“I’m going to appeal, Jack. I have to.”
Jack hides his panic.
“It’s not good for you to be without your dad and it’s not good for me to be without you and Holly. It’s just not natural. All I want is access, just to see you. It won’t involve your mother. I won’t ever need to see her again. And I won’t bring her up ever again.”
Jack doubts that.
“But can you please, please, when you’re being interviewed by the psychologist or whoever for the Section 20 Report, can you please tell them that you lied? Otherwise we’ll never see each other again. Even now, I shouldn’t be talking to you but I had to risk it. Is this what you want? Really, Jack? For us to be apart forever? We love each other. I’m your dad. Let’s start over. Courts never punish children. They just want to do the right thing by them. Let me do the right thing by my children. Please Jack, just tell them you lied. We all lie.”
It’s a lovely speech. But he’s asking Jack to undo everything, stab his mother in the heart. If he admits that he lied, then that will make her a liar too. Because she backed up their lies. And maybe courts don’t punish kids – and he’s not sure he even believes that – but they definitely punish adults. Lying in court is a big deal. It’s perjury. Even Jack knows that. He’s not about to land everyone in trouble. Especially as his father’s last three words are the truest of all. Jack can’t trust him. And, so, he looks him in the eye. “I can’t do that.”
Outrage flares suddenly in his eyes as if someone has flipped a switch. “I didn’t deserve those lies!”
And it is so clear to Jack that, whatever he says, he hasn’t changed. Maybe people like him can’t. He wishes so much that they could.
Already, he has switched back to calm. “There’s another option, bud. You could come home. Live with your old man. No hassle. Just the two lads. All you’d have to do is tell them what you want.”
He has called Jack “bud” for as long as he can remember. The word has always come filled with love. Jack swallows. It would be kinda cool, just the two of them, no hassle, at home in his room, his old life back….
“You want to come home, don’t you, bud, away from this… backwater?” He glances around.
All he’d have to do is… ditch Holly and his mother. He raises his chin. “I like this backwater.”
“Don’t you miss your mates? Your hockey? Your school? Your life?”
Jack misses it all. Of course, he does.
“I’ll up your pocket money. Two hundred a week. All you’d have to do is say you want to live with me. That’s it.”
He should have kept the money out of it. “Dad. You say you’ve changed. But you’re still trying to manipulate me.” Inside, Jack is crying. Because he wants his father in his life – but as a part of a happy family. And that can never happen.
“So, you’re not going to do it,” he says accusingly.
Jack presses his lips together. So much pressure. So much guilt.
“Maybe Holly will do the right thing. Maybe Holly will admit that she lied,” his father says coldly, like a threat. “She was always a good kid.”
“You stay away from her!” Jack flares.
With a sneer, his father stands up. “Thanks for your time, Jack.”
Jack jumps to his feet and races from the coffee shop, leaving everything behind, his bag, his coat, hurl, sports gear.
Jack flies past the bookshop, all lit up and buzzing with life. He doesn’t dare glance in; he might direct his father to his mother. He hopes that she’s deep into the shop, surrounded by people. Invisible. He has to keep going. It’s Holly his dad is after. Only she and Jack can change things. So, he keeps on running.
51
Village Books is heaving. It seems like the whole village is crammed into the quaint little bookshop. Especially the female contingent. Standing room only. If that. Grace spies Jacinta Creedon and her husband, Tom. Mia O’Driscoll is there with her potato-head husband. Even Paddy O’Neill is putting in an appearance. The only person she can’t seem to see is the author. She smiles, watching Yvonne push her way through the mob to get to the wine table. Heroic.
Remembering that there will be speeches and possibly a reading, Grace puts her phone on silent.
A voice in her ear whispers something she can’t hear. She swirls around, bringing her hands up to her chest and bending a little at the knee. Smiling in relief, she runs her hands through her hair as if that’s where they were headed all along.
Wayne Hill, wine glass in hand, is looking officious. “I’m sorry, madam but this is a private party.”
“I can see that,” she says, glancing at the crowd. “How did you get such a big turnout?”
“I’m thinking boredom played a part. Must have.”
She tilts her head. “Maybe you’re just popular.”
“Well, there is my magnetic charm.”
Grace remembers that first consultation on the island. And laughs.
“What?” he asks, like he’s offended.
“I’m just remembering that first time you came to see me.”
“You know, a sore… groin… can really affect a man’s mood.”
“I bet.”
He smiles. “Here. I brought you wine.” He hands her a glass. “See? I’m much nicer now.”
“You are!” She raises the glass and the corners of her mouth. “Congratulations on the book.” She takes the copy she has just bought from her bag and hands it to him. “You’ll have to sign it.”
He flicks to the title page where he writes in a flourish of black: “To the woman who saved my crown jewels. Happy reading.” He signs it, Wayne. Just Wayne. Then hands it back to her.
Her laugh is a surprised bark. She tucks the book away. She’ll have to hide it when she gets home. People might get the wrong idea.
Someone is tapping a microphone. They look up.
“I better go,” he says.
“Good luck!”
He grimaces. “I’ll keep it short.”
“Don’t! We’re out for the night.” She looks for Yvonne. Is she growing the grapes? And where is Alan?
“You and?”
“My friend, Yvonne. She’ll be raging she missed you.”
“Well, maybe I’ll see you guys after?”
“That’d be nice,” she says, hoping the others won’t mind. She wonders what Alan will make of him. When Alan finally shows up. She watches the author disappear through the crowd. And finally sees Yvonne coming in the opposite direction. She gives her a “where-have-you-been?” look.
Yvonne is giving her an entirely different one back.
“He likes you,” is the first thing out of her mouth.
“What?”
“Wayne Hill, likes, you,” she says, handing her a glass of wine.
Grace starts to panic. “No, he does not.” She tries to put down the wine glass the author gave her but can’t see anywhere to put it. So she stands holding two, like she has issues.
“Me thinks she doth protest too much,” Yvonne cheerfully says. “You’re probably on the death list of every single woman in the shop now. And some married ones too.”
“Stop, Yvonne, okay?” she snaps, shoving the glass into the hand of a passing shop assistant.
Yvonne squints at her friend. “What?” she asks gently. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Forget it.” She’s shaking. And close to tears.
“No, seriously, what?” Yvonne asks apologetically.
Grace leans towards her and, in an urgent whisper, says. “I’ve just left a marriage, okay? I’m trying to get my life back. Not give it away again to some man.”
Yvonne nods like crazy. “I understand. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Forget it. Let’s just enjoy our night, okay?”
“Okay but can I just say sorry for being such an eejit?”
“Alright. But you’re my eejit and I love you.”
“Love you too.” They hug. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Jack bursts into the house, slamming and locking the door behind him. Des and the dog turn.
“Where’s Holly?” Jack demands, running to snap down the blinds.
“Upstairs, studying. Why?” Des asks in concern.
Jack thunders upstairs.
Des follows at his own restricted pace.
Holly looks up as Jack bursts in.
“Okay,” Jack says, aiming for calm. “Don’t panic but he’s here. Dad’s here in Killrowan. He’s appealing the case and wants us to say we lied.”
Holly stands up looking very Joan of Arc, calm, composed, strong. “Well, we just won’t. And he can’t make us.”
Jack nods like he needed to hear those words. “He can’t do anything as long as we don’t open the door.”
Holly’s eyes widen. “What about Mum? Where is she?”
“Probably at the book launch. I’ll call her.” Jack takes out his phone.
At the door to Holly’s room, Des is taking out his own phone and calling Paddy O’Neill.
“D’you think I’ve time to go to the loo?” Grace asks Yvonne.
“See if you can hold.”
Grace makes a face. “Don’t think I can.”
“Okay, well, hurry up. It’s about to start.” Yvonne looks around. “Where is Alan?”
Grace squeezes her way through an entire village. Opening the door to the bathroom, she sees two women, ahead of her, waiting for the one and only cubicle. Deep in conversation, neither sees her. She reverses out, holding the door half open so no one cuts in front of her.
“She’s cute out,” a voice slips through the door. “Getting Alan into the clinic where they can make eyes at each other!”
What? Grace’s heart stops.
“You wouldn’t mind if she kept it at that. Did you see her flirting with Wayne Hill, just now? As if our own Alan isn’t good enough for her. As if she’d be off in a shot if she got the chance.”
Grace stands frozen, gripping the door she knows she should close. She doesn’t need to hear this. And yet she does.
“Then again,” one says, “Who’d blame her when it comes to Wayne Hill? They say he has a six-pack.”
“Six-pack or not, one man’s good enough for most of us.”
The toilet flushes.
Then Grace hears the unmistakable – and currently enraged – voice of Jacinta Creedon. “I thought it was the pair of ye!”
“Well, we knew it was you by the shoes.”
“So ye thought I’d be fine, hearing ye deride a good woman. Ye ought to be ashamed of yerselves.”
Suddenly, Grace is being yanked into the bathroom, as Jacinta opens the door with Herculean energy. Face-to-face with her detractors, Grace doesn’t know who has turned palest, them or her.
“Get in here, Young Dr. Sullivan, and use the loo,” Jacinta bosses. “These two deserve to hold.”
With a sigh, Grace makes for the cubicle. Just before she opens the door, though, she stops. Then she turns and eyeballs the pair like she has reached the end of her patience. “Wayne Hill does have a six-pack. For the record.”
The intercom starts to buzz. And buzz. Holly looks at Jack whose phone is to his ear.
“She’s not answering!” he exclaims.
Des is having the same problem with Paddy O’Neill.
Downstairs, the intercom keeps buzzing.
Holly goes to the top of the stairs. “Well, if he’s here, he can’t be with her, right?” she says so calmly that Jack and Des exchange a glance.
She starts down the stairs.
“Don’t open it!” Jack warns.
“D’you think I’ve lost it?” she asks, turning. “I just want to see him.” She goes to the intercom, pushes the button on the video screen and takes a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her father, looking up into the camera.
His voice invades. “Holly! It’s Dad. Open up. I just want to talk, love.”
She lets the button go and swivels around. “Can he see me?” she asks her grandad.
“No.”
“Then how did he know I’d pushed the button?”
“He didn’t,” Des says. “But it’s you he wants to talk to so he’s just talking.”
Holly pushes the button again.
“How are you, sweetie?” he continues.
Holly turns back to Des, releasing the button again. “It’s like he can see me.”
Des goes over to her. “He can’t, though, pet. He’s just chancing his arm like he always does.”
Halfway up the stairs where there’s still service, Jack hits redial on his phone.
“Holly, love. I’m sorry,” her father is saying. “For everything.”
Des puts an arm around her. And Benji joins them.
“Open up, pet. Let’s talk.”
Silence.
Simon bangs on the door.
Holly jumps. Des holds her tighter. And Benji starts to bark.
“Grace! Are you in there? Open up! I want to talk. I made a mistake. I’m sorry. Okay?”
Holly wraps her arms around herself. Her grandad kisses the top of her head.
“Grace, come on. Let me in. I love you. Let’s talk. I’ve driven all this way. Twice.”
“Twice?” Holly looks up her grandad.
Who shrugs.
“I need to see you. I need to see the children!”
The only response is a protective bark from a dog who can read people.
“Jack! I know you’re in there. Open up, bud. Come on! This is ridiculous! Grace? Come on, now.” His voice is growing more and more impatient. Holly hopes that he’ll give up and go away. “You’ve made your stand, Grace. And I’ve taken it on the chin like a man. Now come home, all of you!” His voice eases again. “It’s not the same without you. I’m sorry. I was a fool. I’ve changed. Okay?”
Holly looks at Jack and whispers, “Do you think he means it?”
Jack shakes his head. And tries his mother again.
On the screen, Alan walks up to Simon. “Stop harassing this family.”
Startled, Simon turns to face him, then relaxes. “Oh! It’s the workman!” he sneers. “Hello, workman!”
“Workman, concerned citizen, I don’t think the police will mind either way.” He holds up his phone.
The two men stare each other down.
“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Simon says. Then he turns and walks away back towards the village.
Jack and Holly look at each other.
“Mum!” they say together.
52
Grace emerges to a room hushed by the voice of Wayne Hill at the microphone. She’ll have to stay put till he’s finished. Which is fine. She’s in no rush anywhere.
“So, I escaped to West Cork,” seems to be the punchline of a joke because everyone laughs.
Grace notices how short his hair is at the back. That he’s had a haircut for the occasion endears him to her. Was he nervous about it, after all?
“I was getting away,” he says, growing serious. “Running away, to be honest.” He pauses.
Grace wants to reach out, tell him he’s not alone. Which would be pretty stupid, given that he wants to be alone. He gathers himself and resumes with an endearing openness and honesty. When he thanks people for welcoming him into their heavenly piece of the world, Grace feels them taking him into their hearts. From her vantage point, he seems happy. She hopes he is. Even if just for tonight. Because you don’t leave the past behind, ever, really. You can’t. No matter how hard you try.
This is what she’s thinking when a hand slips into hers and grips it like a vice. She freezes, knowing instinctively that her own past has shown up, like she always knew it would. He would never be satisfied with presenting the world with a shattered image – no more perfect marriage, no more perfect wife, no more perfect family.
To anyone watching, this is love, this beautiful man slipping his sculpted hand into hers.
“Come with me,” he whispers into her ear like a lover
. “I’ve got the children.” He looks into her eyes and smiles, the man with the upper hand.
She could escape his grip in two swift, Krav Maga seconds but he has trapped her with words, words that kill all resistance. He has, like every good predator, gone straight for the jugular, her greatest weakness, the children. Across the room, she sees Paddy O’Neill. For a second, she thinks he sees but then his gaze floats back to Wayne Hill at the microphone and he laughs at something the author has said.
Simon’s other arm grips her elbow and she is being shunted forward. People look surprised that anyone could be leaving. But, behind Grace, Simon must be reassuring them with winning smiles because, one by one, they look at him and smile before moving out of the way. A path clears before them like the parting of the seas. All Grace can think of is the children. What does he mean he’s got them? Has he taken them, tied them up? Or have they gone willingly? Are they okay? That’s all that matters. Are they okay?
Passing Wayne Hill, the author looks at her questioningly for the briefest of seconds before Simon turns her and faces her towards the door.
Outside the cold air is like a slap in the face.
“You don’t need to hold me,” Grace says. “You’ve got the children.”
But he doesn’t loosen his grip, just leads her forward and away from the bookshop. She knows it’s a mistake to go with him like this; knows that this is when abusive men are at their most dangerous, when their victims have made a break. But Grace can’t do anything until she knows where the children are, until she is sure that they are safe. She’ll die for them if she has to.
Alan comes to, lying on his back on the path outside the supermarket. Holding his head, he sits up. It takes a second but he does remember what happened. That sly so and so turned suddenly and thumped him so hard in the face that he went down. Like a typical cheat, his fist was rock hard, like he had something in it. Alan scrambles to his feet, his head throbbing. On the street up ahead, he sees Paddy O’Neill leave the book shop. That’s one man who needs to know.
Season of Second Chances: an uplifting novel of moving away and starting over Page 27