‘God. What a fucker.’ I look up at Ruth. ‘Sorry.’

‘That’s all right. I might have said the same thing myself once upon a time.’

‘But still … How did nobody know? I thought they were all friends.’

‘Do you tell your friends everything?’

‘I … no.’ Good God, no.

‘It’s not an easy thing to admit,’ Ruth continues. ‘That your marriage is a nightmare, that your husband is a vicious, controlling sociopath. That you made a mistake. That you moved continent for a life of misery. That you brought a child into that miserable life and couldn’t keep her safe. That’s what pushed her over the edge.’

A soft knock interrupts us and a nurse pops her head around the door.

‘Time for your meds, Ruth. And if you’re getting tired, you’ll let us know, won’t you?’ She glances meaningfully at me and I feel like a naughty child.

‘I can go if you’re tired …’ I say, hoping I sound sincere.

Ruth says nothing, sitting quietly as the nurse administers three coloured pills, each swallowed with a small cup of water.

The nurse – Tracy according to her name badge – straightens the top sheet and cover on the bed and refills the glass of water on the bedside locker. She stands, hands on hips, squinting at the television set that’s suspended from a metal arm attached to the wall.

‘Is that in the right spot for you? Will I move it?’ she asks.

‘Oh, thank you. Glenroe will be on television tonight, won’t it?’

‘Glenroe is long gone, more’s the pity,’ Tracy says, reaching to tilt the TV set towards the bed. She throws a sympathetic look towards Ruth, and a smile at me. God love her, she mouths, shaking her head.

I smile, marvelling. Ruth has them all eating out of her hand.

Tracy leaves, pulling the door behind her, and I give Ruth a hard stare.

‘Mrs Cavanagh, I don’t know how to ask this politely, but why are you faking dementia?’

For the first time since I arrived, Ruth grins. Not the dreamy half-smile she gave the nurse, but a proper, knowing grin.

‘I’m as dothery as can be; I’m ninety-three, for goodness’ sake. Just you wait and see how hard it is to grasp the right words when you’re my age.’

‘Dothery is one thing, but you seem very capable of slipping in and out at will.’

‘Well, people leave you in peace if they think you’re not compos mentis. Less inane chit-chat. And I may have needed to deteriorate a little when you started asking your questions.’ She blinks. ‘You can do that at ninety-three and nobody bats an eyelid. Now, where were we?’

I lean forward. ‘You mentioned that something tipped Mary over the edge?’

‘Ah yes, that was the night of the dinner party.’

55

June 1985

MARY SMILED AND SMILED and smiled. For Robbie’s video camera. For the dinner guests. For the applause. They were applauding her Mexican food, and at the same time eyeing it with suspicion. Make them something exotic, Robbie had said. Mexican. None of them will ever have had Mexican food before. They’ll be talking about it for months. He was walking backwards now, away from the table, and finally – she hoped – switching off the camera.