Read Online Those We Left Behind by Stuart Neville - Free Book Online
Authors: Stuart Neville
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blossomed anew, like a tree bursting from the ashes of a forest fire.
All he’d ever wanted was for the brothers to tell the truth. Once the grief and rage at the destruction of his family had sunk into the background of his being, the remaining wound was the lie they’d told. He would never have believed a lie could hurt so much had he not lived in its shadow for so many years.
And to think, Ciaran had been a sort of, almost, friend. Just for a little while.
Daniel watched the car drive away from the photographers.
Then, an old image of the house he grew up in. The policemen coming and going.
He lifted the remote control and hit rewind again, watched the house disappear, the car reverse through the gates. He pressed play.
The woman. She’d been with Devine at the shopping centre. Who was she? Some relative? Or some official assigned to look after him?
He watched the car pull away from the men once more, smoke from the exhaust left in its wake. His thumb found itself on the pause button, froze the image of the vehicle’s tail. With his free hand, he lifted his notepad from the coffee table, compared the car’s registration, even though he knew it matched.
The creak of the door startled him. He dropped the notepad onto the couch, hoped Niamh did not see.
‘What are you watching?’ she asked, her words blunt with sleep. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
He had no answer for her.
She sat down beside him, ran her hand across his shoulders, down his back. ‘Come on to bed.’
‘In a while.’
Niamh rested her head on his shoulder, the fabric of her pyjamas rubbing against the polyester of his work shirt. His tie hung loose at his collar. They sat silent for a time.
‘What about now?’ she asked.
‘I’ve stuff to do,’ he said. ‘I haven’t done the dishes yet.’
‘Sure there’s hardly any to do. I can—’
‘I’ll do them,’ he said, his voice harder than he’d intended. He waited, wondering if she would return his anger, scowl at him and leave. The disappointment when she didn’t surprised and shamed him.
Instead, she said, ‘Go and do them now, then. Stop dwelling on this.’
Niamh pointed at the television. She knew exactly what he’d been watching, had texted to tell him it was on the news, that she had recorded it for him.
‘I’m not dwelling on anything.’
‘Where were you this evening?’
‘Out,’ he said.
‘Out where?’
‘I went to the cinema.’
‘What to see? I might’ve wanted to come too.’
‘You never want to see anything I want to see.’
‘Maybe this would’ve been an exception.’
Daniel hoped she would leave it at that, but she asked, ‘Did you go looking for that boy?’
He stared at the chipped surface of the coffee table, a blocky piece made from particleboard that they’d bought from Ikea.
She would not take his silence for an answer. ‘Did you?’
‘He’s not a boy,’ Daniel said, his voice crackling in his throat. ‘He’s a—’
‘You promised me,’ she said, more sorrow than anger in her tone. ‘Jesus, Daniel, you promised me you wouldn’t do it.’
‘I just wanted to—’
‘We can’t go on like this. You have to stop dwelling on it.’
‘I’m not dwelling on it.’
She reached for the remote control, still in the grasp of his right hand. ‘Then give me that.’
He whipped it away, pushed her with his left arm, rocking her against the armrest. Niamh stared at him for long seconds, her lips pinched tight, her nostrils flaring with each breath.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘Go fuck yourself.’
She said it with no passion, her voice flat and dead. She stood and left the room, closing the door behind her, the wood whispering in the frame. He felt the draught of it on his face, carrying her faded perfume with it.
Daniel pressed the stop button and the television returned to some late night panel game, second-rate comedians cracking jokes about the week’s news. He turned the
All he’d ever wanted was for the brothers to tell the truth. Once the grief and rage at the destruction of his family had sunk into the background of his being, the remaining wound was the lie they’d told. He would never have believed a lie could hurt so much had he not lived in its shadow for so many years.
And to think, Ciaran had been a sort of, almost, friend. Just for a little while.
Daniel watched the car drive away from the photographers.
Then, an old image of the house he grew up in. The policemen coming and going.
He lifted the remote control and hit rewind again, watched the house disappear, the car reverse through the gates. He pressed play.
The woman. She’d been with Devine at the shopping centre. Who was she? Some relative? Or some official assigned to look after him?
He watched the car pull away from the men once more, smoke from the exhaust left in its wake. His thumb found itself on the pause button, froze the image of the vehicle’s tail. With his free hand, he lifted his notepad from the coffee table, compared the car’s registration, even though he knew it matched.
The creak of the door startled him. He dropped the notepad onto the couch, hoped Niamh did not see.
‘What are you watching?’ she asked, her words blunt with sleep. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
He had no answer for her.
She sat down beside him, ran her hand across his shoulders, down his back. ‘Come on to bed.’
‘In a while.’
Niamh rested her head on his shoulder, the fabric of her pyjamas rubbing against the polyester of his work shirt. His tie hung loose at his collar. They sat silent for a time.
‘What about now?’ she asked.
‘I’ve stuff to do,’ he said. ‘I haven’t done the dishes yet.’
‘Sure there’s hardly any to do. I can—’
‘I’ll do them,’ he said, his voice harder than he’d intended. He waited, wondering if she would return his anger, scowl at him and leave. The disappointment when she didn’t surprised and shamed him.
Instead, she said, ‘Go and do them now, then. Stop dwelling on this.’
Niamh pointed at the television. She knew exactly what he’d been watching, had texted to tell him it was on the news, that she had recorded it for him.
‘I’m not dwelling on anything.’
‘Where were you this evening?’
‘Out,’ he said.
‘Out where?’
‘I went to the cinema.’
‘What to see? I might’ve wanted to come too.’
‘You never want to see anything I want to see.’
‘Maybe this would’ve been an exception.’
Daniel hoped she would leave it at that, but she asked, ‘Did you go looking for that boy?’
He stared at the chipped surface of the coffee table, a blocky piece made from particleboard that they’d bought from Ikea.
She would not take his silence for an answer. ‘Did you?’
‘He’s not a boy,’ Daniel said, his voice crackling in his throat. ‘He’s a—’
‘You promised me,’ she said, more sorrow than anger in her tone. ‘Jesus, Daniel, you promised me you wouldn’t do it.’
‘I just wanted to—’
‘We can’t go on like this. You have to stop dwelling on it.’
‘I’m not dwelling on it.’
She reached for the remote control, still in the grasp of his right hand. ‘Then give me that.’
He whipped it away, pushed her with his left arm, rocking her against the armrest. Niamh stared at him for long seconds, her lips pinched tight, her nostrils flaring with each breath.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘Go fuck yourself.’
She said it with no passion, her voice flat and dead. She stood and left the room, closing the door behind her, the wood whispering in the frame. He felt the draught of it on his face, carrying her faded perfume with it.
Daniel pressed the stop button and the television returned to some late night panel game, second-rate comedians cracking jokes about the week’s news. He turned the
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