by Alex Barclay
‘For the love of God,’ said Jerry, wincing, turning away, finding his gaze drawn to the floor of the laundry room where Sister Consolata was on her hands and knees reaching out for a small pair of bloodstained underpants. She froze, her hands on them, her eyes locked on Jerry’s. His mouth opened, but no words came out. Then his hand flew back to the door frame and he grabbed it as he turned, using it to throw himself outside, ploughing through the space between Vin and Edward to where Daniel lay, curled in a ball, sobbing.
‘You savage,’ said Jerry, kicking Daniel hard in the ribs, kicking him again. ‘Animal’s too good for you.’
He kept kicking until he was pulled away. And every time one of the men fell back, another stepped in to take his place until they had kicked and beaten the last breath out of Daniel Lynch.
They stood over him, sweating, heaving for breath, spattered with blood.
Sister Consolata stood at Daniel’s feet. Vin turned to her, running his hand over the top of his head, settling the thin loose strands of hair. ‘Do you think you’re God, Sister – is that it? Do you think your prayers can make men out of monsters? Do you think you can work miracles? Do you think you’re some kind of saint?’
Sister Consolata stared at him, her eyes flaring – a gleaming black in the void.
‘Telling me what a great fella Daniel Lynch is!’ said Vin. ‘How well he’d done since you brought him down here, how you could vouch for him and oh, sure, wouldn’t he be a great asset for my boat? And me having to drag him away Friday night from standing around the pier, seeing what little girl’s parents didn’t have a close enough eye on her. And you knew! You were warned, weren’t you?’ He pointed at Jerry. ‘Jerry found the letter you were sent. He found your letter, and he trying to gather up the history of the place and do it justice.’ He paused. ‘But you?’ he said. ‘Oh, no. Not a screed of justice in the world if it’s not yourself doling it out. Sure, why would you pay any notice to a letter when you’re God Almighty?’
He turned to Edward. He was staring, pale-faced, at Daniel’s lifeless body on the grass. Vin reached into his back pocket, and pulled out the envelope. He handed it to him. ‘Read this and it might make you feel better.’
Edward opened it and read.
Dr St John Burke
Finney Street
Cork City
PERSONAL
Sister Consolata
St James’ Industrial School for Boys
Pilgrim Point
Beara
Co. Cork.
7 June 1971
Dear Sister Consolata
I acknowledge receipt of your letter of fifth May, re Daniel L. and regret to inform you that the boy who presented to me last week bore no resemblance to the remorseful and maturing young man of whom you spoke so highly. Moreover, he gave me cause for grave concern.
It is my professional opinion that Daniel L. should be monitored at all times. If resources cannot provide for such strict supervision, at a minimum, you must ensure that he never be left unaccompanied in the presence of pre-adolescent girls.
Regards
Dr St John Burke
Consultant Psychiatrist
Regina – I speak now as St John, your brother. The above is the text of the letter I will be formally sending you as School Manager of St James’.
Since you were a child, you and I spent many nights arguing over the beliefs we held dear, and I watched, albeit with great pride, your youthful passion and devotion. But I have a decade on you, dear sister – a decade spent in a world far removed from the cosseted one in which I left you, and the cloistered one to which you committed so soon thereafter.
With this latest post, you have finally been confronted with what had once been the touchpaper of our fiery debates – the raw human manifestation of society’s ills: the abused, the insane, the discarded, the rejected, the criminal. But to live among them daily, to guard their dormitories by night, you are experiencing it at a brute intensity beyond any I have known.
I understand the efforts you have taken to rehabilitate Daniel, so it pains me greatly to say that there are some children who are beyond the help of both science and religion.
We are all passing through, Regina – on that we do agree. But I do wonder, does the very name Pilgrim Point contain in it a warning: I am for pilgrims. No one’s time here shall ever be lasting. Those who wish to settle here will only ever be unsettled.
May you be a pilgrim there.
With love,
St John
Vin turned to Sister Consolata. ‘At least we can all benefit from your blind eye now.’
They fell into silence. It was broken by the sound of barking. They turned to see Murph running away from them, and Rosco scampering across the grass towards him and bounding into his arms.
Murph kept running and never looked back.
Acknowledgements
There’s a reason why I say the following two lines so often: Life is Beautiful and People are Gorgeous. Because it is, and they are. And I’m eternally grateful.
Here are two pages of gorgeous people:
My editor, Sarah Hodgson – you have been AMAAAZING. Thank you, thank you, thank you X a zillion; Assistant Editor, Finn Cotton – well, you’re a star. Thank you for playing a blinder; Executive Publisher, Kate Elton, and all the talented team at HarperCollins – thank you for everything; CEO, Charlie Redmayne – thank you for being a champion of writers; Tony Purdue, Eoin McHugh, Patricia McVeigh, Jacq Murphy, Ciara Swift, and Nora Mahony from Harper Collins, Ireland – thank you, you superteam; Anne O’Brien – thank you for your copyediting skills; Special Agent, Simon Trewin – thank you for everything.
I love researching – for the people I meet, the brains I get to pick, the knowledge and insight I gain, the new friends I make, and for the generosity of spirit that surrounds it all. People will often say they are honoured to be thanked at the back of a book. But, truly, the honour is all mine.
Very special thanks to: the wonderful, witty and wise, Elaine Moore, who I first discovered through her brilliant blog, www.wheellife.co.uk; Donal Lenihan, a true gent, who dealt so kindly and humorously with a rugby rookie; Hervé Blanchard; Professor Marie Cassidy; James Eogan; Liz Foley; René Gapert; Diarmuid McCarthy; Marney O’Donoghue; Brendan O’Driscoll, Brian O’Driscoll; Marie O’Halloran; Marc O’Sullivan; Paddy O’Sullivan; Stephen Pierce from Kerry Office Supplies; Bob Rotella, Catherine Ryan; Terry Reilly from Switch Distribution. Any errors are mine.
To my friends, who played such a huge part in bringing this book over the line. Among them, they so generously provided: brilliant conversation, joy, inspiration, laughter, reading, writing, feedback, rereading, shelter, transport, macarons, research, shoulders, prayers …
For their particularly outstanding contribution to I Confess, and my life, thank you to the generous, high-larious, selfless, insightful, creative genii, Paula Kavanagh (we will always have What Ifs) and Julie Sheridan (we will always have Limahl); for epic manoeuvres in the final stretch, huge thanks to Colin Weldon (well done, Weldon. Five stars!), Sue Booth-Forbes of Anam Cara Writers’ and Artists’ Retreat, David Browne, Rebekah Carroll, Eoin Colfer, David & Majella Geraghty, Sarah Hanley; Anne Harrington, Bernice Harrison, Ger Holland, Simon Kernick, Casey King, Derek Landy, PJ Lynch, Eoin McHugh, Ger McDonnell, Marian McDonnell, Jenny Murphy, Noleen Murphy & John Kevin Harrington, John Murry, Liz Nugent & Richard McCullough, Estella O’Brien, David O’Callaghan, John O’Donnell & Micheline Huggard, Vanessa O’Loughlin, Sue Swansborough, Dick Tobin, Kevin Wignall, and Brian Williams.
Very special thanks to Mary Harrington Causkey at Eyeries Post Office – your kindness knows no bounds. And thank you to everyone at Eyeries Post Office – you are all stars.
I ventured forth to three special places in Beara to write I Confess. So thank you to Mark Golden & Mark Johnston, Louise O’Sullivan, Tom Dickenson, Mags McCarthy and all the staff at the Beara Coast Hotel, Castletownbere; David & Lorna Ramshaw, Ciara Feeley, Caroline O�
�Sullivan, and everyone at the Tea Room, Castletownbere; Cindy van Nulck and all the staff at Cindy’s Gems, Eyeries.
To my beloved family – I adore you. I took off-the-radar to an extreme on this one, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for your understanding, love, and patience.
If you enjoyed I Confess, try the previous book from Alex Barclay:
A small town with a big secret. Will the truth ever surface?
Click here to buy Killing Ways
About the Author
Alex Barclay lives in County Cork, Ireland. She is the bestselling author of Darkhouse, The Caller, Blood Runs Cold, Time of Death, Blood Loss, Harm’s Reach and Killing Ways.
For more information about Alex Barclay and her books, please visit her website, www.alexbarclay.co.uk
Also by Alex Barclay
Darkhouse
The Caller
Blood Runs Cold
Time of Death
Blood Loss
Harm’s Reach
Killing Ways
The Drowning Child
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