Read Online Deceptions by Laura Elliot - Free Book Online

INE
    Brahms Ward
8 p.m.
    I’ve had a hectic day, Killian. Don’t pay attention if I snooze off after a while. I met my script editor this morning. Remember Roz O’Hara? Jangling bracelets, chain smoker, pink highlights? It was a terse meeting, to say the least. Not that I blame her for being annoyed. Despite a hefty advance, she’s yet to read a single page of my promised draft. She reminded me that I’d other responsibilities besides family ones but she relented before I left and asked how you are.
    “While there’s life there’s hope.” She sounded apologetic, a woman who abhors clichés – but your deep sleep has left people bereft of meaningful comment. I’ve promised her the rough outline two weeks from now but Roz O’Hara can jangle her bracelets all she likes. I’m a dry stone, no blood. All I want to do is write about you. Perhaps it will help, writing it down, a cathartic cleansing. Perhaps not. Either way it passes the night when sleep is impossible.
    You must remember Nowhere Lodge ? Your favourite programme? My path to fame? Of course you remember. What a dab hand you were at making suggestions, my trusty barometer, bringing me on-the-spot reviews from school friends, thumbs down or up – I could always rely on you for an honest opinion. Fairy tales with an edge, that’s what I write.
    I never realised the vein I was opening when I cut into the teenage psyche. I knew the issues, the language of the street: ganga, shit, weed, barbs, downers, rock, wash, Charlie, disco burgers, doves, junk, skag, horse. You brought Lorcan Sheraton to meet me. Can you remember that weekend? You were twelve years old and ready to make your own decisions. I knew that when you introduced me as your real father. Such pride in your voice. It was the only recognition that mattered. Your mother was not pleased but that’s another story, another era.
    She’s lost weight since the accident. These days she seldom visits her office and her diary only has one entry. But she’s also needed at home. Duncan’s being a bit of a problem. Sibling rivalry. Not that I’m an expert on the subject but, apparently, it can be quite an issue in families. We’re working out a rota for visitors. Your friends want to be involved, Lorcan in particular, also Marianne. She rang last night and sent you her love. She’s still working on the film. Remember? Street people, drug culture? For a while I thought the two of you might … but what does that matter now?
    We’re going to bring you back to us, Killian. Music, words, massage, prayers, whatever it takes. Your mother has faith, such sublime faith. Jesus walks beside her. Her eyes glow when she speaks his name. I envy her, Killian. If only I could believe so fervently that prayer triggers the attention of a benign Christ with inexhaustible energy, an ear to the ground and eyes that see everything.

    Yellow eyes … blind eyes … blind mice … hickory dickory dock … tick tock … mouse ran … ran … whirr-whirr-whirr … yellow eyes … blind eyes … blinded … eyes … headlights!

C HAPTER T EN
    “I’ve fallen hopelessly in love,” Emily announced one evening, stamping mud from Donaldson’s farm on the back doorstep. “It’s incurable, indestructible, indescribable –”
    “Just give me the facts, Emily. Obviously his name begins with I.”
    “Do you mean Ibrahim O’Doherty?” She blew coyly up towards her fringe and laughed loudly. “Don’t be ridiculous. My true love is a she . Her name is Antoinette and she has four legs.”
    “Come again, Emily?”
    “She’s my horse.”
    Lorraine set a dish of lasagne on the table and sectioned it onto their plates. “Are we talking rocking horses or the ones who eat oats and live on Donaldsons’ farm?”
    “Ha, ha. Very funny. Want to see me riding her?”
    “Are you serious?”
    “Absolutely.”
    After they finished their evening meal they walked to the end of the lane and entered the farmyard.
    “Shut up, Hobbs,”