Dark Chapter

by Winnie M. Li

  He runs back to his and Michael’s room and grabs something. His granda’s ring, the one Mam gave him years ago when he died. He stuffs it in his pocket.

  “Forget something?” Gerry asks.

  “Ah, nothing important. Let’s just go.”

  Another deep breath, and Gerry pushes open the caravan door.

  Outside, it’s colder than he expected, and the chill hits him to the bone, despite the bright sunlight. The brim of the Yankees cap shields his eyes from the sun. He can hear the beep and chatter of police radios. The bark of a dog.

  He hesitates, but Gerry nudges him forward, his hand on his shoulder.

  “Just keep on going. Don’t look back.”

  They walk quickly across the field, away from the peelers, away from that place where the woods meet the open ground. Along the ridge to the north, with the glen and the soft roar of the river below on their right.

  Before they disappear behind a rise in the ground, he turns around one last time and looks back. At the huddle of white caravans on the bright green field. He squints against the sun and he can make out two figures standing near Da’s caravan. Nora is looking away, towards the police, but her little kid runs a few steps after them and raises a hand to wave at him and Gerry.

  He almost wants to wave back, but he won’t.

  *

  Sunday morning and she’s with the police again, in the Rape Crime Unit Centre, to give her official statement. Last night was just for the forensic exam.

  “This should take about three hours, but it’s important that you’re as thorough as possible,” Detective Peters says, looking at her watch. “So if we finish at noon and your flight is at 1:20, you should be able to make it. The City Airport is just down the road.”

  It’s as if she’s in a new job, one that she never applied for. A whole new set of tasks and responsibilities. Just do as you’re told.

  “Tell me about what happened yesterday, starting with what you did that morning.”

  “I checked into a bed and breakfast, after a few days at the Europa Hotel for a conference. I had always planned to go for a hike that day…”

  The morning sun slants through the wooden slats of the Venetian blinds. She tells her story. Again. Detaching herself from the detail. Watching the dust motes dance in the light.

  *

  He spends most of Sunday holed up in Gerry’s bedroom. Gerry’s family don’t live in a caravan anymore. They’ve moved into a proper house, which feels weird. Too many straight lines and too much furniture. It’s even got stairs.

  In the hallway, Gerry tries to keep it smooth with his mam.

  “You know the young Sweeney boy, right? He’s not too well and is staying over here for a bit. His da and his brother aren’t around.”

  His mam mumbles something.

  “No need to send for Old Thomas or anyone. He’s just needing a bit of company with everyone else gone.”

  Another mumble.

  Gerry pokes his head into his room.

  “You after any breakfast? Me mam is doing a big fry-up, but it’ll be with all me brothers and sisters.”

  Not all, just five of them. At the table, it’s Gerry, then his sisters Grace and Fiona, his brothers Eamon and Darragh, and his youngest sister Oona, who’s just three. Mrs Donohue bustles between the hob and the table, frying up eggs and rashers, unloading them onto plates.

  He’s forgotten what it’s like to be part of a big family. Everyone talking all over each other, all at the same time. The last time his whole family was together was… four year ago? In Dublin?

  “D’ya have any sisters?” Fiona or maybe it’s Grace asks him.

  “I do, yeah.” He’s shoveling rashers into his mouth as fast as he can, but still manages to talk. “I’ve a sister, Claire, that’s… twelve now? And a younger one, Bridget, that’s eight.”

  “How comes we never seen them around?”

  “Oh, they’re down in Dublin with me mam. They don’t come up here.”

  “Johnny, when’s the last time you seen your mam?” Mrs Donohue asks as she’s clattering away at the hob. All mothers always ask the same thing.

  “Oh, a while ago. Longer than a while, really.”

  “How comes your parents don’t live together?” Eamon or Darragh asks.

  Jaysus, this is worse than the nosy child counsellor grilling you at school.

  “And you’ve a brother, Michael, too, yeah?” Fiona or Grace says. He can tell from the way she says his brother’s name that she’s got a sweet spot for him. He wonders if Michael’s ever shifted her. She’s not bad. A little skinny, but kind of pretty.

  “Yeah, me brother Michael, yeah.”

  There’s a noise at the door and in walks Gerry’s younger brother, Liam. He’s about nine or ten.

  “Liam Donohue, where’ve you been?” Mrs Donohue asks.

  Liam’s out of breath and grabs Eamon’s glass of orange squash, swallows half of it in one go.

  “Sorry, Mam,” Liam says, as he reaches for a rasher. “It’s mad, like. D’ya hear about what happened up near those quarries by the Glen?”

  “What happened?”

  The whole table pipes up except him. He wants to sink into the fancy tiled floor and disappear. There it is again, that stupid dark clawing, front and centre of his brain.

  “Apparently this foreign girl was, uh, raped around there.” Liam casts a glance at his mam when he says ‘raped’. He can’t help smirking when he says the word.

  There are squeals and squawks from around the table.

  “That’s horrible!” Grace or Fiona says.

  “Do they know who done it?”

  Liam’s shaking his head, chewing on more rashers. “No, not a clue. But there were peelers poking all around the Traveller site there.”

  Gerry looks at him, looks away.

  “They started asking the Traveller families some questions.”

  “Ah, they’re always after us Travellers,” Gerry grumbles. “Any crime happens, they get on to us straight away like we automatically done it.”

  “Hey, isn’t that where you and your family live?” Grace or Fiona says this, the one who likes Michael.

  He can feel sweat standing out on his neck. Get a fucking grip. He swallows the toast he’s chewing, but it’s dry and almost won’t go down.

  “Yeah, we’re in that same halting spot, right above the Glen.”

  “Didn’t you see nothing, all those peelers poking around?”

  “I saw something this morning when I left. Didn’t know what the Jaysus it was about, though.”

  “That’s just terrible, terrible,” Mrs Donohue says, shaking her head. She’s at the kitchen table now, unloading the last of the fried eggs. It’s gone within seconds. “Terrible for someone to do that to a girl.”

  “Yeah, what happened to the girl?” Grace or Fiona (the other one) asks.

  Liam shrugs. “No one knows. They say she was Chinese.”

  That starts a murmur around the table.

  “Wonder what she was doing in that part of town,” one of Gerry’s sisters says.

  “Well, I hope they catch him, whoever’s done it,” Mrs Donohue says. “Terrible thing to do.”

  She starts to collect some of the dirty dishes. Grace/Fiona gets up and starts filling the kettle from the tap.

  He eyes the tap. None of this hauling yourself outside to pump water.

  “Johnny.” Mrs Donohue turns to him. “Would you like a cuppa tea?”

  He looks at her. Of course he wants some tea. But he also wants to get out of this kitchen as fast as he can.

  “I’m not feeling so good,” he mumbles.

  “Oh, that’s right, love,” she says. “You go on to Gerry’s room and get some rest.”

  Inside, behind the closed door, Gerry turns to him.

  “You just lie low here. Don’t say nothing to me brothers and sisters, and I’m gonna make sure they don’t bother you none.”

  Gerry starts to put on his jacket.
>
  “Where you going?”

  “To the shop and the pub, see what I can find out. And I’m gonna look for Michael. I haven’t a clue where he is. And we need him here. Now.”

  *

  They’re at the George Best City Airport, where she’s supposed to check in for her flight at 1:20.

  But the police report took longer than expected, and they didn’t arrive here until around 12:45. Didn’t get to the actual check-in counter until 12:52.

  The woman at the counter says it’s too late for her to get on the flight.

  She shakes her head sternly. “The sign here says check-in closes strictly thirty minutes before take-off.”

  Barbara is arguing with her. “You have no idea what she’s just been through. She has to get on this flight.”

  “I don’t care what she’s just been through. She’s too late and I can’t compromise our security measures just because of one passenger who couldn’t get here on time.”

  Security measures.

  She doesn’t say anything herself. Somehow, she seems robbed of her voice. She’s been talking for the past three, four hours for the police report, and she doesn’t have the energy to argue with this horrible woman.

  But she needs to get away from this place. And she can’t miss that premiere in London. The airline woman is still adamant. “I can’t help you. If she can’t follow the rules, I can’t do anything for her.”

  “This isn’t about following rules,” Barbara says, her voice raised. “This is about showing a little compassion.”

  She puts her hand on Barbara’s arm. “I have to get on that flight. I have to get to London this afternoon.”

  “Well, you’re not getting to London on our flight, because it’s closed,” the woman announces with finality. “We have another flight in three hours.”

  And then… just like that… she cracks. An unfamiliar anxiety takes over, and she starts to cry, her face screwing up, tears and snot welling up in an instant. She can’t miss that premiere, she’s worked years on this film, this is the company’s first big red carpet in Leicester Square. If that scumbag kid somehow makes her miss it…

  Just get me out of this fucking city.

  “I have to get out of Belfast,” she sobs. The woman stares at her, dumbfounded.

  She doesn’t care.

  The woman stammers, but doesn’t back down. “It’s too late now anyway,” she says, pointing to the clock. It’s past 1pm, and they’ll never get her onto the flight.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay, sweetie,” Barbara says, enveloping her in a hug. “We’ll find another flight for you.”

  The woman packs up the check-in desk. Head down. Removes the sign for the upcoming flight

  “I hope you feel good about yourself,” Barbara says as a parting shot at the woman.

  The woman says nothing. Then pauses and says, “If you had just come ten minutes earlier.”

  Ten minutes earlier, she was still giving her police statement in the Rape Crime Unit. If she had only set out on the trail ten minutes earlier, maybe she wouldn’t have encountered the boy. How different our lives would be if we went about doing everything ten minutes earlier. To think that ten minutes separated us from crashing into that near-fatal car accident, or meeting the love of our life, or encountering our rapist?

  Or was life really that arbitrary? She thinks that is the only way she can really accept what happened because it was so random. Ten minutes earlier and she wouldn’t have been raped. Ten minutes earlier and she’d be on that flight.

  Barbara has instructed her to sit down on a bench, while she goes about buying her a ticket onto the next flight bound for London.

  She sits there in a daze and watches people checking in, rushing off to the gates. Families saying goodbye to one another, parents seeing off their grown children who live in London. The occasional businessman, leaving a bit earlier on a Sunday, to get plenty of rest in London and start fresh on Monday morning.

  And her. Her. Recent rape victim. On her way back home to attend the red carpet premiere of the film she worked on.

  Barbara’s back. She looks flushed, but positive.

  “I got you onto a 2:30 flight to London, which will get you into Gatwick at 3:45. Is that okay?”

  She manages a grateful smile. “That’s perfect. Thanks so much.”

  Barbara hands her the ticket. “Here, let’s get you checked in so you don’t miss this one. I bought you a business-class ticket, thought it’d make you a bit more comfortable.”

  “How much do I—?”

  “No, no, I’ll take care of it. There’s no way in hell I’d have you pay for this.”

  So she says goodbye to Barbara. She has no idea how she’s going to get through the rest of it – whatever that entails – with no Barbara by her side. She can’t even think about what is yet to come. Previously, she’s always been able to imagine the life ahead of her, but now, everything ahead is just opaque, a dark forest with no obvious path.

  She makes her way through security, to the business-class lounge. Helps herself to a can of Sprite and nibbles at a sandwich. The same tastelessness as before.

  She sits in the row of seats closest to the windows. For a few minutes, she watches the runway, as planes maneuver themselves along the tarmac, lining up against the grey-blue background of the harbor.

  The business lounge is nearly empty. A couple of middle-aged businessmen sit behind her to the left, another in an armchair. Save for the woman at the service desk, she’s the only woman there.

  Her logical mind takes over again. She needs to think of what to do. Her next step. She should alert her friends in London about what’s happened. So she composes a few texts.

  Hi there, just to let you know, something really bad happened to me and I was raped yesterday. Flying back to London and will be home soon. So please don’t ask me how my weekend in Belfast went.

  She sends this to her two flatmates, José and Natalia.

  She then amends the text slightly and arranges with Jacob, one of her gay best friends, for him to meet her at Gatwick.

  Then she calls another gay friend, Stefan, the one who was going to be her date to the film premiere tonight. She tries explaining what happened, but there isn’t a good connection and he can’t hear what she’s saying. She makes plans to meet at Leicester Square at 6:45 that evening. He’ll be wearing black-tie, as requested.

  She gets a text from her boss, Erika, asking if she’s okay. Their assistant, Becca, has arranged for a cab to pick her up at home and take her to Leicester Square.

  Another text, from her sister, Serena.

  I’m so so sorry to hear about what happened. What can I do? Can you talk tonight?

  She sighs, wants to put the phone away. Wants just to drift into oblivion and keep on drifting away and not have to come back to the reality of her life now.

  Did she really just break down crying in the airport? What functional adult does that when they’ve missed their flight?

  But she’s not a functional adult, that much she knows. Yesterday, she morphed into this helpless shell of an adult, and now she has to pretend like she knows what she’s doing. When really, she has no idea.

  She’s full of shame and disgust at herself. For what she has become.

  The lady behind the service counter makes an announcement.

  Will all passengers for Flight 5230 to London Gatwick make their way to the boarding gate.

  In the business-class queue to board, she’s looking out the window, doesn’t want to make eye contact with anyone.

  One of the flight attendants comes up to her, a pretty woman with a high ginger ponytail.

  “Are you Vivian Tan?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “So sorry to bother you, but there’s a police detective on the phone for you.”

  What now? If they try and stop me from getting on this flight…

  She obliges and follows the flight attendant to a beige phone set in the wall behind the desk
.

  It’s a man on the phone. A strong Belfast accent, like all the other police.

  “Hello, I’m Detective Thomas Morrison. I don’t think we’ve had the chance to meet yet, but I’ll be in charge of handling the case to find your assailant.”

  “Hi,” she says tentatively. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay, I hope you are, too. Or as best as you can be.” He has a kind voice at least.

  “Listen, there’s just one more thing we wanted to ask you. We forgot to ask if you would leave behind your watch. We just think it might be useful for the investigation.”

  “My watch?” She looks at it. The thin silver band around her left wrist, and she remembers how the boy eyed it, the second time he approached her in the forest.

  “Yes, you said he was looking at your watch, before he attacked you. And we thought there might be some kind of genetic evidence we could find on it.”

  “But he didn’t take it, obviously. It’s still with me.”

  “Well, we don’t want to leave any stone unturned. If there’s any chance we can get his fingerprints from it, that would be very helpful.”

  She distinctly remembers he never touched her watch. But if it’ll somehow help the investigation, she’ll surrender this too. Who needs to keep track of time anymore?

  “Just wrap it up in some paper and leave it with the airline staff, we’ll come pick it up shortly.”

  She hangs up the beige phone. It seems like a rather crude way to be collecting criminal evidence, but she does as instructed. Hands the paper-wrapped bundle to the flight attendant.

  The rest of the passengers have already boarded, and the ginger flight attendant smiles at her kindly, leads her outside to the plane.

  She climbs up the stairs. The wind nips at her jacket, and before she steps inside the warmth of the plane, she glances around briefly at the broad tarmac, the bright sky, the grey waters of the cold harbor.

  Belfast. Not a moment too soon to be leaving.

  The police, or perhaps Barbara, must have informed the airline staff about her situation, because they are acting uncommonly kind to her.

  “If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to let me know,” the ginger-ponytailed flight attendant says to her, smiling. “I’ll be right here.”