Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First published in Great Britain in year of 2014 by
Quercus Editions Ltd
55 Baker Street
7th Floor, South Block
London
W1U 8EW
Copyright © 2014 Sinéad Crowley
The moral right of Sinéad Crowley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
TPB ISBN 978 1 78206 722 1
EBOOK ISBN 978 1 78206 723 8
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
You can find this and many other great books at:
www.quercusbooks.co.uk
Sinéad Crowley is currently Arts and Media Correspondent with RTE, Ireland’s national broadcaster. Working for radio, television and the web, she has covered stories ranging from general elections to the Eurovision Song Contest, and has reported from locations including Southern Africa, Azerbaijan and the Oscars. A self-confessed internet addict, she discovered the world of parenting websites when on maternity leave with her first child. Sinéad lives in Dublin with her husband and two young sons.
For Alice and Michael Crowley
CHAPTER ONE
It was the ‘Mum’ that did it. Up until then, things had been going pretty well. The traffic had been light, they’d found a parking space within a short walk of the hospital and the waiting room, when they’d finally located it, hadn’t been too full. In fact, by the time Claire realised the wait would be far shorter than she’d anticipated, she had almost convinced herself that she was going to enjoy the experience. And then the nurse gestured towards the long, low bed and wrecked any chance of that.
‘Now, just hop up there, Mum, and Marie will be with you in a second.’
‘Mum.’
Welcome to pregnancy; leave your individuality and your name at the door of the antenatal ward. Sighing heavily, Claire turned towards her husband for an appreciative audience for her eye roll. But Matt had disappeared. In his place was a dewy-eyed stranger, staring at the scan machine the way he had once stared at the barman in Flanagan’s who was renowned for pulling the best pint of Guinness in the Western world.
She was on her own, so. A short, tired-looking woman – Marie, she assumed – bustled through the scuffed white door and busied herself with computer screens and tubes.
‘Now, this may be a little cold …’
Claire winced as the jelly was spread over her lower abdomen. A little cold? It was bloody freezing. You’d think they’d have come up with some solution to that: a heating device or something. Maybe she’d invent one herself, save her getting bored on maternity leave. Ordinarily she’d tell Matt that sort of thing, it’d give them a laugh at least, but instead, the big ball of mush at her side leant over and grabbed her hand.
‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’
‘Um.’
As far as Claire was concerned, it wasn’t hard at all. She’d been living with the puking, jean-straining reality of this pregnancy for twenty weeks; she didn’t need an ultrasound to confirm it. But Matt seemed determined to milk every misty-eyed minute, so she returned the pressure on his hand, briefly.
‘Ah, yeah. It’s great.’
Her pocket vibrated and Marie glared. ‘All mobiles to be switched off please. They interfere with the equipment.’
‘Yeah, right. Sorry.’
Reaching into her pocket, Claire dragged out the phone. As she fumbled for the off switch, she couldn’t help reading the text on the screen.
JURYS GONE OUT
Oh Christ. Her stomach churned. She knew it, bloody knew it. The one day she couldn’t be there … Her finger twitched towards the reply button, but a quick look at Matt’s face told her that was out of the question. Right, so. Forget about it. Concentrate.
With a dramatic gesture, she turned the phone off and replaced it in her pocket before getting back into position on the bed.
‘Now. Where were we?’
But neither Marie nor her husband was listening. Instead, the technician moved the probe over Claire’s stomach – although Claire was finding it difficult to think of it as ‘hers’ any more – and began to mutter to herself.
‘Placenta is fundal … Baby is cephalic … Just trying to get … BPD …’
On the small black-and-white screen, shapes wobbled in and out of focus.
Matt’s hand on Claire’s squeezed tighter.
‘That’s all normal though, yeah?’
Marie was poker-faced. They probably trained them like that, no point in letting the parents know there was a problem until they were sure. Still though, there wasn’t going to be a problem, was there? Claire returned the pressure on her husband’s hand and stared harder at the screen. It didn’t look good though. Well, it didn’t look like anything, but that couldn’t be good, could it? Was that supposed to be a head? Or an arm …?
‘Sorry?’
Marie looked up, blinked, and smiled for the first time.
‘Oh, all perfectly normal! Sorry, just finding it hard to get a good measurement of Baby’s head. You’ve got a little wriggler in there!’
Matt beamed proudly, but Claire found herself in need of further reassurance.
‘But everything looks fine?’
‘Everything looks as we would expect at this stage. I have to take a few measurements here, but look …’
She pointed out a leg, and an arm, a small hand. And then the magic happened. The tiny mouth opened and began to suck the thumb.
‘Ahhhh.’
For a moment
the three of them were united in happiness, thrilled by the display on the screen. Claire felt herself relax, and squeezed Matt’s hand once more. Everything was fine. Sure, that was grand, so. Excellent news. Excellent. At this rate she could be back in court while the jury was still deliberating …
‘That’d be the umbilical cord there, then?’
Matt leant over his wife’s body to point, and she stared at him in surprise. Clearly someone had been reading the books he’d pointedly left on the bedside table.
‘That’s it!’
Marie nodded at him. Best boy in the class.
‘I thought it might have been the other yoke.’
Matt grinned wider and Marie shook her head, smiling.
‘No … Do you want to know the sex, though? I can tell you …’
‘Yes!’
‘No!’
The answers came simultaneously. Marie looked confused.
Claire glanced at Matt.
‘I suppose I kinda assumed …’
It wasn’t true. She hadn’t really thought about it at all. But now they were there, and the information was right in front of them, what was the harm? But her husband shook his head vehemently.
‘There are very few surprises in this world. We might as well keep this a secret for another while, yeah?’
‘Sure.’
Claire squirmed on the hard bed, trying to find a comfortable position. Sure. She didn’t feel strongly enough about it to argue. Everything was grand, that was the main thing. They’d find out the rest soon enough. She wriggled again and the phone dug into her pocket. The jury could be back already. Twelve years. Joseph Clarke had spent twelve years raping, abusing. Terrifying his victims. If there was any justice in the world he’d spend at least that long behind bars.
‘Now! You can just wipe that off …’
Absently, she took the tissue paper Marie was holding out and began to clean up the sticky goo. Matt grinned at her.
‘We’ll go for lunch, so?’
‘Yeah. Great.’
The date had been set weeks ago and they’d both taken a half-day from work to mark the occasion. Might be the last chance they’d have for a while. But that was before she got the text.
She dropped the paper in a nearby bin and fixed her clothes.
‘I just need to nip to the loo.’
It wasn’t a lie, never would be at twenty weeks pregnant. But before she finished in the cubicle she took out the phone, switched it on and held her breath. The signal icon flickered before finally settling on just one bar. Come on, will you?
Beep Beep!
One word. But that was all she needed to know.
GUILTY.
She rejoined her husband, her heart beating so quickly she wondered if the baby would notice. Matt grinned at her.
‘That went well?’
‘Yeah.’
She tried to keep the words in, but it was impossible. Matt had lived through the last few months with her. He deserved to know too.
‘They found him guilty, Matt, guilty! I got a text just there …’
For a moment, her husband looked annoyed. She’d promised there’d be no talk of the case today. But then he smiled. He knew how important this was. Reaching forward, he hugged her tight.
‘I am absolutely thrilled for you. Sentence?’
‘Next week, I guess.’
She flicked on her phone again, tapped the twitter app. All of the news sites were now running the story. It had been a major case and many people had been waiting for the outcome. But none more so than her.
‘We’ll take a rain check on lunch then?’
‘I …’
A nice person would have said no, we’ll let the others handle it. After all, there was nothing she needed to do. But Claire knew she wasn’t always a nice person, and in fairness, Matt had known it when he married her.
‘That would be fab. Look, I’ll be home early, okay?’
It was a lie, they both knew it, but why ruin a perfect day? So Matt kissed his wife on the cheek, and Detective Sergeant Claire Boyle bounded out of the maternity hospital, jumped into the nearest cab and headed back to work.
CHAPTER TWO
OMG!!
Pink Lady
OMG girls. DS3 is five months old and Sweet Holy Mother of God I just got a BFP!!!! Argggggggh. DH is going to go mad!!! And as for MIL … I’m mortified. We swore we weren’t having another … how the hell did this happen?
CaraMia
Ah, congrats love. Bit of a shock but you’ll get used to it. Great news!
LondonMum
Wow, shock is right! But I’m sure DH will come round. Delighted for you pet. Take care now.
RedWineMine
Sorry, but ROTFL! How did it happen? Ehm … if you don’t know by now there’s books out there for that sort of thing Missus
MrsDrac
Hi girls … sorry for hijacking thread … it’s just I’m new here and just wondering what all the abbreviations mean?
MyBabba
Hey Newbie … MIL mother in law … DH/S/D Darling Husband/Son/Daughter … LO little one … BFP Big Fat Positive if you’re being polite LOL. It’s all in the sticky at the top of the page. Welcome to NETMAMMY! Hope you stick around?
CHAPTER THREE
Saturday night
She knew that she’d been a total pushover, but she didn’t care. The truth of it was she didn’t want to go home, not yet, and for one night only she could stay out as long as she wanted.
Five minutes to midnight. She checked the time on her phone and her daughter’s face looked up at her. A big smile on her face, the picture taken that time they’d visited pets’ corner in the zoo. What does a sheep say, baby? Baaa. Réaltín loved sheep. Mad, considering she was growing up on a housing estate in the middle of Dublin. But she was fascinated by them, loved looking at the pictures every night in the big book they kept by the side of her cot. Nearly died of happiness when she got to see one in real life. What does a sheep say, sweetheart? Baaa, she’d said, looking from the sheep to her mother with delight. The big blue eyes wide open as if to say, look, Ma, a real one!
‘Everything okay?’
‘Cool, yeah!’
Jesus girl, let it go. Time to concentrate on the night ahead. She turned the phone off with a slow, deliberate movement and smiled at him. Réaltín would be fine. Her Mam and Dad loved having her, they’d been pestering her to leave her overnight for months. It had just been so weird, packing her little bag full of pyjamas and nappies, finding her favourite toys, putting in those little tubs of fruit she loved. Strange to think they wouldn’t be spending the night together. Their first night apart in almost two years. Weird, but kind of nice as well. She loved the baba, loved her to distraction, but twenty months of broken sleep had taken their toll, particularly when there was no one else there to share the burden. The break would do them both good.
‘The apartment’s just around the corner, we can walk if you don’t mind?’
‘Yeah. Grand.’
Not grand actually, not grand at all. Not in the highest shoes she’d worn since Réaltín was born. But she wasn’t going to start complaining. Instead, she hesitated for a moment before grabbing his arm. He looked … pleased. Surprised and then pleased. Like she’d made the first move towards something.
‘It’s cool, you coming back. I didn’t … well I thought it might be a bit cheeky. To ask. I haven’t done this in a while.’
‘Jesus, me neither! Sure I feel like I’m on my holidays if I’m out past ten o’clock!’
Woah there, Miriam. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Cool it. Enough of the whole housebound mother thing. But he didn’t look like he minded. Instead he shook his head, a funny little shy movement and then smiled at her, as if to say it’s okay, this is new to me too.
She stroked his arm, under the coat sleeve. It felt nice. Solid.
The weird thing was that she had felt all day as if she was going on a blind date, even
though that wasn’t how it was supposed to be at all. But the build-up had been the same: selecting the clothes, trying to look nice but not too nice. Attractive, but not like she’d made too much of an effort. Like she did this sort of thing all the time. She’d had her hair blow-dried. Sucked the Mummy Tummy in under the waistband of her best jeans. Kept small sticky fingers off her blue top and cream cardigan.
‘Mammy’s getting ready! You play nice with Granda, now.’
‘Baaaa.’
Her Da had offered her a lift to the pub but she’d told him he’d be better off getting Réaltín settled. So they’d left, in a whirl of pyjamas and nappies and toy sheep and Miriam had paused for a second, looked around the living room and exhaled. Breathed in the silence. For a second she’d thought about cancelling, just staying in alone and having a bath, a glass of wine. Renting a DVD and sleeping for as long as she wanted. But her mother would have killed her, she’d been nagging her to get her social life back in gear. And besides, she didn’t have a phone number to call. Just a date, a time and a location. It would be rude not to turn up after all the planning. So there it was then, she had to go.
She couldn’t have taken a lift off her Dad anyway, because she hadn’t exactly been honest about where she was going, and why. Muttered something about a reunion, mentioned the names of a few of the girls from school. Given her Mam the name of a pub that sounded like somewhere a load of women would congregate on a night off the leash. Then got on a bus going in the opposite direction. Well. Her Mam and Dad had been great, the past two years. But they were still her Mam and Dad. Didn’t need to know everything.
And they certainly didn’t need to know about this.
Their walk had taken them to an apartment block, one of the new ones built near the Luas line. An abandoned election poster fluttered from a lamp post, the breeze lifting it high into the air as they approached the huge metal gates which were almost totally covered by For Sale and To Let signs. The place looked deserted, lights showing in barely a quarter of the windows. Miriam shivered as a blast of cold air sobered her up a little. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea …
‘We can just have coffee you know! A chat. Come in out of the cold anyway.’
Yeah, well, fair enough. His hand stroked hers and she felt soothed again. He walked past the large gates and tapped a code into the box beside the small metal pedestrian entrance. Miriam hadn’t noticed a name on the apartment block, but they all looked the same to her anyway. A massive redbrick building, three blocks visible from the street with maybe another two behind, built at the height of the madness, back when they were asking half a million for a two-bed in a place like this. They’d be lucky to get half that now. As if he could read her mind he looked at her, and shrugged.
Can Anybody Help Me? Page 1