I Confess

by Alex Barclay

  ‘You might want to hear me out,’ said Clare.

  ‘About the truth?’ said Laura. ‘The truth is the truth.’

  ‘That’s my point,’ said Clare. ‘So let me tell you the last of it. The guards are asking you how this whole voting thing went so they can get a good handle on who might have had something to hide and you’re telling them and they’re asking who seemed particularly wound up. And you say Clare! And she’s a District Court Judge! She even said “Fuck Honour!” That’s how bad it was! And why did she say that, Mrs Hurley? That’s what I asked her! And what did she say? Oh, she told a terrible story about how a former sergeant in the same small town mistreated the father of a little girl who was raped in her bed and left for dead … all because of a personal grudge he held against the man, who was having an affair with the Sergeant’s wife at the time! And did she say who that sergeant was, Mrs Hurley?’

  Everybody went very still.

  Laura stared at her. ‘Wow.’ She looked around the room. She waited. ‘Is no one going to say anything?’ She turned to Clare. ‘Am I the only one you’re blackmailing? Or are you just assuming none of our “friends” will go to the guards either to protect Dad’s reputation?’ She turned to Patrick. ‘Are you OK with this, all of a sudden – not going to the guards? Murph? Or has Clare ruled and “case dismissed”?’ She looked at Johnny. ‘I think you at least owe her a big thank you.’

  ‘Shhh,’ said Johnny, raising his hand.

  ‘Don’t fucking shush me,’ said Laura.

  ‘Seriously,’ hissed Johnny. ‘Stop. Did anyone hear that?’

  ‘What?’ said Patrick.

  ‘Knocking,’ said Johnny. ‘On the window.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off,’ said Laura.

  Clare sat up straight, her eyes wide. She nodded. They all went quiet.

  ‘Such bullshit,’ said Laura. ‘There’s a gale blowing, Clare hasn’t stopped talking for the past ten minutes – how could anyone hear a thing?’ She reached for the pull cord on the curtains and yanked it down. The curtains swept open as the hammering on the window struck up again. A figure in a dark hooded jacket was standing outside, shoulders hunched against the wind and rain, fist raised.

  Johnny squinted into the darkness, then started to walk towards the window. His eyes went wide. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ he said, then rushed in a smile. ‘Val!’ He pointed to his left and mouthed. ‘Front door.’

  Val gave him a thumbs up, then disappeared from view. Johnny’s legs went weak and he grabbed on to the back of Clare’s chair to steady himself.

  ‘Who the fuck was that?’ said Murph. ‘What’s wrong with her face?’

  Johnny’s knuckles were white, his head hanging. ‘We’re fucked, lads.’ He raised his head slowly. ‘Fucked.’

  ‘Why?’ said Clare. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Our neighbour,’ said Johnny. ‘The Sergeant.’

  31

  Edie sat in the driver’s seat of Terry’s van, her head bowed against the steering wheel. Her heart flipped with the guilt of not telling Johnny where she was going, or how she had known where the van might be – her own fears about the anger that Terry brought out in him. At first, she had asked Terry not to park outside the inn because they didn’t want guests to feel like they were arriving into a construction site. Then he had parked at the side of their house, out of sight of the guests. But as things worsened between him and Johnny, she had decided it was better for everyone if she kept them as far apart as possible, so she cut an extra key to the chapel gate, and had given it to Terry earlier in the week – he could park along the ditch outside, and come and go in a way that limited the risk of running into Johnny.

  She looked around the car for Terry’s phone. It wasn’t in the holder on the dashboard, it wasn’t in any of the compartments. She leaned across the passenger seat and popped open the glove box. It wasn’t there. She saw the new key to the chapel and put that in her pocket. Then she remembered there was storage underneath the seat and she popped it open. She was hit with the faint smell of paint. She saw a can of red spray paint, a pair of black gloves streaked with red, and a white mask with traces of a fine spray in the same shade. She set them on the floor of the van and started rifling through everything else. Wedged behind some small, sample wood panels was a thick plastic bag. She pulled it out. It was folded tightly around something rectangular. There was a notebook inside; a cheap, black A5 hardback. She opened it, expecting to see job lists or price lists or floor plans. But when she started to flick through it, she realized it was something else entirely. Her heart started to pound. A blur of vile, angry words, in red and black ink, hopped off every page.

  Then she started to see drawings like the ones she had found on the dining-room floor – with the same punctures in the pages from the same heavy hand. Like the ones she had found, the drawings of the faces were on the right-hand page. The facing pages were covered in single words or sentences or phrases, in all different sizes of writing, some of it almost illegibly small, one word always bigger than the others.

  I loved you.

  We’re the broken halves of the one child you said.

  And I loved you even more.

  I don’t mind being your secret. I like it.

  WILL DADDY COME UPON YOU?

  YOU’LL BE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!

  WILL HE FORGIVE YOU YOUR TRESPASSES?

  STICKS AND STONES WILL BREAK MY BONES

  YOU’RE THE UGLY STICK

  AND IT’S YOUR TURN TO BE BEATEN.

  YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO CARE ENOUGH

  ABOUT ENOUGH PEOPLE

  TO CHANGE THE NIGHT

  YOU ONLY CARED ABOUT YOURSELF

  YOU CAN HAVE AN ICY DEATH!

  YOU CAN DROWN IN THE SEA!

  SEA, SEA, SEA HOW YOU LIKE IT!

  ONCE UPON A TIME

  THERE WAS A BOY

  WHO DIED LAUGHING.

  THE END

  Edie closed the notebook. What was wrong with him? And why had she never suspected that anything was? But had Johnny? Her stomach flipped. She got a flash of Johnny on a witness stand. She wondered how he would come across to a jury.

  32

  Clare looked across the room at Johnny. ‘She didn’t see me behind the curtain. Can I go … until she’s gone?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘Jesus, do you give a fuck about anyone but yourself?’

  ‘But,’ said Clare, ‘I’m a …’ She trailed off under the heat of Laura’s glare.

  Johnny was standing, paralysed, in the middle of the room. ‘She’s going to be here any second. What’ll I do? What the fuck will I do? Jesus Christ. What the fuck does she want? Like, it’s one in the morning—’

  ‘Hurry the fuck out to her, either way,’ said Murph, ‘or it’ll be even weirder. She’ll be in on top of us.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Johnny, batting a hand at him. ‘The door’s locked. I have to know what I’m saying—’

  ‘You can’t leave her standing out there in the rain,’ said Clare.

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ said Johnny, wild-eyed again. Glances fired around the room between the others.

  Laura stood up. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘And have the Sergeant all to yourself?’ said Johnny.

  Laura raised her hands. ‘Well, I’m hardly going to do anything now, am I?’ She tilted her head towards Clare. Clare crossed her legs, angling her body away from her.

  ‘Look – I’m in now,’ said Laura. ‘I might as well help you out on this. I am – after all – a sergeant’s daughter. And they look after their own.’

  Johnny looked at Murph and Patrick.

  Patrick nodded. ‘It’s not a bad idea.’

  ‘Fair play,’ said Murph.

  ‘OK,’ said Johnny. ‘Go. Thanks. We’ll come up with something. Just keep her in the hall as long as you can.’ He paused. ‘Act normal.’

  ‘Title of your sex tape,’ said Murph.

  Everyone broke into nervous laughter.

  ‘Go,’ said Johnny.

/>   She started to walk past him.

  ‘Cut to: Laura confesses,’ said Murph.

  They laughed again. The doorknob started to rattle back and forth. ‘Jesus, it sounds like great craic altogether in there!’

  Murph pointed towards it, hissing at Johnny. ‘The fucking key!’

  ‘Shit,’ mouthed Johnny. ‘Val – Jesus – you were quick!’ he said, lunging for it, fumbling with it. ‘Hold on!’ He opened the door.

  ‘Is it a lock-in altogether?’ said Val, walking in. Everyone laughed.

  She stood between Johnny and Murph, filling the space between them – almost as tall as them, broad-shouldered with thick sandy hair pulled into a low ponytail.

  ‘It’s not a lock-in until a guard’s got a drink in his hand,’ said Murph. ‘Her hand. A sergeant. What are you having?’

  ‘I won’t, no,’ said Val.

  ‘You will,’ said Murph.

  ‘Oh, go on, so – a small Jameson.’ She turned to Johnny. ‘Front door wide open, honesty bar locked. Who are these savages that you have to secure them?’

  ‘There’s a problem with the draw on the fire,’ said Johnny, ‘and with the wind tonight, the door was rattling.’

  Val looked at the door. ‘Solid mahogany? I’d get my money back.’ She looked at everyone. ‘Don’t mind the face,’ she said, pointing to it. ‘I’m a unicorn, in case you’re wondering.’ Her face was pink with glitter sprinkled across the sides and diamantés glued beside her eyes. ‘The youngest was at a party earlier and, sure, we all got roped in.’ She unzipped her jacket.

  ‘So,’ said Johnny. ‘These savages … we were in school together. I mean … apart from me. It’s … Helen’s birthday.’ He looked around the room. ‘Oh.’ He paused. ‘Helen’s in bed, of course.’

  Val shot him a bemused look.

  ‘So,’ said Johnny, ‘that’s Patrick by the fire, Laura in the corner, Clare … and this eejit.’ He tilted his head towards Murph.

  ‘The eejit with the drink,’ said Murph, handing it to Val. ‘Isn’t it some night?’

  ‘Shocking,’ said Val.

  ‘What’s brought you out in it?’ said Murph.

  ‘I’m on my way to pick my son up from town and I was swinging by to have a word with Edie … or Johnny.’ She looked around the room. Murph followed her gaze to Laura – her hair was flat against her scalp and there were watery trails of black mascara down her face and blotches of eyeshadow in the sockets. Opposite her, Clare was red-cheeked and red-nosed, her dark hair frizzy, dark smudges under her eyes. She was still wearing her rain boots.

  ‘I had the girls in an awful state,’ said Murph in a boom that drew everyone his way. ‘With a rousing rendition of that song about the little boy – heartbreaking. Patrick’s up next. “Green Fields of France”.’

  Patrick stood up. He smiled. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘But the girls haven’t cried all their make-up off yet,’ said Murph.

  Patrick gestured towards the fire and looked at Val. ‘Murph and I were about to go out for logs.’

  Murph shook his head. ‘I fucking hate the sober people.’

  ‘Well, I hope I’m not breaking up the party,’ said Val.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Murph. ‘Patrick’s pulling a Langer on the whole thing.’

  Everyone looked at him.

  ‘Langer!’ said Murph, gesturing towards Patrick. ‘I was in New York – God, years back – and I looked Patrick up and we were out in some Irish bar in Manhattan ’til all hours, and one of Patrick’s mates arrives in – Langer. I shit you not. That’s how he introduces himself. Hand out – “Langer”. And I basically told him langer was Cork for dick. And he wasn’t a bit happy with that. Bit of a dry shite, no offence. What was his name? Langersomething. Langer … Langerwell! That was it. Because, of course, I told him that was like being very good at being a dick, and, anyway, the point is, he was so pissed off with the whole thing, that when I tried to get him to give us a song later, he gets up, and walks out. Literally – stands up, leaves, doesn’t say a word.’

  Everyone looked at Patrick. ‘At least I explained myself,’ he said. ‘My job is to keep the fire going.’

  Murph nodded. ‘I’ll be on TripAdvisor first thing,’ he said. ‘The Inn at Pilgrim Point: one star. Sub-zero stars.’

  ‘And I was thinking,’ said Val, ‘how are you not all passed out in here? The heat.’

  Murph looked at Patrick. ‘Come on, so, langer.’ He squeezed past Val and walked out the door. Patrick followed him and closed it behind him.

  Murph raised his arm, smelled his armpit, and recoiled. ‘Jesus. She could use that as evidence. “The smell of fear was the first thing I noticed on entering the premises.”’

  Patrick stifled a laugh.

  ‘Fuck, though,’ said Murph. ‘That was a great move.’

  Patrick bowed.

  ‘Now, what are we doing here, exactly?’

  ‘Well,’ said Patrick, ‘we don’t know why she’s here—’

  ‘You’re the one who hopped up—’

  ‘She was hardly going to explain herself over the singing, either way.’

  Murph pursed his lips. ‘The deafening silence at the end would have given her a moment.’

  ‘My point is – she could be here because her dog’s gone missing and she wants to search the grounds—’

  ‘Oh,’ said Murph. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Or she might need to borrow tools or timber because the storm’s blown something down,’ said Patrick.

  ‘She’d have sent the husband over for that,’ said Murph. ‘A night like tonight. Would you be arsed?’ He paused. ‘I didn’t even notice where all Terry’s shit is – did you? Could she have spotted his van? No. She wouldn’t have, would she? She’s coming from the other direction. But who knows?’

  ‘And what was your sing-song plan?’ said Patrick.

  ‘I swear to God I thought a few bars of “Green Fields of France” from you would have been the quickest way to get rid of her.’ He paused. ‘Jesus – you know what we could do? Have Val be the one to find the body.’

  Patrick looked at him.

  ‘I’m serious,’ said Murph. ‘If we move the fucker … Terry, his body, Jesus it’s fucked up … out by her car where she can’t miss it and she’ll know it wasn’t there when she arrived … well, we’ll all have been inside – with a guard! – when it all went down. It’ll be like what Colm didn’t do for Kevin Crossan. We could literally have a Sergeant as our alibi.’

  Patrick stared at him. ‘No.’

  ‘Just no?’

  ‘Just no.’

  ‘I’m a bit too pissed to be reliable here, in fairness,’ said Murph. ‘but I’d fucking hate to be you. At least I’ve some hope of forgetting the whole night. Or it’ll just stay feeling like the fucking nightmare it is now.’

  ‘All we need to do,’ said Patrick, ‘is get the body out of sight. Preferably somewhere we can lock. Would Johnny have keys downstairs labelled?’

  ‘Would that not be a stupid move?’ said Murph. ‘So, probably – yes. And if not, we can just cover it up properly t’fuck, put it behind the pallets and hope to fuck she hasn’t lost her dog. And that it’s not a cadaver dog.’

  They walked towards the stairs to the basement.

  ‘We better be quick too,’ said Murph, ‘or she’ll be wondering what’s kept us. We could tell her we had to chop some trees. Though, in fairness, we could have said “fuck it” and gone to the bar for a drink.’

  Patrick looked at him.

  Murph nodded. ‘There’s nothing worse than being the sober one. She’s in the bar. I get it.’ He paused. ‘We could have diarrhoea.’

  Patrick stopped walking. ‘I think we’ve made a mistake.’

  ‘What?’ said Murph. ‘Why?’

  ‘Leaving Johnny in there, the state he’s in.’

  Johnny walked over to the bar and poured himself a brandy. ‘Everyone OK for drinks?’

  ‘I’ll have a vodka and tonic,’ said La
ura.

  ‘There’s no ice – is that OK?’ said Johnny.

  ‘No,’ said Laura.

  Johnny locked eyes with her. ‘You’re not going to make me go down and get ice, are you?’

  Laura shrugged. ‘Depends on whether we’re getting less-special treatment than your fancy guests.’

  Johnny let out a breath. He looked at Val. ‘This is what you’re dealing with.’

  ‘Langerwell,’ said Val.

  Everyone looked at her. ‘That name’s familiar.’ She paused. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Maybe he was over here with Patrick at some stage,’ said Johnny.

  ‘Caught fleeing the scene of a sing-song,’ said Val. ‘Anyway … it’ll come to me, I’m sure.’

  There was a knock on the door. ‘Open up! It’s me!’

  Val frowned. ‘Is that Edie?’

  ‘Edie!’ said Johnny. ‘It’s open! Val’s—’

  Edie pushed in the door, holding up the notebook. ‘This is so fuh—’ She stopped. ‘Val! Is everything OK?’ She lowered the notebook.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Val. ‘I was coming over to see if Dylan could stay for the night. I tried calling.’

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ said Edie. ‘I thought he’d a had a meltdown or something.’

  ‘No, no – they’re happy out,’ said Val.

  Edie sat down on the arm of the chair opposite her, holding the notebook on her lap with both hands. ‘Isn’t it terrible how your mind goes to “something’s wrong”? What age does that start happening?’

  ‘Birth, if you’ve an Irish Mammy,’ said Val. Everyone laughed.

  Val glanced at the notebook. Edie’s hands spasmed. ‘So … they’re not causing you any trouble over there,’ said Edie.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Val. She looked at Johnny. ‘So, what are you going to do about the electricity?’

  ‘For now,’ said Johnny, ‘absolutely nothing. We’ve got the fire, the candles, the bar. And I’d say we’ll all be passing out fairly shortly. By the time everyone’s up in the morning, I’ll have it sorted.’