the sacks, with duct tape wound around, I replaced the false bottom in the freezer, followed by the decoy meat. The job was almost complete. Now the cargo just had to be transported under cover of darkness and disposed of. It had been moved once before. This would be the last time.
I had two more freezers to unload. I worked methodically.
I had a lot to do before the sun rose.
One
Sunday
Slowly they lowered the coffin into the soft earth.
A cry, more like a melancholic sigh, rose into the air. Lottie Parker glanced to her right. Grace Boyd, glassy-eyed, was facing straight ahead, her face smeared with tears. One hand was at her mouth as she chewed at her fingernails. A dribble from her nose rested on her upper lip, and Lottie longed to take a tissue and wipe it clean. But she remained stock still, rigid.
Though it was the last week of May, the Atlantic Ocean blew a tornado of cold air in over the west coast, ripping through Lottie’s light summer jacket. The hilltop graveyard was open to the elements; its tall Celtic crosses stippled in green moss; one even had seashells embedded in its uppermost point. The sparse trees were bending in supplication to the wind. The bushes of purple heather ruffled sharp fronds against the noses of the mountain goats nuzzling the bog cotton. It could be an idyllic scene if not for the sadness.
The priest sprinkled holy water into the six-foot hole where the coffin now lay. He directed the chief mourners to do the same. For a moment Lottie was all alone as the others moved forward. With a small shovel they dug into the mound of earth and let the clay fall on the wooden box with its brass cross. Grace lingered, then picked a lily from the floral wreath and let it drop down, down into the depths of the gaping earth, its white petals bringing light to the darkness below.
Another sharp breeze rolled up from the sea. Lottie shivered, memories of her husband Adam’s funeral laid bare and raw. The smell of lilies, so potent, clogged her nostrils and her hand flew to her mouth, covering her nose. But she did not shed a tear. Enough tears had gushed from the depths of her being over the years, and she had no more left to share.
‘In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit …’ The priest concluded the prayers and Lottie stepped back to allow the steady stream of locals to offer their condolences to the family.
Standing at the thorny hedge of blackberries that marked the boundary on the cliff side, she let the ocean breeze whip her face, welcoming the touch of nature. She had no idea how long she stood there before she sensed approaching footsteps in the soft grass behind her. She didn’t turn around, her eyes fixed on the vastness of the water, with its hazy horizon in the distance. She wished for a moment that she could be carried silently on the crest of a whitecap wave to somewhere far away from where she now stood.
When she felt the hand slip into hers and squeeze her fingers, she turned. With the other arm tightly around the shoulders of his sister, Boyd rested his head on her shoulder.
‘A fine send-off for Mam,’ he said. ‘It’s over now, Lottie.’
She feathered his forehead with a tender kiss.
‘No, Boyd, it’s only just begun.’
Grace Boyd sat huddled in the corner of the snug, a forlorn figure, unnaturally quiet, still biting her nails.
‘I don’t know what to do about Grace,’ Boyd whispered to Lottie when she appeared carrying two glasses of sparkling water. He took one from her before her elbow could be jostled by the swelling crowd in the pub.
‘Come outside,’ she said.
Out in the sunshine, she inhaled the fresh sea air. ‘Leenane is beautiful. This is where they filmed The Field, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Mam has … had Richard Harris’s photograph hanging on the living room wall.’
‘I don’t know what to say, Boyd.’ Despite having suffered so much grief in her own life, Lottie found she had no idea how to react to someone else’s.
‘Tell me what to do about Grace.’
She pulled out a chair from a wooden table splattered with bird dirt and pointed for Boyd to sit. She leaned against the table as he brushed at the chair with his hand.
‘It’s a difficult one,’ she said. ‘Grace has lived all her life with your mother. Living alone will be a major change for her.’
‘That’s the point.’ He sipped his pint. ‘I don’t think she can live alone.’
Lottie eyed his drink. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘It is a bar, Lottie.’
‘You shouldn’t be drinking while on treatment.’
Boyd had been diagnosed with a mild form of leukaemia over six months previously, and though he was doing well and his treatment had been reduced, his health was a constant worry. His immune system was weak and he was susceptible to infection. She was worried that the stress of his mother’s death would harm his recovery.
‘My doctor said I can have the odd drink,’ he said petulantly. ‘Stop nagging.’ He lowered his head. ‘Grace tries to be independent, but we know she can’t be left to her own devices. She needs someone to watch out for her.’
Lottie put out a hand and lifted his chin, looking into his sad hazel eyes. ‘Your mam was great, and she’ll be missed. It’s a shock for you all. Especially for Grace.’ Then she said the words she knew he wanted to hear. ‘Maybe you should bring her with you back to Ragmullin.’
‘I’ll have to evict Kirby.’ Boyd smiled wryly.
‘It’s high time he found his own place anyway, and if my half-brother Leo comes through with the money on Farranstown House, we can buy somewhere together and Grace can live with us.’
She thought of the wrangling back and forth with solicitors over legal documents, none of which she understood. She just wanted to sign and get the money, but things were never that simple. Leo Belfield had appeared in her life following a difficult case in which her true family heritage had been revealed. She was still trying to come to terms with it.
Boyd eyed her over the rim of his pint glass. ‘You’d do that for me?’
‘You know I’d do anything for you.’
‘You sound like something out of a romance novel.’
‘You read them, do you?’
‘Smart arse,’ he said with a smile, the first time she’d seen that glint of devilment in his eye in a long time.
He put down the glass and wrapped his hand around hers. She felt the warmth of his touch seep through her skin and into her bloodstream. She gazed out across the sparkling water in the bay to the lush green vegetation on the sides of the mountains that guarded the inlet.
‘I know you’re ill, Boyd, but you make me so very happy.’
A crash and the tinkle of breaking glass reached them from inside the pub. A second of stunned silence paused the mumble of chatter before a scream pierced the air.
‘That’s Grace,’ said Boyd as he got up from the chair, but Lottie was already through the door, where she was greeted by pandemonium.
A semicircle of sweaty bodies had formed in one corner of the sweltering pub. She elbowed her way through the three-deep ensemble. Curled up on the bench, knees clutched to her chest, Grace Boyd cried and sobbed, her hair wild and her arms scratched.