PROLOGUE
ROZ
2019
I gently rubbed my stomach. It was hard to fathom that behind the wall of expanding flesh beat the heart of my little girl. She was more than an accidental pregnancy. She was keeping me alive.
If only I had listened to Dympna when she warned me that I was making a mistake. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought of my friend, so many miles away. How different my life would have been if I had taken her advice. Guilt sucked me in like quicksand, dragging me down until I could barely breathe. Was it the lure of New York that first drew me in? Or the empty promises that were made? I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. How could I have predicted how this was going to turn out?
‘It’s OK,’ I whispered to my unborn child. ‘I’ll keep you safe.’
I reined in my thoughts in case my baby sensed my fear. There was movement as she pressed against my ribcage. The thought of her entry into the world was making me sick with nerves. It was not the prospect of giving birth that worried me; it was what would happen the second she was born. I pressed my hand against my mouth to stem the scream building in my throat. Keep it together. My self-preservation depended on me being calm, focused and ready.
A door slammed on the floor above and a muffled argument ensued. I knew it was about me. My accommodation was luxurious, but not soundproof, and I had learned a lot about the people up there. Slowly, I crept around the apartment and fetched a chair. As I dragged it to the air vent, its legs scraped the wooden floor. I bent my knees as I stepped up on to it, trying to hold it still. It was risky, but this was the best place to hear what was going on above. Holding my breath, I listened for key words. They thought I couldn’t hear them, but I knew what they were capable of. I snuffled through my congestion. The air was too dry, too cold, and goose bumps rose on my skin. The argument descended into soft murmurs. A decision had been made.
I climbed down from my chair, every nerve-ending tingling as adrenalin coursed through my veins. It was now or never. Footsteps crossed the floor above my head. My hand trembled as I reached for the knife carefully hidden beneath the folds of my maternity dress. It was small but sharp enough to pierce skin. What choice did I have? My heart reverberated against the wall of my chest and my breath came in short, quick gasps. They were coming.
There wasn’t a second to waste. I tiptoed to the side of my wardrobe, my fingers clasped tightly around the knife. The lift whirred as it escorted its passengers to my floor. A ding signalled that they were here. I held my breath as the lift doors slid open.
It was time.
CHAPTER ONE
ROZ
OCTOBER 2018
‘How far apart do your legs have to be for a thigh gap?’
Wearing her tightest skinny jeans and vest top, Dympna surveyed herself in the full-length mirror in my room. I lay stretched out on my bed, my head too full of my own worries to pay much attention.
‘It’s gone. It’s definitely gone,’ she moaned, mourning the loss of that all-important space between her thighs. ‘I mean, look at me, I’m a whale!’
She was not a whale. Red-haired and feisty, she was beautifully rounded, and I envied her curves. We had been friends ever since she shared her sandwich with me in school at the age of four. People said we made a striking pairing – her with her red hair, me with my white-blonde locks tumbling past my shoulders. Rhubarb and Custard, they called us, after the sweets. We were never apart. We moved on to secondary school, sat through mass for an hour in church every Sunday and both got housekeeping jobs in the same Jurys hotel. It was a natural progression for us to share a flat; but the rent in Dublin was astronomical compared to my hometown in Ferbane, and I didn’t have the heart to tell my best friend that I had just lost my job. If only that’s all it was. There was far worse on the horizon for me. My stomach rolled over as the implications punched me like a fist to the gut.
‘You’re grand,’ I said, taking a slice of pizza from the box on the bed. Another wave of nausea hit me as I nibbled on the crust. I’d barely been able to eat since I’d discovered the news.
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Dympna sighed, my mattress bouncing as she plopped down beside me. She grabbed a slice of my pizza. ‘Besides, the curvy look is in. Kim Kardashian’s bum is twice the size of mine.’
‘Then you’ve got some ground to cover. You’d better finish the lot.’ I laughed as I spoke, but I was numb inside. Dropping the pizza slice back in the box, I realised I couldn’t cope with it on my own. ‘Oh, God,’ I gasped as a lump rose in my throat. ‘What am I going to do?’
Dympna’s mouth dropped open and she froze mid-chew.
Dympna was always the strong one. After her family moved to Dublin, she encouraged me to go, too. She’d got us our flat, organised our jobs, even learned how to drive. I, on the other hand, was creative, scatty, and too impetuous for my own good. But I had grown up since moving in with her, and developed a routine. Now here I was, drowning in guilt, trapped in a no-win situation. Panic consumed me as I cried like a child, big fat sobs clogging my throat.
The takeaway box slid to the floor as Dympna wrapped her arms around me, and I realised her slice of pizza was sticking to my hair.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ she demanded, squeezing tightly. I garbled that I needed some air to breathe. Dympna had always been a hugger. It was her answer to everything. She even hugged a teacher once when she broke down in class. Hug now, ask questions later. It was lucky that she was a girl. It’s true, though, it did make me feel better. But by now my hair smelt like yesterday’s cheesy feast. I noticed from the corner of my eye that some of my blonde strands were streaked tomato red.
Disentangling myself from her grip, I prepared to give her the news I had not yet come to terms with myself.
‘I’m pregnant,’ I blurted, unable to look her in the eye. I stared at my chipped nail varnish as I waited for the telling-off. The last thing I needed was a lecture about contraception. It had been a one-off; I’d been too drunk to exercise any form of self-control.
‘Merciful hour!’ Dympna had picked up the term from her mother and it was usually reserved for catastrophic news. She looked at me with complete and utter shock. ‘When? Who? How far are you gone? Are you keeping it? What about your mam and stepdad . . . Do they know?’
Her questions fired like bullets, making my head spin. I consoled myself that at least she had not asked the question I dreaded.
‘Who’s the father?’
There it was. My chin wobbled as my tears threatened to overflow again. At least if I was sobbing, I couldn’t be expected to respond, but I knew Dympna would keep digging away until I did.
‘It was a one-night stand,’ I said, grabbing a tissue and blowing my nose. ‘And before you say it, I know. I was drunk and stupid, and the condom must have split.’
‘And you weren’t on the pill?’ was Dympna’s instant response. ‘Are you nuts?’
Dympna’s judgemental words made me feel even worse. I was not the type of person to sleep around. I was feeling lousy because I was struggling financially, and when he said he’d help out, well, I melted. It was a long time since any fella had cared about me like that. But my friendship with Dympna meant more to me than anything. She must never find out who he was.