We present an extract from Let Them Lie, the debut thriller by Florence Gillan.
Aoife O'Driscoll travels home to Sligo for a family gathering to mark the twentieth anniversary of her father’s death. While there, the discovery of a long-buried box and its disturbing contents sends her on a terrifying journey through her family’s past.
Chasing secrets, while trying to hold her life together, becomes increasingly difficult. Breaking up with her fiancé Connor at a point when she desperately needs support, propels her deeper into an obsession with finding the truth, knowing that her investigation threatens to shatter the lives of everyone she loves– her mother, her brother Sam, her sister Kate, her young niece and nephew
How high a price is Aoife willing to pay to protect her family? And can she live with the consequences?
Aoife’s thoughts turned to her wedding. She still hadn’t got a dress. All they had done was to book the church, the hotel, and of course a band. They would have to organise themselves or things would end up in a shambles. Would Kate be willing to help? The four-year age gap separating them seemed less now that they were adults, but it would be nice to spend more time together. It was hard to get Kate on her own; she was so busy with the kids and Kenny. Her sister had always been there to help her through the minor crises of adolescence. She handed over money when her rent was short in college and gave gentle advice if asked. But it struck her how little she knew about her sister. For example, was Kate happy in her marriage?
Married at twenty and a mother by twenty-one. What did Kate see in Kenny? He was pleasant enough, but he seemed such a nonentity. He mooched around, found a perch, and blended into the background. Trying to engage him in conversation was agonizingly tedious. The only memorable conversation they had was about music. Unlike her, he was a big Country music fan and was amazingly knowledgeable about it. She had been so startled by his enthusiasm and passion for the genre that she faked interest too. It was a revelation to hear him talk so much and with such enthusiasm. The downside of that conversation was his insistence on gifting her with country music CDs and albums for subsequent birthday and Christmas gifts. Connor had thought she was a fan after seeing her collection. She was astounded one day to hear Kate say how fond Kenny was of her. Maybe she should make more of an effort to get to know him better – after all, there must be more to him than his taste in music.
As she continued to work, her back ached. Standing up to stretch, she noticed Karol staring into the hole he was digging. Then he turned his head and beckoned to her energetically. Glad of an excuse to abandon the weeding, she ambled over.
'See what I have found,’ he said, pointing down.
She looked and saw the skeletal remains of a dog and beside it a package wrapped in black polythene, half-covered in clay. It must have been where Polly, their dad’s old dog, was buried. Excitement swept over her – what could the package be?
‘Hurry, Karol, lift it out!’
He jumped down into the pit and, scrambling about, scraped the package free and passed it up. She grabbed it eagerly, dying to examine it, but offered him a hand up out of the deep pit. He shook his head and scrambled up, brushing mud from his clothes.
She carried the box over to the bench where she had just lately enjoyed her tea break. Eagerly she peeled off the tightly wrapped black-plastic covering. It revealed what appeared to be a battered yellow biscuit tin. Its colour was faded by long immersion in wet clay, but it kept a recognisable buttery tinge. The eroded lettering on the tin was long past recognition. Her excitement subsided. It was too much to expect it to be a treasure trove. Probably Kate or Sam had buried a time capsule as children, and it had been long forgotten. Still, it was buried too deeply surely, to be the work of children.
Her attempts to open it were defeated as it was rusted shut. She called out to Karol, who was watching from beside the grave.
‘Do you have a knife?’
Karol patted down his pockets and produced a small penknife. She used the sharp blade to prise the lid open. It took a bit of an effort and she squealed as she slit her thumb. Bright blood dripped over the tin, but the lid loosened, and she felt it give.
Let Them Lie is published by Poolbeg Press
