A Savage Hunger (Paula Maguire 4)

by Claire McGowan

  She made a small noise in her throat. The bruises on Aidan’s hands. Paula suddenly thought she might be sick. She closed her eyes. ‘It – it was my wedding day,’ was all she could think to say.

  ‘I know. It’s a crap thing they did. Willis said they thought he’d be a flight risk – you probably even had a honeymoon booked . . .’

  Oh God. Another layer of things to cancel. The flights, the hotel in Granada, the meal for seventy-five guests – all that money . . .

  Paula realised her breath was coming thick and raspy. ‘What do I do? I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘He could get bail maybe – he needs a good lawyer. Do you know anyone?’

  Lawyers. She had to think. The only ones she knew had defended some of the worst terrorists in Ireland. But they’d often won, of course. ‘Colin McCready,’ she said. ‘Call him. Tell him it’s Paula. Tell him it’s Margaret’s girl.’

  ‘Isn’t he—’

  ‘Yeah. So he’ll do it.’ Her mother’s old boss. Paula was fairly sure he’d been in love with Margaret – even though she’d been suspected of stealing information about the Republican prisoners they defended, giving it to Special Branch. More than enough, in the eyes of the IRA, to execute someone.

  She lurched to her feet. ‘Where’s Maggie?’ Dear God, she’d run out of the church without even thinking about her child. She’d be so confused, frightened . . .

  ‘She’s with your stepmum. I don’t think anyone knows what to do – but I persuaded Pat to go home with the wean. Your dad’s outside.’

  ‘I need to see her . . . she’ll be upset, she was so excited—’ She reached for the door.

  ‘You don’t want to see Aidan? I can get you a quick chat, he’s in the cells—’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Maggie needs me.’ And all she could think about was Aidan’s hands, his missing T-shirt, the way he’d kissed her so gently on the cheek. Judas kiss. She turned to Corry. ‘Will you call the lawyer? I don’t think I can . . . I couldn’t talk to him today. I need to go. I need Maggie.’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Paula could hardly stand the look of sympathy on Corry’s face, normally so stern and professional.

  Her voice wobbled. ‘Thanks.’

  Outside, the office was a blur. Ringing phones, sympathetic faces. She had to get away from it.

  ‘Paula—’ He was in the doorway. His face so kind she could hardly bear it. Before she even knew it she was walking away from him. No. She wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t go to Aidan, to where he was locked in one of the cells – in this very building! – but she wouldn’t go to Guy either, not after he’d come to the church on her wedding day, bringing with him nothing but doom. She shook her head and walked past him, out of the police station that held both men, her wedding dress hanging around her, useless. In the car park, her dad was leaning against his Volvo. In his new grey wedding suit, his face grim, his bad leg held out stiff. She went to him, rustling silk with every step. ‘Oh Dad,’ she said, the tears finally coming as she sobbed into his shoulder.

  ‘Just visiting today, Dr Maguire?’

  She forced a smile. ‘Yes. A personal visit this time.’

  The prison officer, what Paula’s father would call a ‘wee hard man’, who had a white moustache and shoulder epaulettes, signed her into the visitors’ room without further comment. Paula had been in prisons many times. She was an old hand at the clang of metal doors, the bleach and cabbage smell of the places, the suffocating heat. The blank file of women heading to the visitors’ room, occasionally casting glances at each other’s shoes or hair. But she’d never been here before as one of them.

  Aidan looked different behind the table. Smaller somehow – he’d been in here two nights already, while Paula tried to sort out the mess he’d left. He was fidgeting about in a way that meant he wanted to smoke. Paula thought of the cigarettes she’d found in his pocket, and for a moment loss got her by the throat – he’d lied to her about that. Maybe he’d lied to her about everything. She started to walk towards him, willing her feet to move.

  He was the first to speak. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Me? I’m fine.’

  ‘But the wedding – Jesus, what a mess.’

  ‘Dad handled it. People got fed, I think, and then they went home.’

  ‘Your big day.’

  ‘For God’s sake. I never wanted all that, and you know it.’

  ‘But you were there, in your dress – I hardly saw you, Maguire, they were hauling me off. But you looked—’

  ‘Stop it. I never wanted a big white wedding. I wanted you. And now you’re . . . Christ, look at you.’

  He looked down at his knuckles – one hand was shining raw. ‘Yeah. He’s got some buddies in here.’

  ‘But you didn’t do it. Just tell them you didn’t do it.’ Aidan said nothing, and she watched the moment sail away. ‘Will you at least tell me what happened, for God’s sake?’ She lowered her voice. ‘You had blood on you. That night you came in.’

  She waited for him to explain it all away. He didn’t. ‘Aye. If they ask you, tell them whatever you know. Don’t lie for me. I won’t have you losing your job, it’s too important.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. I can’t—’

  ‘Listen to me, Maguire. You’ve work to do, finding that missing girl and all the other ones too. You have to be above suspicion. Tell them it all and I’ll sink or swim on my own.’ His face tightened for a minute. ‘Is Mags . . . did she see them take me?’

  ‘No, she was – she was up front with Saoirse. She wants to know where you are, of course.’ Paula didn’t say that Maggie had cried herself to sleep the last two nights, inconsolable, wanting Daddy to put her to bed. There’d even been a search of the house. Quick, and discreet as possible, thanks to Corry, but all the same hands running over her things, opening up all the secret places of the life she and Aidan had been building. Until two days ago. ‘But, Aidan, listen—’

  ‘She likes the Hungry Caterpillar story at bedtime. And Goodnight Moon. And I make up a story and do the voices – and she likes the jammies with the ducks, but not the ones with teddies. She thinks they have a funny look in their eyes.’

  ‘OK.’ She knew all this, but it seemed to soothe him. ‘But you’ll be back soon. You’ll get bail, surely, and then a trial—’ Bail wasn’t guaranteed in murder cases, but surely they’d see he hadn’t done it. See he wasn’t capable of such a thing.

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll get bail.’

  ‘What?’ Paula felt a lurch in her stomach. ‘Aidan. You need to tell me what’s going on! Did you see him? Conlon?’ She was remembering the man, his soft voice, his watchful eyes. Imagined Aidan lunging at him, Aidan who was all bluster and fire. Getting Conlon by the throat and pushing him down, and banging his head again and again on the rain-slick surface of Flanagan’s car park. Beside the bins with their stink of stale booze. Smashing the man’s head until he stopped moving.

  No. She couldn’t imagine it. But Aidan was nodding.

  ‘You went to Flanagan’s?’

  ‘Aye. I just wanted . . . well, I thought I could have one for the road. One last time.’

  ‘And he was there.’

  ‘Aye. He said—’ Aidan swallowed. ‘He knew who I was. The paperman’s boy. I said he’d a lot of nerve coming to the pub, after all the people he’d killed. He said he’d served his time and if I’d a problem drinking with murderers he suggested I found myself another establishment. I said he never served his time for everyone he killed. He tried to push past me, go outside for a fag. I smelled it on him. You know my da, he used to smoke in the office. You were allowed to, back then. It’s why I always – well, I should quit, I know, but the smell always reminds – I just like it.’

  Paula found she was conjuring John O’Hara, his spicy tobacco smell, the mints he always had in his pocket. She’d only been six when he was killed, but she knew exactly what had happened. Like all children in Northern Ireland, she was very well aware she was living somewher
e that was not safe, where bad men could walk in and shoot your uncle John, who was so kind and always said there’s wee Paula when he saw you and gave you a Polo to suck down to a sliver.

  ‘When Da died, he’d been smoking. I watched it burning away in the ashtray when they left, and he was—’

  Paula knew the rest of this story. John, dying, not knowing if the gunmen who’d shot him had seen Aidan, had motioned to the child not to move from where he was playing under a desk. So he hadn’t, even after the men did their work and left his daddy to bleed to death on the floor. She bit the side of her mouth in frustration. This was old sorrow. This should have been gone and buried, not still giving more. ‘I asked you to tell me what happened.’

  ‘Aye, I – well. I followed him out. I said, Conlon, you lying prick, tell me what you know about my da. And he just says, he’s dead. I know he’s fucking dead, I say. What I don’t know is who killed him, but I’m thinking you do. You said you served your time – well me and my ma are still doing ours.’ Aidan swallowed again. ‘So he stubbed out his fag on the wall. Says, son, you want to be careful who you ask those questions. Or you’ll get in the same kind of trouble as your da. My da was a great man, I say – I’d had a few, Maguire, I admit – and he says – your da was a Brit-licking traitor, son. This war is over now, and your da was a casualty. He knew what he was doing. I suggest you let it go. So I pull him back – he’s . . . he was a big lad, you know, must have kept in shape inside – and I shut the door in his face. And he goes . . . he goes . . . you’re the same weak wee shite as you were back then.’

  Paula let out all her breath. No one knew Aidan had seen his father die – the police were afraid the men who’d shot his father might not baulk at killing a child witness. ‘So you mean . . . he admitted it? He said he was there that night?’

  Aidan put his face in his hands. ‘Aye. Maybe. What does it matter? Even if he didn’t pull the trigger he knew. They all knew. They assassinated my da in cold blood and nobody gave a damn.’

  ‘So what did you do?’ Her voice sounded dull, like a clanging bell.

  ‘I saw red – I hit . . . I hit, God. I hit him. He went down . . . I kicked him. Then I ran. I ran off, came home. I washed off the blood – you saw. It was all over my T-shirt.’

  ‘Did you put it in the bin?’ It was surreal. A chat about laundry.

  ‘Aye, it’s in the big bin outside. They’ll have found it by now.’

  ‘Aidan—’ She prepared to ask the question that could change everything. Because despite what he’d said, she couldn’t see him beating a man until he was dead. ‘When you stopped – was Conlon still alive? Was he breathing?’

  Aidan looked at his raw hands. ‘I – I thought so. I thought he was making a noise. And I sort of – time went funny. I was on the whiskey, and it’s been a while – and I just can’t be sure, you know. God help me, Maguire, I just don’t know.’

  Paula sat staring at the table. Coffee rings marked its plastic surface. Dirty, and ruined, just like everything else. ‘How could you do this?’ she said quietly.

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I asked you. I asked would you be OK. And you told me we’d be fine. You promised me. And I put on a fucking white dress for you and I went to the church and . . . all for you!’

  Aidan looked stung. ‘Maguire, come on. I wanted to marry you. I wanted us to be a family. Is that so wrong? I know you never wanted the wedding, you’ve been dragging your heels since day one, but—’

  ‘No, I didn’t want it. But I did it for you. I did it, and I stayed in this bloody town for you, though I should have gone years back, and this is how you repay me. And Maggie. How could you do this to her?’

  He jerked as if she’d slapped him. ‘I’d do anything for her. Anything.’

  ‘Anything except keep your bloody temper for one night. One night you go out, and you’re back on the booze, back in your seedy old pubs, fists out – Christ, Aidan, I thought you were past all that.’

  ‘It’s been two years! Have I ever given you a moment’s worry? Have I not made your dinner, and minded your house, and looked after your child, and—’

  ‘My child!’ She was aware that people were starting to look over, and tried to lower her voice to a savage whisper. ‘Since when is she my child?’

  As soon as she’d said it, Paula wished she could take the words back. Push them into the dark again. Go back to how things had been, the comfort of silence, the gentleness of lies.

  When he spoke, Aidan’s voice was soft. ‘Maguire. That’s the thing, see.’

  ‘Look, I shouldn’t have—’ She wanted to keep talking, fill the space with words, make a dam against the thing he was about to say, rushing towards them like a wall of water, so big she could already feel the shape of it.

  ‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘I should have – God help me, I don’t think we can get past this now but I have to tell you – I’m not.’

  She should have said, not what? But she didn’t. Because she knew.

  Aidan said, ‘I’m not her dad. It’s – well, it’s not me, so you can work it out. I thought it wouldn’t matter – I thought he didn’t love you like I did, back off to London with his wife. I thought if I could get you back, I’d be worthy of it, I’d take you both as mine. And I did. I did, didn’t I? She wouldn’t have felt the difference? She knows I love her?’

  Paula found her voice, choked up in her throat, and spoke carefully. ‘What the hell are you saying? We don’t know who her father is. You can’t tell by looking. I know we learned in school you can’t have a blue-eyed child if one parent has brown eyes but it’s not true, it’s more complex than that—’

  ‘Maguire. There was a test.’

  And the world stopped.

  ‘You did a test on Maggie?’ Her voice flattened out, cold as marble. She felt rage seep into her blood. ‘You need my permission for that.’

  He was looking down at the table. Aidan had many faults, but he was a terrible liar.

  ‘Not you. I know you wouldn’t do that.’ No, like her, he would have been too scared to know the result. Her dad wouldn’t have either, he preferred to leave things be and hope for the best. So that meant . . . ‘Your mother did a test? Pat did it?’

  ‘She was minding Maggie ages ago, after she was born – she got a wee test out of Boots and I suppose she just – did it. It’s just a cheek swab, you know, Mags didn’t feel a thing—’

  Paula snarled. ‘For fuck’s sake.’

  ‘OK, I know, that’s not the point. Please don’t be angry with her, Maguire. She’s eaten up with guilt. She did it because – she thought it was keeping us apart, that she married your da – her selfishness, stopping Maggie from having a family. I don’t think she ever believed you would, you know, sleep with someone else. She thought it had to be me and she wanted to prove it, make us get together. It’s just not in her world view that you would – do that. But then – well. The results came back.’

  Despite his words, Paula had so far been sitting inside a bubble of denial. Aidan was upset, talking nonsense. Pat wouldn’t do that. Aidan couldn’t love Maggie like that if he wasn’t – but suddenly the world was tilting.

  ‘Say something,’ said Aidan, pleading. ‘Look. Brooking – he loved you, in his way. He’s just English. And I’ve taken his wean away these past two years. God forgive me, it was wrong. But I thought it was the right thing. I honestly did. I’ve done my best by you both, I swear I have. Last night, it was just – I fucked up, Maguire.’

  Paula gradually became aware of her surroundings, the rise and fall of voices, children shouting, the bleach smell of the place. The enormity of what he was telling her sank in. For a long time, minutes or maybe even hours, days, neither of them spoke. Then she stirred. Her hands felt numb. ‘Just tell me one thing.’

  Aidan could barely move his head. She’d never seen him like this, so sunk under misery. It made her heart race in her chest with fear, made her want to run right out from those concrete walls and snatc
h up Maggie and never come back. ‘What?’

  ‘When was this?’ Her voice came out strangely. ‘How long have you known?’ Suddenly, everything depended on his answer.

  Aidan said, ‘When I asked you to marry me. The first time.’

  When he’d come to her in the hospital, after she’d been attacked. Maggie just weeks old. And he’d said let’s not do a test, I’ll be her dad, no matter what. ‘You’re saying you knew . . . you mean . . .’ Aidan was not Maggie’s father. It was as certain as writing on a page. Guy Brooking was. She’d been raising Guy’s child. And Aidan had known about it for two years.

  ‘I’ll tell them what happened between me and that man Conlon, Maguire. They can judge as they see fit. But I reckon I’ll be in here a while. Maggie will be—’ His voice hitched and she bit her lip, hard, to keep the tears from her eyes. ‘She’ll maybe be a big girl by then. So don’t fall out with Ma, Maguire. You’ll need her. Don’t blame her. I just needed to tell you, so that you knew. So you can choose. And I hope that the past two years – I’ve loved you, Maguire, God help me I have, and the wee one too – I just have to hope that counts for something.’

  Her world had shrunk to the rickety coffee-stained table between them. And with a sudden rush Paula understood this was real, this was happening. Aidan was in prison. He might not get out. And that the carefully constructed shell of the past two years – happy years, happiness that seemed to cut her to ribbons now – was shattered and fallen to pieces around them.

  Alice

  I don’t understand why you’re going. Katy’s voice is quiet in the dark, but it doesn’t matter. We both know neither of us can sleep.

  I could say, of course you know. I know you know. I could say, I know you were there. But I can’t speak.

  Al . . . I don’t know what’s happened. Why are you leaving me? For that horrible cottage?

  My voice is very small and hard. I have to.

  But do you . . . do you not like me any more?

  I almost laugh. She can ask me this, after everything? When I’m dying? When I haven’t eaten a bite since it happened?