Headed towards the edge of the village, having crossed the road, Simon pulls Grace even closer.
“I’ve missed you, Grace,” he says in that sickly placating voice he used whenever he wanted to make up to her. Which was after every time. She’s not sure which she hated most. The violence or the voice. Because it was the voice that kept her there. The reasoning. The apologies. The promises to change. Empty, empty, empty. His aftershave invades her nostrils and a wave of nausea hits. How did she think she could get away? How did she think this would ever be over? He has controlled her for, well, actually, nineteen years if she’s honest. He knows no other life.
“We love each other, Gracie. What were you thinking, taking the kids from me?” His voice is silk. Like it always was. Even when he hit her, he did it calmly, skilfully, beautifully he probably thought.
But he has just reminded her of the one thing she has on her side, the one thing that got her away. The law. Will it be enough now?
“Twelve months in prison, that’s what you’ll get for breaking a barring order,” she tries. “Give the children to me and leave and I won’t report you.”
He laughs. “I won’t be leaving without you or the children. You’re mine. That’s what you’ve forgotten. You’ve had your little rebellion, Grace. Now it’s over.”
What does he mean? What’s he going to do? Is she facing her biggest fear, the one that kept her stuck?
“Look at you with your pathetic hair, thinking you’re something. Well, you’re nothing without me. And you know it. You fail at everything you do. What kind of mother takes her children from their father, their school, their friends?”
They’ve reached the car park. Though its poorly lit, Grace spies the car tucked into a corner. Her stomach turns at the stark reminder of the past. So many things were done to her in that car.
She squints trying to see into it, trying to see the children. All she sees is black. Closer now, Simon, bleeps the car open. The inside lights up. Grace sees that the car is empty. Panic grips her.
“Where are they? What did you do with them?”
Ignoring her, he tries to force her inside but everything she learned at the self-defence class is screaming at her not to go with him, not to co-operate, not to get in. Pulling against him, she fumbles for her phone. She’ll call Jack! See if they’re okay. Simon could be bluffing; of course, he could. Why didn’t she think of that sooner? But as soon as she produces the phone, Simon slaps it from her hand and it skitters across the ground.
“Sometimes you have to strike first.” The words come to her clearly. Calmly. She moves like lightening, freeing herself in two swift movements, then swivelling round and striking upward, sharp and fast, the heel of her hand to his perfect chin. Then the other heel to his nose. Then back to his chin.
“No!” she screams with every jab, no to the past, no to the present, and no to whatever future he had planned. Each one comes from a place of strength, a place that means: no more.
“Okay, Grace, that’ll do.” It’s the voice of Paddy O’Neill.
Grace turns in shock to see not just the sergeant but Alan. And Wayne Hill. And behind him, Jacinta Creedon. And Yvonne. And behind them a whole village of people, standing together in silence on this cold October night. Mia O’Driscoll holds Grace’s eyes. Something passes between the two women, something silent and strong. Something like sisterhood.
“The children!” Grace says.
“Are okay,” Alan reassures, coming towards her. “They’re safe at home with Des.”
“Thank God!” she says, bursting into tears of relief. “I thought…” She falls into his arms.
“You’re under arrest,” Paddy O’Neill says.
“Finally!” Simon declares triumphantly.
“It’s you, Simon Willoughby, who’s under arrest,” Paddy says, striding towards him. “For breaking your barring order.”
“She assaulted me!”
“I saw a clear case of self-defence.”
“Me, too,” Wayne Hill says.
“And me.” Mia O’Driscoll, fire in her eyes, steps away from her husband. Grace fears that she’ll suffer for this later and her heart floods with appreciation at the risk she has taken. She prays that she can pay her back.
“If you think some small-town cop–” Simon starts to bluster.
“We have cuffs here, too,” Paddy says cheerfully. Cuffing him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll read you your rights.”
Jack comes racing into the car park. “Mum!”
Alan releases her immediately.
“Oh, sweetheart. Thank God you’re okay. Where’s Holly?”
“Coming. With Grandad.” Seeing his dad in cuffs, Jack’s face fills with regret.
Simon holds up his bound wrists. “You can blame your mother for this.”
Jack turns from him and hugs his mum, his head resting on the top of hers.
She has never been more grateful for a hug. How did her little boy get to be so big? How did he grow so strong? Over his shoulder, she sees Holly, hurrying around the corner, linking her grandad’s arm. Grace’s eyes fill with tears of relief as her gaze falls over Wayne Hill, Jacinta Creedon, Yvonne, Mia and the entire bookshop of people who came to her rescue. She is swayed with gratitude. She is home.
53
Back at the house, everyone’s talking over everyone else.
“He’s going to appeal!” Jack tells Grace. “He wanted us to admit we lied but we wouldn’t do it.”
Grace looks from him to Holly. “Did he hurt ye?” is all she wants to know.
They shake their heads.
“He was just trying to persuade us,” Jack reassures.
Des hurries his navy jumper and cap into Grace’s hands. Shaking with cold and a million other things, she gratefully pulls them on, yanking the sleeves down over hands she can no longer feel. Smelling her dad in the wool is like being a child again, wrapped up in his arms. It calms her. She wishes something could calm the children who are a mix of hyper energy and shock, Holly chewing the cuff of her jumper, something she hasn’t done since they were in Dublin. It’s a habit she reverts to when nervous or distressed or both. The cuff of her last school jumper was in tatters.
“Everyone, sit down at the table,” Des says. “I’m making hot chocolate.”
Grace complies first, hoping the children will follow.
To her relief, they do.
“Is he going to prison?” Holly asks, suspiciously quietly.
“I don’t know pet,” Grace says. “How would you feel if he did?”
She bows her head. “Not good.”
Grace would love him behind bars, away, safe. But then he’d use it to manipulate the children. She reminds herself to breathe. At least Paddy is holding him for the night. What was he going to do to her? Where was he going to take her? She can’t think about that. “I’ll call our lawyer first thing in the morning.”
Des sets down a mug of hot chocolate in front of everyone, then joins them at the table in silence.
Everyone takes a sip in weird synchronicity. At least Holly has stopped chewing her sleeve.
“D’you think he’ll still appeal after what happened?” Jack asks.
Grace shakes her head. “I really don’t know, sweetheart. It can’t be good that he broke the barring order,” she says hopefully. “And knocked out poor Alan.”
The doorbell rings. Everyone looks at each other, each thinking the same thing: What now?
Jack goes to the intercom. “It’s Alan,” he says and opens the door.
Alan comes in with his palms up. “I don’t want to disturb ye. I just want to ask your mam a quick question.”
Grace jumps to her feet. “Alan, your eye!” It has closed over with swelling and the skin around it is bright red. Grace examines it. “Let’s get this X-rayed.”
“I’m grand, I’m grand. I just–”
“Sit down.” She gets a packet of frozen peas from the fridge, wraps it in a tea-towel and puts it to hi
s eye.
He holds it in place. “Grace, I was just wondering if you want me to press charges. I’m happy enough not to. In fact, it wouldn’t be my style to. I just want to know what’s best for ye. It could end up in the paper, you see.”
Holly and Jack exchange a worried glance.
“Not about us!” Grace rushes to reassure. “They can’t report on a broken barring order. Just what happened with Alan.”
Jack nods.
Grace looks at her childhood friend, so grateful that he thought of this. “I’m not sure, Alan; it might help. Just in case we need to prove he was violent…” She looks at the children.
Holly is back chewing.
Alan frowns but only one eyebrow moves due to the swelling. “I was thinking that. Even just to make him think twice about coming back down.”
Everyone – even Holly – is agreed on that.
Grace takes a photograph of Alan’s face and pings it to his phone. “In case you need it for evidence.”
He smiles. “You think of everything.”
Grace wishes she could think of a solution to the threat of Simon. What if he gets off with a fine?
Alan gets up and hands the pack of peas to Grace. “Well, I won’t keep ye.”
She pushes it back to him. “Keep it. And drop into the surgery in the morning when the swelling’s gone down and I’ll see if you need an X-ray.”
Alan nods.
“Thanks, Alan, for everything,” Grace says.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Jack says a little grudgingly.
Alan winks at him with his good eye. “Sure, I did nothing but dent the footpath.”
“You did more than that,” Holly says. “You’re a bit of hero, actually.”
He waves the bag of peas dismissively. “I’m nothing of the sort,” he mumbles.
“Take the compliment, Alan,” Des says. “How often are you called a hero?”
Alan smiles at Holly. “It’s a first.”
54
Grace finishes speaking with Freda Patterson at eight-thirty in the morning, her body a knot of tension, her mind in a time-warp. She knows that, downstairs, Holly, Jack and her dad are waiting to hear. She takes a deep breath and tries to get everything clear in her head. Then she makes for the door.
Halfway down the stairs, she’s met with three pairs of hungry eyes.
“What did she say?” Jack eagerly asks.
Grace can’t give them any certainty and doesn’t know how to tell them. “Let’s sit down.”
“I’ll make tea,” Des says.
Grace, Holly and Jack sit where they were last night. And it’s like déjà vu.
“Can he appeal?” Jack asks.
Grace nods. “But breaking the barring order won’t help his case. He’s in breach of a court order.”
“What does that mean – won’t help his case?” he asks impatiently.
Grace scratches an eyebrow. “There’s no real certainty till you’re in court.”
“Great,” he says sarcastically.
“You know there’s no certainty with the law. You’re used to it.”
“Don’t have to like it,” he says moodily.
Holly looks up from nibbling the sleeve of her new school jumper. “What about prison?”
Grace tries to condense Freda’s legalese. She really needs that tea.
Right on time, Des sets it down in front of her.
“Thanks, Dad,” she says, wrapping her hands around the mug.
“Mum!” Holly reminds her.
“Sorry.” She’s back at her eyebrow. “Okay. Freda said that prison is usually unlikely in cases like this but as he seriously assaulted Alan… that would be factored in.”
“We have to tell Alan to drop the charges!” she panics.
“Hmm,” Grace says. “I actually asked Freda about that. She said that Paddy O’Neill will have sent a file to the Director of Public Prosecutions – and only she can decide to prosecute or not. Not Alan. He could withdraw his statement but…”
“Well, let’s ask him to do that!”
“Wait, Holly. Slow down,” her brother calmly warns. He looks at his mum. “What happens if he doesn’t go to prison?”
“He’ll probably get a small fine. The fact that he’s an eminent plastic surgeon who does pro bono work will probably go in his favour but even that’s not certain. Nothing is, to be honest.”
Jack looks at Holly. “He could still come back.”
“Not if he’s appealing!” Holly says. “He won’t risk it again!”
“Yeah but what if he loses the appeal and then comes back, madder than ever?” Jack asks. “Think, Holly.”
“I don’t want him to go to prison!” she says on the verge of tears.
“Guys,” Grace reluctantly interrupts. “There is another way.” She looks from Jack to Holly. “You could agree to access. Holly? Maybe you want that? Maybe now that we’re away and you’ve had space–”
Holly shakes her head wildly. “No. I just don’t want him to go to prison. That’s all. Prison’s awful.”
“We don’t want access, we don’t want him wrecking our heads trying to get at Mum, we want a new start, we want peace.” Jack says it all in one galloping earnest breath.
Grace nods. “Okay.” She had to ask. For them.
“So, what do we do?” Holly asks, eyes welling.
Grace feels her own eyes sting with frustration.
Jack drums his fingers on the table, fast, like some incredible pianist.
Hypnotised, everyone watches.
At last, he looks up. “Okay, I’ve an idea.” He looks from Grace to Holly. “But you’d have to be okay with it.”
Grace approaches the police station wishing she’d avoided breakfast. Any minute now, the contents of her stomach are going to make an appearance.
She pushes in the door. And in the main office is surprised to see Paddy O’Neill. He looks shattered, his hair all over the place and an impressive combination of shadow and bags under his eyes. But those eyes are sparkling with merriment.
“Paddy, haven’t you had any sleep?”
“Oh, I have. Slept like a log here at my desk to a lovely soundtrack of abuse.” He chuckles.
“Can I see him? Would that be okay?”
He frowns. “Are you sure you want to after his performance last night?”
She nods. Though she’s anything but sure. “I can stay outside the cell, right?”
“Oh Lord, yeah.”
“Thanks, Paddy.”
He unlocks the door to a stark area containing two cells, side-by-side, in front of them a corridor. Outside Simon’s cell, the sergeant places down a stool for Grace.
“I’ll be right outside, pet,” he reassures as if she’s still eighteen. “Visitor,” he says to Simon.
He sits up from the cot he was lying on. And Grace thought Paddy looked rough! Simon seems to have aged overnight, as if all his plastic surgery has abandoned him and his grey hairs have had (many) babies. His early morning stubble is patchy and weak – with little bits of red he has always hated.
“Well, look who it is,” he says mockingly.
Grace keeps her face impassive as she sits on the stool.
“I spent a night in a cell because of you!” Simon spits.
“No. Because of you,” she corrects, calmly. Because, facing him now, she remembers every “no” from last night. And the fact that they meant “no more.”
“You have no idea of the shitstorm I’m about to bring down on you!” he threatens. “You assaulted me.”
She doesn’t mention Alan or the years of abuse. “I have a village of witnesses who say it was self-defence. But I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here to ask you to leave us in peace. Just walk away, Simon.”
He gets up and walks towards her, threateningly. “They’re my kids too.”
She doesn’t blink, flinch, move. “And if you let them get on with their lives, they’ll see you when they’re eighteen. Jack wanted me to tell you
that. He’s happy to see you when he can look into your eyes man-to-man. That’s in just one-and-a-half years.”
It’s as if she hasn’t spoken. “You lied under oath and I’ll prove it,” he says. Then he smiles triumphantly. “There’s no medical evidence to say that the children were hurt. That’s what you’ve forgotten.”
She’s tried to be fair. Now, she has to end this. She stands up and faces him across bars. “If you appeal or if you ever come down here again, I’ll go public.”
His eyes widen. For a second, he’s speechless. When he recovers, it’s with his usual arrogance. “You wouldn’t do that to the children!” he says like he’s dealt a winning card.
“Actually, it was Jack’s idea.”
“So what?” he explodes. “You’re his mother! You can’t expose him to that! The family courts are held in private to protect children!”
“Which also protects the abuser,” she calmly cuts across his rant.
“Don’t call me an abuser!” he shouts, a droplet of spittle flying through the air in slow motion. It lands on the lapel of her jacket.
She flicks it away with the same disgust that she’d flick him away.
“You’re bluffing,” he says as if he’s having a Eureka moment. His faces relaxes.
“The news is already public here in Killrowan because of you. The children have had to face into school this morning knowing that there will be questions, knowing that their secret is no longer theirs. You’ve blown their privacy away. We have nothing to lose by going public because everyone we care about already knows now. You, however, will have to look your precious patients in the eye, your esteemed colleagues, hospital management. The man on the street. But if that doesn’t convince you maybe this will.”
She opens her bag and, from it, produces an envelope, on it, one word: Dad.
Simon stares at the envelope being passed through the bars to him. Something tells him not to take it but he can’t resist the word “Dad.”
He slips his thumb under the fold and rips it open.
Dear Dad,
I love you. But Holly and I need peace now. We can’t go back to the muffled sounds of violence and tears. We can’t have you climbing into our heads and trying to turn us against Mum. We love you and we love Mum. That’s the saddest thing. All we want is a happy family. And we can never have that. You say that access is best for us. It’s not. Because you can’t help yourself. You always end up trying to influence us, manipulate us, wreck our heads. Maybe you don’t even know you’re doing it but it kills us, you know?
Season of Second Chances: an uplifting novel of moving away and starting over Page 28