‘And then sez I,’ his father roared, obviously at the climax of the tale. ‘What do you mean you weren’t expecting me home, you stupid fat bitch!’
The gathered crowd laughed, and Joe slapped his knee. He was making fun of Mam, Patrick couldn’t believe it. Even though he knew his father was a cold-blooded bully, he didn’t imagine how anyone could make up stories about how he murdered his wife for the entertainment of these degenerates.
Joe stood up and accepted their applause and laughter as if he were on the stage of the Opera House. Eventually, as the reaction subsided and another round of drink arrived, Joe made his way unsteadily out of Patrick’s line of vision. To his left, he heard the door open, Joe was coming out. Stealthily, Patrick crept around to the front of the building, staying low and in the shadows. Luckily, the overgrown bushes provided cover as Patrick watched his father chuckling and muttering to himself as he steadied himself against the wall, stumbling almost into the briars. The bar had no toilet, and the customers did their business outside against the ditch. Someone inside roared at Joe to shut the door after him, and Patrick heard it slam.
His father tripped again and muttered some obscenity to himself as he half-walked, half-fell towards the ditch, ham-fistedly attempting to unbutton his trousers as he went, and a cigarette clamped between his teeth.
As Joe stood with his back to the road, humming some indistinguishable tune, Patrick was immune to the bitter cold, feeling nothing but blind fury. How could he sing and tell jokes, laugh at the horrible death he gave his wife? Patrick saw the white-faced terror of his little sisters, his mother unrecognisable on the slab in Mercy hospital, the years and years of torture at his father’s drunken hands, and something inside him snapped. Without thinking, he attacked him from behind and grabbed his straggly grey hair while simultaneously kneeing him in the lower back. Screaming with pain, Joe fell like a sack of potatoes to his knees.
He turned in stunned disbelief to find his assailant, rheumy pale blue eyes trying to focus.
‘Wha...da...fu...’ Before he could say another word, Patrick crashed his fist into his father’s face.
‘You bastard, you murdering bastard, you killed my mother and now you’re telling stories about what a big man you are? You’re the big strong Joe Lynch, are you? So brave you only attack women and children. Well, you know what? That’s the last time you’ll ever hurt anyone. I’m going to kill you, you worthless fucker. I wish I’d done it years ago.’ Patrick spat as the blood pumped from Joe’s broken nose. Patrick dragged him up and hit him again and again and again, until his father fell down on all fours, vomiting.
Patrick kicked him in the ribs, the satisfying sound of cracking bones registering. Joe rolled in agony onto his back, covering his head with his bony arms. Patrick sat astride his father’s puny chest as he groaned in agony.
‘You listen to me now,’ Patrick hissed into his father’s face. ‘I wish to God I did this years ago. Liam and I should have finished you off when we had the chance, but I want you to look closely into my face, you pathetic, idle, useless drunk.’ He spat each word slowly. ‘I hate you. Connie and Anna hate you. Mam would have hated you if she wasn’t such a good person and if it wasn’t a mortal sin, and now look at me. This is the last human face you are ever going to see because you are going to burn forever in the fires of hell for what you did to us.’
Panic filled his father’s eyes. Despite his confused state, he realised what was happening, and he opened his mouth to speak. His arms and legs flailed despite his diminishing strength as Patrick put his hands around his father’s skinny neck and squeezed as hard as he could, never taking his eyes off Joe’s for a second. He wanted his father to die seeing the unadulterated hate in the eyes of his only son. Blood thundered in his ears, he knew what he was doing, he wouldn’t deny it, and nothing was going to stop him.
Time stood still, Joe’s eyes bulged and eventually his body stopped moving. Tentatively, Patrick released the pressure from his father’s throat and no sound came. His tongue hung loosely from his mouth of broken yellow teeth. Joe Lynch was dead.
Nothing happened. The raucous laughter erupted in the pub once more. There was nobody passing on the road. That crowd inside wouldn’t even think to come looking for Joe. In that world all you needed was a drinking partner, not a friend. Any one of them would sell the other out happily for their next drink.
He stood, disgusted for a few moments, looking at the sight of his father, broken and bloody on the ground.
He looked up to the star-filled sky as the reality of what he had done was sinking in.
‘I’m sorry, Mam. I know you wouldn’t have wanted this, so I’m sorry if I upset you, but I’m not sorry for killing him. I swear I’m not, I’d do it again if I could.’ He knew he should say an Act of Contrition, seek absolution from the Almighty for this most grievous sin but in order to do that, he had to be sorry, and he wasn’t.
He stood up, leaving the body of his father where he lay. The sleet had turned to snow and Patrick trudged back the way he came.
Chapter 20
‘All right, start again and tell me slowly what happened.’ Hugo was trying to stay calm as Patrick sat on his couch with his head in his hands.
It was almost dawn. Luckily, he’d been up and heard someone outside. He instinctively grabbed the shotgun from the case and went out into the dark, starless night.
Patrick was on the doorstep, looking dishevelled. Something was very wrong, but he didn’t speak. Hugo brought him in and gave him a brandy, which remained untouched on the side table beside him, and wrapped a blanket round his friend’s shoulders. He was freezing cold.
‘How did you get here?’ Hugo began, hoping to ease into the reason for the visit.
‘A lorry going to the port in Rosslare, he dropped me at the end of the road there,’ Patrick replied, his voice sounded almost robotic.
‘All right, and it’s great to see you, obviously, but…’ Hugo began.
‘I had nowhere else to go.’
‘Patrick, where are Connie and Anna?’ Hugo was really getting worried now. Patrick was the toughest of the three of them; he’d never seen him so distraught.
‘They’re grand, Liam’s mam has them. Don’t tell Liam I’m here, Hugo, okay? He’s a priest, he can’t be seen to be...he wouldn’t understand.’ Wild bloodshot eyes fixed Hugo.
Hugo tried to stay calm. ‘Okay, Patrick, if that’s what you want, but I do think we should call Liam. He’s calling here today as it happens on his way home for Christmas, he’ll be here this morning sometime. I said I’d send the car, but he said he’d get the bus.’ Hugo was bewildered, but whatever it was, it was bad.
‘No, Hugo. Tell him he can’t come, I can’t see him.’ Panic and desperation caused his voice to tremor.
The shrill ring of the telephone startled them both as their eyes rested on the phone.
‘Hello?’ Hugo said, racking his brain as to who would ring at six thirty in the morning.
‘Hugo? It’s Father Aquinas.’
‘Hello Father...em...’
‘I’m sorry for ringing so early, but Mrs Tobin has been up and she’s worried about Patrick. Is he with you by any chance?’
Hugo saw the haunted look in his friend’s eyes across the room.
‘Er...yes he is, Father, he just arrived...’
‘Hugo, listen carefully. Joe Lynch’s body has been found outside some kind of a pub not far from here and Patrick is missing. The guards are on their way there now. The sacristan passed the scene on his way in to prepare for early Mass, that’s how I know. Apparently, Lynch has been murdered. One of the drunks in the bar said he saw someone fitting Patrick’s description walking away.’
The priest’s words washed over Hugo like ice. This must be some kind of nightmare.
‘You need to get him back to Cork as soon as possible, otherwise there’s going to be a man hunt for him, and he’ll be arrested as the main suspect. Will you do
that?’
‘Yes, Father, I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Good, we’ll speak later on.’
Hugo stared at Patrick for a long second.
‘That was Father Aquinas. Did you kill your father last night, Patrick?’ Hugo couldn’t believe those words were coming out of his mouth.
Patrick slumped in a chair, his head in his hands. He raised his head and fixed his bloodshot eyes on Hugo, his normally neat hair standing on end.
‘That’s why you can’t get Liam. He’s a priest, he couldn’t understand, he shouldn’t be near someone like me.’
‘Patrick, Liam is on his way here this morning anyway. He’s your best friend, and he will want to help you, as do I.’ Hugo was trying to be reasonable.
‘No, no he wouldn’t, how could he understand, he’s good...a priest for God’s sake, and I’m a...I’m a murderer.’ Patrick was distraught. ‘You can’t let him come here, if he comes, I’m going. I have to...’ Patrick stood up, making for the door. Hugo had to make him stay, but Patrick was much bigger and stronger.
‘Patrick, listen, I won’t let Liam come if you really don’t want to see him, but I know Liam is not going to judge you, I know it, don’t ask me how I know, but I just do.’ Hugo tried to hide the desperation in his voice. He needed Liam to convince Patrick to give himself up.
‘You don’t know, how could you know? I’ve murdered someone, actually killed them, committed the worst mortal sin ever. How can a priest ever accept someone like that?’
‘Because he accepted me, and I’m a sinner,’ Hugo said quietly.
‘What? You’ve never done anything wrong your whole life, Hugo. No, if Liam is coming here, then I’m going to go. I don’t want him dragged into this, putting him in a terrible position,’ Patrick said, dismissing him.
Taking a deep breath, Hugo used the only card he had.
‘Liam accepted me when I told him I’m a homosexual, and even though every law in the country, church, and state says I am beneath contempt, Liam was my friend. That’s how I know you can trust him, Patrick,’ Hugo pleaded with his friend, looking deep into his eyes and grabbing him by both arms.
Patrick opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out.
‘Why did you never tell me?’ he asked eventually.
Hugo sighed deeply. ‘Because I was afraid. I was scared you’d be disgusted, that you’d think I was only friends with you and Liam because I was attracted to you or something. I was afraid you would reject me,’ Hugo answered sincerely.
‘I wouldn’t have.’
‘Well, now you know. That’s why I don’t want to go after girls and why some horsey duchess isn’t sniffing round as you so often put it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter at the moment, we’ve got bigger problems. But, Patrick, we do need Liam. So can I phone him?’
‘But murder, Hugo, he’s going to be a priest. They might throw him out if they knew he was friends with someone like me,’ he whispered, tears in his eyes.
‘We three are friends before we are anything else. You and he are inseparable. He will want to help, and we really need him. If we ever needed him, Patrick, we need him now. Can he come?’
Patrick nodded.
Hugo lifted the receiver of the telephone, asking the operator for the seminary. Liam had explained that personal phone calls were not really allowed, but this was an emergency.
‘Good morning St Patrick’s College, how may I help?’ An officious female voice answered on the first ring.
‘Good morning, this is Hugo FitzHenry, Earl of Drummond, I wish to speak with Liam Tobin, please.’ Liam mentioned that the receptionist was very interested in people of Hugo’s class and had been very impressed when Liam’s first tuition cheque had been signed by Hugo. It endeared Liam to her that he moved in such exalted social circles.
As he suspected, it worked, and the obsequious tones replied, ‘Certainly, your Lordship. It may take some time to locate him. May I call you back once I have found him?’
‘That would be most kind,’ Hugo replied. Normally, if the boys heard him speaking in that accent, there would be no end to the slagging, but needs must. He gave her the number for Greyrock and explained that it was a matter of some urgency, and she assured him that she would find him as quickly as possible.
True to her word, the phone rang after ten minutes.
‘Hugo? Hugo, it’s me, is everything all right. I’m getting the nine o’clock bus...’ Liam began but before he could continue, Hugo interrupted.
‘Liam, shut up and listen. Patrick turned up here this morning; he’s in a dreadful state. I can’t go into it over the phone, but...’
‘Can’t go into what, Hugo? Is he hurt?’ Liam was whispering and trying to figure out what was happening, but the secretary was clearly listening in. She seemed very excited to tell him that the Earl of Drummond was on the line.
‘No, not hurt, not physically at least, just get here as fast as you can, will you?’
‘Oh Lord, all right, I’m on the way. We’ll sort this out whatever’s happened; the bus isn’t for another two hours.’
‘It’s all right, I’ll send the car to collect you. Ring your mother, wait, she has no phone. It’s okay, I’ll ring Father Aquinas from here, just get here as fast as you can.’
‘Fine, see you soon.’ Liam hung up and smiled his thanks to the secretary, who he knew would have loved to have been told what was going on.
Hugo lifted the phone again and this time dialled St Bart’s monastery. He could visualise the black Bakelite phone ringing in the polished hallway, holy pictures adorning the walls, and a thick pile rug in heavy Axminster in the centre.
‘St Bart’s Presbytery,’ a dour man’s voice answered.
Hugo felt winded. Colour drained from his face. Suddenly, he was twelve years old again. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and prayed his voice would come out normally.
‘Good morning, my name is Hugo FitzHenry, I wondered if I could speak to Father Aquinas please?’ He tried his best to sound authoritative but inside he was shaking.
‘Ah, Mr FitzHenry. Father Aquinas is in the refectory having his breakfast.’
Hugo thought quickly. Every second on the phone to Xavier was torture, but he had to get to Father Aquinas.
‘I appreciate that, but I do need to speak to him as a matter of some urgency. Failing him, I will have to go to the bishop.’
Silence on the line. Hugo waited, hoping the gamble would pay off. Xavier may not have rated the complaints of a child but if that child, now an adult, were to reveal the nocturnal activities of a priest, surely there would be consequences—especially if that child was now an earl. Hugo could never do it, not because he wouldn’t like to see Xavier pay for what he did, but to tell anyone filled him with such deep shame and disgust. Xavier didn’t know that, though.
‘Just one moment.’
Hugo heard the phone receiver being placed on the table and the sound of footsteps moving out of range.
After what seemed an interminable wait, Father Aquinas came on the line.
‘Hugo?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Father, it’s me. Liam is on his way here, and we’ll look after Patrick and get to the bottom of it, but could you go down to Mrs Tobin’s? She’s minding Connie and Anna and they must be upset worrying about him. Can you just reassure them that all is well and that Patrick will be home soon?’
There was silence on the line for a moment.
‘I will, Hugo, though how true that is I’m not sure. Get him back here as soon as you can, I’d say.’
‘We’ll try, Father,’ Hugo said, and hung up.
‘What did he say?’ Patrick asked.
‘Just that he was going to go down and reassure the girls you were okay and that you should get back to Cork as soon as possible.’ Hugo was trying to be gentle.
‘They know it was me then.’ It was a statement more than a question.
‘Well, they suspect you.
That’s what he thinks is the case, but he’s only going on gossip. Apparently, someone like you was seen leaving the place where the body was found.’
Hugo turned on the wireless. It was a minute to eight; the news would be on soon. Maybe there would be a report on the finding of a body. Perhaps, he wasn’t dead. Hugo knew very well from Patrick and Liam how rumours and gossip spread in the lanes and terraces under the Goldie Fish. Maybe Patrick just beat him up, that would be understandable, surely a judge would forgive that.
No mention of the alleged murder. That must be a good sign. Hugo listened to the rest of the bulletin and when the weather forecast came on, he looked over at Patrick whose head was resting on the back of the chair. He was sleeping. He was going to wake him up. How could he sleep at a time like this? But then Hugo remembered how traumatised his friend looked, how absolutely shattered he was and thought better of it. Best let him sleep. Liam wouldn’t be much longer, and they might get some sense out of him together.
He left Patrick on the chair and covered him with a rug. He did his morning duties distractedly, running through everything that needed to be done with Tom as they did every day.
‘Hugo, is everything all right? You seem a bit…I don’t know…’ Tom noticed.
‘What? Sorry…yes, I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m fine, just a bit tired.’ Hugo lied.
‘You’re doing well, you know? It seems a lot to take on, I know it does, but you’re managing fine.’ Tom obviously thought running Greyrock was getting on top of him. How Hugo wished that was the case. He was totally out of his depth if what Father Aquinas said was true. But he and Liam would have to try and sort it out themselves. The strangeness between him and Tom in the days after Martha’s mysterious disappearance had dissipated somewhat, but Hugo knew her father knew more about her departure than he was letting on. Tom was a great manager of the estate, but he wasn’t a man to confide in, and anyway, the fewer people who knew that Patrick was even here at this stage the better.
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 96