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“Claire! Gerard!” Sinead’s voice echoed from the other side of the garden, followed by own mam’s voice when she called out, “Dinnertime.”
“Coming, Mam,” Claire called back before turning to face me. “Poor innocent fools,” she snickered. “They don’t have a clue what we just did in here.”
“Yeah,” I started to laugh, but quickly sobered when my eyes locked on the white duvet. The white duvet with a crimson-red bloodstain. “Oh no, no, no,” I heaved, feeling faint as I staggered backwards. “You have to get me away from it,” I begged, and then, because I was a fucking eejit, I made a run for the door, only to smack my head off the roof beam above me.
The sound of Claire calling my name was the last thing I heard before everything went black.
65
Murder Weapons and Crimes of Passion
CLAIRE
“Gerard!” I screamed, watching as he face-planted on the tree-house floor with an audible thud. Seriously, he went down like a sack of spuds. “Omigod, Gerard?”
Nothing.
Not a peep.
“Are you dead?”
Silence.
“Omigod, I killed you!” I wailed, throwing my hands up. “I killed you with my hymen!”
Wailing like a banshee, I quickly snatched the bloodstained duvet up and threw it out of the tree house. “I am so sorry, Gerard,” I cried as I bolted down the ladder. “I’ll get help!”
Tripping off the last step of the ten-foot ladder, I scooped up the evidence of my crime of passion and ran for my life, screaming the word help at the top of my lungs.
“Claire?” Both of our mothers came barreling out of the house. “What in the name of Jesus happened?”
“Mam, I killed him!” I wailed, running into her arms. “I killed Gerard!”
“What happened?” Sadhbh demanded, looking frantic with concern. “Where’s my son, Claire?”
“He’s dead.” Still wailing like a banshee, I pointed behind me. “In the tree house.”
“How?” Mam asked in much calmer voice than either Sadhbh or I were displaying. “What happened?”
“Gerard!” Breaking into a panicked run, Sadhbh dropped her coffee cup on the lawn and bolted up the ladder of the tree house. “Gerard, love, it’s alright. Mammy’s coming!”
“What’s wrong?” Dad demanded, appearing on the patio. “Jesus, I could hear you screaming from the attic.”
“I killed Gerard with my hymen, Daddy!” I wailed, throwing the bloodstained duvet at his feet. “Here’s the murder weapon for the Gardaí when they come to arrest me!”
“He’s alive!” I heard Sadhbh call out from the tree house, and I swear, I almost collapsed on the lawn in relief.
“Oh, thank god,” I cried, dropping my head in my hands. “Thank you, baby Jesus and the Virgin Mary for watching over us.”
“Peter?” Sadhbh called out from the tree house. “Give me a hand with your godson, would you?”
“Claire.” Mam shook her head. “I don’t know whether to cry or kill you right now.”
“I know!” I winced. “I’m super sorry, Mam.”
“Okay, everybody, stand back,” my father instructed a few minutes later as he carried my boyfriend down from the tree house in the fireman’s carry position. “He’ll be alright. He’s just after getting a fright, that’s all.”
66
