by Alex Barclay
When she hit the straight, she squinted into the windshield – there was nothing but darkness on the long straight ahead. Then a flash of headlights struck her and she saw a car speeding towards her on the opposite side of the road … until it started curving, aiming at her side, forcing her towards the edge.
62
Patrick watched in the rear-view mirror as Val’s car arced across the road and slammed into a fence post. He did a U-turn and stopped twenty feet from her, switching off his headlights, watching as Val slowly raised her head. Her airbag was deflated. She turned and tried to open the driver’s door. It wouldn’t open. She leaned over and pushed open the passenger door. Patrick slammed his foot on the accelerator.
Val was squeezing through the door when Patrick appeared beside her, grabbing her, pulling her out, dragging her to the back of the car and to her feet. Before she could straighten, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, and started to pull her towards the fence.
‘No, no,’ no,’ said Val, struggling against him. ‘Don’t!’
Patrick didn’t reply.
‘Go!’ said Val. ‘Go! What can I do?’ She pushed back hard against him, rolling her shoulder back, dipping it, dropping out from under his grip. She stood in front of him, palms up, her gaze momentarily drawn to a sudden burst of blood from his head wound. She pointed to it. ‘Your head.’
Patrick touched it and Val darted to her right – out on to the road. She started to run. Patrick spun around and ran after her, wiping his hand back off his face, smearing the fresh blood through his hair.
Val’s phone rang in her jacket pocket and she started to reach for it. Her steps faltered. Patrick shot forward, closing the distance in two strides, tackling her across the road, slamming her hard against the timber fencepost, then pulling her away from it and holding her by the collar of her jacket. He dragged her to the middle of the wire panel and pushed her against it.
‘No, no, no,’ said Val, slamming her fist against his forearm. ‘No, no no.’ She held her feet firm, her body solid. Patrick pushed harder and she staggered backwards. The wire panel started to bend with her weight.
‘Don’t,’ said Val. ‘Don’t.’ She shifted her hip around. Patrick kept pushing. Val bent her knees and pushed up against him. Her heels slid through the mud and the wet grass, sending stones skittering on to the tarmac. Patrick fell foward, hard, on top of her. The wire panel slowly started to bend backwards. The fencepost shifted in the wet soil. The panel dropped three inches. Val screamed. Patrick’s face loomed over hers, the spring in the wire bouncing her under his chin. Behind her was a gaping valley, and under her, from her shoulder blades to the top of her head was the cold, fresh air that filled it.
Patrick pushed down hard on the wire at her shoulders and Val slid an inch backwards. She grabbed desperately at the wire. The fencepost shifted again. She could feel Patrick start to pull away from her and she threw her arms around his neck.
‘Don’t,’ she said into his ear. ‘If I go down, you go too.’
Patrick tried to pull away from her, but her grip was too strong. He crawled a few feet backwards, and she clung to him, until she could feel solid ground underneath her head. Patrick rose up on his knees, steadying his weight across them.
‘Go,’ said Val, releasing her grip on him. ‘Just go.’
‘You don’t know what I’ve done,’ said Patrick.
‘You haven’t killed me,’ said Val.
Patrick paused, his gaze flickering down on her. They locked eyes. Then he pounced. Val squeezed her eyes tight. Patrick was frowning, momentarily teetering over her, his drop truncated: his pause had been like a starting pistol. By the time he tried to send his full weight down on her, Val’s knee was bent under him, her boot wedged against his stomach.
The force of his weight, and his will, sent Patrick Lynch over her head and crashing down on to the rocks below.
TEN MONTHS LATER
63
Murph and Helen turned to each other. Murph let out a breath. Helen’s eyes were filled with tears. Her laptop was open on iTunes. It was playing the tail end of a pod-cast.
‘And that was the final episode of the podcast, Girl Eleven, Girl Sixteen, by Mally James, named this year’s Podcast of The Year by the Irish Times.’
Murph wiped at Helen’s tears with his big thumbs. She started to laugh.
Murph nodded. ‘Yup – I’ve taken half your make-up off.’
Helen held her hand against his.
‘That was tough going,’ said Murph.
‘It would have been tougher going if Val hadn’t helped us out,’ said Helen. ‘Well, helped Dylan out, really.’
Murph nodded. ‘Jesus Christ – can you imagine those details getting out? Edie … and Patrick. There isn’t even a rumour going around about it – that’s how fucked up the idea of it is to anyone. No one would believe it. Fair play to Val.’
‘I admire the woman a lot,’ said Helen. ‘“It wasn’t the ‘why’, was it?”’ she said.
‘They dug the “why” up out of the acre next door,’ said Murph.
‘Ah, Murph – you can’t blame the parents on everything,’ said Helen. She paused. ‘Poor Dylan.’
‘He has you,’ said Murph. ‘And there’s no better woman in my eyes.’ He paused. ‘And he has me, which is pretty shit because no one wants to live with the school principal.’
‘I do,’ said Helen.
‘But you’re desperate,’ said Murph.
Helen laughed.
‘Jesus, though, he’s naïve enough – Dylan.’
‘Murph!’ said Helen. ‘That’s not nice.’
‘Ah, not naïve,’ said Murph. ‘Young. He’s all excited – Mally got a first for the podcast. And he’s telling me people are saying I’m some kind of hero, and he thinks that’s great. And I’m just thinking—’
‘I know what you’re thinking and stop it,’ said Helen. ‘Stop it.’
‘But—’
‘Laura would kill you and you know she would. Kill you.’
‘But—’
‘Murph,’ said Helen, her hand on his back. ‘This might be the only thing that could ever make me cross with you. I can’t have you beat yourself up about this for the rest of your life. It was a freak accident. A jagged piece of timber, her femoral artery. It was too dark for you to see the extent of the wound. Even if you had, even if you had called an ambulance right away, there wasn’t going to be a lot they could do. This was not your fault.’
‘But – it was my idea to move the beams and I didn’t think—’
‘You both would have died, if you hadn’t tried something,’ said Helen. ‘And if you’d died, I would have too. I know it’s hard when you can’t save the world. But, at least know how grateful I am that you saved me. You are my brave boy.’ She kissed him.
They fell into a short silence.
Then Murph stood up. ‘Come here, you beautiful creature.’ He bent down to scoop her in to his arms.
Helen slapped him gently away. ‘I can walk!’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I don’t care if you’re having a good day!’ said Murph. ‘What if I’m having a bad one? What if I’m shitting it about starting in the school and being expected to be responsible and I want to feel like a man by carrying my beautiful princess to my lair?’
Helen laughed.
‘Every time I get to have my wicked way with you,’ said Murph, ‘I think the same thing …’
Helen smiled at him. ‘Aw … what?’
‘She’s faking the MS. There’s not a thing wrong with that woman.’
At midnight, Murph stood on the balcony at the front of the house. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, barefoot, looking out over the harbour, holding a glass of 1615 Pisco Torontel, then raising it.
‘This is for you, lovely lady,’ he said. ‘In your honour. And you had lots of it. And you should be proud of yourself. And you died honourably. And kindly. And here we are – myself and Helen. And life is fucked up beyond
measure and beautiful too and I’m quite pissed now, in fairness. I miss the fuck out of you. We’d barely seen each other in years – once or twice a year, tops – and after one night, you’ve made me miss you this much. It must be weird being up there with no one to fight with about telling the truth because you’re with the angels.’ He took a drink. ‘So, Laura, this is for you … have I said that already? Have I mentioned the sponsored walk I’m going to organize in your honour? The Laura Hurley Memorial Walk … of Shame. Wear whatever you were wearing last night but with a slick of deodorant from the opposite sex.’ He smiled. ‘Come on … it’s me.’
He turned to go back inside, then paused. He looked up at the stars.
‘Are any of ye the lucky ones? Or are you just the boring ones? I’d like to speak to the lucky ones. It’s about Helen Maguire.’ He swayed back on his heels. ‘Right,’ he said. raising his glass. ‘Lucky stars – thanks, in fairness. You finally kicked in.’ He let out a breath. ‘Love,’ he said. ‘You can’t outrun the fucker.’
EPILOGUE
30 July 1983
The Night of the Rape
Helen stood mopping the kitchen floor. There was a loud knock on the back door. She jumped, and looked up to see her mother standing there – her expression a mix of anger and fear. Helen went over and unlocked the door.
‘Why was that locked?’ said her mother. ‘Why are you mopping the floor at this time of night?’
‘I spilled something,’ said Helen.
‘Something terrible’s happened next door,’ said her mother. ‘Where’s Miriam?’
Miriam stood, wide-eyed, at the window of the Maguires’ guest bedroom, looking at the scene unfolding outside.
‘I don’t know what’s going on!’ she said. ‘Jessie Crossan’s gone off in the ambulance with her dad! And your dad’s inside in their house.’
‘I have to get out of here,’ said Johnny, squeezing in beside her, reaching past her to push the window open.
‘Are you mad?’ said Miriam. ‘Your dad’s right outside! He’s talking to Edward Kerr. They look shook.’
Dr Weston leaned in to Edward. ‘Never.’ He shook his head. ‘In all my years …’ He let out a breath. ‘It’s a miracle she’s alive.’ He raised his head. ‘And he’s not long gone, by my reckoning.’ He paused. ‘Look – between ourselves, there was a docket on the floor of the bedroom … it’s from one of Vin Brogan’s boats.’
Edward’s eyes widened. Dr Weston nodded.
‘What did you do with it?’ said Edward.
Dr Weston patted his brown leather bag. ‘You might want to have a word with Vin – I don’t know what crew he’s got on at the moment. But there’s no way a man who’s done what he’s done to that child … there’s no way he could have gone near town to get back on that boat … if it is one of the crew.’ He pointed to his left. ‘And he won’t have gone that way – it’s blocked off for whatever’s going on in the morning. So unless the man’s hiding away in a house somewhere, he’s gone west.’
Edward nodded, then walked down the path, got into his car, and started the engine. He did a U-turn and drove down to the end of the back road, the last bend taking him down the short narrow lane on to Main Street.
The sound of the band and the cheering crowd on the square drifted through the open window, the pulse of the bass throbbing beneath it. He took the right-hand turn that curved around the playground and drove to the outskirts of town and up to the Brogans’ house. When he got to the top of their steep driveway, he glanced up and saw a light glowing in the front bedroom.
Clare, Edie, and Laura were sitting on the floor at the foot of Clare’s bed, playing the Game of Life, surrounded by sweets, and crisps, and drinks.
‘It’s my go,’ said Clare.
‘Oh,’ said Edie. ‘Sorry.’ She handed her the dice.
Clare rolled them. ‘Six and six!’
There was the sound of a horn beeping outside. Clare jumped up and went to the window.
‘Oh, no! It’s your dad,’ she said, turning to Edie.
‘What?’ said Edie. ‘No! I hope I don’t have to go home.’ She got up and went to the window. ‘What if he found we didn’t invite Jessie. That would make him so cross.’
Clare levelled her with a look. ‘It’s my house. So, it’s not your fault. And why would he care?’
‘He doesn’t like people being excluded,’ said Edie. ‘He has this thing about it.’
‘And we all know,’ said Clare, ‘if Jessie was here, we’d all be lined up on the bed having to watch her do all her “routines”.’
Edie glanced over at Laura. Laura was looking at Clare.
‘She would!’ said Clare when they didn’t respond. ‘She’s obsessed.’
‘And why didn’t you invite Helen?’ said Edie.
‘I wanted Helen to come,’ said Clare, pointing towards Laura.
‘Because Miriam needed the babysitting money,’ said Laura. ‘She heard us going on about tonight, and she came in after and said she’d beat the head off me if I ruined Regatta Saturday for her.’
‘Would she not want to be out tonight?’ said Edie.
‘She says she’s broke,’ said Laura.
Clare gave them a patient look. ‘She’s obviously got some fella coming over to the house.’
Laura shot out a laugh. ‘God help him.’
Edie was back looking out the window. She turned to Clare. ‘Oh! Your dad’s heading off in the car with my dad.’
‘“And that was the Eleven O’Clock News with Edie Kerr”,’ said Clare.
Vin Brogan sat in the passenger seat of Edward’s car. They left the lights of town behind them as they drove the dark and winding road west. As they approached the convent, they saw headlights on the opposite side of the road.
‘Who’s that?’ said Vin. ‘Slow down, slow down.’
Edward slowed, squinting through the windscreen at a man running down the hill from a parked van. ‘It’s Jerry Murphy.’
They drove up towards him, pulled in, and flashed the lights. Jerry changed course and came up alongside them.
‘Jerry,’ said Edward. ‘Have you been out long?’
‘That dog,’ said Jerry, pointing back. ‘I swear to God—’
‘Have you seen anything, anyone unusual out this way?’ said Edward.
Jerry lowered his head and leaned in the window. ‘Vin! I’ve got that letter in the van for you.’ He glanced at Edward. ‘Jesus – you’re looking fierce serious, the pair of you.’
‘Jessie Crossan’s been found – destroyed altogether,’ said Vin. ‘Raped in her bed. She’s on her way to Bantry in the ambulance—’
‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,’ said Jerry, blessing himself. ‘Liam and I were out in the van looking for the dog. Liam said he spotted him shooting out after a fella on a bike, heading up the side road to the convent.’
‘Hop in,’ said Vin. ‘Will Liam be all right on his own in the van?’
‘He will, of course,’ said Jerry.
Edward drove past the van and did a U-turn, pulling up next to it it.
‘Liam!’ said Jerry.
Murph climbed over to the driver’s side, and leaned out. ‘How’s it goin’, lads?’
‘Liam,’ said Jerry, his elbow out the window, ‘open the glove box, there, and hand me out that letter for Vin. Good man. Now, will you be all right here for a minute? I’ll go on away up for Rosco with the lads, and I’ll be back to you.’
‘Sure, I’ll come with you!’ said Murph.
‘You’re fine out,’ said Jerry. ‘We’ll be two ticks.’
He slapped his hand against the side of the car and Edward drove on, taking the next right. Vin held up his hand, and Jerry passed him the letter.
‘Knock the lights off,’ said Vin, turning to Edward.
They drove in darkness along the narrow road, parked and got out of the car. They heard a faint bark coming from the convent grounds.
Jerry rolled his eyes. ‘If I’m gone for any length, this
is where he thinks I’ve gone.’ He took out a key, and opened the chapel gate. They walked through, and closed it behind them, staying close to the wall. As they moved towards the outbuildings, Rosco bounded around the side of one of them, and stood at the corner barking.
‘Look!’ said Vin. There was a bike lying on the grass, the spin of the back wheel slowing to a stop.
‘What’s that building?’ said Edward.
‘The laundry room,’ said Jerry. They jogged down towards it, Jerry shooing Rosco back around the corner. They heard the raised voice of a woman as they reached the door. Jerry mouthed ‘Consolata’ at the others.
They crept closer. They exchanged glances when they heard a man praying.
‘I confess to Almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters—’
‘That’s him, the prick!’ said Vin, darting forward, yanking the door open.
Daniel Lynch was on his knees, his hands joined together in prayer. He looked up, wide-eyed, at Vin, then at Edward and Jerry, behind him.
Vin glared at Sister Consolata. ‘Is that what you think, you auld bitch? That he can pray it away?’
Sister Consolata stared at him, defiant, her back straight, her mouth in its tight line. Vin grabbed Daniel’s arm and pulled him to his feet. Then he grabbed him by the neck, and held up his fist to him.
‘Vin!’ said Jerry. ‘Vin! Take it easy, take it easy.’
Daniel, his eyes wide with panic, struggled against Vin’s grip. Edward moved in, grabbing his other arm, and they dragged him past Jerry out on to the grass. Jerry stood, frozen, in the doorway, his eyes wide.
Vin grabbed Daniel by the neck again, and punched him, splitting the skin over his eye, sending him down on his knees, blood pouring across his face. Vin staggered backwards.
‘Lads!’ said Jerry from the doorway. ‘Lads.’
Edward moved in then, pulling Daniel half off his knees, sending a powerful blow down on his jaw.