Kitabı oku: «I Confess», sayfa 4
8
Johnny waited outside the bar until everyone had caught up. He pushed open the door and guided everyone through with a sweep of his arm. The room had a mix of mahogany panelling and slate-grey walls, thick carpet in charcoal grey, and small round tables with green leather chairs. A log fire burned and crackled drawing everyone’s attention until Murph boomed, ‘No way,’ and crossed to the opposite wall. Johnny, Edie, and Helen laughed.
Murph looked back at Johnny and Edie, his eyes gleaming. ‘Is that … is your drinks cabinet an actual confession box?’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Johnny.
Murph shook his head, smiling.
‘It’s a little kitsch,’ said Edie, ‘but we couldn’t resist.’
‘I love honesty bars,’ said Murph. ‘But I prefer lying, filthy, cheating bars.’
‘It’s superb,’ said Clare. ‘Is it from the chapel?’
Johnny nodded. ‘There were four of them, which was a bit much when you think of the size of it. We kept one where it was, ripped the other three out, and had this one restored.’
‘Look,’ said Murph. ‘It actually accepts sins.’ He pointed to a slot, and pulled out the drawer underneath. There were folded-up notes inside. He picked out three. ‘“Stole a bathrobe”, “Filled my purse with croissants at breakfast”, and “Had impure thoughts. Followed through.” Fair play to them. I hope the purse one was an American or she wouldn’t have got far.’
‘Is anyone weird about it?’ said Clare. ‘The sacrilege of it all.’
‘No one’s complained yet,’ said Edie. She put her hand on the small of Johnny’s back. ‘Well done, by the way.’ She gestured around the room. ‘He set this all up.’
‘He’s got the fire on, the candles, everything,’ said Laura. ‘Never thought I’d see the day.’
‘I do this all the time,’ said Johnny, frowning. ‘Why is everyone so surprised?’
‘Jesus – I don’t know,’ said Murph. ‘Maybe because of this.’ He pointed to the wall beside the confession box. ‘Johnny’s glory wall under a picture light, in case we might miss it.’ There were framed newspaper cuttings, Munster team photos, shots of Johnny on the pitch, at award ceremonies, with celebrities. Murph pointed to one: ‘New Zealand, 1989. You played some game.’
‘How you didn’t end up playing for Ireland is beyond me,’ said Clare.
‘I agree,’ said Edie.
‘Thank you, ladies,’ said Johnny. He walked over to the drinks. ‘Right – what are you having?’
‘The time of our lives,’ said Murph.
Everyone put in their orders, and Johnny started to make the drinks.
‘Speaking of time,’ said Clare, ‘this is very early for pre-dinner drinks. This could go horribly wrong.’
Johnny handed her a gin and tonic. ‘Starting now.’
‘That’s my fault,’ said Helen. ‘I can’t last very long in the evenings these days. So apologies to all of you for tomorrow’s hangovers.’
‘Who says I’m going to have a hangover?’ said Clare.
‘As Johnny hands everyone a massive drink,’ said Helen. ‘You’ll all be dying in the morning.’
‘Not me,’ said Patrick, pointing to his 7UP.
‘Do you not drink?’ said Laura.
‘No,’ said Patrick. ‘I gave up years ago.’
‘Why’s that?’ said Laura. ‘Health reasons?’
Patrick nodded. ‘I guess so. Stopped one January and never looked back.’
‘Hey – that’s Clare’s line,’ said Johnny. ‘“Never look back”.’
‘“Eyes ahead” is my line!’ said Clare.
‘It’s “eyes ahead”,’ said Murph at the same time.
‘Relax, the pair of you,’ said Johnny.
Clare looked around the room. ‘You’re all an appalling influence and I know I’m going to end up in some “District Court Judge in Drinking Shame” situation.’
‘We’re well tucked away here,’ said Johnny. ‘What happens in Pilgrim Point stays in Pilgrim Point.’
‘I’d say any fart I crack off tonight after a rake of pints will go well beyond the boundaries,’ said Murph.
‘Any development on the spa?’ said Clare.
‘Well, the plans are drawn up,’ said Edie, ‘but before we can put in for planning, we have to get an archaeological survey done. And there’s no point getting it done at this time of year, so we’re looking at March for that. And on and on.’
‘Ooh,’ said Murph, sucking in a breath, ‘Johnny fucked up there.’
‘What?’ said Edie. She flashed warning eyes at Murph. ‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Sorry,’ said Murph. ‘He just looked a little—’
‘Bored,’ said Edie.
Johnny frowned. ‘I’m not bored, I’m—’
‘I’m teasing,’ said Edie. ‘The chapel is Johnny’s thing.’
‘The chapel’s not “my thing”,’ said Johnny. ‘It’s—’
‘Jesus, lads,’ said Murph. ‘You’ve got visitors. Did your mammies not teach you anything?’
‘So, what are the plans for the chapel?’ said Patrick.
‘Well …’ said Johnny.
‘Well …’ said Edie.
‘What I think we should be doing,’ said Johnny, ‘is corporate events or yoga retreats or conferences or gigs or whatever. We’re in the perfect spot – away from it all, no mobile coverage unless you want to use WhatsApp, no distractions—’
‘And the views,’ said Clare. ‘And the Wild Atlantic Way.’
Murph turned to Edie. ‘And what do you think you should be doing with it?’
‘Not talking about it tonight,’ said Edie, giving him a bright smile.
‘And on and on it goes,’ said Edie. ‘That’s why it’s sort of … in limbo.’
‘Or “under renovation”, as I like to call it,’ said Johnny.
They fell into silence.
‘So,’ said Johnny, turning to Laura, ‘how are you? How are the kid … s?’
‘Good one,’ said Laura. ‘Yes, I’ve more than one. And they’re alive. After that … well, Mammy’s on the lash, isn’t she?’ She took a long sip of her drink.
Murph laughed. ‘Johnny’s like “thank fuck we got that out of the way”.’
‘I hate people banging on about their kids on a night out,’ said Laura.
‘It was a genuine question,’ said Johnny.
‘And have you any more question … s?’ said Murph.
‘Ah, give him a break,’ said Laura. ‘He’s had a fair few knocks to the head over the years. Children: Séamus, seven, Paddy, five: healthy, happy, and tapped.’
‘And the father?’ said Johnny. ‘Both Frank’s?’ He smiled.
‘Johnny!’ said Edie.
‘I see a lot of Brad Pitt in Séamus,’ said Laura.
Johnny turned to Clare. ‘What about your lot?’
Clare smiled. ‘Children: Ava, nineteen, Lucas, fourteen, Marco, twelve. Husband: Alan, forty-eight. Cuddly toy. Toaster. Microwave oven.’
‘Not a child to my name,’ said Murph. ‘Until the knocks on the door start.’
‘Not a child to my name, either,’ said Patrick.
‘Any woman on the scene?’ said Laura.
Patrick shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Man?’ said Clare.
Patrick smiled. ‘Also, no.’
‘And would you like to meet someone?’ said Clare.
‘I would, I suppose,’ said Patrick, ‘but it’s hard enough, these days. And I wouldn’t be one for internet dating.’
‘Multiple women on the go, here,’ said Murph. ‘No apologies.’
‘I hate to stop you mid-candid admission,’ said Clare, ‘but do you mind if we sit down?’
‘Of course,’ said Edie. ‘Sorry.’
‘No,’ said Clare, ‘it’s my shoes.’
‘Remember “don’t puke on my shoes”, “take off my shoes”,’ said Murph.
‘Oh, God,’ said Laura.
‘And the gas part was you were talking to yourself,’ said Murph. ‘Laura, pasted, forehead down on a white plastic table—’
‘That I had to climb under,’ said Helen, ‘so I could take off the shoes.’
‘Well, of course you did,’ said Murph.
There was a chorus from the others, ‘“I couldn’t say no!”’
‘Do I say that a lot?’ said Helen.
They all laughed. ‘Yes,’ said Edie.
‘Yes!’ said Murph. ‘It’s why we all love you.’ He turned to Laura. ‘There’s not many who’d risk climbing under a table when you’re gearing up.’
‘And she managed to have the wherewithal to tell me make sure the shoes were “out of splashing distance”,’ said Helen.
‘Ah, lads,’ said Laura. ‘Clare – you were right. We need to be allowed to forget this shit.’
‘Sure, that’s no craic,’ said Murph.
‘Right, everyone,’ said Johnny. ‘Go – sit. I have a few things to check on and I’ll be back.’
Helen let Johnny pass, and pulled Edie to one side as everyone else sat down.
‘Am I sensing tension?’ said Helen.
‘Where?’ said Edie.
‘Johnny and Patrick?’ said Helen.
Edie’s eyes widened. ‘What? Why do you say that?’
‘Do you really think Johnny believes I randomly bumped into Patrick last week, and just said, “Come on down for my birthday dinner”, given that the last time I laid eyes on him was when he came to say his goodbyes to Sister Consolata in the hospital – and she’s dead – what? Ten years?’
‘Why would Johnny not believe you?’ said Edie.
‘Apart from him or his wife usually being the people who drive me to Cork?’ said Helen. ‘For which I am eternally grateful, obviously.’
Edie smiled. ‘Pleasure. But – you could have been up there with anyone.’
‘I know – I told him I was with one of my nurse pals, but I’m just … questioning the wisdom of your plan. And I was wondering if you were too. Johnny looks on edge.’
‘Johnny always looks on edge,’ said Edie. She caught Helen’s expression. ‘Sorry – that’s awful. Just … you’re making it sound like I’m doing something terrible, when all I wanted was for Patrick to see the inn. That way, if the investment thing becomes a real issue, and Patrick is interested, it won’t be a bolt from the blue – he’ll have been here, seen what we’re doing.’
‘You don’t feel bad, lying to Johnny?’ said Helen.
‘No,’ said Edie. ‘No. The inn is … we need investment, Patrick has the means, he’s our friend.’
‘But the last time you saw him was three years ago. And that was because you needed a favour.’
‘Yes – about the inn,’ said Edie. ‘Because I knew he was in hedge funds, I knew how successful he was, and unlike anyone else I could have asked, he knows Beara. This was a big investment – you know that. Johnny and I were in the States at the time. Patrick was in New York. All I asked him to do was meet me for a chat. And he could have said “No” if he didn’t want to help. I’d have done the same for him. And he was the one who offered to view the place, so …’ She shrugged. ‘Look – he’s a nice guy.’
Helen nodded.
‘I couldn’t have approached just anyone, saying that I wasn’t sure whether or not my husband had a clue what he was doing,’ said Edie. ‘And I wouldn’t have known what a third party would need to be able to give me informed advice. Nor would I have known how to actually gather it all together without Johnny being on to me. I knew what Patrick did, he knows us both, and he knows the property, and after looking at everything, he said, “Go for it!” So he believed in it as a business, which – in my mind – makes him the most logical person to approach as an investor.’
‘No – I know,’ said Helen. ‘It makes sense – sorry. This is my issue. I think I’m feeling guilty because Johnny’s so good.’
‘He is good,’ said Edie, ‘which is the whole point of Patrick being a possible investor – to actually relieve Johnny of pressure.’
Helen glanced up at Edie. ‘Clare – incoming.’
‘What’s going on here, ladies?’ said Clare. ‘It all looks very serious.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Are we setting Helen up with Patrick?’
Edie and Helen laughed. ‘No,’ said Edie.
Laura came up behind Clare. She glanced back at Patrick and Murph. ‘Murph’s on about horses.’
‘I was about to say that I’m not sure I believe Patrick Lynch that he’s single,’ said Clare.
‘Why would he lie about that?’ said Edie.
‘I don’t know,’ said Clare.
‘I totally believe he’s single,’ said Laura. ‘I’d say the mother frightened him off women for life. You look back and you think, was she well in the head at all?’ She paused. ‘In fairness, my two will probably think the same about me.’
‘Well, he’s made a success of himself,’ said Helen, ‘so she must have done something right.’
‘Whatever went on in that house,’ said Laura. ‘Good enough for her, the mother died before she could cash in.’
‘Laura!’ said Clare.
‘What?’ said Laura. ‘She was an oddball. Was she ever outside the door? Remember, you’d go by the house, and if the door was open, you’d see the Sacred Heart …’
‘Sure, every house had a Sacred Heart back then,’ said Helen.
‘They did not,’ said Laura. ‘And none were in your face like that.’
Edie glanced over at him. ‘Poor Patrick.’
‘Not any more,’ said Laura.
The others laughed.
‘Right,’ said Edie. ‘I’ll be back. I have a few last-minute bits to do.’
‘I’m mortified,’ said Helen, ‘Honestly. I don’t mind if we have spaghetti on toast.’
Laura rolled her eyes. ‘How about nuggets and chips? Would you eat them if she landed them up in front of you?’
‘Yes!’ said Helen.
‘You would, of course,’ said Laura. ‘Sure, you can’t say “no”!’
The others laughed.
‘What?’ said Helen.
‘Your catchphrase,’ said Clare. ‘“I couldn’t say “no”!”’
‘It is not,’ said Helen. ‘Is it? Did I say that a lot?’
Edie smiled. ‘You still do.’ She put her hand on Helen’s shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. ‘There are worse catchphrases to be known for.’
Edie did one last check of the dining table. She stopped at each place setting, turned the childhood photos right side up, and stood them against a wine glass. When she reached Patrick’s, there was the sound of paper crinkling underfoot. She stepped back and crouched down. There were two pages on the floor – lined, yellowed, ripped from a notebook, both rigid from where a red or black biro had moved back and forth across them with such force, it had broken through the page in places. Edie took them in her hand, and stood up. Her legs went weak, and she reached out for the back of the chair to steady herself. There were crude drawings of faces on each page – circles for heads, black Xs for eyes. The first had a crooked line for a mouth, and a jagged head wound, spurting blood. There was a hammer drawn beside it. The second had a large circle for a mouth, a noose around its neck and a rope that disappeared off the top of the page. HA HA HA HA HA was written to the right of it, and underneath: BYE BYE PATRICK LYNCH.
9
PATRICK
Castletownbere, 1981
Patrick was nine years old, standing in the kitchen doorway. His mother was at the sink, an empty chair beside her. She looked at him and nodded down at it.
Patrick shook into stillness. He knew he was to get up on the chair, but he didn’t know what he’d done. Nothing bad had happened in school that day. He always behaved himself. He was never late, he was always polite.
Mrs Lynch’s eyes widened. She moved towards him, reached into the pocket of her apron, and whipped out a piece of paper. She unfolded it and held it up. Before he had a chance to focus on it, she pushed it closer to his face. ‘What’s this nonsense?’ she said.
Patrick pulled his head back so he could see. It was a page she had ripped from his religion copy. On the top half was a picture he’d drawn of a boat, with a boy beside him. The sun was shining, the sky was a skinny blue strip at the top of the page, the birds were waiting for fish. What was causing the problem that his mother was pointing at now were the huge smiles on the boy and the man.
‘It’s not nonsense,’ said Patrick.
His mother turned the page around to face her. She read out loud what he had written on the lines underneath the picture – in the voice she used when she wanted him to hear himself: ‘“I am fishing with Daddy. We are on the boat. We are catching so much fish. We went to Dursey Island on the cable car. There was a sheep in it. It was so funny. We had a picnic. Then we went home.”’ She looked up at the title. ‘So that’s “My Best Day” by Patrick Lynch. Have you ever seen such nonsense in all your life?’
Patrick’s face burned, and the heat seemed to flush through his whole body. His mother was glaring at him, waiting for him to reply.
Patrick shrugged.
‘Don’t you shrug your shoulders at me!’ She shook the picture again. ‘And a big red tick beside it and a “VG, Patrick!” I’ll VG her when I see her.’
‘Don’t, Mammy! She’s so nice.’
‘Nice!’ said his mother. ‘Nice?’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ said Patrick, brave, tentative.
His mother looked at him, her face pinched, lines like arrows piercing the tight circle of her mouth.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ she mimicked.
‘Why don’t you like it?’ said Patrick.
‘Like it?’ she said. ‘This?’ She rattled the page again.
Patrick shook his head. ‘No.’ His eyes darted everywhere before they tried to settle on hers, but he couldn’t even manage that. ‘Why don’t you like it when things are nice?’
His mother stared at him. ‘Get up on that chair now this minute.’
Patrick walked towards the sink behind her, his heart hammering, his eyes never leaving the picture. She was holding it between her thumb and index finger like it was dirty. He just wanted it back. It was his favourite picture and it was his favourite imaginary day. He knelt up on the chair. She lowered her left hand into the sink, and he watched the page disappear after it.
Patrick let out a moan. ‘No, Mammy. Mammy, no!’
Mrs Lynch lifted her hand slowly from the water, and tossed the picture to one side, where it clung, briefly, to a bucket of potato skins.
The same hand went into the sink again, and she rattled the dishes around to make space. Patrick jumped at the speed her right hand came down on the back of his neck. She plunged his head under the water, and his forehead struck the edge of a thick glass tankard. His scream, reflexive, and submerged, sent a rush of bubbles from his nose and mouth.
‘Jesus Christ Almighty!’ said Mrs Lynch, yanking him up. ‘You could have split your head open on that!’
When she was angry, her sentences came in a low snarl with highs like sparks from embers. She plunged him under again.
He had time to taste the water, and it tasted of cabbage and fish and bleach. She pulled him out again, and he hung from her grip, gasping, and red-eyed. Then she gave him three hard shakes – his prompt.
‘Sorry, Mammy,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’
She held him there, spluttering, his head bowed, a string of saliva hanging from his lip, until, eventually, her body relaxed.
Sorry was his mother’s drug. She needed to hear it for every transgression, real or concocted. She had never heard it from the husband she had kicked out. Not even on the last day she had seen him, when he left her to her insanity, and her fury, and their seven-year-old son, whose blond hair glowed red under the flickering bulb of a Sacred Heart light.
10
Edie left the dining room, the pages of the notebook wrapped inside a napkin, gripped tight in her trembling hand. She stopped, briefly, in the hallway and let out a long breath. Johnny jogged up behind her. She jumped.
‘Hey, hey, hey,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
‘Oh!’ said Edie. ‘Nothing! It’s … ridiculous. I’m … nervous about dinner.’
‘You need to get some more Prosecco into you.’ He looked at her. ‘Or maybe not. You’re white as a sheet.’
‘I bent down and got up too quickly,’ she said. ‘You were right, though – I don’t know what I was thinking, cooking.’
Johnny put his hands on her shoulders and made her loosen them out. ‘Breathe. It’s our friends. No one cares. Everyone’s drinking away, happy out.
‘You’re playing a blinder.’
‘Thanks,’ said Edie.
‘What do you want me to do?’ said Johnny.
‘Keep everyone entertained for five minutes. I need to nip to the office. Then I’ll get the starters.’
‘I can do that,’ said Johnny.
‘It’s fine – go do your thing.’
She walked down the stairs in to the office, her legs shaking. She went over to the safe, crouched down and punched in the code. She pulled open the door and slipped the pages into one of her folders and closed it again.
Edie stood outside the honesty bar, the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes. She straightened up, took in a deep breath, smiled, and opened the door.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said, ‘Dinner is now served.’
Everyone cheered. Johnny held the door open as they filed out and followed Edie down to the dining room. Edie checked she had everyone’s attention before she opened the tall double doors with a flourish. The chatter petered out as they walked in. Laura banged into the back of Helen’s chair when she stopped just inside the threshold, her hand to her mouth.
‘Oh Edie,’ was all Helen could manage. ‘Oh Edie,’ she said again, lifting her hand and waving it in front of her, as if to introduce the room. She turned to the others. ‘You can imagine what this is normally like – formal, elegant … Edie. And this … This—’
‘Designer forest clearing,’ said Clare.
Everyone laughed.
Helen’s eyes, when they met Edie’s, were shining. ‘Now, this,’ she said, ‘This is what it feels like to be seen’. Edie bent down to hug her. ‘Thank you,’ Helen whispered in her ear. They embraced for a long time, before pulling apart, both laughing and wiping away tears. ‘And thank you, Johnny.’
‘Pleasure,’ said Johnny. ‘Absolute pleasure.’
‘Come in. Come in, everyone,’ said Edie.
‘I’ll go get the starters,’ said Johnny.
‘Thanks,’ said Edie. She turned to the others. ‘I didn’t do place names, but I did do place photos.’ She smiled.
Clare found hers first. ‘Oh, thank God – no perm.’ She squinted at it. ‘And it looks like I’ve got the hang of Immac.’ She ran a finger across her upper lip, and made a face.
‘The state of me!’ said Laura, holding her photo up. ‘I haven’t changed a bit.’ She leaned into Murph’s. ‘What’s yours?’
He gave her a sad smile as he handed it to her. ‘Me and the love of my life.’
‘Aw, Rosco,’ said Laura. ‘Everyone loved Rosco.’
‘He was my best pal,’ said Murph. ‘No offence to any of ye. But his coat was so soft. And you were all wearing those scratchy duffel ones at the time. And you were cold auld bitches. “Get off me”, “get off me”.’ He sat down.
‘Well, Jesus – Rosco ran away from you altogether,’ said Laura, sitting beside him.
Murph looked at her. ‘Too soon. Too soon …’
Laura squeezed his hand.
‘Sorry, Murph,’ said Edie. ‘It was the only photo I could find of you that wasn’t a big group one.’
‘I know,’ said Murph. ‘Dad – the king of Beara history – and I go through his things after he dies, and I’d say from eleven on, he has one photo. Of his only child. And hundreds of photos of miserable-looking skinny bastards from here. I’m not talking about you, Edie. And I’m definitely not talking about Johnny. The industrial school, obviously.’
Johnny walked in with a tray of starters, and set them on the sideboard inside the door. Edie went over to help him.
Edie’s eyes were on Helen. She was lost in her photo, teary. She looked up at Edie, ‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling. ‘Thank you.’
‘Are those sad tears or happy tears?’ said Murph.
Helen laughed, picking up her napkin to dab her eyes. ‘Happy, of course!’
Murph reached across the table for Helen’s photo.
‘Aw, look at Jess,’ said Laura, pointing to her.
Murph leaned back in his chair and called over to her, ‘There’s been a devastating turn of events.’
Edie spun around to him, her eyes wide, her hand to her chest.
‘Jesus,’ said Murph, holding up his hands. ‘I was just going to say I had no napkin.’
Edie laughed a shaky laugh. ‘That is devastating for me.’
‘Right,’ said Johnny, watching her rearrange the plates. ‘I don’t think there’s much more we can do here.’ He put his arm around her waist and squeezed. Edie squirmed out of his grip.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘just … give me a minute.’
As she walked to the table, she straightened her shoulders and smiled as she handed out the starters. Johnny watched her as he did the same at the other side of the table.
‘Did I hear Kevin Crossan died?’ he said.
‘That was last year,’ said Laura.
‘The poor divil.’ said Murph. ‘That must have been hard, all the same. People thinking he had something to do with what happened to Jessie.’
‘Ah, not everyone thought that,’ said Laura.
‘There was a fair few did,’ said Murph. ‘I mean, I always liked Kevin, but we were so young at the time. Later, I was thinking: OK – Jessie’s mam was away, Kevin was minding Jessie, and he says he hears nothing at all – no one coming into the house, no screams from Jessie, no one leaving. Does that make sense to anyone?’
‘He said he had the TV blaring,’ said Laura.
‘It wasn’t a big house, though,’ said Murph. He turned to Helen. ‘OK – you were right next door. Did you not hear anything?’
‘Have we not had this conversation?’ said Helen.
‘I don’t know,’ said Murph.
‘Mam and Dad were out,’ said Helen. ‘They got a “babysitter” in.’ She looked at Laura. ‘Laura’s Miriam.’
‘Miriam?’ said Laura. ‘God – they must have been desperate.’
‘Everyone was desperate for babysitters Regatta weekend,’ said Helen. ‘And no – I didn’t hear a thing. But Miriam had lent me her Walkman—’
‘Jesus – you had more luck than me,’ said Laura. ‘She’d literally ask you to clean her room top to bottom before she’d give you a go of it.’
‘How do you remember shit like that?’ said Murph.
‘Sisters,’ said Laura. ‘They scar you.’
‘OK – forget about that for a second,’ said Murph. ‘So your dad said there were no signs of forced entry.’
‘Ah, Murph – of course there weren’t,’ said Laura. ‘Everyone left their doors open.’
‘Do you really think Kevin did it?’ said Clare.
‘No,’ said Murph. ‘I’m just saying I could never wrap my head around the whole thing.’
‘A lot of people were saying that the only reason Jessie said the rapist was wearing a mask was to cover for her dad,’ said Patrick.
‘Oh, God – that’s a depressing detail,’ said Clare. ‘I hadn’t heard that.’
‘Well the man’s life was ruined, either way,’ said Murph. ‘As if he hadn’t been through enough. All it takes is a few people thinking you’re guilty, and you’re fucked.’
‘Well, I never for a second thought Kevin was guilty,’ said Clare. ‘My heart went out to the man. Can you imagine? Finding your child in that state.’
‘Three stab wounds,’ said Murph. ‘There was no way she was meant to survive that.’
They all went quiet.
‘But she did,’ said Helen.
‘The little fighter,’ said Clare.
‘But, then, do you wonder?’ said Laura. ‘She was told the whole time how brave she was – apart from Cuntsolata – and how strong she was, and that she was a miracle, and all the rest of it. And she could have been going around for years trying to believe that, because why wouldn’t you? And inside, she could have been in bits.’
Edie and Patrick exchanged accidental glances.
‘Jesus,’ said Johnny, ‘I’ll never forget Dad coming home that night. He was one of the first on the scene.’ He shook his head. ‘He did what he could for her, waiting for the ambulance, but … he wasn’t right for a long time after that.’
‘I don’t think anybody’s dad was right after it,’ said Clare.
‘None of ours were – I think they all thought, “it could have been my daughter”.’
‘I remember Daddy having to go away on business the next day,’ said Edie, ‘and he was terribly upset. I’m sure I was clinging to him for dear life. And he said to me, “I would never leave you if I thought you weren’t safe.”’ She paused. ‘And that was all it took. God – there was nothing he could say that I wouldn’t just believe one hundred per cent.’
‘Lads … I saw the state of her in the hospital,’ said Laura. ‘And—’
‘What?’ said Clare. ‘How?’
Laura nodded. ‘The Thursday after. Her birthday.’
‘Good Lord,’ said Clare. ‘Was that not a bit much – your parents sending you up there at that age?’
‘Sure, look – nobody knew anything back then,’ said Laura. ‘Poor Mam was only thinking of Jessie lying there on her birthday with no friends, as if she’d done something wrong herself.’
‘Your poor mam,’ said Edie. ‘That was very sweet.’
‘And woefully misguided,’ said Clare.
Laura turned to Helen. ‘How did you …?’
Everyone looked at her, waited.
‘How did I what?’ said Helen.
‘Nothing,’ said Laura.
‘It’s obviously something,’ said Murph. ‘You have to tell us now.’
‘Just,’ said Laura. ‘How did you look after Consolata in the hospital? Like, I know it was your job, but …’
Helen shrugged. ‘She was a patient, like any other—’
Laura raised her eyebrows. ‘Like any other psycho bitch with a shrivelled—’
‘No more cider for Laura!’ said Murph. He checked the time. ‘Or it’ll be a very premature Rage O’Clock, followed swiftly by Tears O’Clock …’
Everyone laughed.
Laura turned to Helen. ‘Sorry – I wasn’t giving you a hard time—’
‘I know you weren’t,’ said Helen. ‘But no-one likes to think they’ll end up in hospital and be laughed and joked about—’
Laura nodded. ‘Fair enough. You’re right.’ She paused. ‘You always just … say shit.’
Helen laughed. ‘Sure, you’re the same yourself!’
‘No, no, no,’ said Laura. ‘You’re honest. I’m horrible. You give a shit. I’m just mean, I think.’
‘You’re not mean,’ said Helen. ‘You’re funny—’
‘I’m a bitch, lads, amn’t I?’ said Laura.
‘No!’ said Edie.
‘Will you stop it?’ said Helen. ‘You’re honest, and funny, and you’re tough. And we all love you for it.’
‘Shh!’ said Johnny, holding his hand up. ‘Did anyone hear—’
The lights flickered. Everyone looked around at each other. There were two loud clicks, then buzzing, then the beeping sound of dying electronics. Then the lights went out.
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