I’ve lived with so much guilt, guilt for not standing up for Mum, guilt for all the mean things I said to her, guilt for almost becoming you. I’m just not going to do that anymore. I’m just not. If you try for access, I’ll fight you every step of the way and you’ll lose me. Forever.
Think about it. All you’re fighting for is one-and-a-half years of my life – and probably just every few weekends. But if you walk away now. If you leave us alone, then when I’m eighteen, I’ll make contact because then we can start over not as father and son but man to man. There’s so much we could do together.
I’m messed up, Dad. This is my chance to start trying to unpick that by living a normal life. I’ll fight with everything I’ve got for that normal life. I deserve it. We all do.
That’s it. That’s the deal.
Jack
Simon seethes. She has turned them against him. That’s what’s happened, here. He should have known. She always was manipulative, always did put herself first, the worst kind of parent. He wants to ball the letter up and throw it at her. But he knows his son, he knows that Jack, above all, means what he says, a great kid despite his mother. Simon doesn’t want to lose him. Won’t lose him. A few snatched weekends versus a lifetime.
He looks up. “I won’t appeal.”
The relief on her face makes him want to lash out.
“Thank you,” she whispers. And as she turns to go, it hits him: He is watching his wife, life, family walk away.
55
Grace crosses the road and struggles up the slope to the clinic, feeling like she’s already put in a day’s work. Rounding the curve in the driveway, she sees Wayne Hill sitting on the clinic wall, a bunch of flowers in his hand. Her stomach tightens. It’s such bad timing. Especially after what Yvonne said last night. Grace doesn’t need this. Whatever “this” is.
He jumps down from the wall like his inner eighteen-year-old is alive and kicking. Then he starts to amble towards her.
She doesn’t know what to say to him. She can’t be rude.
“I’ve no idea what these are,” he says, handing her the colourful bouquet. “I asked for their cheeriest flowers.”
They are, actually, gorgeous. She inhales their uplifting scent. “I’ve no idea what they are either but they’re lovely. Thank you.” She’ll give him that.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his feet – maybe he really is eighteen inside.
“It was either that or a signed copy of a book you already have.” His eyes come up from his shoes to meet hers. He grows serious. “Are you okay? I didn’t know whether to come or not. I decided to be bold.”
She smiles and nods.
“You ruined my book launch,” he says with a lopsided smile.
She did not expect to be laughing right now but it feels good. Very bloody good. “I did warn you about gate-crashers.”
“This is true.”
Still, she hates the thought of ruining his big night. “I hope the party carried on afterwards?”
“I’ve no idea. I checked into my B&B and worried about you. Kept wanting to ring but I’m sure everyone else did too. And you had your family. How are they, by the way, your children?”
She nods slowly. “They’re good.” And when she gets to share the news with them, they’ll be even better. “I can’t believe how resilient they are. They surprise me every day. They’re going to be okay,” she says and absolutely believes it, suddenly. Something inside her lifts. They’re all going to be okay.
“Will he get time?”
“I don’t know. But he won’t be bothering us again. That much I know.”
He breathes out a long breath, as though he’d been genuinely worried for her. He’s a good guy, she thinks. But then she knew that from his books.
“There are good guys in the world,” he says co-incidentally. “I’m not saying I’m one of them. Just that they exist. Don’t give up on us.”
She thinks of Alan and Des. “Oh I know. I won’t.” She really is sorry she ruined his night. “You didn’t stay in Killrowan last night just to see if I was okay?”
“No, no. I was planning on a few drinks on Ahern’s. As it happened, I ended up having a lovely chat with – your dad’s first love.”
“Whaaat?”
He smiles and winks. “I’ll tell you sometime. Till then…” he nods towards the surgery. “You better get in there and fix, I don’t know, random crown jewels.”
She laughs. “Not one of my commoner complaints, thankfully. Sorry. I didn’t mean…” She holds up the flowers. “Thanks so much for these.”
“Hey, thanks for coming to the launch. You didn’t have to.”
“I really do apologise for–”
“Don’t.” He reaches out and gently taps her arm like he wants to say more. “You take care.”
“I will,” is a promise to herself.
Grace approaches the surgery with growing apprehension. How will people react after last night? Will they pity her? Think less of her – as a person and as a doctor? Maybe no one’ll want to see her.
She takes a deep breath and goes inside.
The minute she sees Myra her hand shoots to her forehead. “I forgot your chocolate chip cookie!”
Myra stands up and does a very unusual thing – she leaves the reception. She comes up to Grace and, without a word, opens her arms and folds her up in them.
Breathing out, Grace lets her body relax. And for the loveliest moment, it feels like she has a mother again.
“Does anyone want to see me?” she asks, her voice small.
Myra pulls back and looks into her eyes. “Only everyone.” She grins. “Go on in and take a minute. I’ll bring you in a coffee – with the chocolate chip cookie I bought you.” She winks. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Alan left something in for you.”
“Wait! Is he gone? I was going to see if he needed an X-ray!”
“He said he was grand. Looked atrocious though.” An eyebrow lifts. “But very manly.”
Grace laughs. “I won’t tell Fred you said that.”
Myra wafts the air. “Go away outta that. Let me get the box.”
Box? Grace wonders.
Myra hurries back behind the counter then passes through a box of about six inches by six.
Grace picks it up. “Ooh. It’s heavy.”
“That’s what I thought,” Myra says, peering at it curiously. “And whatever’s in there, moves around.”
Grace smiles at her detective work. “I’ll keep you posted.” She takes it inside. And opens it straight up. “Awww,” she says, aloud. A box of smooth round stones painted with cartoon clouds, stars and daisies. And a note saying. “Checked for environmentalists and risked the beach. Hope you’re okay. Chat later. Love you, Alan.”
She takes out her phone and sends him a thank you with a stream of emojis. Then she reaches for her favourite stone – a simple heart – and puts it in her pocket.
On her way to call the next patient, she holds it up to Myra. “Stones!”
Myra squints in confusion. “Stones?”
“Stones.” Grace tries to peer at the upside-down list. Unsuccessfully. “Who’s first?” she asks. “I forgot to look.”
“Mesmerised as you were by the stones,” Myra says ironically.
“Exactly.”
Myra checks the list. “Mia O’Driscoll.”
Grace’s blood runs cold. What has he done to her?
Grace calls Mia’s name. Across the waiting room, two women exchange a long and silent glance. There’s so much in it. A common bond. An understanding. A sympathy. A compassion. When Mia rises it’s without guarding herself and without any obvious pain. Grace starts to hope; maybe the visit is for an ordinary medical complaint.
Grace smiles warmly when Mia reaches her. “Come on in.”
In the surgery, Mia takes a seat without being asked to and looks at Grace with concern as she, herself, sits. “I came to see if you’re okay.”
Her kindness touches G
race deeply. “I’m really well, thank you. It’s over,” she says as the reality of her visit to the station hits her. “He won’t be coming back.” She wants to shout the words.
“I’m so happy for you.”
It’s Grace’s turn for concern. “How are you, Mia?”
Mia’s chest rises. “I’m going to leave him.”
It’s not her words so much as the look of determination in her eyes that convinces Grace.
“Oh, Mia! That’s the best news!” It’s a day of best news.
“Can you help me?” Mia asks. “Tell me how to do it. Get away without him killing me first.”
Grace moves her chair right up to Mia, takes her hands and squeezes them in encouragement. Looking into her eyes, she says, “You’ve done the hardest part. You’ve decided. Now, I’m going to be right beside you. Every step of the way. You’re not alone in this anymore. We can do this. We will do this.”
Tears of relief and gratitude fill Mia’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“Potato head won’t know what hit him.”
“Potato head?”
Grace scratches her head and grimaces. “That’s what I call him. The bank manager.”
Mia bursts out laughing. “He does look like a potato.” But then her face changes. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” Grace is expecting a did-he-do-this-to-you? question. And that’s fine. She’ll answer anything if it helps. She can talk about this. She can tell Mia all that happened to her – if that’s what she needs. Her secret is out now and there’s freedom in that. She’s going to tell Yvonne everything – because Yvonne will ask. And Grace wants friendship, real friendship, no secrets. She’ll tell Alan too, if he can take it. He may not want to know. Lovely, lovely Alan.
“Why us?” Mia asks, her eyes suddenly huge and lost. “I keep asking myself ‘Why me?’ Did he see me coming? Am I just too soft? Did I give in too easily from the beginning, fitting in with his plans, doing what he wanted?”
The truth hits Grace like a punch to the gut. “Everyone becomes vulnerable when they fall in love. That’s what love is. Opening up and trusting that we’ll be okay. Some of us get lucky. Some of us don’t. I think we just got unlucky.”
Mia’s face fills with hope. “You think? I just feel so stupid, so blind, so weak–”
“Because that’s what he’s done to you. Let’s not blame ourselves anymore. We’ve done our time,” she says, like domestic violence is a prison sentence. It is. “Now let’s get you out of this situation. Let’s get you free.”
“Would it be okay to hug you?” Mia asks uncertainly.
Grace grins. “I’d love a hug.”
They cling to each other. One survivor. One future survivor.
Suddenly, Grace sees a beautiful irony in all that has happened. Because of Simon, another woman has decided: “Enough!” This is where everything starts to change. This is where a new life begins.
“So, the first thing we do is…”
THE END
Author’s Note:
I hope you enjoyed spending time in Killrowan as much as I did.
I’m working on a sequel.
If you feel inclined, a quick, one-line review on Amazon would make all the difference to me and would help other readers find their way to Killrowan.
Thank you for visiting and, until next time, I wish you all the very best.
Acknowledgments
This book would not exist without my author friend, Jean Grainger, who encouraged me to “just” sit down and write two thousand words a day, every day – or I’d hear from her. She was true to her word. Thanks, Jeannie.
Huge thanks to Siobhan Cronin and the fabulous Southern Star crew for answering all my crazy questions about West Cork life – and in such an entertaining way. Packing my bags and moving!
Heartfelt appreciation to Carrie McDermott whose patient replies to my many legal questions forced me to be even more creative with the plot because the law was not going my characters’ way. Thanks, also, to my old school pal, Carol Leland for directing me to Carrie.
Grateful thanks to Rebecca and Dr Niall Maguire for your invaluable guidance on the life of a rural family doctor.
Forever grateful to Lisa Marmion, from Safe Ireland, for your insight into domestic abuse and for checking that I accurately represented the harsh reality that many women sadly face.
The trio of Clodagh Murphy, Keris Stainton, Sarah Painter deserve thanks and hugs for motivating me to get this story out to the world. You would not believe the amount of things I allowed to stall me, from book covers to confidence.
Speaking of book covers, many thanks to Anne Marie Cronin, photographer extraordinaire, who patiently offered me so many beautiful photos of West Cork.
So appreciative of my fabulous crew of advance readers who not only advised on story but on an endless stream of covers and titles. Sandra Baxter, Karla Bynum, Diana Coursey Davis, Marca Davies, Melanie Evans, Nancy Frank, Terry Hague, Valerie Judge, Patricia Kieran, Heather Lewis, Colleen Malito, Alison Mink, Bev Morris, Miriam Newton, Carole Olson, MaryAnn Randall, Claire Rudd, Melanie Evans, Nikki Weijdom and Ciara Winkelmann. Angels on my shoulders. Both shoulders.
To all the wonderful book bloggers and online book club members who tirelessly spread book love to the wider reading community, I don’t just thank you, I love you!
Joe, Aimee and Alex, thank you for reading things you really don’t want to read and remaining honest at the risk of our relationship falling apart! Not always easy to be the family of a writer.
Thanks, of course, to my lovely readers – so many of you have become friends. Special gratitude to those who take the time to review my books, highlight them on social media and recommend them to friends.
Thank you, West Cork, for existing and for offering me solace so many times.
Also by Aimee Alexander:
The Accidental Life of Greg Millar: viewbook.at/GregMillar
All We Have Lost: mybook.to/AllWeHaveLost
Pause to Rewind: viewbook.at/Pause
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Writing as Denise Deegan:
Through the Barricades: viewbook.at/Barricades
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