by Alex Barclay
‘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.
‘That 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 p
atient, 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.
11
LAURA
Castletownbere
12 June 1988
Laura walked down Main Street, her arms out from her sides to keep from sweating into Miriam’s T-shirt. Everyone had been asleep when she got dressed. Miriam would see her at Mass, but there was nothing she could do about it then. Laura smiled. She touched the sides of her short blond hair, feeling the ridges where the mousse had hardened, then started to backcomb the front with her fingers. She finished it, looking at her reflection in Wiseman’s window. The same T-shirt was hanging on the mannequin for £20. Laura laughed.
When she got to the square, she could see someone lying on one of the benches, their arm hanging down over a grey canvas bag with an empty naggin of vodka sticking out of it. It was Jessie’s. Laura went over. Jessie was curled up, barefoot, wearing a short, tight black dress, her thick dark hair covering her face. It reminded Laura of the waves in a storm you knew could drown you. She took a step closer, then froze: Sister Consolata was marching towards the bench. Laura ducked down between two parked cars, pressing her back against the dirty tyre, pulling her knees to her chest.
Sister Consolata leaned down to Jessie and shook her hard by the shoulder. ‘Fifteen years of age, lying on a bench like a down and out,’ she said. ‘And you with a perfectly good bed up at home—’
Jessie raised her head a little, and swept her hair off her face. She shielded her eyes from the sun, gave a half-smile, and flopped back down. ‘Is that the bed your Saviour saved me in, Sister?’ she said, flinging her arm out, letting it hang there.
Laura’s eyes widened.
‘And to what end?’ said Sister Consolata.
Laura leaned out and saw the rage on her face, then shrunk back into her hiding place.
‘To what end?’ Sister Consolata repeated.
Laura’s body was still, her heart pounding.
Jessie sat up a little, her head loose on her neck. ‘I did not die, Sister!’ She swung her arm out again. ‘Do not stand at my grave and weep!’ She laughed.
‘I surely won’t,’ said Sister Consolata.
‘Don’t!’ said Jessie. ‘I am not there! I did not die!’
‘Remember what I said to you the last time,’ said Sister Consolata. ‘You broke your parents’ hearts, and you broke their home.’
Laura’s hands were pressed against her mouth. She stuck her head out again. Sister Consolata’s gaze travelled the length of Jessie’s body. She gave a sharp nod. ‘All dolled up to see who’s looking at you. Surely be to God, you, of all people …’
Jessie was staring at her, confused.
‘Well, you know now,’ said Sister Consolata, ‘that men will do more than just look at you.’
Jessie didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Neither did Laura.
Sister Consolata shot a short blast of air from her nostrils. ‘Indeed and you didn’t die.’
Jessie started to sob, and Sister Consolata, her head tilted, stood watching her. When Jessie’s cries quietened, a cough broke the silence. Laura’s head turned slowly towards the sound. Her eyes widened. Patrick Lynch was standing behind the bench, staring at Sister Consolata. Jessie was looking up at him, open-mouthed.
‘Leave her alone, Sister,’ said Patrick.
Sister Consolata glared at him, her eyes lit with anger, her face twisted in disgust.
‘It wasn’t her fault,’ said Patrick.
Sister Consolata’s face was sucked into a tight frown. ‘How dare you—’
Patrick locked eyes with her. ‘Same as it wasn’t your fault … about that dog.’
Sister Consolata’s frown flickered. Then she narrowed her eyes, huffed one last time, and walked away.
Jessie leaned up on her elbows, and smiled at Patrick. ‘Thanks.’ She slid her legs down off the bench, so he had room to sit beside her.
‘What dog?’ said Jessie.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Patrick. ‘What matters is … you.’
They fell into silence.
‘You just want to be normal,’ said Patrick.
Laura frowned. He was such a weirdo. She leaned out to look. Jessie was nodding at Patrick, tears spilling down her face.
‘And, you know something,’ said Patrick, ‘you are normal.’
Jessie bowed her head, let out a long breath.
‘But, then, you’re not, at the same time,’ said Patrick.
Jessie looked up at him.
‘Because,’ he said, ‘you have a magical smile, and a magical laugh. And you’re a magical dancer.’
Laura frowned. He is mortifying. She started to get up.
‘You’re the only person who gets it,’ said Jessie. ‘You always know what to say.’
Laura froze, eyes wide. Since when did Jessie and Smells ever say a thing to each other? She sat back down.
‘You do know it wasn’t your fault,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s not any child’s.’
‘Sometimes, I don’t,’ said Jessie. ‘Sometimes, I think, if she says it enough times …’
Patrick took a book out of his bag. He opened it where it was bookmarked. ‘I found this and I thought you’d like it.’ He handed it to her.
She read out loud. ‘To the child you once were. You are crying now, you are lost, and you are afraid. But hurt is not your fate. I promise you that one day, you will be loved to safety. There will be arms wrapped around you to hold you tight, and never let you go. One day, someone will look you in the eye with a love so fierce, it will remind you of pain. But in that beautiful torment, you must be brave. Know that you can be loved that much, and can love that much in return. That will be your home. And it will be unbreakable.’
When Jessie told Laura, and Clare, and Edie the story the next day, she started it when Sister Consolata arrived at the bench and finished at the punchline. Laura laughed just as loud, and was just as shocked as anyone else that when Sister Consolata said “Indeed and you didn’t die”, Jessie replied, “And tough tits to you I didn’t, Sister!”’
12
Edie rose from the table, her eyes flickering with fear in the candlelight.
Johnny’s frown softened as he looked at her. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Are you OK? Did you get a fright?’
Edie shook her head. ‘No … yes. I … no, but the lights! What’s going on?’
‘You look shitless,’ said Laura.
‘Do I?’ said Edie.
Johnny looked across at Murph. ‘I blame you.’
‘For the lights?’ said Murph.
‘For all this research you’ve been feeding her,’ said Johnny. ‘That Rathbrook guy, seeing people disappear one minute, then reappear the ne
xt. That freaked her out completely.’
‘Hello?’ said Edie. ‘I’m right here.’
‘And do you believe in ghosts, pet?’ said Murph.
‘No,’ said Edie. ‘I do not. My “fright” was how can I bake my desserts?’
‘That is a five-star fright, in fairness,’ said Murph. ‘Luckily, I can solve the dessert and the lights problem in one simple move: bring out the birthday cake.’
Edie smiled.
‘And that,’ said Murph, turning to Johnny, ‘is how to satisfy your wife.’
Johnny got up and squeezed Murph’s shoulder as he walked past him to the door. When he stepped into the hall, he heard banging at the front door. He went over and opened it. Terry Hyland was standing three steps down, dressed in black rain gear with a high-vis vest over it, his head bowed, rain pounding down on his hood. He was holding a torch in his right hand, and tilted the beam up as he raised his head.
‘Are you trying to blind me?’ said Johnny.
‘What’s the story with the power?’ said Terry. ‘I was driving by and – bam. Lights out. Is it the storm, do you think?’
‘How the fuck would I know?’ said Johnny. ‘Do you have the key to the boiler room? I was looking for it after you left earlier.’
‘I do,’ said Terry.
Johnny let out a breath. ‘Well, would you mind taking a look at it?’
‘Sure, isn’t that why I’m here?’ said Terry. ‘These things have a mind of their own half the time.’
‘“These things” don’t have a fucking mind,’ said Johnny. ‘One wire goes here, the other goes there … how hard can it be?’
‘Hard as it is to get a bob out of you?’ said Terry, with a smile. He swayed back on his heels.
‘The bang off you,’ said Johnny.
‘Yerra, relax,’ said Terry. ‘It’s Saturday night. I’ve a few pints on me and I was about to have a few more, but I said if a man is stuck … I suppose I’m an awful prick for doing that, am I?’
Johnny hovered in the doorway. ‘Is the power gone to the whole area?’
‘No, no,’ said Terry. ‘Your fairy garden’s still lit up. And I’ve got power at my place, the Jameses next door have theirs. It could be the chapel’s the problem.’