‘I, eh… gotta go, I gotta go do… something,’ she finally said. Bracken was reluctant to allow her to leave. He knew all too well that she had nobody on the outside world she could consider a friend. And when he informed her he had already booked a hotel room, she resisted – insisting she couldn’t spend another moment of her life being holed up.
‘I just wanna walk. I wanna feel… free,’ she told him. Then she held him close, whispered a ‘Thank you’ into his ear,’ and left his office to wander the streets of Dublin city with the four fifty-euro notes Bracken had insisted she take from him stuffed into her back trousers pocket.
She strolled up and down the boardwalk of Bachelor’s Walk, sniffing in the scent of the River Liffey as if, despite its stench, its air was as fresh as any air she had ever inhaled. She turned heads as she walked. There was no mistaking Joy Stapleton. But nobody approached her, except to shout an odd, ‘I always believed you, Joy’ or a ‘Oh, look, it’s yer wan,’ in her direction. Though most of the folk she passed were too silenced by their own shock to say anything. They just stood there, open mouthed with shopping bags hanging heavy from both hands.
It was only when she sat in the back of a taxi that she felt her thighs and calves begin to burn from the mileage she had covered. She only realised when she stared at the clock on the taxi’s dashboard that she had been walking non-stop for over three hours.
Her thighs and calves still feel stiff now as she holds a finger to the doorbell while inching her ear to the glassed porch door so she can hear it chime through the house. Then she stands back and stares up and down the street, nibbling on her bottom lip. It doesn’t look as if eight years have passed. Aside from the car in the drive next door being larger and wider than it used to be, she genuinely can’t notice anything else that’s changed around here.
He appears, standing in the frame of the front door glaring out at her from behind the glassed porch. His face is still as grey as his hair; his eyes a diluted blue.
She thought about what she would say to him repeatedly as she wandered the city centre streets, but as he is sliding the porch door across, she begins to lose all sense of herself and has to grip the wall that separates their garden from their neighbours with her fingers – just for some semblance of support. In case Shay is unreceptive. In case he steps out and snaps ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Joy,’ he says. As soon as he steps into the garden path he glances up and down the street, much like she had done seconds ago. ‘Come in. Come in.’
She stares straight into the living room as soon as she steps back inside the squared hallway. Shay hasn’t changed much, aside from the overly-wide flat screen TV hanging over the fireplace. Her own face stares back at her; the mug shot of when she was first arrested. Then the screen blinks to a reporter standing outside the entrance to the courts, speaking into an overly large squared microphone.
‘Judge Delia McCormick delivered her verdict at 10:40 this morning; shocking some members of the gallery—’
Shay stabs his finger at the remote control making the screen blink to black. Then he walks across his wife, taking her in as she glances around the room.
‘I, eh… I don’t know… eh… don’t know what to, eh…’ He scratches at the back of his neck.
‘You don’t have to say anything,’ Joy whispers. ‘You said it all on the stand, Shay. I’m just here to say… to say thank you.’
‘I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through. I can’t even begin to… I mean, my mind has just been jumping from one theory to another to another to another over the years and I…’
Joy steps closer to him and holds a hand against his elbow.
‘You don’t have to be sorry for anything.’
‘I left you alone. With the kids. I mean… what was I thinking? All’s I ever thought I wanted to be was a father. And when I became one, I bloody left you all to it… didn’t I? I just went to do nothing in hotels. For no reason whatsoever.’
‘Not for no reason,’ Joy says, gripping his elbow tighter. ‘You were earning crust for your family. You don’t have to be sorry for anything, Shay. You’ve never needed to mutter the words ‘I’m sorry’. I’m the one who left them on that green over there. I’m the one who’s had to deal with that—’
‘Joy,’ Shay says, looking down at his wife, his eyes filling with tears, ‘you need to stop blaming yourself. The entire state has blamed you for eight years and today that entire state has stopped blaming you. So, you need to stop blaming yourself.’
She takes one step closer and holds both her hands to his hips.
‘I’ll stop blaming myself, if you stop blaming yourself,’ she says.
Shay stiffens his nose in an attempt to stop the tears from falling, then he leans down and kisses the top of his wife’s curls. But as he does, his dam breaks, and he sobs snot and tears into her hair; his shoulders shivering. Joy reaches both hands up his back, and drags him as tight as she can to her, resting an ear against his chest.
‘It’s okay, Shay,’ she whispers. ‘I’m home now.’
See the photograph!
And see the real photograph from the true coincidence that inspired this novel.
Both photographs are shown at the start of this short video interview with author David B. Lyons in which he discusses all of the clues that lead up to the twist ending; clues you may have missed.
Click the below link to access the video right now.
www.subscribepage.com/coincidence
The End.
David B. Lyons’s books
The Tick-Tock Trilogy
Midday
Whatever Happened to Betsy Blake?
The Suicide Pact
The Trial Trilogy
She Said, Three Said
The Curious Case of Faith & Grace
The Coincidence
Acknowledgements
Lin, thank you so much for being such a hero to myself, Kerry and Lola during the crazy year that was 2020.
Quite literally, without you being the best grandmother (‘nanny’) a grandmother could ever possibly be, The Coincidence would not have been written this year.
We thank you. We love you. We are indebted to you. Forever.
This book is for you.
I should also thank my own mother, seeing as I am thanking my mother-in-law. I’m so sorry I haven’t seen you since February, Ma. Can’t wait to catch up in person soon. I’ve missed ya lots.
To Kerry and Lola – thank you for always believing in me and thank you for being the best company anyone could wish to be locked down with.
Hannah, Margaret and Barry – your feedback, as always, is so greatly appreciated. I owe debts of gratitude to the wonderful Deborah Hart, too. As well as Rubina Gomes, Livia Sbarbaro, Kathy Grams, Sarah Hilton Rachel Wills and Eileen Cline. Your input, ladies, really helped shape this novel. And to my consultant for this novel, Andrew Harkness, whose experience and insight was invaluable to the construction of the plot. You’re a gem, my friend.
To Julia and all of the team at MiblArt – thank you once again for designing such wonderful work for me. And to my editors: Maureen Vincent-Northam and Brigit Taylor – you two always make me look better.
Contents
Praise For David B. Lyons
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Sandra Gleeson
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Shay Stapleton
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Lavinia Kirwan
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Christine Jabefemi
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Ray De Brun
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Joy Stapleton
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See the photograph!
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Acknowledgements
The Coincidence (The Trial Trilogy) Page 28